Hello my lovelies! I am back with another lovely long story brewing about the Bates family, the Masons and the Moseleys. This will be the third in my ongoing saga, following on from 'A Long Needed Holiday' and 'A Long Needed Christmas Holiday'. Now we come to 'A Long Needed Summer Holiday'. Only this time, it's not the Bates who are in need of some R&R.
As always, feedback reviews and comments are deliciously welcome. You are all lovely and wonderful to take the time to do so. I hope you enjoy the third story in this series.
...
June 1934
The sun was blazing and everything in the farmyard drooped with the heat. Even the chickens were quiet, seeking shade beneath the thick dusty bushes that lined the kitchen garden, while the ducks gazed mournfully at their muddy, shallow pond. There had been no rain for a week.
For once, Bill was glad of the prolonged dry spell. It had given him and Andy an extra bit of time to get the hay making done. Now the stacks were built and thatched before the weather could turn. Daisy had turned out half a jug of sour milk from the pantry at lunchtime and was complaining of a pressure headache in her temples. His darling wife Beryl had dismissed it as a mid pregnancy symptom, but Bill now wondered whether there was a storm coming.
The sky was wide and bright, not a cloud to be seen and not a puff of breeze to be felt. Bill tugged at his old cotton shirt, hoping to fan a smidgen of air into it. The sweat trickled down his back.
"Time for a break my love?"
Bill turned to see Beryl staring out from the kitchen door, hand shading her eyes.
"Aye, that'll be right lass. Stick that kettle on for a brew, I'll just go check on the cows and I'll be in."
Beryl nodded to herself and turned back into the cool darkness of the farmhouse kitchen.
Turning towards the cattle sheds, Bill heard a quick step behind him. Glancing back, he saw Daisy hurrying towards him, with two buckets of scraps for the pigs.
"Carry one of these for us, Mr Mason?"
"Give me both of those young miss, you shouldn't be carrying anything in your condition! You're carrying enough!"
Mr Mason firmly took the buckets from Daisy, who rubbed the small of her back and patted her growing bump. He was taking no chances this time, not after what his Ally had gone through. Given his way, Daisy would have given up work by now and would be installed in the cottage she and Andy had made their home in. But after two days in this vein, Daisy had become so fretful and cross that Andy had begged him to let her come back to the kitchen.
"She ain't used to it Mr M," Andy pleaded. "She's driving me mental doing nothing, almost as bad as herself. She ain't used to being still. Let 'er back in the kitchen, Mrs M can keep an eye on 'er and see she takes a break."
Bill had reluctantly agreed, but did not waste an opportunity to relieve Daisy of her heavier tasks.
"Hay making all done?"
"Aye lass. And just in time too, I can feel something in the air."
"It's not just me then?"
"No, far from it. Come now, let's tip these in..."
The pigs grunted and rooted in delight, revelling in their supper.
"Greedy little beggars," grinned Bill. "Let's just check on the cows, and be in for a brew."
There was even less air in the hot, dark cowshed. The two new farm lads, as well as Andy, were busy with the milking. Bill breathed deep, trying to fill his lungs in the thin air.
"You alright there Mr M?"
Bill grasped at his hat, fanning it against his face.
"Mr M..."
All of a sudden the floor started to swim, the mud and straw swirling into ripples. As Andy's voice, combined with Daisy's, echoed in his ears, Bill heard the scrape of a milking stool shoved backwards as the floor came up to greet him, followed by darkness.
He came too in the cool, dark kitchen, perched on a chair, his head between his knees, shoulders held firmly in place by Beryl.
"...don't know what happened, all of a sudden he just keeled over..."
"Per'aps it were the heat?"
"Should we send for the doctor Mrs M?"
"No need for that..." Bill tried to get the words out, but the sounds felt all sluggish on his tongue.
"He's coming round!"
"Keep yer 'ead down my love, you've just had a funny turn, y'need the blood to your brain."
Andy clapped a concerned hand onto Bill's shoulder as Beryl crouched down in front of him to peek up into his face.
"What you been up to yer daft article?"
Concern was etched into her face, easing the sharpness of her words. Bill opened his eyes, seeing her image swimming before him.
"He's white as a sheet," Beryl commented. Her voice felt strangely far away.
"Watch out Mrs M, he's going over again..."
All was darkness once more, as strong hands lifted him and stopped him clattering into the flagstone floor.
"How is he doctor?"
Dr Clarkson closed the door behind him softly, and beckoned the little group away towards Bill's snug.
"Sleeping, for now. He's weak, and very pale, but Mrs Clarkson is sitting with him for the mean time."
"What's caused it?"
"Mrs Mason ... perhaps you'd better sit down. You too Daisy."
Andy stood beside his wife, a protective arm around her shoulder as she perched next to Beryl on the sofa.
"Mr Mason has had, I suspect, a mild heart attack."
Beryl gasped, her free hand flying to her mouth, shock creasing across her forehead. Daisy gripped her other hand tighter.
"We're lucky," Dr Clarkson continued. "In several ways. First that it was here, so close to you all, and not out in one of the far fields. Secondly in that it was just that – a mild heart attack. Not a serious one. He should recover with no lasting issues, but he is going to have to take it easy for a while.
"Doctor, how am I going to get him to take it easy? This is the farm's busiest time of year. I can't even get madam to sit down for more than five minutes?"
A slight guilty expression spread across Daisy's face. "You don't need to worry about me, Mrs Patmore, I can manage."
"I can do more to help," Andy broke in. "Haymaking's done, and I've taken on the milking with Ben and Jim now."
"But Andy... this is his life. He can't just stop farming. Not when there's so much going on. Harvest home will be the end of next month, and then there's the sheep shearing to arrange..."
Dr Clarkson realised that the conversation was getting away from him, and needed to bring things back under control.
"I think you're quite right Mrs Mason. Having known Mr Mason for a long time now, I don't think he can be persuaded to give up farming while he is here surrounded by his responsibilities, no matter how much anyone else might try to help and take them from him. He managed alone for many years before coming to Yew Tree Farm. If he is to rest, it must be complete rest. And for that, I think he needs to come away from the farm for a while."
All three of the Yew Tree Farm residents stared at the doctor in shock. This was serious talk indeed. Andy was the first to speak.
"Perhaps we could swap? Bill could come and stay at the cottage for a bit?"
"A generous thought Andy, but I have a feeling that your cottage is not far enough away to stop Bill's mind from playing on all of the things happening around him here. I doubt he would be able to switch off this close to his own front lines, so to speak."
"But ... where could he go?"
"I'm not sure yet Daisy. For the next few days, he absolutely must stay in bed. I'll ask Mrs Clarkson to visit each day, she is an excellent nurse and ... well, quite the forceful character at persuading reluctant patients to stay in bed."
All three of the others smiled a little and nodded. The doctor was besotted with his wife, but also knew her entire character well.
"Can I go and see him Doctor?"
"Of course. And then I shall collect Mrs Clarkson and be on my way home. If there is any change, or you are in any doubt, please don't hesitate to telephone. I can always come back later if need be."
Later that evening, after supper, The Clarksons sat and discussed courses of action for Bill Mason. The rain had begun to fall an hour since, from heavy laden clouds which had swept in through the evening sky, and the wind was picking up. Bill's storm was breaking in spectacular fashion.
"I'm happy to call on him every day if necessary, and I do think he will need that for the first few days. But we both know, my dear, that he won't rest in that farmhouse. His mind will continue listing and checking even if his body stays still, and that will lead to tension and agitation."
"You're right my dear, but what can we do?"
"Well ... we must get him away from that farmhouse. I don't suspect the poor dear has ever taken a break, farmers so rarely do, but a complete change of air and scene will do him good as well as the rest itself."
"The main problem we have is that all of his friends live around this area. They're all too close. Even Downton Abbey itself is too close, even if it were still a convalescence home like we had available during the war."
Mrs Clarkson lifted the lid on the china pot and gave the leaves a stir. Delicately balancing the tea strainer over the cup, she poured the fragrant chai tea for both herself and her husband.
"The irony is that Yew Tree Farm has been such a place of rest and convalescence for everyone else. Remember how they took in dear Phyllis Moseley when she had flu a few years ago? And before that, when Anna was sick, they had the whole Bates family with them until well into the spring."
"Aye, after little Matthew was born. I remember."
The memory of that stressful night, when Anna had given birth prematurely up at Downton Abbey, was one that neither of the two were likely to forget.
"I say..."
Mrs Clarkson sat up suddenly, replacing her tea cup with a clatter, eyes wide.
"My dear, are you quite alri..."
"Yes! I've just found the answer. The Gull's Nest!"
Dr Clarkson slowly raised his head to meet his wife's expression.
"The Bates' guest house. In Whitby."
"That's where we could send Mr Mason. For convalescence."
"Sea air. Country living without farming. Fresh salt breezes and access to good food. And good friends to take care of him. I think it would be quite perfect my dear. Provided that they have a room free, of course."
"I suspect they would make room for this my dear. They both love to return favours."
"Well," Dr Clarkson got to his feet. "No time like the present to set things in motion. Darling, where did you put the address book with all of the telephone numbers in it...?"