A Field Full of Folk by Iain Crichton Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

course a vegetarian,” said Elizabeth. “She won’t eat anything but carrots and honey and stuff like that.”
    How young she was, probably as young as his own grandchild in Australia whom he had never seen, though they were always sending him photographs of her and her parents at Christmas. In his day Christmas Cards were Christmas Cards and had holy verses on them and pictures of angels and fires and coaches and frost, but now people sent you photographs of themselves. Anyway, their Christmas was in midsummer which was ridiculous.
    â€œIn the old days,” he said, “my wife would take me out my food to the moor.”
    â€œJust like Joseph bringing food to the brethren,” said Elizabeth brightly. What was she talking about? What had that to do with anything?
    â€œAnd I would sit and eat it and the sheep would be grazing and my dog would be at my side.”
    â€œIs that right?” said Elizabeth. “They don’t have many shepherds now.”
    â€œNo, they don’t have much of anything now.”
    Those sweets that melted like rainbows in one’s mouth, they were gone too.
    He smacked his lips and said, “That was very good.”
    Eat, chew, survive, get all the vitamins you can. Outlast them all. Survive, survive. “Did you see the Germans in the Post Office today?” he said.
    â€œNo, I wasn’t in the Post Office.” She gazed at him oddly.
    â€œWell, I can tell you there were Germans there all right. There were two of them and they had cameras.”
    â€œIs that right now?” said Elizabeth.
    â€œYes,” he said, “they had fair hair. You can tell them by their fair hair. I’m sure it’s that Maisie Campbell that takes them in.”
    â€œI never heard,” said Elizabeth. “But Greta had Germans for their Bed and Breakfast last year and do you know what they did? They took all the stuff off the table—the jam, the sugar, everything—and put it all in a bag. Did you hear of anything like that?”
    But he was only half listening. They shouldn’t be giving rooms to those Germans. Elizabeth was the best of the villagers. Though she was young she was compassionate and they said that she gave most of her wages to Dr Barnardos. She had a good kind heart. In the winter she knitted jerseys for them. What would happen when she got herself a man? And the threat was like a shadow over the room. She and the minister’s wife were his best friends in the village, and of course Murdo.
    The sun was pouring in through the window and illuminating the bones of the fish left on the plate. But there were no angels to be seen anywhere. Not even Elizabeth was an angel.
    She was now tidying everything away. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,” she said, and went into the kitchen. While she ran the water, it was as if for a moment he heard his wife there, the busy ghost that had returned once or twice but only in his mind and in his bed at midnight. Why, in his youth he had beaten her up once or twice and wherever she was she might remember that and not forgive him for it. She had always been asking for jewellery. She could never pass a window without drawing his attention to a ring or bracelet. And yet she had been a good wife too and their last days had been the best and quietest.
    â€œI can’t find the sugar,” she shouted at him.
    He had forgotten to buy any, he really must remember.
    â€œIt’s all right, I can do without it,” he shouted. He was never going to a hospital or home, that was for sure. He had seen the ones who had gone to hospitals, they looked like prisoners of war, and just as helpless.
    She came in with the tea and said, “That’s the train past. Did you see it?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t see it.”
    Maybe she was after his house: maybe that was why she was so kind to him. He could leave her the house if he wanted to. What had his own son and daughter-in-law