Page 58 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘I’ll see if I can find some mugs,’ says Llew. ‘Maybe the charity shop down the road has some.’
As the queue passes in and out of the lorry, and we’re nearly sold out, I say to Mae, ‘Maybe we should come back and do it all again tomorrow.’
I hear a cheer from the people outside, eating hot potatoes and cawl while more likes and hearts appear on my phone screen.
Myfanwy is handing round Welsh cakes and tellingpeople who ask that she’s happy to take orders and Dad is telling people to pick them up from the cattle lorry tomorrow.
We’ve nearly finished serving when Bryn, the local community police officer, appears.
‘What can I get you, Bryn? Looks like you could do with warming up! But there’s not much left.’
‘I could … but the thing is, I can’t let you park here.’
‘Oh, come on, Bryn! It’s just a couple of people trying to make a living,’ I say.
‘I know, I know …’ Bryn holds up his hands, then takes a mug of cawl from me. ‘This is delicious! Reminds me of your nan’s cawl. There was always a pot of it on the go up at the farm.’ He takes another big mouthful, enjoying it, but frowning. ‘But I can’t let you park here …’
I sigh. Mae, Llew and I look at each other.
‘But,’ he smiles, turning away from the phone. ‘There’s always the old cattle market. I know it’s up for sale, now the mart’s closed there, but people are using it to park on all the time. The owners seem to be turning a blind eye.’
We turn to each other and clink mugs of tea that featureGavin & Stacey’s Pam and Mick, which Llew bought from the charity shop and the hairdresser filled for us. ‘Cattle market tomorrow then!’ I say.
25
The next morning we’re up early. Llew is in the kitchen making tea when I come down. He hands me a mug and has one for himself. ‘Could you do with a helper?’
I take the mug, smiling. ‘What – outside?’ I nod towards the yard.
‘Yes, it’s felt good to be outside recently. Better than life inside a smart car. And I think I did okay with the fences and the gate.’
‘You did! And if you think you’re up for it, that would be great, thank you.’
With head torches on, we head out with the dogs into the yard. There’s a layer of snow over the fields and even the sheep’s backs. We load the feed and hay onto the quad bike. I start its engine. Oneheadlight is still not as bright as the other but better than before.
‘Climb on, then!’ I say. Llew straddles the bike, me sitting at the front with him behind and around me. I drive us to the field with the feed and a mallet to smash any ice on the water butts. Llew starts on the ice while I feed and count the ewes. They seem happy and content, unaffected by yesterday’s visitors careering through the flock. Unaffected from what I can see, but I’ll have to keep a close eye on them.
Back in the kitchen we get ready to go back into town with the cattle lorry. I don’t want to let Mae down this time. I gather some greenery from the yard, holly, fir and eucalyptus, and pile it into the back of the lorry, then hurry round to the cab.
Once again it lumbers into life, like Bagpuss waking from his slumbers. I get the heaters blowing, then scrape the windscreen clear of snow.
Dad appears in the porch, dressed warmly. He’s even found a Santa hat to wear, and a light-up jumper. The box of Christmas decorations is at his feet.
We drive into town, the cab filling with the smell of the eucalyptus and fir, blown around by the heater, reminding me of Christmases with a real tree in the living room. I can’t remember the presents, but I do remember the smell of the tree, and homemadehogget stock on the range. Nan would be prepping vegetables grown by Gramps.
We arrive at the old cattle market and pull up. Dad is looking around, memories flooding back to him, and even a sentimental tear in his eye. ‘Good to be here, eh, Dad?’
He nods. ‘Very good to see the place being used again.’
Llew jumps out of the cab, opens the gate and secures it, waving me in. I roll down the window and call, ‘You look like you’ve done that before,’ as he waves us onto the yard, leaving tyre marks in the snow, and points to the perfect place for the lorry: we can be seen from the road, but will be sheltered from the cold wind whipping through. It’s like a ghost market: you can picture the farmers leaning on the pens, inspecting the livestock, the air full of expectation and conversation. But with the market gone, it’s like the town and community went with it.
We open the back of the lorry, let the ramp down and set up straw bales for seating. Owen arrives in his truck, with Jess poking her head out of the passenger window. ‘Brought the generator. Thought it could help with lighting.’
‘Brilliant!’ I say, coming down the ramp.
‘Like we used to do at Young Farmers’ camps.’ He smiles. ‘And I’ve brought the old oil-drum barbecue!It was still in the shed there, round the back.’ He points to the old building where we used to have our weekly Young Farmers get-togethers, overgrown and barely used now.
‘I knew doing those events would come in handy.’ I laugh.
