Maybe I will maybe I wont Father says back. And he gives her a little smile. Be something if I win though wont it.
In June we had a good harvest of hay off Higher Redlands and Mother didnt seem so worried any more after that. But at home none of us ever said a word about the ploughing match. Mother just didnt want to hear about it. I could tell that. But I can mind Father and me talking of nothing else all summer and autumn.
Father would say things like Well if any horses can do it then its Joey and Zoey, and You come out on top after four years in the mud of Flanders like Joey has then you can win a little ploughing match standing on your head in your sleep. I tried to believe him but I just couldnt. We went easy on Joey and old Zoey, worked them slow and fed them like kings so as their coats were shining in the sun as bright as a new penny.
And the ploughing match between Father and Harry Medlicott was all the talk at school too. But I had a hard time of it. Everyone said Father was on a hiding to nothing. Even Billy Bishop and he were my best friend even Billy said Father mustve been mazed in the head if he though he could win. And Id say something like You dont know Joey like I do or We got two horses and hes got one tractor. Or when I could think of nothing else I would just say Wait and see. But I never believed any of it even when I was saying it. I knew in my heart of hearts like everyone did that it were hopeless. Joey was maybe fifteen by now and Zoey twenty near enough but if theyd been half their age it wouldnt have helped. Horses cannot plough as fast as tractors. That was all there was to it. There was lots of friends at school wanting us to win. Just about everyone liked Father more than Harry Medlicott. But even so they all said we hadn’t got a chance. And I knew they was right.
November the sixth it were going to be. I can mind that well enough because the night before was Bonfire Night and I was watching Father sharpening up the plough for the last time and I could see the fire from the big house up the hill in the silver of the ploughshare. Old Farmer Northley had picked out Candlelight Field on Mr Arnolds farm as the best place. Three acres almost square it is with hedges all around down by the river. There was people coming from miles around to watch and I knew we couldn’t win not a chance in a million.
Itll be all right you know says Father and he smiles at me out of the bonfire in the ploughshare. We’re going to win. Youll see. He weren’t just putting a brave face on it. He really thought we would win.
Lets say goodnight to Joey and Zoey he says. And wish em luck. And we did. I prayed that night like I never prayed before.
I was up at four o clock the next morning to help Father feed up the horses with corn mash and hay. We brushed them down and went in for breakfast. When we had finished mother had pasties ready for our lunch. She saw us off at the door. She wouldnt come and watch she said. She had things to do about the house and she kissed Father on the cheek and went away indoors. Father was a bit took back by that kiss and I was too. She didn’t do kissing that often.
We walked the horses down across Burrow Brimclose towards Candlelight Field. Father and Joey together and me behind with Zoey. It werent just the village folk that was there it were dozens of other folk too from miles around.
Like a fair it was down on Candlelight that morning. Harry Medlicott was waiting for us hands in his pockets and leaning up against his green Fordson with his band of cronies all around him. He had such a grin on his great fat face. I couldve kicked him. Honest I could.
Old Farmer Northley had us all lined up and ready by halfpast six. It were grey all around but you could see the field was parted in two with a single furrow. As many good furrows as you can plough by halfpast three this afternoon says old Farmer Northley. The tractor to the Corporal if he wins. A hundred bales of best hay to Mr Medlicott if he wins. And then he ups with his flag and waves it. Father calls out to Joey and Zoey and off they go up the field. Harry Medlicott takes his time gives the starting handle one good turn and the Fordson starts up easy as you like. He gives a great wave of his hat, climbs up and hes off too.
As the sun came up through the trees everyone could see plain enough that Father was already a long way behind.
The tractor was ploughing faster and he was turning faster on the headlands too. Father was falling further and further behind all the time. There were nothing he could do about it. But he kept going talking to the horses as he ploughed sweetening them on like he always did. Go on then Joey. Giddyup. Theres a boy. Good old girl Zoey. The crowd were on Fathers side most of them anyways. Everyone loves a loser I thought and there was tears coming in my eyes and I couldn’t stop them neither. They were all clapping and whistling and cheering him every time he turned. So was I. But it didn’t do Father nor the horses much good. I wanted to run off. I didnt ever want to look but I had to. I was there at the end of the furrow each time Father came back and he would give us a smile and I would try to give as good a one back. That weren’t at all easy I can tell you.
By the time old Farmer Northley called a stop for lunch everyone could see the match was already as good as over. Harry Medlicott and his green Fordson had almost finished their half of the field. He had ploughed forty eight furrows and Father had done fifteen. I watched Harry Medlicott as he sat up against the hedge eating his lunch with his friends all around him and I hated him moren ever. You could hear them laughing out loud clear across the field. I sat with Father eating our pasties. We had a bigger crowd around us tis true but we hadnt got much to celebrate had us. More like a funeral it were. Joey and Zoey stood nearby munching into their feed sacks and then Father and me led them down to the river for a good long drink. They needed it. Drank and drank they did and we watched em.
A kingfisher went by quick as a twick he went and sat on a branch. Good luck that is says Father. He puts his hand on my shoulder. I am not done yet not by a long chalk. You know the story of the hare and the tortoise do you.
No says I.
Well I do he says. And he gets down on his knees and drinks with the horses. After a bit he stood up and was wiping his mouth with his hand. Suddenly hes smiling. Theres a thing he says looking back up the field. She came after all. I hoped she would. Whats she up to. And there was Mother walking round Harry Medlicotts tractor, having a good look. Then she was coming across the plough towards us.
Farmer Northley says you got ten minutes til you start again she says. You all right. Hows the leg.
Itll do Father says. Glad you came Maisie. Horses are ploughing well. They may be old but theyre as good as ever. And then I saw Father was limping as he walked away and Joey was nuzzling his neckhair like he did.
At noon Farmer Northley waved his flag again.
On you go Joey, Father calls out. Theres a good girl Zoey. And they took the strain and off they went up the field the plough cutting clean. I can mind how I stood there and watched him my heart full of pride for him and I breathed in the smell of the earth. Nothing like the smell of new turned earth. A cold metal smell it is, but clean and good like the first breath of life.
Harry Medlicott was spitting on his hands and rubbing them. Still laughing and joking with his friends he was. He turned the starting handle over once twice three times.
Nothing happened. He tried again again again. All it did was cough and splutter. Father had done a whole furrow by now and was turning. Still the tractor wasnt starting. Then all Harry Medlicotts friends were running over to give a hand pulling this pushing that and they was arguing too. There was lots of shaking heads and shouting going on. A little light of hope lit up inside me. I could hear Harry Medlicott shouting that they should get out of the way and stand back. He was hopping mad and I liked that. I liked that a lot. He spat on his hands and tried again. Didnt work. The Fordson wouldnt work, it wouldnt start. Someone else tried the handle then someone else. No one could start him up and Father had ploughed another furrow.
A couple of hours later and the tractor engine was in bits and Harry Medlicott was bending over, his head inside the tractor his great fat bottom in the air and I was happy
as a lark. Father was plodding on behind the horses and I was counting every furrow.
He had done thirty five furrows by now but I could see he was tiring with every one. Mother and me stood side by side and cheered him at every turn till our throats were raw with it. I knew and she knew and everyone knew that maybe just maybe a miracle might happen. Father knew it too.
He could see well enough for himself what was going on and he was giving Mother and me a bigger smile each time he came back towards us to turn. The sweat was pouring off him and I could see there was pain in his face now too. Time and again he staggered and stumbled to his knees. He had to call the horses to a stop and every time he fell he was slower getting to his feet again. He had done forty eight furrows by now as many as the tractor. All he had to do was keep going.
We had almost forgotten about the tractor. We shouldnt have. I looked across the field. It was together again. Harry Medlicott was waving everyone back and spitting on his hands. He tried the handle. The beggar started first time. He clambered in and roared off up the field catching Father with every second. When he passed him a great groan went up from all over except for his little band of cronies but I tell you that groan werent nothing compared with the groan inside me. I was sick to my stomach. Harry Medlicott would win now. Nothing could stop him. We were done for and we all knew it.
That was when Father went down on his knees in the middle of the field and couldn’t seem to get up. Mother ran to him and I went with her. He was looking up at her trying to catch his breath.
Legs wont take me no further Maisie he says. And then his eyes were looking straight at me. You finish it for me says he. Let the horses do the work. You just keep em straight. You seen me doing it times havent you. You can do it.
Thats how I found myself following the plough that afternoon behind Joey and Zoey. We werent going to win but we werent going to give up neither. You shouldve heard the noise that crowd made. Filled my legs with strength of a growed man it did. I never thought I would manage the turns but like Father said the horses did it all. I just did what I had seen him do and followed the horses.
I was coming back towards the crowd when I saw it happen. Harry Medlicott was turning fast on the headlands as he always did but this time it were too fast even for him. The tractor never hardly slowed down like he should. He just keeled it over in the ditch and leant up against the hedge with his ploughs ploughing nothing but air and his great muddy wheels spinning round and round. It were a handsome sight that. A sight for sore eyes. The engine choked and stopped and then there was a lot of smoke. When it cleared I could see Harry Medlicott jumping up and down. Like a mad thing he was. Well you can imagine the crowd was wild with it all by now and cheering me on. I ploughed on and on. Up and round and down and round and up and round and down and round. I kept my eye all I could on my line. I knew I had to keep my furrows straight. I hadnt to take my eye off them. But from time to time I had to sneak a look at the tractor to be sure he was still there in the ditch where I wanted him to be and every time I looked he was.
And all the time I was making up the lost ground. I called out to Joey and Zoey just like Father did. I was showing off a bit I reckon. They two horses knew what was going on without me saying a word. They were pulling faster and faster never a foot wrong and together like one horse with eight legs.
By the time old Farmer Northley at last waved his flag for the end of the match I was so tired I could hardly stand. When he counted up the furrows Harry Medlicott had ploughed sixty and we had done sixty one. All of them good deep straight furrows just like they should be. We had won.
To be fair to Harry Medlicott he came right over and shook Father by the hand and me too. Said I was a good lad and ruffled my hair with his oily hand.
Well then Corporal says Harry Medlicott to Father. You won fair and square. Its your tractor if you can pull it out of the ditch.
And by that evening with the help of a dozen or more men we pulled the Fordson back onto his wheels. We couldn’t start him though so we hitched him up to Joey and Zoey and between them they pulled him all the way across Burrow Brimclose and into the barn. They enjoyed that I reckon. So the Fordson was ours for ever and Joey and Zoey never had to plough again.
Joey lived on long after dear old Zoey till he was near enough thirty. He had ten good years of retirement most of it up in the orchard. Loved his apples did Joey. Looked well on them too.
Father says to me once its not the same working with a tractor. Cant hardly talk to a tractor can you. But all the same I can mind he looked after that old Fordson like a baby. Never get rid of it he says to me. Family history that old tractor.
In spite of his bad leg Father went on working till the day he died. Every evening when it was getting dark he would walk up the lane to shut up the fowls against the fox. Never let anyone else do it no matter how much his leg was paining him. And then one evening he goes off and doesn’t come back. I found him lying outside the fowl house with his stick still in his hand. The doctor told Mother and me it was the best way to go. He would never have knowed a thing.
When my time comes I want it to be just like that. Good and quick. Maybe I’ll be shutting up the fowls just like Father was and someone will find me outside the fowl house and the police inspector will come along and look for footprints and fingerprints and write in his report
Death by natural causes.
Fowl play not suspected.
Make me smile that would
THE END
Grandpa’s story came with me in my rucksack, all the way to Australia. I read it by torchlight lying on my bunk in the sheep station. I read it in the bush by the light of the moon. I read it on the plane home, the paper glowing red with the last of the Australian sun. By then I think I had already made up my mind.
I did go to college to study engineering as I’d planned, but four years later I was back at Burrow, farming with Grandpa. He’s retired now, or as good as. He spends most of his days reading – Sherlock Holmes at the moment. He leaves most of the farming to me. It’s all I hoped it would be, and more.
I’ve been spending my evenings up in the barn restoring the old green Fordson. It now has four wheels again, a reconditioned engine, and the bodywork is almost finished. My pride and joy.
Grandpa came in to inspect it yesterday evening. He walked around, patting it and stroking it, just as if it were a horse.
‘Looks good as new,’ he said. ‘Wish you could do the same for me.’ And he went off to shut up his hens. No matter how cold and wet and windy it is, he still likes to do that himself.
Once he’d gone, I sat myself up on the seat. I gripped the steering wheel, closed my eyes, and off I went, thundering out over the farm. I was out on Candlelight and roaring along in the wind when he interrupted my dreams. He was waving his stick at me from the barn door, and laughing. ‘Mighty noisy, that old tractor,’ he said. ‘And you want to watch the brakes. You can’t trust ’em. Remember what happened to old Harry Medlicott.’
‘I remember,’ I said.
About the Author
MICHAEL MORPURGO OBE is one of Britain’s best-loved writers for children. He has written over 100 books and won many prizes, including the Smarties Prize, the Blue Peter Book Award and the Whitbread Award. His recent bestselling novels include A Medal for Leroy, Shadow and Born to Run.
His novel War Horse has been successfully adapted as a West End and Broadway theatre play and a major film by Steven Spielberg. A former Children’s Laureate, Michael is also the co-founder, with his wife Clare, of the charity Farms for City Children.
Also by Michael Morpurgo
Mr Skip
A Medal for Leroy
Cool!
Dear Olly
Outlaw - the story of Robin Hood
Sparrow - the story of Joan of Arc
Billy the Kid
Order the Morpurgo War Stories collection featuring six novels: Private Peaceful, Little Manfred, The Amazing Story of Adolphus Tips,
Toro! Toro!, Shadow and An Elephant in the Garden here: 9780007530885
Copyright
The Butterfly Lion
Text copyright © Michael Morpurgo 1996 Illustrations copyright© Christian Birmingham 1996
Jacket photographs; © Martin Harvey; Gallo Images/CORBIS (lion cub); Royalty-Free/CORBIS (savanna) Jacket design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The Butterfly Lion - 978-0-00-731735-6
EPub Edition © April 2010 ISBN: 9780007380626
Kaspar - Prince of Cats
Text © Michael Morpurgo 2008
Jacket photographs © Masterfile (cat); Shutterstock (sea and sky).
Jacket design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
Kaspar - The Prince of Cats - 978-0-00-726700-2
Ebook Edition © MAY 2010 ISBN: 9780007385935
Born to Run
Text copyright © Michael Morpurgo 2007
Illustrations © Michael Foreman 2007
Jacket photographs: Dog by kind courtesy of the Retired Greyhound Trust; Background © Jonathan Gale/Getty Images
Jacket design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
Born to Run - 978-0-00-723059-4
Ebook Edition © 2007 ISBN: 9780007369997
Running Wild
Text copyright © Michael Morpurgo 2009
Illustrations © Sarah Young 2009
Jacket photographs © PhotoAlto/Alamy (boy); Michael Llewellyn/Getty Images (Indian elephant); Gary Vestal/Getty Images (tiger); Michael Nichols/Getty Images (monkeys); JH Pete Carmichael/Getty Images (snake).