the women laughed at the compliments, were used to being treated as the lowest of the low
some said this was their last chance before the soldiers departed for the United States of America
some dreamed of being taken back there as wives
Hattie sat at a table with three Irish-Nigerian sisters, Annie, Bettina and Juliana, all training to be nurses, who were more full of life than anyone she’d ever met, she found herself giggling at their outrageous flirting with the soldiers
she invited them to visit her at the farm
they scoffed at the very idea, a farm? oh Hattie, how funny you are, we’re going forwards not backwards, you’re a pet
we’re going to London once we’re qualified, we’ll write so you can visit us
to this day she wonders what happened to them
Slim approached her to do the foxtrot
she was flattered, shy at first, avoided his gaze, he openly admired her creamy complexion, girl, those blushing cheeks alone will give you high stock value back home in Georgia
he was long and thin, his skin shiny and silky
he was the first man to make her feel ladylike instead of like a workhorse who spent all day getting dirt underneath her fingernails
they married within the year, Ma and Pa approved, glad she’d found someone to look after her when they were gone
Slim liked her parents and they liked him for who he was
Pa said he was the son he never had, and once took Hattie aside, said he was relieved that Slim didn’t try and boss her around
fat chance that, she replied
for his part, Slim didn’t like the English weather, but he liked the people, said he felt more respected here, he hadn’t been called boy once and when he rode his bicycle thereabouts, he wasn’t worried folks were gonna don white hoods, burn crosses and lynch him
it’s why I’m never going home, Hattie
Slim came from sharecropping stock, his people farmed land but never owned it
his father had to give half his sugar cane yield to the landowner, was in never-ending debt to the merchant who sold them seeds, clothes and tools, and ran the risk of eviction if the crop failed
Slim said many of his people left the land after slavery because it reminded them of it
the government had promised them all forty acres and a mule
it was the bitterest pill when it didn’t deliver, folks had to stay wage slaves
now he was married to Hattie, the land he worked was one day going to be his
hers too, she reminded him
most people took favourably to Slim, he was confident and talkative, spoke to strangers, even hostile ones, diffusing their animosity, especially when they heard his accent, they praised his courteousness, his yes m’ams and no sirs, they liked the way he opened doors for women, tipped his hat at men, making them feel respected
especially when he sang in his stirring baritone in church, at harvest festivals, Christmas carols, birthday parties, barn dances, strumming a guitar or a washboard as accompaniment
she and him enjoyed their conjugals for the most part, once they discovered that him putting it in and taking it out wasn’t enough for her
it only waned when his mental prowess did
they were together over forty years, she’s not been touched in a sensual way in the thirty years since
she can still feel his manly farmer’s hands holding her naked buttocks, complaining there wasn’t enough meat on them
although he admired her physical strength
Slim boasted she could steer a plough as good as any man
hotdamn, Hattie, hotdamn!
5
Hattie started walking when Slim died
she bought walking boots as opposed to working boots, carved herself a walking stick with a Black Power fist on the knob – in homage to him
she wore thermals in winter, cotton shirts in summer, carried rainwear and a flask of the sweet tea Slim used to drink in her knapsack
as she trod her land and beyond
sometimes in high summer she’d go out to one of her fields at night, lie on a blanket, watch the stars in the night sky, imagine Slim looking down at her
watching over her
waiting for her
she kept farm production going a long time, well into her eighties, at one point she had thirty farmhands on her payroll
it’s only in the past ten years it’s been reclaimed by nature, an aggressive beast consuming everything when you let it rampage unhindered
her land has become a jungle of rotten crops, grass, weeds, tangled bushes, foxes, roe deer and snakes
wild fields – where once grew wheat, barley, oats and winter linseed for market
wild fields – where once roamed Herefords, Ayrshires, the dray horses for the ploughs and carts, her Cheviot sheep, and her childhood Icelandic pony, Smokey
the two of them used to take off at a trot down the lane, around the lake, they’d canter through the woods and race at full gallop across the low-lying hills spread before them
if she fell off Smokey, she had to get herself back on again, she didn’t wear a helmet or shoes
if she didn’t come back, Pa would ride out with the dogs to find her
Hattie remembers she took her body for granted back then, when it automatically did what her mind instructed it to
she remembers when she could milk thirty cows every morning and every evening, slowly straining the warm milk into cans, then muck out the milking parlour, wash and sterilize the utensils and help the dairymen load the milk on to their horse-drawn wagons
without feeling tired
now her body fights her over the simplest things like putting on her overalls, getting out of chairs, and climbing stairs
Hattie remembers when her and Slim lived with Ma and Pa and Ada Mae and Sonny, when they were small children
it was an ideal set-up with two women and two men working together to raise the children and run the farm
her and Ma were more like friends than mother and daughter, from as young as she can remember they did everything together, Father said she could twist Ma around her little finger, he couldn’t get a word in edgeways, which was true
Ma always said she missed her own mother, Daisy, who died young, and not a day went by that she didn’t wish she’d known her own father, the Abyssinian
who was he, Hattie? who was he?
Ma fell ill when Sonny and Ada Mae hadn’t yet started school
she was so unhappy that she’d miss them growing up, and that they’d be too young to remember her
Father struggled on, it wasn’t the same after Ma passed, he said he wanted to join her
he went not long after, heart failure, she and Slim agreed it was broken
one of the last things he said to her was, you belong here, Harriet Jackson née Rydendale
you are my daughter and in your hands rests the future of this family
this isn’t just our hyem, Hattie, it’s your forebears’ who worked bloody hard to keep it going for us
so when the time comes, you must make sure you pass it on to Sonny, to do the same
that was about seventy years ago
she’s lived in this place ninety-three years now, this farm isn’t just her home, her hyem, it’s her bones
and her soul
eight monarchs of the royal family have been on the throne since the first stone was laid by her ancestor Captain Linnaeus Rydendale in 1806
who’d made a large enough fortune to fulfil his life-long dream of landownership having started his life as a labourer’s son in this district
having begun his career as a cabin boy on ships
Captain Linnaeus Rydendale
who returned to the district with a young wife, Eudoré, from Port Royal in Jamaica, the daughter of a merchant he’d done business with
according to family legend she was rumoured to be Spanish, and when Slim first saw her portrait in the library he said she’s one of us, Hattie
she said he was imagining it, he insisted that he knew the full spectrum of how we people turn out and I’m telling you, Hattie, she’s one of us