Having stopped the tractor, he cursed briefly as the engine stalled. He dismounted and ran back to see what he'd uncovered.
For a moment he couldn't see anything, but then something too regular to be soil or stone caught his eye. Bending down, he grasped the article and pulled it from the sticky earth. On cleaning it with his hands, he discovered he was holding a simple piece of grey metal bent into the shape of a C. It was lighter than it looked.
It wasn't gold, so that was Jacob’s first disappointment, and he didn't think it was silver either. It was too dull and plain to be lost jewellery, or treasure. Due to the weight, he thought that it looked as if it could be an old bit alloy from an aeroplane, possibly fallen from a German bomber during the war.
Turning it over in his hands, Jacob tried in vain to see any markings or writing, but there was nothing. He tried to bend it, but it held fast, so that precluded anyone using it as jewellery, for no one could open it. He made his mind up; it was a worthless piece of wartime junk. It looked too new to be anything else.
He was about to throw it into the tangles of brambles at the edge of the field, but something stayed his hand.
It could have been the natural instinct not to leave junk around, or perhaps he might have felt that some relic collector might just give him a few quid for it. He wondered what it had been and who made it.
However, the tractor was a more pressing problem, as he knew that the longer he left it, the harder it would be to restart the darn thing.
Jacob slung the metal onto the small gap between the seat and the rear mudguard and took the starting handle to the front.
It took seven or eight swings to get the motor reluctantly spluttering into life. By that time he was sweating and feeling his age. Cursing the antiquity of his machinery and his own body, he remounted and continued to plough.
By the time he finished and drove back to the farm, he had completely forgotten the semicircle of metal.
Life as a farmer in the nineteen-fifties was a tough one. The age of mechanisation was just dawning, but most who ran small farms couldn’t afford the latest models and variety of machines that were being pedalled by the manufacturers.
The industry was flushed with defunct military models, so new ideas based on redundant military vehicles were being brought into life annually. Most were not ideally suited for agrarian work, but the old age of the farm worker was passing at the same time.
Jacob recalled the high levels of manpower needed at harvest time and other key stages during the farmers’ year. Men were returning from the forces to find that farmers no longer needed them or could no longer afford them and the new machines. Unemployment rose, and hard times were experienced by all.
Jacob’s tractor kept going to see 1954 out, and the weather over the winter was particularly harsh. He used the old machine to help many people get their cars out of difficulties when the snows came in February, and then again, after the floods, he pulled distressed motorists’ cars from the swirling floods.
One of these was a very grateful businessman called John Parnell.
John ran a development company, so he bought land, built whatever he felt was needed and sold the whole lot at a vast profit.
He was on the way to a crucial meeting with the county council planning office. A big chemical company who wanted to relocate due to an expansion programme were interested in some land he had acquired. John had bought a vast area of agricultural land in the vague hope he could apply for a change of use and render it far more valuable.
Agricultural land was far cheaper than commercial or residential land. With high unemployment, a lack of effective housing and a desperate need to entice commercial prospects into the area, all county councils were eager to do their bit to solve some of the problems that every region suffered.
As a result of Jacob’s old tractor, John was able to make his meeting, in which the planning committee approved his change of use, which in turn allowed for his sale to the chemical company.
In short, Jacob’s old tractor helped make John Parnell a millionaire. John was not ungrateful.
It was a pleasant April morning. Jacob was up before it was light to milk the small dairy herd, as he did every morning. These days it seemed to be taking longer and was harder for him. He felt weary and slightly depressed. Neither of his children was interested in taking on the farm, so he wondered how much longer he could go on.
As he returned to the house for breakfast, he saw a large black car sat in front of the house.
It was vaguely familiar. As he got closer, he saw the chauffeur sitting reading a newspaper in the driver’s seat. He then remembered pulling this car from the floods, with the chauffeur and the well dressed gent in the back.
Maggie was in the parlour, which was rarely used except for special occasions.
The well-dressed gent was sitting in his chair by the fire drinking some tea from one of the Sunday-best set.
“Oh, Jacob, this is Mr Parnell, he says you’ve met before,” Maggie said.
As Jacob entered, the man stood up. He was still well-dressed, in a suit and tie, with a sleek dark overcoat over the back of the other chair.
“Mr Morely, you might not remember….,” John started to say.
“I remember you right enough, and the car. What can I do for you?” Jacob asked, interrupting him.
John smiled, appreciating the abrupt and matter-of-fact nature of this old farmer.
“Well, that day was a very important one for me. By pulling me out, you did me a bigger favour than you could possibly know. I felt that there must be someway I could pay back that favour to show my appreciation.”
Jacob scratched the back of his head.
“Well, we don’t need for much, do we Maggs?”
“Not really,” she said. “There is that old tractor; you’ve been saying how much you’d like a new one; haven’t you?”
“Aye, that’s right enough, but then I’m as knackered as the tractor. There’s no point getting a new tractor if I’m not able to carry on.”
Maggie fell silent, as her husband’s failing health was a subject that neither of them dared raise.
John regarded the pair for a moment, taking in the tired décor, the aged furniture and un-modernised farmhouse.
He had a thought.
“Tell me, Jacob, how big is this farm of yours?”
“A little over four hundred acres, but some of that is woodland.”
John did some sums in his head. He had paid a little over five pounds an acre for some farmland recently, although in a less fertile region.
“Have you no family that are interested in the business?” he asked.
Jacob glowered, as if unwilling to even think about the subject.
“Our son works for a firm of accountants in Oxford. He did his national service and simply said he wanted to give his children a better quality of life,” Maggie said.
“Hmph; the boy had a great life here. He never wanted for nuthin’!” muttered Jacob.
“While Cecily met a nice young man at college and they’re now married with a little one on the way. Her husband works with his father in the watch and jewellery business,” Maggie explained.
“No farmers then?”
“Hmph!” said Jacob, staring out the window.
“I was going to offer you a new tractor, but I’d be interested in having a look at the farm and perhaps making you an offer,” said John.
“Why; you’re no farmer?” said Jacob bluntly.
John laughed.
“No, but I know the value of good land and how to make the most from it.”
“Would you farm it?” Jacob persisted.
“No. As you said, I’m no farmer. But I could probably sell it off and make a profit. I’ll make you a better than fair offer and give you enough to retire and not have to work another day on the land.”
Jacob’s eyes misted over. He said nothing for a minute or so.