Made in Yorkshire Series Boxset: Made in Yorkshire

Warning

This book will contain large numbers of colloquialisms, phrases, and sayings that apparently make no sense at all. I assure you, I’m not utterly insane. That’s really how some of us speak in Yorkshire.

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Find out what happens to Richard Warren as soon as you can in James Farner’s Made in Yorkshire series.

Table of Contents

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1964 (Made in Yorkshire Book 1)

1969 (Made in Yorkshire Book 2)

1972 (Made in Yorkshire Book 3)

1973 (Made in Yorkshire Book 4)

1976 (Made in Yorkshire Book 5)

1981 (Made in Yorkshire Book 6)

1984 (Made in Yorkshire Book 7)

1914 (The War Years Book 1) Sneak Peak

1964

Book 1

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Copyright © 2015 James Farner

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

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Chapter One

Richard Warren was born on the first of February, 1953. This was a time of great change in England. The British people welcomed a new queen to the throne in Queen Elizabeth the Second. For the first time, the horrors of World War II could be firmly left in the past. It would make way for a new war, a Cold War. Josef Stalin would meet his end and the new Battle for Berlin would commence. All eyes descended on Europe as Britain clung on to fading glories. Now, a new generation was coming into being. With them would come riches, freedom, and Cold War crises.

In 1953, Richard didn’t know nor care about any of this. He wouldn’t for quite a few years yet. Unlike many of the other children born into families in Britain, he was born into the comparative innocence of the countryside. Families had their land and animals served as constant companions. Work revolved around the home and the home revolved around work. What went on in the wider world didn’t figure in the rural consciousness.

Everyone was poor and children had to grow up fast. Life was hard, but it was a life well worth living.

No matter the background, every child came out kicking and screaming in a haze of flesh and blood. It was the dirtiest miracle in the world. The Warren family’s miracle happened in the North Yorkshire village of Ledder Bridge. The village comprised one long lane and a few back streets. Most residents lived on small farms and in tiny isolated homes on the rolling green hills above.

Cassandra and James Warren, a proud mother and father, held little Richard swaddled in their arms as they stared at each other and into the open coal fire. It was to be their second child. The shifty eyes of a five-year-old brother, Peter, watched from behind a moth-eaten armchair they’d inherited from a deceased relative.

This was to be the start of great change in the Warren household. It would also signal the beginning of a life that would go on to change so many other lives. As parents planned and a brother schemed, none of them could have quite guessed exactly how their lives would turn out after this day.

Chapter Two

Cassandra Warren busied herself with the breakfast in the bustling kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the open panel windows in the middle of June. The occasional bee bumped up against the glass as it searched for its next flower. Richard and Peter, meanwhile, roughhoused around the kitchen table.

Stop that, both of you, said their mother. I’m not going to have any of this in my kitchen, understand?

Yes, Mam, they both chanted in unison. They knew better than to take her on when she was trying to finish breakfast.

Four solitary pieces of bacon sizzled in the pan, along with one fatty golden sausage each. It was a special occasion. Dad had received his monthly income cache. It signalled another month behind them. The Warren family always lived hand to mouth. Spare money was a luxury rarely afforded to any of them.

Richard let the breakfast aromas dance across his nostrils and draw him closer to where the pan spat a chaotic and violent tune.

Away from there. Mum pushed him away. That’s dangerous. I will not have my nine-year-old son scarred for life because he can’t stay away from hot pans.

Peter scurried away from the scene, whilst he received the same telling off he had more times than he could count. Freshly chided, Richard followed him back into the front room, where the ancient coal fire stood waiting for the winter to come again.

Want to play snap? said Peter.

They weren’t lucky enough to own a black and white TV yet. People in the country always lingered a few years behind their urban counterparts. It didn’t bother Richard. Mum schooled him and Peter at home, so most of his contact with the outside world revolved around what happened in the tiny village.

Fine, said Richard.

Peter retrieved the bent pack of playing cards from the mantelpiece. The object of the game was for each player to put down a card until the same number or court card appeared consecutively. Then, whoever managed to slap their hand down on the stack of cards and say snap first would take the whole pile away. Whoever lost all their cards first lost the game. It was an American version of the game their father learned during his brief time over there.

Peter threw down the first card. Richard followed. They continued to throw down cards, one after the other, until they both threw down sevens. Peter got his hand down first. He always did. The same story again and again, round after round. Richard never won a thing. His brother’s hand slapped down harder and faster than his ever could.

You’re such a cheater, said Richard after his fourth loss on the spin.

Am not. You just can’t play the game.

I can. I beat Dad all the time.

Anyone can beat Dad. He’s old and slow.

No, you just cheat.

How? Peter folded his arms.

Richard thought long and hard. He really didn’t know how his brother could cheat, but he was sure he was doing something.

See, you don’t know, so I didn’t do anything.

Boys, their mother called from the kitchen. Come and get your breakfasts.

The controversy surrounding whether Peter was cheating evaporated as they darted towards the kitchen. Richard lost again to his older brother as he climbed into his chair in second place. Their mother took off her apron and kicked a basket of washing next to the door.

What do you think you’re doing?

They stopped dead in their tracks.

I raised you better than that. Wash your hands before you eat breakfast, both of you.

Grumbling and sighing under their breaths, they thrust their hands under the stream of water, jockeying each other on the stool they used to reach the high sink. Their mother inspected their hands before letting them return to the table.

Eat up, and be quick about it. You’ll have to get on with your schooling soon. And your father wants you out in the field with him this afternoon.

She heaved the heavy basket of clothes into her hands and disappeared through the backdoor.

He wants us to go into the fields? Richard jumped up and down in his chair.

What do you think, dummy? His brother chewed on a long strip of bacon fat. Well, eat your breakfast, then.

Richard almost forgot the hot pile of food plated in front of him. He took his first bite of that juicy golden brown sausage. It was everything he expected, and more. Mum made her sausages with the right mix of chewy skin and soft meat. He could feel the juices left in the sausage mingle with his own saliva and overpower his taste buds. It gave him sweet release that only a home cooked meal could bring. Even at his tender age, he knew the difference between good food and bad food.

For the next ten minutes, the brothers ate their food in silence. Nobody could substitute the first meal after payday. Every month, Mum would reset the family budget and they’d just have enough to indulge in a meaty breakfast. It was the sort of day they lived for.

Mum returned from hanging up the washing and inspected their plates. The Warren homestead couldn’t tolerate leftover food.

Good, now get your slates and chalks. We’ll be starting with your numbers, Richard, and Peter, you’ll be reading to me from the Book of Genesis. I thought we would start from the beginning. You have to get better at your reading.

Yes, Mam. Peter’s eyes drifted towards the ground

Richard knew that look on his brother’s face. He always hated reading because it was one of the few things he was never much good at. Brilliant at everything else, but in school he always fell flat on his face. Richard was only a couple of months from his brother’s reading level, and he was five years younger; a fact he always reminded him of whenever they were quarrelling.

Schooling always figured as more of a chore than something to enjoy. It had given off the same aura of boredom since Richard first reached the age where he could pick up a piece of chalk. He never had problems with it, but he’d rather play outside or work with Dad in the fields.

Mum always praised him for being such a smart boy and Peter always disappointed her and received a clip round the ear for what she called not trying. They always finished their schoolwork at lunchtime, when Mum would start making the family’s evening meal.

Dad returned to pick them up to go and work in the fields. He always turned up on time with a disgusting, mustard yellow jumper and a pair of muddy boots. That was Dad. His stubbly beard connected with the remaining hairs on his shaven head. Moon dust glistened amongst the few black hairs. Peter told him that’s what happened to every man when they got older.

Boys, your father’s ready to go. Get your wellies on. Mum looked up from preparing the onions for just a second.

Richard pulled on a pair of bright green Wellington boots in the hallway. His fingers fumbled with the boots and his brow furrowed as he fought off the worry that Dad would leave without him.

Come on, said Dad when they’d lined up in front of him at the door. Time to work.

He took them both into the yard where the barn was. The barn barely deserved the name. It could only house a small tractor and a set of tools stacked up in one corner.

The family farm wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small, either. It gave them enough to eat with some left over to take to market, where Dad sold the family’s wares at market every month. Most country folk in this part of the world preferred to live as self-sufficiently as possible. The old men of the village always spoke about it to him like it was a mark of pride.

Dad left them in the main yard, whilst he jiggered their rusty, blue tractor to life. It stopped, still spluttering in front of them. He motioned for Richard and Peter to climb on top.

Richard always loved the tractor. It wasn’t fast, but it made him feel on top of the world. It felt like crossing countries and oceans with great leaps. It was also the closest thing anyone in Ledder Bridge had to a proper car.

The little tractor made its way through a small gap in the tired wooden fence separating the house from the main fields. Dad pulled up at the edge of a series of great trenches, where newly-planted potatoes grew, some stragglers with their pink flowers still in bloom.

Now, you two, I need you to get some of these weeds cleared up. There’s a whole field of them and I can’t do them by myself. Get to work, said Dad.

They needed no more guidance. They were farm kids, and even young Richard knew what to do. He had been playing in the mud and helping with the weeds since he was four. Peter found it tedious work, so he usually stopped every time Dad wasn’t looking. Richard always carried on until Dad told him to stop. There was nothing he liked more than spending time outside, with the sun beating down upon his head.

Working in the field gave them their only chance of bonding with their father. He was so engrossed in his work he rarely spent time in the house before they went to bed. After dinner, he would always disappear with the newspaper, and he was not to be disturbed under penalty of death, according to Mum.

Dad worked in the fallow field, threshing at the grassland with a long scythe. People knew him as the dinosaur of Ledder Bridge. Even in this brave new post-war world, where combine harvesters and threshing machines took over, Dad preferred the non-mechanised methods of old. The Warren family had lived in and around Yorkshire for centuries. Their ways rarely changed. They were a clan of hard-line conservatives at heart.

Rich, whispered Peter from the trench next to him. Want to go out for a bit?

Go out? Richard scratched his head.

I’ll take you out somewhere.

What about Dad?

He’s going back in now. Peter pointed towards the house, with the tractor now idling outside.

He’ll be gone for at least an hour and we’ve done loads of weeding. He won’t know we went out for a bit.

Richard thought long and hard. He really liked the farm work, but he didn’t want to look like a baby in front of his big brother. He was no coward.

Suppose he won’t notice. But I’m blaming you if we get caught, said Richard.

Shut up, you big baby. Just come on.

Before Richard could reply, Peter already started to climb over the gate at the bottom of the field. A small stream ran outside the boundary of their land. One leap over it and they entered Yorkshire’s green belt territory. Richard accidentally stuck his foot in the water, as he always did. It came up almost to the top of his wellington, making him screech and brace himself for the onrushing water that never came.

Peter kept running into the green hills of Yorkshire, far ahead of his brother. They climbed higher and higher up a large hill. Richard felt like he was a spitfire, flying to meet the Germans in the Battle of Britain. He stuck his arms out and made the whining noises he thought a spitfire would make.

Look down there. Peter squatted down and panted.

Is that our farm?

Yep.

I didn’t think it was so small, said Richard.

Idiot, it looks like that because we’re far away. Our farm isn’t really that small.

I’m not an idiot, Richard stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at his boots.

Just come on, there’s more out here than that. You’ve seen nothing. Oi, want to see the old quarry?

The quarry?

Oh, I forgot you’ve never been there before. It’s the bee’s knees. Nobody there at all and lots a little tunnels to go around in.

Is it bad?

What sort of question is that? Nah, it’s not bad. It’s fine, really. As long as Mum and Dad don’t know we’re there, we’ll be fine. I mean it’s not like we’re going to get the law on us or anything.

Peter didn’t say anything else and started to climb the rest of the hill. Richard had to follow. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t want Peter to start teasing him. All he knew was he was in for an adventure.

Chapter Three

The quarry looked like the resting place of some mythical beast to Richard. He looked wide-eyed from the top of the chasm into the large hole below. It seemed to go on for miles. The lush greenery ended abruptly and exposed the underbelly of the Earth. The entrance holes in the walls could go all the way to China, for all he knew.

What do you think? said Peter.

I don’t know.

Peter shook his head. Stay away from the far side. There’s a lake there and you can’t swim yet.

I can.

No, you can’t, because Dad never taught you. Now you just stay away from it unless you want to get hurt.

Richard folded his arms and mustered his best pout.

There’s a path down there, just along here. We’ll go down.

Peter walked off to the right and followed the edge of the cliffs until he reached a small passage leading downwards. The start of the path looked like nothing more than a jagged rock extracted from the hillside like a broken tooth.

Richard followed his brother along as fast as he could, trying not to look down. Screwing his eyes shut, a vision of what lay at the bottom made him jilt backwards. He hadn’t thought it was that high. Only solid ground and sharp rocks would break his fall if he lost his balance. Richard walked with one hand always on the safety of the solid wall to the side of him. As he descended further, he let go and walked with his hands in his pockets. This was easy.

What’s down here –

Richard slipped and landed on his backside. A series of large stones tumbled off the edge. He breathed heavily and almost allowed himself to cry. How close had he come to breaking his legs? He wiped his sleeve across his face. Peter wouldn’t see him cry.

Keep up, Rich. We need to be home before Dad notices.

He climbed to his feet again, and kept his fingers glued to the crevices and holes in the broken wall. When he made it to the bottom, he let go and started to run. He couldn’t believe he’d come down so far. It was like he’d made it inside the hills themselves, like a miner searching for gold.

Well, that’s it, said Peter.

Richard’s face dropped. That’s it?

It goes on for about a mile down that way to the lake. Peter jabbed his finger into the distance. There are some tunnels I’ve never been in before. Dad said it used to be a mine once. They tried to mine it out, but they couldn’t find anything so they just made it into a quarry. You don’t get many quarries and mines round our way.

Can’t we do something, then?

Like what?

Let’s do the tunnels, said Richard.

No. Peter’s face whitened. I’ve never been in them before. I don’t know what’s in there.

So let’s find out.

No. We’re going back. Peter took him by the wrist and walked him a few steps back to the path.

Richard groaned. He hated Peter when he started to get stubborn.

We’re off. Now don’t give me no lip about it. Follow me back up.

Peter let go and started to walk back up the path again. He didn’t come all the way down here only to have no adventure. He was an adventurer and a quest waited for him in those tunnels.

Richard waited until Peter walked a suitable distance away and sprinted towards the nearest tunnel he saw. He heard Peter shouting behind him. He didn’t care. What waited inside needed discovering, and who better for this than Richard Warren? The tunnel engulfed him in darkness. He turned a corner and the lights went out. The tunnel had blinded him. His adrenaline vanished with the light.

Peter’s voice didn’t echo through the tunnels. Had he got lost too or had he left him behind? Richard gulped and wiped the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but the inner adventurer inside compelled him to go on. A magical cave might appear around the corner. Placing his hands on the walls, he felt along rough rock as he travelled. They felt wet and slimy under his palms, but he dare not take them away in case the blackness swallowed him up.

He stumbled his way along for what felt like hours before finally admitting the cave had beaten him. He was lost. Every whistling breeze brought up images of carnivorous rats and angry bats protecting their domain.

Is anyone there? he called.

His voice echoed around the tunnels. Nothing yelled back.

Help!

There were no answers and no sounds of Peter coming to get him. Had he been abandoned? Was this the plan all along? Peter did this to him before. They were at a market when his parents allowed him to walk without someone holding his hand for the first time, and Peter left him in the middle of the crowd and refused to tell Mum where he was. He was adamant someone had kidnapped him, until she threatened him with the belt.

Not knowing where he could go now, he continued walking. His foot hit something hard. It sounded like the plonk of wood or plasterboard. He banged his boot again and waited. Something started to groan and moan, like an old monster awoken from its slumber. Richard froze still, not even daring to move his tongue from the roof of his mouth. It might not hear him if he stayed still.

The monster awoke. Richard moved, then he started to fall forwards. The flat floor turned into an incline, and then nothing. His hands left the wall and the Earth started to eat him. He couldn’t hear anything but his screams and a crash.

The fall only lasted about a second or two, but his head throbbed and he found himself crying. They wouldn’t stop this time. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and tried to recompose himself, but the pulsing in his head wouldn’t go. The darkness was total. He decided not to move. If anyone came down looking for him, they wouldn’t find him if he moved.

Richard felt for a wall again and found it. He sat against it and drew his knees up to his chest, waiting for someone to come and get him. He didn’t care about the adventure now. He only wanted his Dad and a cuddle from his Mum.

Richard dozed with his head slumped on his chest. Wiping away a few tears, he looked around his prison. There was nothing.

Richard blinked. That small ray of light wasn’t there when he fell. The flicker of yellow appeared from the opening above him. Was that someone coming to rescue him, or was it something coming to get him?

He held his breath for as long as he could. Anything to keep himself away from the monster. Then he thought he heard the sound of a voice. He couldn’t know for sure.

The light grew stronger and he started to see the outlines of a roof far above him. The ground above had shattered under his weight. That wasn’t a monster trapping him in his lair.

Looks like a false floor up there. Go on, Jim, test the floor first, a voice said.

It’s stable. Let’s go.

That was the sound of Dad. He wasn’t going to die. He was going to get out.

Dad! he screamed.

Son? said Dad. Son, where are you? Are you down that hole?

Yeah. I fell down, said Richard.

Hold tight, we’ll get you out in a minute.

How far down is it? the other voice whispered.

Not far. I can probably just climb down, Dad said.

The face of his dad appeared at the hole with a headlamp strapped to his forehead. His inquisitive moustache twitched back at him. It was a sight Richard never thought he would see again.

Now, kiddo, are you alright? He smiled.

I hit my head when I fell in.

Right, right, can you stand up fine?

His dad disappeared for a moment and two feet appeared. Dad lowered himself down until he stood above him, with his head and shoulders bowed forward. Richard immediately hugged him around the waist. He’d never craved human contact so much in his life. His father gave him a pat on the back in return.

Now, let’s get you out of here. We’ll talk about this business later. Can you walk fine?

I’m fine. Just my head.

His dad nodded in the dark and lifted him up. He rose out of the hole again and back to where he was before. A mysterious man took him and seated him on the edge. The man also had a moustache, but this one shone a ghostly white in the glare of his headlamp.

Nice to meet you, son. I’m your dad’s mate. Call me Simon. We’ll have you out of here in a bit, said Simon.

His dad climbed out of the hole effortlessly, and they soon moved away from it and back towards the sunshine again. The tunnels appeared wholly less threatening with Dad and Simon protecting him. When they emerged into the sunlight, Richard covered his stinging eyes.

They made their way back up the cliffs and towards the farm. His eyes wept each time he tried to get a full look at the two men. One of them steered him with a hand on his shoulder.

Richard only recovered his sight enough to get a look at his saviours when they stood on the crest of the hill. There was Dad, still dressed in his mustard yellow shirt, but this time he also wore a pair of black overalls and a black pair of boots. Simon dressed much the same, but he wore a green shirt with his overalls. Simon took out a cigarette from a small case in his pocket and began coughing away on it.

Where’s Peter? said Richard.

Don’t fret about your brother, said Dad. He’s fine, but you’re both in a lot of trouble when you get back. I haven’t even told your mother yet.

Richard’s stomach sank into his feet. The hole felt far more attractive than going home to an enraged Mum.

Simon parted from them with a puff of smoke from the side of his mouth. He went in the opposite direction to them. Dad told him Simon used to work in that quarry as a labourer. He worked in the local pub now. They’d fought in the army together up until 1946, when they’d been discharged from Germany.

Sorry I went down there. Richard lowered his eyes to the grass beneath his feet. Pete told me we’d be fine.

Dad went down on one knee in front of him. Now, son, I’m warning you now. Don’t ever listen to your brother like that again. Your brother isn’t a boss. He’s only a few years older than you and he doesn’t know any better. I’m not going to do anything to you. I’ll let your mother handle this. All I want is for you to promise me you’ll never go into those tunnels again.

I won’t. Really sorry.

Giving his father another hug, he realised being an adventurer didn’t happen like it did in the books.

When they reached the farm, Dad left him at the door to finish the share of the work they’d abandoned. He would have to confront his mother on his own, and the idea made him shake. Taking off his dirty boots, he crept into the kitchen. Nobody waited for him inside. Only a pot simmered on the stove with the clock ticking ominously in the background.

How dare you go into that quarry! I’m disgusted with you. His mother barrelled out of the front room towards him. What did you think you were doing?

Richard’s tongue wouldn’t work as Mum seized him by the ear.

You could have been killed and then where would we all be? We’d be planning a funeral with a tiny casket. And your brother’s no better. He shouldn’t have taken you down there and he knows it. If you ever want to see the outside of this house again, you get up them stairs and clean yourself up. I want you down here in clean clothes in the next hour or you’re in for it.

Richard didn’t need telling twice. He scrambled through the front room and upstairs to the bathroom. He caught a glance of Peter sitting in the armchair looking at his feet as he ran past. Peter didn’t look up. Richard could tell he expected the belt later.

Richard drew some water from the sink and started to wash his face. The water soon turned a shade of brown as he scrubbed at his skin. The Warren household was luckier than most when it came to the bathroom arrangements. Their family was one of the few that had an indoor bathroom. Most other homes in the village still had an outhouse.

Clearing the specs of dirt he left on the white porcelain, he went into the room he shared with Peter. The bedroom held nothing but wood flooring and two single beds. The window stared out into the fields and barn at the back of the house. Pictures of various trains and fighter planes adorned the walls. The model Lancaster bomber plane Peter built with Dad last year still hung above his bed from a piece of chicken wire.

Richard got dressed into new clothes and prepared for the ordeal that he would face downstairs. He tried to make each step take as long as possible. Maybe Mum would have calmed down by then?

Richard Warren, get in the kitchen now. Mum stood at the bottom of the steps with her hands on her hips.

The thin, bony figure of his mother didn’t look intimidating, but she metamorphosed into a giant when she needed to. With her shadow hanging over him, she followed him into the kitchen. Peter still sat in the front room. Get that washing done. I don’t want you saying another word until it’s done. You hear?

Yes, Mam, said Richard.

She departed back into the living room again as Dad pushed through the door. He didn’t look at him as he walked past. Richard knew what was coming. He tried to focus on his scrubbing as voices got higher and Peter prepared to receive his punishment. He couldn’t ignore what was being said, though.

I’ve told you before not to go to that quarry, Dad said. You’ve been told before it’s dangerous to go up there. You didn’t learn the last time you were up there and one of your friends almost drowned.

Is that what you’re after? said Mum. To see your brother killed?

Peter didn’t reply. It was customary for children not to answer back to their parents whilst being punished. He played his part well.

Get those trousers down. You’re going to learn, Mother said.

No, Mam, no. Please don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Don’t answer back to your mother. You weren’t sorry when you decided to do it. Now, get them down.

Richard knew what happened next. He screwed up his face in anguish and scrubbed harder as he heard the belt collide with his brother’s backside. Peter yelped as received lash after lash of his father’s belt. Beltings were rarer than Christmas in the Warren household. Richard once heard Dad telling Mum how much he despised using the belt on his children.

Whenever it did happen, the recipient deserved it, and the best course of action was to stay out of the way. A black cloud always hung over the house for the rest of the day after it happened.

Richard heard Peter weeping when it ended. Dad walked back through the kitchen and out of the house. He caught a glimpse of his face. It looked like the punishment hurt him as much as it hurt Peter.

Son, his mother called.

Now he was for it. He clenched his fists and wondered whether the feared slipper would act as a lesser punishment for him.

Yes, Mam.

Mum came back into the kitchen, but her slippers hadn’t left her feet. You know you did wrong by going up to that quarry and leaving your poor father to do your work, don’t you?

Yes, Mam.

Well, you’re going up to help out Mister Mallone for a time. Mum’s expression softened.

Who’s Mister Mallone?

His name is Simon Mallone. He went with your father to pick you up. Your father will take you down to the Archer’s tomorrow. And you’re going to work hard.

Richard wanted to hug her. He’d never gone inside the Archer’s Inn pub before. Ledder Bridge considered it obscene to bring children to a public house. He made sure to disguise his excitement in case Mum changed her mind. This was the best punishment he’d ever got.

Chapter Four

Mum woke him up early the next morning with the unhelpful urgings of the dregs of a wet dishcloth squeezed onto his face. Peter slept soundly at the other side of the room, but Mum said working boys always got up earlier than everyone else.

He dressed and ate a breakfast of a slice of toast and jam in a daze. Still half asleep, his father dragged him out the front door and they walked down the road into the main street of Ledder Bridge. He hadn’t been out this early in a long time.

The air felt cooler and more refreshing on his face at this time. The faceless shops stared blankly as they made their way towards the pub, whilst the chirps of birds hiding in the trees saluted them.

Simon always has to get started nice and early to clear up things from the night before. Anyway, you shouldn’t complain. It’s always good to arrive early, make a good impression and make sure you get invited back, said Dad.

Richard grunted in return.

The pub itself, named the Archer’s Inn, existed as a small village pub with a traditional old English tavern sign hanging outside. It made a loud creak each time the wind brushed it. It didn’t look like anybody had got out of bed to greet them, but Dad knocked on the door anyway.

After a few seconds, a face appeared from behind the frosted glass. Simon from the quarry appeared with a grim look on his face. He didn’t look like he enjoyed early morning work days, either.

Morning, Simon. I’ve brought him along for you, said Dad.

Always a pleasure. Well, let’s get you in here and to work. Sure you don’t want to stop for a drink, Jim? said Simon.

Not for me. I don’t drink this early in the mornings. I’ll be round later tonight, though.

Alright, see you later. Step inside, young master Richard. I already have some jobs ready for you.

Richard shivered when the door slammed shut behind him. It felt colder inside than it did outside. A dirty wooden floor covered the pub, with stains stretching their tendrils over the boards. Small varnished tables stood on single legs, with three small claws on the bottom, still with glasses and full ashtrays from the previous night’s revellers on top. Tall stools waited at the bar, where bottles of various colours and shapes rested on shelves behind. Pumps for the beer hung from the bar at intervals for the next order.

Have you ever been in a pub before? said Simon.

Richard shook his head. No. Dad wouldn’t let me in when I was last down here. He made me stay outside. I think my brother stayed at the door.

Peter’s your brother, eh?

Yeah.

Alright, let’s get you to work. I normally man the bar. Mr. Fletcher rarely does anything round here these days. He’s too old. Stuck with rheumatism. Barely walks at times. I prefer to close everything later and do all the cleaning up in the morning. You can help me with that this morning. Got a visit from the brewery later.

What’s the brewery do?

You ask a lot of questions. Simon shook his head. The brewery brings all the beer in for us to serve. They usually come every couple of weeks. Now, get to work and close those lips for a while. This isn’t time for a chat.

Richard nodded. He didn’t want to get boxed round the ears by Simon. Besides, he looked like he could give him quite a hit if he wanted.

Just stack the glasses up on the bar. Simon slid a glass across the bar. I’ll be in the back room. Got to count up all the takings from last night and fill out the records. Got to keep the taxman out, and all that.

Simon departed into a room behind the bar. For the first time, Richard was in a pub, legally. He paused a moment to let it sink in. Peter would be so jealous when he told him what he’d been doing today.

He got to work stacking each glass on the bar with a clink and another clink. Most of them were traditional curved pint glasses with traces of a frothy head of beer still clinging to the top. The rich, pungent smell made him gag when he sniffed the top. A few wine glasses appeared here and there, still sticky from the rich nectar of the gods.

Whilst he worked, he heard Simon muttering numbers under his breath and banging coins on the table. He occasionally called out of the room with another set of instructions.

The pub itself provided only a single communal room, but it had a small set of steps that led up to another seating area.

From the window, he spied the vast green fields at the back of the pub. This early in the morning only the gas lanterns gave him any light to see inside. No such luxuries allowed him to see much of anything outside. Richard could make out the outline of a lone tree in the centre of the field. He knew that to be the grand apple tree that only grew sour apples.

He continued stacking glasses on the bar until Simon returned from his counting.

Aye, you’ve done a right nice job there. Keep going, and then you can start emptying those ashtrays. There’s a bin back here you can put everything in.

Simon lifted a small bin out from under the bar and dropped it on the floor just outside the little entrance area. Richard followed Simon’s commands until he’d stained his fingertips grey from all the ash he’d rubbed into them.

Simon, I’ve done it all for you, said Richard

Come in here, then.

Richard snuck under the wooden flap separating the bar from the main communal area and got his first glimpse of what went on out back. The tiny room could only fit a table and a couple of battered chairs. Simon finished counting the last of the shillings, which now tinkled away in a wooden cashbox. To the side, an open door with a steep staircase led upwards. Just in front of it another staircase, with an open hatch in the floor, led down to the cellar.

Now, lad, sit down. I have a few things to discuss with you. Simon pulled out one of the chairs for him.

Richard sat in the chair and shuffled to get comfortable. The unpadded wood jabbed straight through to his bones.

Your parents wanted you to come and work here for a while. You’re not being punished ‘cause of all that business at the quarry. You’re only eleven and these things happen. Your brother’s the one being punished, so your father says. They sent you here to get you away from the house and to help you adjust to the real world. What you’ll learn here will be handy in future.

Richard fidgeted with his fingers. Simon, you were in the war with my dad, weren’t you? Only I have lots of plane models and he told me about some of the stuff that happened and –

Simon cut him off with a gesture of his hand. Enough. Not now. I don’t want to talk about what happened in the war. Maybe when you’re older, but that’s not a subject for someone as young as you. Just listen to what I’m saying to you. Focus on what you’re supposed to be doing now.

He took his pipe from the table and lit it with a match. Three plumes of smoke left the side of his mouth. Richard was well used to the smell of burning matches and the feel of smoke in the air. It didn’t make him cough like it did with his mother.

I want you to watch me whilst I take care of this delivery from the brewery. They’ll be here in a few minutes. When you start to learn about how a pub works you’ll be able to help me run it yourself.

Can I really do that?

Simon smiled at him. Aye, that you can. There are some city laws on what children can and can’t do in a place of business like this, but things are different in the country, and your parents agree. We do things differently here. Try to ignore as much as what comes out the cities as possible. They live differently to us up here.

Richard and Simon waited outside for the brewery to, as Simon called it, get its arse in gear. The sounds of Ledder Bridge waking cut through the air, with people riding bicycles down the road and kids on their way to schools in other villages. The pub normally opened at about lunchtime. There wasn’t much call for alcohol so early in the morning.

It quickly turned into a bright, sun-drenched morning. Sunrays danced on the field at the back of the pub, and the apple tree in the middle looked as if glitter poured down on it from the heavens. It made Richard want to run into the field and feel it for himself.

Simon sucked away on his pipe next to him and constantly checked his silver pocket watch, accompanied with mutters about how late they were. It was only ten minutes after the deadline, but Simon said he’d had bad experiences with the brewery before.

The whining sounds of a beaten van from around the corner alleviated Simon’s concerns, and a gruff looking man with biceps the size of Popeye’s stepped out. He bit on the end of an old cigarette. The effort of getting out of the van made his breath ragged and sweat dribbled from his armpits.

Mr. Mallone, isn’t it? said the man.

Here I am. What have you got for me this morning?

The usual. Same as last time. Not running out of ale already, are you?

Almost. Was expecting this a few days ago. Lucky things have been quiet round here, said Simon.

The man didn’t look up from a piece of heavily folded paper he crushed between two fingers. He held an old, disposable pen in his giant hands. Can’t help it. Just the driver. I only take what the brewery gives me. Haven’t had you on this list till today. If you’re running out of the stuff too quick, you best take it up with them.

Simon nodded in agreement and helped the man unload the giant metal barrels at the back. Richard had nothing to do and just stared at his shoes. The man barely gave him more than a fleeting glance; after all, Richard only acted as the young helper lad.

This your boy? The man cocked his head in Richard’s direction.

No, not mine. Son of one of my mates. Fought together in the war we did. Wanted me to teach his offspring about the meaning of hard work.

Well, he’ll definitely get some of that round here. You got it all out?

Simon rolled the last of the barrels towards the door. Five barrels and that’s it?

Correct. I’ll see you next time.

The man climbed back into his van and reversed down the road he followed inside. Richard thought he would collide with the building, and knock the whole thing down.

Kiddo, I got to finish up with these barrels. You’re not big enough to do this, so I’ll have to get you to do something else. I need you to wait out the front and tell me when Mr. Warner comes in.

Who’s he?

Warner the Corner, you’ll know him simple enough. He’s into his booze. Nearly always drunk. Grey hair, and always wobbling around. Smells like it, as well.

Richard’s eyebrows furrowed. Why do you call him Warner the Corner?

Simon paused with the exertion of shuffling the barrel over the pub’s threshold. His face reddened with the effort and he gritted his remaining teeth together. Enough. They call him that because he’s usually sleeping it all off on the corner of some street or another. Just get out there and make sure he’s not banging on the window again.

Richard took one last look at the back field bathed in gold. He almost felt like he could reach out and touch the colours. The dirt road he followed took him back onto the main street. He sat with his back to the wall of the Archer’s Inn and waited for this strange being named Mr. Warner the Corner.

The morning passed by at a crawl. Simon didn’t come outside to see what was going on. Ledder Bridge never looked busy, so only the occasional greeting from the same neighbours he’d known since he was born filled the time.

The children in this part of the world went to schools all over the countryside. Richard had got used to never seeing anyone his own age. The closest he got to anyone who could relate to him was Peter, and they rarely lasted five minutes without fighting.

Richard started to fall asleep. The harsh brick wall started to feel more and more like a pillow. For a while, he tried to keep himself awake by seeing how far he could flick any loose stones that happened to come within his grasp. He soon grew tired of this and fixed a glare down the road that went out of the village.

The village of Ledder Bridge rested at the bottom of a small hill. Up the hill, his family farm where he lived. Down the hill, he could reach the rest of Yorkshire and the world. The family only left the village to keep Uncle Bill or Granddad Jack company.

During his meditations, a dark speck appeared on the end of this street, silhouetted by the sun. It swayed violently and juddered from side to side on its approach. It grew in size and stature with every step. The angry blotches on the otherwise wrinkled and pale skin gave him the first indication this was something that resembled a human.

It had wrapped itself in an old coat patched up mainly with rags, and the leather in its shoes had long worn away. The soles came apart and slapped off the ground with each step. Richard gawped at it as it continued to come closer.

They took him. They took him, he heard it say when it reached Mrs. Goddins’s sweet shop.

Richard snapped to his feet, ready to bolt. It paid no attention to him, but its eyes narrowed as if it dared someone to contest his claim that someone had taken something.

You. It pointed at him. You’re him, aren’t you? You look like him.

The thing started to lurch and jolt faster in his direction. Richard fled towards the pub again. He pulled and banged on the front door. He could hear the thing shout and yell from somewhere behind him. The door wouldn’t open. Simon wasn’t coming.

He gave up and ran for the side road, pumping his arms and legs for all he was worth. The screaming got louder and rang in his ears. A feeling something reached out and brushed the back of his muddy-blond hair made him charge faster than he’d ever run before. Simon had left the door open. Salvation was his.

Richard practically jumped through the door and into the main bar area. Simon looked up from examining the beer pumps.

What do you think you’re doing making all that noise? Simon slammed his fist down on the bar.

There’s something out there. It went for me. Richard held onto the bar to keep himself from collapsing.

Even in safety, his pulse refused to stop hammering and his brain conspired against him to stop him catching his breath. All the strength drained out of his legs.

I told you to come here when Warner came round. Did you see him? said Simon.

I don’t know if it was him. It kept shouting as it came round.

Simon nodded, and muscled him out of the way. Was it out here?

Richard nodded.

Well, I can’t see anything.

He followed close behind Simon as the former soldier strode purposefully around the side of the pub again. Simon looked both up and down Ledder Bridge’s main street.

Richard screamed and pointed at the ground. A huddled mass lay on the floor where he’d rested only minutes ago. Its body moved up and down with each frustrated breath. He rushed behind Simon. The tall man’s legs acted as worthy shield against the monster.

Simon sighed. He’s only gone and done it again.

He placed a hand on the pile and shook it gently. A piece of fabric moved aside and a blue, bloodshot eye looked back at Simon from underneath. Its twitching mouth filled Richard with fear and mistrust. The thing only fixed Simon with a glare.

Up you get. We’re not open ‘till dinnertime, said Simon.

Dinnertime, the thing repeated in a gravelly voice. Dinnertime. Dinnertime. Right. Right. Right.

The thing kept repeating these words as it climbed to his feet. Richard saw it had a long mass of grey hair with split ends and dirt caked throughout. He had been so sure this was the thing that came for him earlier. This time, it didn’t acknowledge him as it swept away with its claws hidden in its coat pockets.

Bloody nonsense, said Simon as he watched the thing go back the way it came.

Alright, get off me, son. He kicked his leg away.

Richard released his hold on Simon’s knees. Any moment he expected the creature to turn around and charge towards him again.

You’ll have to get used to that. It’s Warner.

The Corner? said Richard.

Aye, the same one. He won’t leave unless you tell him to go away.

Doesn’t he know when you open up?

He does. He knows for a few hours and then he’s on his way back again. Every morning he’ll come up here. He’ll bang on the door unless you tell him where to go. Sometimes he’ll even come up twice in one morning if he didn’t sleep.

Richard didn’t know if he could get used to that. Mr. Warner looked like he wanted to hurt him.

He’s harmless enough, but you have to be on your toes. Simon gave him a reassuring pat on the head. Real hard one with women and kids. Not much cop with people like me, but he’s a nasty one with kids like you. Don’t get too close to him.

Richard spent a few seconds watching the horizon as the man, or monster, disappeared from whence it came.

The rest of the day passed by simply enough. The first few patrons started to come in at midday. Simon wouldn’t allow him to serve drinks in the bar, so he stayed in the back and cleaned any glasses or plates that came through. The excitement of the job wore off and he couldn’t help but let his ear wander into the main communal area.

He caught all sorts of conversation snippets. One man discussed some sort of recent scandal, where one country girl had run off with a city boy to London. Another conversation mentioned a distraught Mr. Warner smashing bottles and wandering around Ledder Bridge four nights ago.

Richard took more than one clip round the side of the head from Simon when he listened too long.

Dad came for him at three in the afternoon to end his first working day. The pub still stayed mostly empty, but the odd old man with nothing to do sat down for a night of drinking and socialising. Simon settled into a heavy conversation with a man who had a giant mole on the side of his cheek when Dad came to get him.

How was your first day out working? said Dad as they began the long walk back up the hill.

Was okay.

That’s all you have to say?

It was boring, at times. I’m not allowed into the bar when they open.

Should think not, as well. Dad rubbed his bristly chin. It’s barely alright by the law to have you in there as it is. Staying in the back is all you can do without having Fletcher shutdown by those inspector folks. Those damn child labour laws. Can’t get away with anything these days when you open to the public.

How long do I have to work there?

Until you learn some maturity. That’s not for you to decide. I’ll know when you’re ready to move on. You’ll work hard as long as you’re there, is that clear?

Yes, Dad.

Good. Work hard enough and you might even end up serving behind the bar one day.

Richard bit his tongue. He wasn’t sure spending his life behind the bar like Simon appealed to him. Where’s Peter?

Your brother’s fine. I’ve put him to work with me. And, oi, this doesn’t mean you can miss your schooling. Your mother will still want you learning with her. You’ll have to do some of it on Saturday morning for now, but your brother won’t be with you as much.

What? Why not? What did I do?

Don’t talk back to me, son. I’ve told you before. Dad motioned at him with the back of his hand. You’re five years younger than him. He’s almost fifteen and you’re eleven. You can’t stay joined at the hip all the time. He’ll only have a couple more years before he goes out to work with me full-time.

Richard stayed quiet. He didn’t want his dad to give him a slap or, worse, take his belt to him.

They walked in silence back to the house. Peter sat on the front step, cleaning his work boots with a brush and a torn rag. He crossed his bare feet in front of him.

Pete, Richard called when he’d got inside the wooden gate tied together with chicken wire. I’m back.

Peter cocked his head and continued to clean his boots.

You leave him alone, Dad said. He’s not done with his work yet.

Dad went into the house and left Richard and Peter on the front step. Later in life, Richard would learn his dad secretly knew the brothers wanted to talk in private when he did things like this.

Where you been, then? said Peter when he’d checked to make sure his parents weren’t listening in.

Dad took me down to the Archer’s to work.

Liar, Peter concluded, looking up from his scrubbing for the first time.

Not. Richard stamped his foot. Ask Dad if you want to. I got to work in the pub all day, and I’m going back tomorrow.

Yeah, did you get to have a drink, then?

No.

Peter guffawed at him and went back to his boots.

What’s that supposed to mean?

What, you were in the pub all day and you didn’t nick a drink of beer? You’re so thick.

Don’t call me thick. At least Dad chose me to go down there. You had to follow him around all day.

I’ll call you stupid whenever I like, because I’m bigger than you and that makes me better. Peter got up and puffed his chest out at him.

No, it doesn’t, said Richard.

Yes, it does.

Peter flicked the dirty rag in Richard’s face. He charged right back at him and grabbed him around the middle. Peter might be bigger, but he didn’t have the strength to throw him off. With his head buried deep into his armpit, they both tumbled to the floor, screaming and screeching, until Peter managed to press his face into the dirt.

Boys! Mum screamed. You get off him now, Peter Warren.

Mum grabbed his brother by the shoulder and almost lifted him up into the air as she threw him off. Before Richard could laugh at Peter being caught in such an unfortunate position, his mother hauled him to his feet and shoved him through the door.

It was time for another punishment.

Chapter Five

Richard wanted to know more about Warner the Corner. For the next few months, he put on his detective hat and watched. Mr. Warner always dressed in the same way and would choose different moments to appear each morning, every time raving about something or other and running towards him. He grew less fearful with each appearance. Eventually, Mr. Warner became a novelty and he enjoyed escaping his clutches each morning.

For a time, this was as far as their relationship went. All their communications involved garbled shouting and yelling, with little else. Mr. Warner didn’t even know Richard’s name.

One morning Simon walked into the bar with a bag filled with fresh vegetables from one of the nearby farms.

Richard, he said to him. I need you to do something for me while I open up.

I can do it. Richard tossed his cloth onto the back shelf and rubbed his hands together.

Simon gave him a small grin. Richard had grown so sure of himself in just a few short weeks. The age of eleven brought about him a sense of confidence no ten-year-old could dream of.

This food needs to go up to Elway Farm, up past the stream.

Elway Farm? I’ve not heard of it.

It’s just a farm house, really. The land was sold on during the depression, before the war. It’s a small cottage. I need you to take these to Mr. Warner.

Mr. Warner? Richard took a step backwards. No...

Aye, Mr. Warner, and stop it. He’s just an old man. We normally take food up to him. He can’t look after himself, so he needs us to do it for him. It’s normally me or Mrs. Forde who takes it all up, but she’s out visiting her daughter and I’m too busy at the moment. So you’re going to have to step in for us.

Getting so close to Mr. Warner’s house seemed like suicide. Would he hold him hostage and butcher him for food? Or just strangle him with his