Archie remained where he stood for a while longer, allowing his eyes to wander across the valley. A pair of swallows skimmed low above the barley before disappearing beyond a line of elm trees, while somewhere unseen a cock announced the morning with more confidence than accuracy. The village was beginning to stir. Smoke drifted steadily from the chimneys now, and the faint sound of an axe striking timber echoed across the fields.

He smiled to himself.

Little had changed.

The cottages, with their timber frames and whitewashed panels, stood much as they always had. Their roofs sagged gently beneath years of weather, yet each one bore the quiet signs of people who took pride in what little they possessed. A woman opened her door and shook a woven rug across the threshold before hanging it over a low fence. Not far away, two boys hurried after a flock of geese that had escaped onto the lane, their laughter carrying upon the morning air.

For the first time since stepping ashore at Chester, Archie allowed himself to believe that the hardest part of his journey was behind him.

He adjusted the strap of his satchel and set off down the gentle slope towards the village. 

The lane narrowed between ancient hedgerows thick with hawthorn and dog rose. Rabbits darted into the undergrowth at his approach, while a pheasant burst noisily from the long grass, startling him more than he cared to admit. He laughed quietly at himself.

"Seven years amongst muskets," he muttered, "and it's a bird that sets me jumping."

The road curved past a small pasture where half a dozen dairy cows grazed contentedly beneath the shade of an old ash tree. Beyond them an elderly farmer was repairing a broken section of fence, driving fresh hazel stakes into the ground with the steady rhythm of a man who had performed the same task countless times before.

Archie slowed his pace.

If fortune intended to smile upon him, perhaps it would begin here.

Removing his cap, he approached the fence.

"Good morning."

The farmer looked up, wiping the back of his hand across his brow before returning the greeting.

"And to you."

"I hope I'm not disturbing your work."

The old man rested both hands upon the wooden maul and studied him for a moment. His gaze settled briefly upon the faded military coat before returning to Archie's face.

"What can I do for you?"

"I've lately returned from Ireland and I'm looking for work. I've no trade as such, but I've learnt enough over the years to turn my hand to most things. I can mend fences, tend stock, cut timber or labour wherever I'm needed."

The farmer remained silent for a moment, glancing across the pasture where the cattle continued to graze without concern.

"You served with the army?"

"Aye."

"Long?"

"Seven years."

The old man nodded slowly.

"My eldest did much the same. Came home two winters past."

"Then you'll know it's not always easy finding one's feet again."

"I know."

For a brief moment Archie thought he saw sympathy in the farmer's face.

"I'd work hard," he continued. "I ask for no more than fair wages and honest work."

The farmer sighed.

"I don't doubt your word, lad."

His answer came gently, almost apologetically.

"But there's nowt for you here."

Archie said nothing.

"My own boys are back under this roof, and between them we've scarcely enough work to see us through the harvest. Were times different..." He paused, looking again across his fields. "Were times different, I'd have given you a chance."

Archie forced a small smile.

"I understand."

"I wish I could say otherwise."

"So do I."

The two men stood for a moment in silence.

Then Archie placed his cap back upon his head.

"Thank you for hearing me out."

The farmer inclined his head.

"I wish you well."

"And God keep you."

Archie turned back towards the lane.

Behind him, the steady sound of the maul striking the hazel stake soon resumed, each measured blow seeming somehow heavier than the last.

As he walked towards the village, he found himself thinking not of the farmer's refusal, but of the apology that had accompanied it.

England, it seemed, had not become a cruel place during his absence.

Only a full one.

Still, there were other farms.

Other villages.

Surely somewhere along the road a man willing to work would find someone willing to employ him.

​

​

                                                                    - XX -

​