The Sheepshearer
It was a god forsaken village high in the mountains. Only the thick covering of crystal white snow hid the misery and deprivation of the place. A cluster of dilapidated buildings hanging onto a steep Pyrenean valley side, waiting for the next avalanche to sweep them out of existence into the ravine below. As you approached on a substantial track, that could even pass for a road, your eyes immediately focused on the small chapel with a squat spire and an adjoining stone-built bell tower. The unnatural, snow-covered mounds, here and there, giving the game away that this was a now defunct mining village which had seen better times. On approaching, your nostrils were immediately assaulted by a noxious stench of goats and sheep piss emanating from the squalid buildings which were obviously now being used to winter the animals.
Moving on, the overpowering stench was cut by a fine sweet welcome whiff of wood smoke coming from a more substantial dwelling, slightly set back from the road. The windows were shuttered but streaks of wavering light escaped through cracks suggesting a bright burning log fire inside. On closer inspection you noticed a large porch, adorned with a huge pair of antlers enlarged now by tufts of snow adhering precariously to the branches. This must the Auberge, famed for its cuisine of local game, warmth and hearty welcome to occasional intrepid visitors who had lost their way and mainly to mountaineers who used it as base camp, to fuel up before their adventures.
Pushing open the wooden door, the warmth and wood smoke was all enveloping and immediately you lost the chill of the wintery afternoon outside. In the right-hand corner sat a group of young shepherds or goatherds enjoying a carafe of wine and bawdy jokes. Their glass tumblers refilled regularly with rough red wine were chinked together in appreciation of a tale or ripe riposte.
To the left of the great stone fireplace sat alone an old man hunched over the broad wooden table, clutching a glass in his left hand and his right arm bearing his weight next to a rough pot carafe of wine. He looked even older at a second glance with his wispy grey beard and shaggy grey hair escaping from beneath his furry hat. He demanded closer inspection since he differed somewhat from the rowdy group in the far corner. His hunched posture belied his true height and size since his legs protruded some distance out from under the crude table. His feet were clad in high leather boots, shod with a variety of hob nails more suited to the climbing fraternity. Up to his knees the legs were bound with sheepskin gaiters, neatly tied off with strips of leather. Flung over his shoulders and covering a rough woollen shirt was a large sheep skin coat with broad collar which ended with a hood. The outer skin of the coat was grey, wrinkled and shiny with much wear. On closer inspection, his clothes, although similar to those of the shepherds in the corner, were far better kempt and more suitable for keeping out the mountain weather.
At first glance he was alone until one noticed a large wolf like hound lying under the bench at his feet and on his other side rested a stout wooden staff with a carved knob at the top which at one time would have been a solid root. A sharp metal spike at the other end rested in a crack in the wooden planked floor. It was more of a weapon than a traditional shepherds crook.
A swinging door was barged open by a portly posterior of a stout short lady dressed in black, carrying a plate of steaming food and a clay pot jar. She approached the old man and carefully laid the plate in front of him and positioned it with a twist to enhance the presentation and pronounced, “Steak de cheval avec pommes de terre,” which was unnecessarily obvious, and picked up his carafe and streaked red wine into his glass with a flourish. She placed the pot jar to one side and announced, “Cornichons!” and retreated deferentially with a slight nod of the head and almost a curtsy. The group in the corner visibly quietened and turned their heads in the stranger’s direction then whispered amongst themselves, obviously discussing the old man. The woman approached their table and took the outstretched pitcher for a refill of wine before barging her way out into the back room.
They continued to discuss the old fellow in hushed tones taking an occasional glance in his direction as he attacked his food with great precision. A large knife, more of a bayonet, had appeared from the depths of his coat and a chunk of the rare and bloody horse steak was cut off and fed to the dog. The rest was cut into neat squares, American style, the knife stuck point first into the tabletop and a fork was used in the right hand to feed in a lazy manner.
Who was this fellow? He obviously belonged but somewhat apart. The heated discussion of the group revealed much and more. He had arrived unannounced about ten years ago, well before the War. He had set up home in the abandoned lead mine high up above the village in the bleak mountain. He had built up a flock of sheep and goats by buying cheap lame and diseased animals from the surrounding shepherds. The rumour is that he can cure anything animal or human. What about that huge lump on Damien’s leg. He had it off in a jiffy and he’s back to normal now.
Rumour is that he now has the largest flock in the district and winters them in the old adit mine. He’s the only fool who grazes animals on the highest Alps, what a sheer waste of effort! Funny thing is he never speaks. No one has ever heard him utter a word. Only a grunt but he has a piercing whistle to control his dogs that can be heard all over the mountain side. I don’t know why we put up with him. An outsider, an incomer, not part of the community but he has his uses. Best sheep shearer on the mountain. He can snip off a fleece in one piece faster and better than anyone. Would win the prize at the district fete, hands down. Nobody else need enter. That’s why we call him the “Sheepshearer,” although the unkind and the crude call him the “Sheepshagger”.
Hey, do you remember the big storm? Lost most of our flocks. Died in snow drifts they did that year. The holy cross and wind vane were torn off the church steeple. Do you remember? The Sheepshearer climbed up the outside stonework of the church without ladders or rope and fixed them back again, as good as new. He also greased the bell bearings on the way down so that the bell now sounded louder than the screech of the bearings before. Retied the old bell rope and slid down it and was off before anybody could thank him.
Do you remember stupid old Eunice? The village idiot. “Imbecile” we called him. Couldn’t speak and just drooled, hobbled about and made funny noises all the time. Went off with the Sheepshearer and has now become almost normal. Well, not quite, nobody has heard him talk but no more screeching and yelping. Even his mother is talking about him as her son!
There was a sound of scuffling in the porch outside. Somebody was kicking snow off their boots. The door opened and a large portly well clad man appeared and looked about the room. Satisfied with the assembly he promptly disappeared again, clashing the door to. The old fellow continued with his meal totally oblivious to the entry whilst the young men sat up with anticipation and interest.
The bell at midday that day had struck a peculiar rhythm only detected by the ones in the know. It called a meeting at sundown which meant lucrative work for the shepherds during the bleak winter. They and the old man had been summoned to take a group of refugees across the mountains to Spain, not an easy task, with the winter being so harsh this year but one can’t look a gift horse in the mouth, when times are bad, with the War and things.
There was more noise from the outside as people were kicking snow off their boots. The door opened and the same portly man entered and nodded to the shepherds and just cast a glanced at the Sheepshearer. He was followed by a couple of men with rifles. The local resistance leaders who over the years had given the German border patrols a good run for their money. The portly gentleman was Monsieur Le Maire, the head of the resistance in the region. Officially and locally known as the chief German collaborator since his brother was high in the Gendamarie in Toulouse but what did the Germans know?
In came a motley crew of refugees who were expertly scrutinised by the young men. He looks fit, he’ll do. Carrying a suitcase he is. I’ll choose him. Can’t have anybody carrying extra weight in this weather can we? Wonder what’s in the case. Women with baby? What the hell is she thinking turning up in weather like this? Not for me! A wounded man held up by two strong fellows. Those two will do but the wounded one is going to be left on the shelf. What, two old folks with a young girl? She must be their grand daughter, more likely their great grand daughter looking at those two. What next!
Monsieur Le Maire coughed for attention and spoke, “Attention! We have a large group of people for you expert guides to lead over to Spain. I know the weather is particularly bad but we can’t hide these people any longer and more are coming along the pipeline. I’m asking you to do your best. We will go through the usual procedure and you chose your group.”
The refugees had either slumped to the floor in exhaustion or stood against the wall looking nervous and puzzled. The young men stood up facing the arrivals and eyed them expertly as animals in the local stock market. Choose the fittest or the ones most determined to make it across the mountains, after all this was business. Don’t let the heart sway the decision. Bidding was brisk. The guides picked their ‘object’ in turn and led them off to sit at their table. The English soldiers and airmen were picked first plus an assortment of French men and other foreigners. The sheepshearer took no part and just continued finishing his meal.
A guide pointed to one of the burly men next to the obviously wounded and ill man. The Mayor shook his head and said, “No. This important gentleman and his two guards will go with the sheepshearer.” The guide shrugged his shoulders with assent and chose the next English soldier instead. He knew and the other guides knew the reason why. They knew that the sheepshearer was the only one who managed to get all of his groups safely across even though he was always left with the weak and helpless cases. He always managed to evade the Border patrols, even in the summer. Some said that he knew of a long tunnel through the mountains but that was just foolish talk.
At this point the woman entered carrying a tray of steaming glasses of gluvein and distributed them to eager outstretched hands. She noted a grunt like sound and glanced towards the sheepshearer. She saw his hand tweak an imaginary teat and eyes dart to the baby and the wounded man. She nodded in understanding and announced, “Ah oui! Lait chaud pour la bebe et Le Capitain,” and went over to the mother with baby and had a few cooing words. She scurried out to the kitchen for more refills, casting “Pauvre bebe!” to no one in particular.
The selection as far as the young guides were concerned was over and what was left was for the sheepshearer or to be taken back. Sitting on the floor was now an isolated and dejected group comprising the two guards and their charge, an old couple and their teenage grand daughter, a mother and baby and a frail young woman clutching a small rucksack. The mayor looked at the sheepshearer and raised an eyebrow. To his relief he got a responding nod as the two resistance men slung their bulging haversacks and started distributing small rounds of cheese to the guides. The Mayor announced, “We have managed to get you some extra provisions, a round of cheese per person. The best we could do.”
The man counted out ten cheeses for the sheepshearer who promptly quartered some with his knife and pointed to the isolated group on the floor. The man took the quarters and handed them out to the seated group. The sheepshearer gave a quarter to his dog and started eating his portion which was a signal for the seated folk to start eating.
The Mayor and his two men came up to the sheepshearers table and started counting out metal tokens. He counted out eight and hesitated, waiting for the acknowledging nod. Since one was not forthcoming, he added a further token uttering, “Le bebe,” and got the nod of approval. The tokens were the recognised form of payment which were then exchanged at the other side for corresponding tokens per person successfully transferred across the mountains to safety. At the beginning there was much abuse. The guides were paid at the beginning of their journey so at the slightest whiff of trouble with patrols, the refugees would be abandoned to fend for themselves. Now it was much tougher with payment by result only.
The Mayor and his two men, with a “Bon chance” to all, quickly disappeared. The young guides assembled their groups and again quickly followed into the dark snowy night. The sheepshearer continued to munch his cheese whilst a row of eyes watched his every move. Eventually he put away his knife, picked up his staff and stood up, gently nudging the dog aside with his knee. He slowly walked over to the group, slipping his arms into his coat and fastening it up with wooden toggles. In the meantime, the group had roused themselves and stood in anticipation of orders. One of the burly guards demanded to know where they would be going tonight and how far it would be but his questions were ignored and a hand indicated that he should button up his coat. An inspection was slowly carried out with each person carefully scrutinised and clothing adjusted. The frail woman was handed a length of sheepskin to use as a scarf, collars were turned up for them, trousers were stuffed into socks and eventually they were ready.
With a nod and a beckoning hand, they followed him outside and into the dark snowy night. The dog followed up at the rear nudging the stragglers along like sheep. It took them about four hours to reach their destination through the snow and constant climbing. The pace was slow almost as if there was no urgency or hurry. They entered a quarry like hollow when suddenly a door opened in the snow and the yellow light of a kerosene lamp shone out a welcoming glow. A young man clothed like the sheepshearer beckoned them in and fussed over them, handing out sheepskins for them to sit on. The sheepshearer and his dog came in last and the heavy wooden door was clashed closed.
The sheepshearer went up to the stove and threw in some sticks that made the flames roar and checked the contents of the large pot. He then nodded to the young man who darted forward and ladled the contents of the pot into small tin bowls. These he arranged on the stove top until the pot was scraped empty and equally shared. He took each bowl with a wooden spoon to each of the refugees and mimed, it would be hot and they should blow to cool the steaming contents. He did all this without a word only gestures as all looked on with weary but grateful eyes. His eyes caught sight of the baby and he disappeared through a door in the back and came back soon with a bowl of frothy goats’ milk which he handed to the mother.
They all tucked into their mutton stew hungrily but slowly since it was hot. The sheepshearer busied himself sorting out sheep skins from a large wooden chest which he then distributed to the people, signing that they should cover themselves up and sleep. All this being done without a word from anybody and only the burly guard broke the silence by asking at what time would they be off in the morning and where was their next destination. This was totally ignored by the sheepshearer as if he was deaf.
The large dog, having warmed himself before the stove, now stood up, stretched and wandered off to inspect the new arrivals. He got to the wounded officer, sniffed and whined and sniffed again. The sheepshearer looked in his direction immediately and gave a low whistle which the dog understood, looked back at him and wandered off to complete his inspection. He got to the bébé and gave it a quick nuzzle and got a gurgle of delight back. The young girl went over to stroke the dog and with the bébé they made up a threesome of friends.
The sheepshearer made urgent signs to his companion and the young man suddenly busied himself setting up trestles on which he placed several planks to make a rudimentary bench in front of the stove. The sheepshearer lit some candles and stuck them on a piece of wood, size of a chopping board and signed for the young woman to come over and hold the lights. He then ordered, with clear hand signs, that the guards should lift the officer on to the rudimentary bed whilst he bundled up a sheep skin for a pillow. Everybody was now watching the proceedings with interest and even the dog came over sniffing again.
The Sheepshearer then waved the guards back to their places on the floor and opened the door of the stove to get more light and warmth. His companion added more small sticks to increase the blaze and looked on. The sheepshearer gently placed an arm on the young woman’s arm and mouthed an unmistakable, “Courage!” He then gently undid the officer’s heavy coat and jacket to reveal a shirt heavily clotted and discoloured by blood and excretions. The ugly smell hit the nostrils and the woman gagged holding her hand over her mouth and nose and looked away. A gentle hand steadied her arm holding the candle tray and then signalling the companion to fetch something. He then took the light tray from her hand and placed it on the crude bench and signed that he needed her help to take off the officer’s coats and shirt.
When they gently prised the shirt and bandages off, it revealed a horrible wound to his side which was swollen, bruised and caked in dried blood. The smell was bad and the young man shook his head in despair as he brought forward a bowl of hot water, a brandy bottle and a linen bag. The officer looked on with a pained expression on his face. The sheepshearer took out something like cotton wool out of the bag, probably picked from the cotton grass abound on the high meadows in summer, and proceeded to gently clean the wound, throwing the debris into the fire. Every now and again he gave a reassuring look to the woman and guided her arm to get the best light. After gently feeling the wound, he got out his large knife and took a swab from the young man soaked in brandy and wiped the knife clean and then flamed it then swabbed his hands in the brandy.
He then took the woman’s free hand and laid it on the officer’s hand to hold and the young man took hold of the other hand and held it firmly. The sharp knife point nicked the wound and yellow fluid spurted and oozed out. This was swabbed away and discarded into the flames until clear fluid appeared. Eventually red blood started to flow and the gentle squeezing of the wound stopped. Another hand signal and the man was off bringing a rough woollen shirt and what looked like a patterned linen tablecloth which he proceeded to tear onto long strips. A yellow paste was spread over the wound which smelt like honey, then a large cotton wad which was expertly held in place by the new bandages. The new shirt and his coats were replaced and the sheepshearer for once looked onto his patients face with a questioning look and a raise of an eyebrow. He got a weak “merci bien” and the woman got a gentle squeeze of her hand in gratitude, the dog yawned and trotted back to the baby and girl.
The sheepshearer blew out the candles and brought a sheepskin to cover the officer and one for the woman to sit on. Then he gestured that she should sit with the officer and sing to him to comfort him until he slept. The woman sat on the sheepskin holding the officer’s hand and in a sweet quiet voice started to sing. The young man came up, threw some more wood onto the fire and sat on the floor on the other side of the bench and listened, holding the officer’s other hand for comfort. The sheepshearer, in the meantime, went around checking his charges and signalled that they should get some sleep. The mother and baby with the dog beside them were already asleep and he adjusted their sheepskin covers around them. Only the two guards were awake and arguing quietly amongst themselves.
“Albert. Put that pistol away. Stop playing with it all the time! It makes people nervous.”
“I have to check it Francois, It’s no good if it’s defunct.”
“It’s no good to us anyway. One gun against a German patrol is useless. It’s more likely to get us killed if you start shooting at them.”
“You’re only envious that you didn’t bring one.”
“That’s only thanks to you Albert. You suggested we only need one. Thinking about it, we should have left yours too!”
“Oh, get some sleep! Probably have a heavy day tomorrow. At least our man is patched up. Didn’t think he would make it so far. Bonne Nuit!”
“Bonne Nuit Albert.”
The woman finished her song and smiled at the officer who squeezed her hand gently in appreciation when suddenly and unexpectedly the young man broke into song, in a clear tenor voice a rendition of the “Marseillaise.” For once the sheepshearers face broke into an expression of amazement and astonishment and he stopped his task and looked on and listened. The woman joined in and they quietly and clearly sang together, amongst the background of heavy breathing and snoring. The sheepshearer silently brought his hands together in a clap as they finished and for the first time there was some recognition of a smile on his face.
Next morning they woke up gently to the smell of baking bread as the young man busied himself at the stove, checking this and that and setting out the tin bowls to warm on the stove. Albert was the first of the refugees to wake and in a loud voice asked the sheepshearer when they would be on the move. All he got back was a finger shushing him and pointing to the others, stressing that they shouldn’t be awakened. He shrugged his shoulders and sank back under his sheepskin, disgruntled.
The mother and baby were first to wake and the man was there immediately fussing over them with a bowl of hot milk. The man then went to the stove and poured a jar of something into the pot of boiling water. Everyone came to as the harsh aroma of roasted oak nut coffee hit the air, dispelling the sour human smells of sleep and when he opened the oven, the smell of freshly baked bread brought everybody to attention. Only the officer and the young woman asleep on the floor covered in sheepskins were oblivious to the expected “Déjeuner.”
The sheepshearer ladled out the ersatz coffee and his companion broke off pieces of hot bread and handed out the breakfast to eager hands. The young girl to her delight got a generous dollop of honey on her bread. They were hungry and well rested and enjoyed every morsel and sip. The young man handed out seconds to welcoming hands until it was all gone, apart from two generous portions left on the stove.
Slowly and without fuss the sheepshearer kitted everyone out with warm outer clothing for the trek. To everyone’s surprise, they found that their sheepskins were in fact capes with a hood with leather loops and wooden toggles as fasteners. They were also given broad strips of sheepskin to tie around their legs as warm gaiters. As they checked out their new attire the sheepshearer gently woke the woman and the officer, and the young man gave them their breakfast which they ate together sitting up on the bench.
The sheepshearer was off, fashioning something out of leather, whilst the young man brought a pair of old boots for his singing companion. They were far too big but he showed her how to stuff them out with clumps of wool. Her ordinary town shoes had almost disintegrated on the previous nights walk up the mountain. Albert was making a nuisance of himself by hurrying people along to get dressed and be ready to be off but the sheepshearer seemed in no hurry and was even urging for them to take their capes off since it was too hot in the room.
To Albert’s consternation it must have been much after midday that that sheepshearer showed signs that they should get ready but even that was delayed by his helper giving out pieces of goat’s cheese and hot sweet tea like drink and urging everyone to partake in the meal now. Eventually he signed for everybody to put on their capes and muffle up well. He showed Albert and Francois the contraption that he had made and they immediately understood its purpose. It was a sort of crude sedan chair which was slung between two poles, so that the officer could sit in it, with his feet dangling, so that he could walk but be fully supported.
The sheepshearer then arranged the order that people would travel. The dog would lead with the young girl hanging on to a rope lead, followed by the young woman, then the two grandparents, mother and baby, Albert and Francois with the officer slung between them and the sheepshearer at the rear. The sheepshearer gave the mother a sheepskin sling to hold the baby snugly under her cape freeing up her arms. As they got ready to file out the young man wrapped a soft sheepskin scarf around the young women. She was taken aback and holding his arm she gave him a kiss on the cheek. He coloured up and scurried off in embarrassment only to be brought back by a sharp whistle.
The sheepshearer opened the heavy wooden door and they were greeted by a blank white wall of snow that had built up over night. He whistled and the dog broke through the wall and he gestured for the two guards to kick the snow away. They reformed in order and the young man stood at the doorway handing out strong staffs to each person as they departed. The young woman got a specially carved stick and her scarf was rearranged so that it covered her face and probably stopped another embarrassing moment from happening. The mother couldn’t resist and gave him a big hug in appreciation which made him squirm, probably with some delight. The sheepshearer was last to depart as the heavy door was slammed shut with a loud thud.
The blast of the cold wind and the flurry of snowflakes made everybody shudder and wrap their capes about them even tighter. The dog led the way through the fresh snow at a measured pace. It wasn’t deep but drifting before them. Fortunately, they had their backs to the wind which helped them along. An occasional sharp whistle from the back ensured that the dog kept the desired pace up the mountain. They were grateful for the warm windcheater capes and more so for the sticks which helped them over the frozen surface. The sedan contraption with some minor adjustments worked surprisingly well and the officer could bear most of his weight on his own legs walking but was helped over the more difficult climbs.
After an hour of gentle progress, the sheepshearer stopped the procession in the lee of a large outcrop of granite and checked on his charges. The mother was struggling and the young girl volunteered to carry the baby saying that the dog was doing all the hard work pulling her along. The sheepshearer then indicated that the path would get steeper and that they were to hold onto the rock face with their left hand and lean on their sticks with their right and on no account, with a wagging finger to emphasise were they to let go. The result he graphically demonstrated would be a long tumble into a deep ravine. They all shuddered at the thought.
They set off with some trepidation, holding onto the rocks grimly with their left hand and feeling the way carefully with their sticks in their right. Fortunately, the flurries of snow were so thick that they couldn’t see very far and certainly and happily there was no sight of the dreaded ravine. After an hour they stopped again and were gestured that the worst was over and they could move faster. With much relief they all speeded up with a will to get away from the frightening ravine that, although they had only imagined it, it was enough.
After a steady five hours of trudging through the snow and icy winds, a piercing whistle brought them to a halt. They were all weary by now and the break was welcome and the thought of further expected inevitable trekking that afternoon most unwelcome. The sheepshearer pushed up to the front and gave the dog a pat of gratitude and its tail swung in appreciation of the recognition. The snow was now swirling and the wind had picked up to what would normally be called a blizzard but in these high mountains was probably a mere snow shower. They all shivered at the prospect of further walking in this vile weather.
The dog was released from his rope and immediately started burrowing in the snowdrift at the base of the rocky outcrop. The sheepshearer helped by kicking the snow away and dug with his staff. Soon they cleared a narrow passage and came across a cleft in the rock face. A couple of strikes with the staff and he had broken through and the dog disappeared with only a few hollow barks to note its presence in the cave. The sheepshearer followed, breaking open the snow with his shoulders. He reappeared a moment later with a kerosene lamp giving off a feeble yellow light and beckoned the others to enter. It was a tight squeeze through the cleft and they found themselves in a deep cave, relieved to get out of the horrid weather and wondering what was in store for them here.
The lamp was hung from a low wooden beam wedged across the cave and started to give a better light having warmed up so they could take stock of their surroundings. The cave was a narrow cleft which disappeared into the distance, out of light’s reach. There was a definite smell of goat and sheep but the overriding smell was that of sweet dry hay which hung from the cave roof in large nets. The sheepshearer slung an old leather skin across the entrance and held it firm with a piece of wood as his charges stood around gaping and wondering what would be next. It was disconcerting and rather frightening not to be told anything, knowing there would be no spoken response. Even Albert refrained from pestering the man.
The sheepshearer was busy striking some matches trying to light a fire and eventually a flame brightened up the surroundings. He pushed them away from the fire and made them sit on a rough wooden bench, more like logs, and they had to take off their capes and gaiters. These were hung from the netting close to the fire to dry out. The fire grew in strength and they sat back basking in the radiating warmth. A large cauldron of water was hung from a hook over the flames and things started to look more homely.
Having done the basic chores, the sheepshearer turned to his charges. He spread them around the cave floor and provided each person a large net of hay as a mattress and indicated they should lie down and rest. He then led the dog to the officer and let him sniff the wound. There was no whining and the dog looked up and wandered off to play with the baby.
There was a sudden commotion at the entrance curtain and the supporting log was flung back. Everyone sat up worried until the friendly face of the companion appeared and pushed past flinging a large sack onto the floor and kicking the snow off his boots against the cave wall. The Sheepshearer picked up the large sack and took it to the fire. Suddenly the familiar strong smell of ersatz coffee cut through the smell of hay. A clash of metal bowls was heard as they were arranged on a stone cleft in the rock cave. More logs were thrown onto the fire and a fierce blaze soon had the cauldron bubbling and the smell of coffee more pervading. The knife appeared and was used to cut things up in the sack and the young man took a bowl of coffee, a large piece of brown bread and a small round of goat cheese to each person. The mother, the girl and young woman were last and for a reason. Each got an extra knowing smile and a nice dollop of honey on their bread. The baby got a tin container of goat’s milk and two large clean cloths to use as nappies.
Everyone had cheered up and even Albert had the gall to ask how long they would be staying in this palace. He didn’t even expect a reply and naturally didn’t get one, other than a dig in the ribs from Francois. Having finished his food, the officer was covered with his sheepskin and allowed to sleep whilst the others chatted quietly amongst themselves as the sheepshearer and man busied themselves with their own chores.
“Albert, Will you put that gun away. You’re going to shoot yourself one of these days.”
“Put a sock in it Francois. You’re getting boring.”
“Do you remember the last time you were romping in the hay?”
“Albert, those were the days, before the war and without a care in the world. By the way, I married her eventually. Keep thinking about them. I hope they are OK with her parents. I wish this was all over.”
“Sophie. Will you sing to my baby? You have such a nice voice. It makes one forget about these bad times.”
“Can I sing with you? My grand parents are such bores and I’m so lonely.”
“Yes of course. Let’s sing some songs from the old days. The ones we used to sing at school. Do you know this one?” she started to sing and the girl and mother joined in. In the distance they heard a sweet tenor voice joining in amongst the clash of metal pots.
After a while the sheepshearer started handing out their capes which was an indication that they should sleep. The sheepskins had a sweet smell of wood smoke and people gratefully settled down to dream their dreams of better days.
They woke up next morning to the same unhurried routine to the annoyance of Albert who was raring to get on. After a leisurely lunch of cheese and hot ersatz coffee they were ready to set off and face the bleak mountains. They arranged themselves in the same order and ready to step out into the unknown. The young man hugged each person as they squeezed out of the cave. This suggested that this was the last time they would meet. The women all gave the man a kiss on the cheek as they left in recognition of his kindness and pushed out into the open. They were greeted by a wonderful sight of snow-capped mountains as the sunshine peeked through the gathering clouds. They set off in good spirit but the sheepshearer kept whistling for the dog to slow the pace. The sunshine didn’t last for long and the biting wind and snow flurries soon cut down their view to a couple of metres, as they trudged onwards and upwards.
After four more-night stops in caves and stone built shepherd’s shelters they had crossed the border and were now slipping and sliding on the melting snow as they descended into Spain. The accommodation and food had been very basic and they were all tired and weary, hoping that their adventure would soon come to an end. They reached a forested valley and stopped to strip off their woolly gaiters and capes. They descended steeply through the forest with the sheepshearer leading until they got to the bottom of the valley and they stopped. The sheepshearer then indicated that they must be as quiet as possible and to be careful not to break twigs or branches.
They move on slowly to the edge of the forest and walked more quickly on the field edge. The dog bounded on ahead and appeared occasionally as if saying the way was clear. It was dark when they saw lights of a small village ahead and the sheepshearer veered off into the forest again until they came across a clearing. The dark outline of a low building loomed up ahead. He whistled and a door was pushed open and a glint of light shone out. A second whistle and a roughly dressed man with a lantern came out, hung the lantern on a hook on the veranda and went back in. They approached warily and as they climbed the steps the man came out again and urged them in quickly.
Inside was a large room and they were shown benches to sit on, as the sheepshearer went around collecting and bundling up the capes and sticks. They sat quietly and waited. Suddenly a woman came bustling in, clutching metal plates which she clattered onto a large table. She came back with spoons and a large basket of bread and urged them to sit up. Next came a large pan and an enormous wooden ladle and she splashed out some thick soup or broth with bits of meat in it and she urged people to eat up, in Spanish. There was little need to urge them on since this was the best fare they had seen for days. For the first time they saw the sheepshearer actually sit and eat with them, at the end of the table. The plates were mopped up with bread as the next course of spicy rice and meat was doled out, unceremoniously, onto the same plates, but no one cared, they just tucked in. Tumblers were brought out and red wine was splashed into them and handed round. No one refused.
An extra couple of chairs were brought to the table and room was made for them. Two glasses and a bottle were placed on the table in front of the empty places. A young boy rushed into the room breathlessly and whispered to the woman who turned to the sheepshearer and nodded. Some minutes later, two armed men in forest garbs walked in.
“Bonsoir, Bonsoir. We have been waiting for you. The mountain weather has been awful for the past week. You are the first to arrive. Welcome, welcome. I hope the host has fed you well. You all look tired but you’ve made it, that’s the important thing. We now have to arrange your passage onwards and that’s why we are here. We organise the pipeline at this end and are part of the French resistance. I am the leader here. I am Jackdaw and my friend to my right is Crow and he is responsible for your passage to the next stage.”
At this point the there was a pause as Albert stood up, pointing his handgun at Jackdaw’s chest. “You two are under arrest. Please put your hands palm down on the table and don’t move or I’ll shoot.”
“Is this a joke? Albert. Just put that gun away and sit down!” shouted Francois.
“Shut up Francois! Don’t get involved,” he shouted and continued, “I work for the German Border Police and have infiltrated the French resistance in an effort to close down this pipeline. We have been after you a long time Jackdaw and my orders are to take you back or just shoot you here and now.”
There was a pause, as all tried to take in the drastic and sudden change in their circumstances. The sheepshearer coughed and drew every one’s attention, particularly Albert’s. His piercing eyes gazed at Albert as he slowly raised his clenched fist above the tabletop and gradually let six shiny bullets tumble onto the hard wooden table, without any change in expression on his bearded face.
FIN
