Free A Little Bit on the Side by John W O' Sullivan Page B

together again the solemnity of the visit was over, and as the lookers-on stole away towards their homes they could hear louder conversation and soft laughter.
    ‘That was fascinating,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve read about similar customs in other countries, but had no idea it existed here.’
    Jimmy smiled, ‘Oh you’d be surprised what goes on. You’ll see them out on the fields with the latest equipment they can afford, or soaking their sheep in God knows what appalling modern chemicals, but at certain times of the year they’re still back in the Middle Ages. There’s well dressing every September down at Holly-well on the spring line. Some of the older ladies like Ada still talk to the bees, and I’m told that a few of the old boys sneak up to the top of the hill for sunset on Midsummer’s Eve. They have a quiet drink together, and then they each leave behind a twist of tobacco and a pipe. For the old spirits of the hill I was told, and they swear the tobacco has always gone when they return next day to pick up their pipes.’
    ‘Good story,’ said Jack. ‘I wonder who enjoys the smoke.’
    When they returned home the snow was still falling, and more heavily: soft, fat flakes now that swirled around them like a blizzard of white autumn leaves, and already the telephone wires to the house were thickening as the flakes stuck, and accumulated.
    They slept late the following morning, and when Jack drew back the curtains that opened to the west, it was to a clear blue sky and brilliant winter sunshine glistening on a snow-covered landscape stretching away beyond the spires of Barlow, and white against the horizon on the distant tops of the Black Mountains. It looked like being the perfect start to the New Year
    They breakfasted leisurely, and late in the morning were still at the table listening to reports of heavy snowfalls across the whole of the West Midlands when Jimmy rapped on the window and beckoned them to open the door.
    ‘Good to see you out and about so early Jim,’ said Jack. ‘What a gorgeous start to the year.’
    ‘Breathtaking, and I don’t want to dampen your early enthusiasm Jack,’ said Jimmy. ‘But I think you should both get your gear on and come and have a look at your fruit cage. You’ve got a bit of a problem: spotted it on my walk. I’ll wait out here: don’t want to spread snow everywhere.’
    Within a couple of minutes, booted and well wrapped up, they had joined Jimmy outside, and together they trod their way through the drifts of the night across the lawn, past the herbaceous border and hedge to the fruit and vegetable garden.
    ‘Oh Christ,’ was Jack’s only comment. Kate stood in stunned silence.
    Where their fruit cage, so laboriously constructed, had formerly stood, was now a scene of utter devastation. Fat, heavy snowflakes, falling hour after hour throughout the night, had stuck and clung to the super-strong top mesh, which Jack in his ignorance had failed to draw back. Layer upon layer, snow upon snow, the load had gradually increased, until not even Jack’s three inch supports had been able to withstand the strain. Scarcely one remained unmoved. Most were slumped many degrees from the vertical, and here and there a post had broken and splintered, allowing the snow-laden netting to sag even further and flatten the bushes it was intended to protect.
    ‘Silly boy,’ said Jim. ‘If I’d noticed I’d have told you, but from a distance the netting wasn’t obvious: until it had the snow on it that is.’
    By mid-day the news had been carried back to the village by other early risers out with their snow ploughs, and formed a tit-bit of conversation and entertainment among the regulars, who had gathered in the bar of the Shagger for a New Year’s hair of the dog.
    Jack’s closer inspection of the damage to the cage was enough to convince him that the only sensible course was to bring the whole thing down and forget about it. From now on the birds could have their share,