The Archers: To The Victor The Spoils

. ' ■ THE ARCHERS TO THE VICTOR THE SPOILS 1THE Archers (§T0 THE VICTORTHE SPOILS q) Jock G allagher BBC BOOKS Other titles in the Archers series RETURN TO AMBRIDGE BORCHESTER ECHOES Published by BBC Books A division of BBC Enterprises Ltd Woodlands, 80 Wood Lane, London W12 OTT First published 1988 © Jock Gallagher 1988 ISBN 0 563 20599 7 Set in 10/11 Times Roman by Opus, Oxford and printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk CHAPTER ONE The sun shone through the open window at Brookfield Farm and Phoebe Archer hummed carelessly to herself as she washed the red clay off her hands. She smiled at the cheerful birdsong and watched with idle fascination as the rivulets of water from the pump attacked the grime. It was still only eight o’clock but she had been up for more than a couple of hours already . . . not that she minded, especially on a beautiful summer morning like this, when the clean country air wafted through the house in a gentle breeze. Earlier, she had helped to milk the cows and then she’d collected the eggs from the hen-coops. Now she had just finished bringing in fresh vegetables for the mid-day family meal, which had to be on the table by noon. A hand-picked selection of carrots, parsnips and swedes lay in the sink waiting to be scraped. That would be her next job. Phoebe Archer was born to be a farmer’s wife and she enjoyed the hard work that went with it. She had married a good m an-John Archer was the best in Ambridge, she believed - and had cheerfully become his unpaid labourer and helpmate when he was lucky enough to get the tenancy of the hundred-acre farm twenty years earlier when he was only twenty-five. She had been very proud the day they had moved into the big, oak-beamed farmhouse. For years they had tended the stock and tilled the rich Borsetshire soil on their own. In those early days, cheap as labour was, they couldn’t afford to take on any other help. That meant working all the hours that God sent. . . and a few they kept up their sleeves for emergencies! Many was the day they had tumbled into bed after twelve hours in the fields, too exhausted to even speak to each other. Now it was getting easier all the time and it wouldn’t be long before young Daniel and Ben were back from the 5 war and could join their father on the farm. Then she wouldn’t know what to do with all her spare time, Phoebe thought. The water on her hands was icy cold but that wasn’t what sent a shiver down her spine. It was the sudden reminder of the war. It was nearly two years since young Daniel had proudly announced that he had taken the King’s Shilling and joined the Dorsetshire Regi­ ment. She could still remember vividly the shock and despair she had felt when she learnt that he was going off to fight the Germans. Of course, she knew it was his duty, and she also knew that she should be pleased and proud that he had grown into such a fine young man that he hadn’t given a thought for his own safety. Out loud, she had said all the right things. She had told everyone she was pleased and proud because that’s what everyone expected to hear . , . but later that night, she had quietly cried herself to sleep. How she had managed to prevent herself crying in public when the time came for him to leave, she would never know. It had taken all her willpower to hold back the tears for fear of embarrassing her son. All the anguish had been repeated twelve months later when Ben reached his nineteenth birthday and did exactly the same thing. Both lads were now on active service . . . somewhere in France, she presumed, but she hadn’t heard from either of them in months and couldn’t be sure of anything. The last thing she’d had was one of those awful printed field-postcards from Ben, with a tick against the line that said: “I am quite well.” The cards w