In the Shadow of the Hills

The writer Daniel Defoe had written about the hills. There was apparently gold in them. It turned out to be fool’s gold. William Langland the fourteenth century poet had dozed off on them and dreamt an allegory. The Malvern Hills have been there for so many years, you tend to forget that they are there. On both sides of the hills there are apple trees in abundance. There might be arguments about who produces the best apples, Worcestershire or Herefordshire, however for views from the Beacon, you can’t beat the orchards of the latter, and it is among those where we find the village of Cradley nestled among some of the most picturesque countryside England can offer. What happened a stone's throw away from the village was a catastrophe. Some Romanians who came over for the apple picking had tested positive for Covid19. Everything stood idle. One of them a young woman who had her young daughter with her, burst out crying. I mean this was serious money. There was also the commission to be paid to the "middleman". This middleman had their passports. It was all legal on the surface, but if you go deeper, then you find the true cost of each apple that arrives in the supermarket. Eva, that's her name was twenty-eight, had, if you really want to know, suffered a great deal. They break your fingers one by one if you don't pay the fee. Back home there was work, but it was the worst kind. This work which was shit paid was better, none of the British students could do it, they had not got the skills or the stamina. Eva was hard working. For all her suffering she and her fellow workers were looked upon by locals as the "plague". The Brexit mentality was worse than greenflies. It got everywhere. Everyone was talking about foreigners not being able to isolate and mask-up. Of course most of these conversations took place in pubs which were not following government guidelines, and moreover, the staple beverage for these old boys, was cider, made from apples picked by the...foreigners. Eva, had to think quickly about what to do? She had no money or food. The agency was not paying. Her first thought was to run. If she ran out of the farm she'd find some help. Of course the problem was that she and her child should be in isolation for two weeks. Two weeks with men who were horny as hell. They stole alcohol and traded with local dealers for drugs. In the two weeks there would be fights and rapes. She was feeling slightly unwell, just sniffles. It affected the elderly mostly she had heard. Her daughter showed no symptoms. I think we can appreciate her predicament. She decided to leave. It was at night. The B roads are perilous even during the daytime as there is no verge to speak of. How she managed to walk all those miles along that sinuous road is nothing short of a miracle. Drivers are notoriously inattentive. Sometimes a massive combine harvester might come careering along. She must have hugged the hedges all the way, carrying her daughter on her back, But, I suppose given her past, this was peanuts. She had walked in much more dangerous places. What she did once she got so far, was to take a break and give her daughter an apple. It was cold, however, she was hardy. The two of them had slept outside in winter. They slowly made it up to a pass between the hills. It is not so steep there. The hills are further up quite bald. They look like baked apples. After some time, she found a place to sleep. She curled up with her daughter in a bramble, just like a pair of rabbits. There was no middleman here! During the night she heard owls, some cows and the odd car. In the morning which was cool and there was some dew, the two of them woke up to a glorious view of Worcestershire. You could see the spire of Worcester Cathedral, even the high rises of Birmingham and Bristol. Both were tired and needed food and water. It was also cool despite the sun. There was no one else around as they walked the back of one of the hills. That is until a border collie came running up to them. It was a friendly dog, he sniffed the daughter who was apprehensive at first. Eva was worried, as she saw a man coming in an old landrover. He was in his thirties, a large local farmer presumably. At least he was not a policeman. Another problem arose. Her English was not very good. She kept her distance from him as he got out, putting on her mask. “You are up early.” He then fumbled to find his mask. He did not usually wear it outside as he was an “essential” worker. She merely nodded. “Alfie has taken a shine to your daughter.” Could he tell they had been sleeping rough? It showed in the creases in their faces and the hair. “I am sorry.” That was all she could provide in response. “Look don’t be afraid.” He raised his hands and smiled as if he surrendering to her. “Coffee? I have some coffee, fresh this morning. Hold on a second.” She looked at him and smiled. She knew what the word coffee meant. He got a flask of coffee and handed the two of them some plastic cups. “Always got spares, you never know when you might meet up friends.” Eva thought suddenly of the risks. She was concerned about the Covid19. She gestured to tell him. He watched her gestures with amusement. He knew who she was. “You caught it? Covid19.” He mimicked sneezing and coughing. “Yes.” It was a heavily accented yes. “Romanian?” “Yes.” Then the farmer mimicked apple picking. The daughter suddenly laughed. She understood. “Look it is OK I’ve had the virus before. But you can’t go around like that.” He had a brainwave. He fetched his android and found Google translate. He put the translator on speaker, and from then on she responded with a yes and no in Romanian. She felt at ease with this man. She could see that he was trustworthy. After they spoke for awhile, it concluded with the mother and daughter climbing in the back of the landrover with Alfie. They would stay in a small converted barn. He had done the work when he inherited the farm. His name was Adam.