Page 79 of Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

This was a matter of life and death – they didn’t know if they might be too late already. The poor ewes could have been buried all night, the drift was that high here, at over eight feet deep. Seeing this, Rachel was worried about her own flock too. She’d need to get back over there, as soon as possible. But there was safety in numbers in this weather, and two could work quicker than one. When they got this lot out, then they’d head back across to Primrose Farm.

It was a hard, physical job, digging, finding that warm woolly head and shoulders, and then heaving the sheep out, over and over again. Tom had already made sure there was plenty of fresh hay out yesterday on seeing the forecast, and had scattered it in regular heaps across the field.

Still digging, still finding fleeces beneath the snow, Rachel began pulling a sheep out that seemed lifeless, its limbs limp, heavy. It was heartbreaking. ‘Sorry, Tom, this one’s already dead.’

‘Ach, let’s just keep going. Place her by the stone wall there for now.’

Rachel clawed away snow with her gloved hands to tug out another that had been beside it. It kicked as she pulled. ‘This one’s okay, it’s alive.’

‘That’s good.’

Seeing this made her feel torn, but she had her own farm and animals to think of and she could hardly bear to leave them any longer. ‘I need to get back to my own flock, Tom.’

‘Aye, I understand. Come on, let’s move over there now.’ Tom was prepared to leave his flock to help Rachel out. Farming was full of difficult decisions.

But there were sheep here, too. And some that must be alive. Moss was still digging away, despite now being covered in icy snowballs all over his coat and she changed her mind. ‘Hang on, Tom, let’s work quickly, let’s finish this drift at least.’

‘You sure?’

‘Certain.’

Fifteen minutes later, they left a huddle of rescued sheep with a cleared area of snow and a pile of hay, in the knowledge that they would return the next day for the four that had sadly perished. It could have been worse. They had lost thirty in one bad winter’s storm at Primrose. That memory weighed in her mind as she drove carefully down the bank, feeling the back end of the vehicle drift at one point, but managing to correct it with some gentle steering. She hoped she wouldn’t come to regret helping Tom out first, but it would have been risky to go out on her own, with no one knowing quite where she was.

Her flock were over two fields, luckily in the lower valley at this time of year. She couldn’t get there soon enough, but knew there was to be no daft rushing, not when driving in the snow; the last thing she needed was to get herself stuck.

She had to dig out the snow with a shovel, just to open the five-bar gate to the first field. Once in, and with Tom soon behind her in the tractor, she tried to make a rough head count, which was difficult in the driving snow, as there was no way she could see the whole field at once. About thirty were gathered by the feeding troughs, and on a check around, another dozen were huddled in an area by the hawthorn hedge. She was relieved to see a further twenty or more in the far corner of the field. That meant around twenty were missing in this field. On one side of the field was a stone wall and this had a large snowdrift along it, which had formed into a wave-like shape.

‘Let’s go, Moss.’ She’d parked alongside one of the deepest drifts, trying to remain positive and focussed; they just had to work steadily through. She set to, immediately poking down the long stick, over and over. Her hands were cold, her heart sinking when she repeatedly couldn’t find the right spot. They were wasting precious time. She knew Petie was in this field too, and she hadn’t spotted him in any of the safe huddles. It was like looking for a needle in a bloody haystack.

Suddenly, there was a shout from Tom. ‘Here, Rachel, over here!’

She and Moss made their way across, leaning hard, battling against the wind. Just walking was difficult, with snow coming over the tops of her wellies now, but that was the least of her worries. They began shovelling as quickly as they could, shoulders and arms aching, then digging gently as they neared the level where the sheep should be. As they got further down, they used their hands to dig away the snow, Moss sniffing and working beside them. As she uncovered the first woolly face, Rachel cleared the snow from its nose and mouth, tears in her eyes. A shudder, a breath. It was alive.

‘Thank God,’ she muttered, ‘thank God.’ These hardy, beautiful animals, her animals.

Again and again, they pulled them out and began digging once more, no time to rest or catch your own breath. Then, there was one that was lifeless, tucked right down alongside the wall, and another beside it. Dammit. They’d saved sixteen now, two dead, another two … where? Each side of the hole they’d dug out was empty. There was no sign of little Petie. Exhaustion and the bone-nagging cold were beginning to kick in too.

Moss ran up to Rachel, barking and circling her. Then he dashed away, looking over his shoulder, but was lost to her in the snowfall. ‘Slow down, hey, Moss.’ She began to follow, but the heavy swirling snow was a whiteout just then. Thankfully, the dog came back to her side, tail wagging, eager, impatient for her to follow. And she did.

Moss began barking where a drift had formed under a tree in the hedge-line.

Tom came alongside them. ‘Let’s go.’ They were digging in tandem once more, Rachel trying her best to ignore the biting ache in her shoulders and back.

‘Oh.’ There was a damp, heavy fleece beneath her gloved fingertips. She pulled the little mite out. ‘It’s Petie.’ He seemed so very still. ‘Oh no, Tom.’ How on earth would she tell Maisy? She rubbed away the snow from his mouth, his nose, and rubbed his cold body, wrapping him in her coat. Moss licked his black-patched face, and by some miracle, Petie gave a little shudder.

‘Oh! Come on, Petie.’

He was weak, but he was still alive – just.

‘I’ve got the other one here, she’s fine,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll set some more hay out here for you, and I’ll clear a path around the food for the animals. Go and get Petie home, Rachel; he’s got a chance if you get him to the warm now.’

‘What about you?’ She didn’t like to leave Tom out here. It was wild and harsh.

‘I’ll finish off here, then I need to go back and see if I can get the last of my sheep out. I’m still missing ten or so and I can’t just leave them – another night of this and there’ll be no hope for them.’

‘I’ll help; I’m not leaving you out here on your own, Tom.’ She was cold and damp and aching, but she couldn’t leave Tom, not after all the help he’d just given her. Just two sheep dead from her flock in these conditions was a bit of a miracle, and all thanks to Tom’s hard work and stalwart attitude.

‘You need to get Petie home, Rachel. And you need to get back to Maisy and your mum. Go home, Rach, you’ve done really well here, but you’ll be shattered.’