Tale of the Tamworth Two

Chapter 1 Home Is A StyIt had been a stormy night at the farm with prolonged bouts of rain and strong winds gusting round the exposed buildings. At one point, part of the roof of the old barn seemed almost airborne but managed to hold on to the walls, all be it with a section of corrugated sheets flapping like things possessed. Eventually, by the early hours the wind had died down and an uneasy silence returned to the semi-darkness of the farmyard. ‘You asleep Tammy?’ came a voice from inside the pigsty. ‘No, I’ve hardly slept all night.’ ‘Little wonder with the terrible storm. The noise woke me and it was a long spell before I could get off again.’ ‘It wasn’t the storm which kept me awake. Something far worse. I’m really worried about what is to become of us. Yesterday, when the news came through that we may be going to market, it was too frightening to talk about.’ Ginger moved closer and gently comforted his sister by rubbing his snout against her neck. He too was troubled at the prospect but not wishing to cause further alarm, tried to make light of her concern. ‘Listen Tammy, I think you are exaggerating the problem. We only have the word of that silly sheepdog. Perhaps he misunderstood what he heard or thought he heard and you know how he likes to torment the farm animals. Anyway, even if he is right and we do go to market, there is no reason to believe our next home will be any worse than here. After all this has always been a dirty place and overcrowded since more families were moved in. Then there is never enough food and the pushing and shoving is so undignified. As for the smell, well………..’ ‘Keep quiet!’ snapped a voice from the reclining mound of bodies in the centre of the sty. The unexpected interruption startled Ginger and cut short his flow, which having started off as a whisper had steadily grown louder. ‘What’s all the noise about?’ complained another. This triggered a number of minor scuffles as disturbed pigs stretched to more comfortable positions. Finally everyone settled down and silence prevailed once more. Tammy and Ginger remained awake but said nothing, contenting themselves by kneeling close to the wooden pillar supporting one of the double-doors of the sty. There, the gap between the timbers accommodating the hinges, afforded the best vantage point to keep watch on the outside. It gave a clear view of the track all the way to the partly visible farmstead. The animals knew the day began when the lights came on at the house. Soon after it would be daybreak when the farmer and his dog began their routine. First to be fed were the pigs but occasionally they had to wait until the cows were moved into the adjoining field. This was not often as their usual pasture was alongside their cow shed on the far side of the farm. The sty was a large building and as it became light a number of pigs awoke and began to walk about. All tended to move in the same direction around the empty food trough and while doing so, checked and double-checked it was indeed empty. This was always followed by barely audible grumbling noises. It seemed to be an early morning ritual which some pigs felt compelled to carry out and always the same individuals. ‘Don’t know why they have to do that every morning,’ muttered Ginger. ‘That’s because they’re Berkshires,’ whispered Tammy. ‘You’d never catch a Tamworth doing that,’ she went on a little louder. ‘You mean half-Tamworth don’t you?’ corrected Ginger. ‘Yes, yes, I know what you are going to say. We are only half-Tamworth on account of father being Amadeus a wild boar. You’ve told me so many times.’ ‘Well I am proud of our parentage and so you should be. We are different to the rest. It is the reason we have never really fitted in,’ declared Ginger. ‘That’s all very well but it won’t stop us going to market with the others.’ Suddenly, there was a muffled bang of a door slamming shut and the strong smell of food from the direction of the barn. In eager anticipation of their awaited meal, all the pigs moved straight away towards the end wall which housed the main doors. ‘Be careful you are standing on me,’ Tammy complained bitterly, as she scrambled to her feet with everyone pushing for a better position. ‘Don’t know why they have to do this every meal. It blocks the way to the trough, so it just takes longer for us to get the food,’ grumbled Ginger. There was a rattle as the bolt was drawn back and a door swung open, revealing the farmer with a bucket in each hand. ‘Get back!’ he yelled as he tried to enter with the food held high. Pushing his way through the squirming bodies, he reached the long trough secured to the centre of the floor and poured in the food. All the pigs dived forward in a disorganized scrum, squealing until each individual had gained access to a portion. A further four bucketfuls were duly delivered and quickly gulped down. Only with the trough empty and their insatiable appetites somewhat satisfied, did the pigs move away to various parts of the sty. They now had the option of going through a side door into a large flagged yard, which ran the full length of the building. This was enclosed by a slatted timber fence and open only during the daytime. The night’s storm had passed leaving a cold, fine, wintry morning. Tammy and Ginger moved out of the sty into the fresh air and withdrew to their favourite part of the yard. This was an area alongside the track to the farm, which in addition to being the best place to see all the comings and goings, afforded the only contact with passing animals. It was the source of most of the news which reached the pig pen and indeed the very place the sheepdog had warned Tammy of their impending transfer to market. ‘I wonder whether the dog has any more information?’ said Ginger, knowing the question was uppermost on his sister’s mind. ‘We will have to wait and see. Trouble is we don’t know when he is going to be about. Yesterday it was late afternoon when he came by,’ said Tammy. Ginger decided it might be better to talk about something else and tried a range of subjects. First the weather, then he moved on to the failings of their fellow Berkshire pigs and finally food, which usually guaranteed a lengthy response but all to no avail. Tammy hardly heard, said nothing and continued to stare blankly through the slats of the fence. He tried broaching the subject just once more, ‘Look Tammy, I know you are upset but I think you are getting things out of proportion.’ ‘You have already said that and it doesn’t help. I am very frightened,’ said a depressed Tammy. Like all farm animals she had an unspoken fear of being sent to the meat factory. Ginger knew this was her real worry and tried to choose his words carefully. ‘If we are to be sent to market and as yet it is only a rumour started by that silly dog, then surely there would be no sense in selling part-grown animals like ourselves for anything other than stock animals.’ ‘Please don’t go on. I really do not want to talk about it,’ said Tammy. Ginger realised his words were not helping and to carry on in the same vein would only make matters worse. He left Tammy gazing out at the track and wandered down to a group of pigs standing at the end of the enclosure. At the centre, two were disputing the right to a piece of stale bread which must have been thrown into the pen. While others looked on, Bomber, the larger of the two was trying to get round the side of a pig called Manny to reach the disputed morsel. The slightly smaller animal was cleverly manoeuvring his ample frame between rival and food, whilst frantically trying to swallow what was left of it. Eventually it disappeared and the tussle ended as quickly as it had begun. When finally convinced the bread was gone forever, Bomber turned away, annoyed at his loss and further irritated by the partisan cheers of the onlookers. He walked over to Ginger who was standing a few metres away from the rest and complained, ‘Did you see that? He swallowed the lot. Wouldn’t give me a taste.’ Ginger nodded but mindful of the benefits of neutrality in communal living changed the subject. ‘Listen Bomber, you are one of our more knowledgeable animals.’ His words had the immediate effect of somewhat reinstating the large pig’s pride and produced a positive response. ‘Well yes, what exactly is it you want?’ Even then Bomber could not help glancing over his shoulder to where Manny was trotting away with his supporters and muttered, ‘I hope it chokes him.’ ‘Sure you do but to get back to what I was saying,’ continued Ginger. ‘You are a very knowledgeable fellow and I know my sister greatly values your judgement.’ These observations immediately brought him Bomber’s undivided attention. ‘I would like your opinion on some disturbing news which has reached the pen.’ Bomber listened intently while Ginger told him about the sheepdog’s remark and the upset it had caused Tammy. ‘Although nothing has been said as such, I know her real worry is ending up at the meat factory. Could be the end of all of us,’ Ginger explained in no uncertain terms. There was a long silence before Bomber finally said, ‘Well it’s news to me. None of the others have said anything. It doesn’t make a lot of sense when you think about it. We are not yet fully grown animals. No, I think the dog has got it wrong. Perhaps it is all a misunderstanding.’ ‘Exactly what I told Tammy,’ Ginger responded. ‘Just to be on the safe side I think we should have a word with big Patsi. She may know something we don’t. Besides, that family can get very nasty if anyone withholds information,’ said Bomber. The Patsi pig referred to was a large domineering animal and self-appointed head of the hierarchy of the pig enclosure. This position was maintained by her two vicious brothers, namely Grouti, a large bully and Tiny a small, undersized pig who was equally as threatening. ‘Oh I don’t want any dealings with them,’ cried Ginger. ‘Tammy and I once had warm sleeping quarters on the inner wall until they moved us on. I would keep well away otherwise they will start making demands. Whatever happens do not mention my name.’ With that Ginger walked away and joined with several others who were engaged in the pig enclosure’s favourite pastime…contemplation. As the activities of the pen were strictly limited, most of the pigs had developed the ability to pass long periods of the day standing silently together, whilst thinking pleasant thoughts. Ginger spent a lot of time at this and prided himself that he could think nicer thoughts and for longer periods than anyone else. He was equally proficient whether standing, kneeling or lying down. After an hour session his imagination was still going strong. So real were his thoughts of fresh vegetables, he could almost smell and taste the flavours. Suddenly a voice called out, ‘Ginger!’ The sound of his name startled him. He looked round and came face to face with the daunting countenance of Grouti. For a few seconds he froze motionless. ‘Ginger!’ came the voice again. Grouti’s face never moved. He looked down and there standing framed by his oversized brother was Tiny. ‘We want a word with you,’ said the small pig in a surprisingly deep voice and nodded his head sideways to indicate Ginger should move away with them. They all walked very slowly across the flagged floor of the yard. ‘What’s this about going to market?’ Tiny always did the talking while Grouti walked menacingly behind. ‘It came from the dog yesterday,’ Ginger explained. ‘Yes, but what exactly did he say?’ ‘Well I’m not sure. It was my sister he spoke to. As far as I know, he simply said that the pigs are going to be sent to market.’ ‘But when?’ asked the small one disdainfully. ‘He didn’t say,’ answered Ginger with a shake of his head. ‘It’s very annoying when someone tells you half-a-tale,’ said Tiny. ‘Yes very annoying,’ added Grouti in a surprisingly high-pitched tone. ‘So you had better find out the full story,’ warned the small pig. ‘Yes the full story or else,’ repeated the larger brother. The two pigs walked quickly away leaving Ginger gazing after them. He made his way back to Tammy who was still keeping watch by the slatted fence. Ginger gently touched her neck. Without looking up she nodded an acknowledgement and said, ‘Still no sign of the dog. Don’t know where he can be.’ ‘Have spoken to Bomber about going to market but he hasn’t heard anything. Asked him to keep it to himself but he has gone and told the Patsi pigs.’ ‘Oh no! I hope he has not mentioned my name,’ cried Tammy. ‘Well I did not expect him to tell anyone,’ said Ginger. ‘We don’t want them involved. Grouti has already had one set-to with the sheepdog. If word gets out we are conspiring with that family, the dog will have no further truck with us.’ ‘Well it’s done now, I’m sure we will know soon enough,’ said Ginger and with that spent the rest of what turned out to be an uneventful day reclining alongside his sister. The pigs’ second meal was due in the late afternoon. Unlike the early one, which was a manufactured balanced concentrate in the shape of small nuts, the later offering came in the form of old-fashioned swill. It could be described as the pig equivalent to humans’ junk food and was similarly preferred by the pig populace. It formed a cheap supplement, by way of a contract with two shops and a supermarket, to take away all waste and unsold food at closing-time each day. This was duly boiled together with waste vegetables from the outdoor market in an ancient copper boiler. The last meal was always fed just before the farmer started out for his daily collections. On this day he was later than usual in driving the old wagon round to the doors of the barn. Several pig bins were loaded and the loud clanking of the containers signalled the imminent delivery of the food. At the same time the side door leading into the yard was duly locked, confining the pigs inside for the night. The ordeal of obtaining an adequate share of the swill took Tammy’s mind off her troubles and by the end of the day the prospect of being sent to market seemed less real. Eventually, all the pigs settled down for the night and the sty fell silent. Chapter 2