The Girl from the Tanner's Yard

he’d tackle the land, just as spring appeared back on the moor.
He looked across at his heap of hurriedly unloaded furniture. He’d tackle that later in the day; it could stay put for now. One of the first jobs that he had to do was to whitewash the walls and fix the glass in the window where the wind was blowing through. He’d visit the flay-pits after his breakfast. They would have a ready supply of lime and, as they were his nearest neighbours, he’d make himself known to them. That was the worst thing about coming back home – if the wind was blowing in a westerly direction, the smell from the pits and vats that the animal hides were initially soaked in, to loosen the hair and soften the hides, was offensive to the senses and tended to cling to the fibres of your clothes. It was a smell he disliked, but thankfully it rarely reached the moorland heights of Black Moss. He was well aware of the flay-pits, but it was of little concern, because coming home was hopefully going to save him: a new way of life, and a home whose security he craved, was worth a few days of unpleasant smells each year.
After mending the squeaking springs on his bed, Adam stepped out across the rutted road in the direction of the tannery and the small line of cottages called Providence Row. The sun lit the surrounding moorsides, giving them a completely different feel from the previous day. Even a flitting skylark was rejoicing as he walked into the tannery yard. The smell hit his senses and his stomach churned as he looked around at the pile of hides waiting to be processed, before being placed in the huge pits of lime and local spring water to be softened. He watched as a rat nearly ran across his feet, unbothered by his presence, as there was an abundance of convenient food in the form of the fat and offal still attached to the piled-high hides. The rat’s life was soon cut short, as a man clad in a leather apron hit it over the head with a spade that he was carrying.
‘Bloody things – the yard’s wick with them; big as cats they are. Easy pickings, you see.’
‘Aye, it was a bit large. I think that was the best end to it.’ Adam looked at the burly man who stood before him, then pulled his handkerchief to his nose.
‘The stench is a bit bad today. It’s always better to come on a wet day, if you want my advice.’ Bill Bancroft, the owner of the yard, grinned at the well-to-do gentleman who stood in front of him. ‘Now then, what can we do for you? You don’t look the kind of man that’s looking for work here.’
‘I’ve just moved back into my old home at Black Moss. I’ve been away too long, but now I’m back. Adam Brooksbank.’ He held out his hand to be shaken, but it was dismissed. ‘I thought you might be able to supply me with some lime. I’m going to limewash the walls, freshen the old place up a bit.’
‘I’ll not shake your hand, else you’ll stink of these hides all day. I’m Bill Bancroft – I own this tannery. I, my missus and five children live in the first cottage of Providence Row. I can supply you with some lime. I’ll send one of my lads up with a bag or two for you. But it’ll be more than lime you’ll want for that place, as it’s not been lived in for some time. You say it’s your old home, but you must have been away a long time, because I can’t remember you. Although now that I think about it, my father did mention you; it’s just that I’ve never met you before.’ Bill waited and looked at the man who was taking in the workings of his tannery, and whom he now remembered being mentioned by his father, because he recalled the day of Adam’s wife’s death.
‘Aye, it’s been a good few years. But the old spot pulled me back. Time to make roots and settle down, as I’m not getting any younger. How much do I owe you for the lime? I’m grateful that you’ll get one of your men to deliver to me.’
‘Nobbut a bob or two; pay me whenever – there’s no rush. We all help one another out around here, it’s the only way to survive on this wild hillside. Wild men and wild weather, that’s what makes Flappit Springs. You’ve got to be tough, so I hope you are prepared.’ Bill grinned.
‘I’ve known worse. I’ve just been discharged after serving in the Crimea. Believe me, I can take care of myself.’ Adam seldom talked about his experience in one of the bloodiest wars England had ever fought, but this time he thought it would do no harm for the men at the tannery to know that he could stand his ground.
‘The Crimea – now you must have been hard to survive that. Flappit Springs will be heaven compared to a winter spent before the Siege of Sebastopol. Is it true that thousands died because of the cold and conditions you had to endure?’
‘Aye, thousands died out there, and not only from the cold, but also because of the inadequacy of the generals in charge, friendly fire, disease and madness. Take your pick. Our soldiers were outnumbered and outmanoeuvred. I was stupid enough to get involved because of a friend. I wasn’t even a military man when I joined. He sweet-talked me into it, assuring me that it would be an adventure – just what I wanted in my life at that time; plus I already knew a little of the Russian language, as my grandmother was originally from Tomsk and I had heard the language spoken by my mother and her since I could toddle. I found the Russian language easy to