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Troubador Publishing Ltd - Jennie Richmond

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116 pages

English

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It's 1848. Drover's boy, fourteen-year-old William Evans, is thrilled to be on his first long-distance cattle-drove, walking Welsh Black cattle for two hundred and fifty miles, from North Wales to London. He's desperate to impress his dad with his droving skills, but the journey turns out to be far more dangerous and difficult than he'd expected. Soon, William discovers railways and tries to persuade Dad to transport the cattle by train. But Dad is stubborn and refuses to adapt to the rapidly changing times. His attitude involves him in a serious accident and leaves him unable to continue. William and the other drovers carry on, but William's enemies, Cade and Mostyn Jones, catch up with them and cause havoc. William's close friend, Lizzie, is there to help... but can they reach Smithfield Market in time to sell the cattle and will their friendship survive the journey? The Speed of Lightning, Jennie Richmond's first novel for young adults, is a captivating page-turner. You will find yourself rooting for William to succeed. You will be drawn into William's love-hate relationship with Lizzie and share their fun. You may find that the challenges facing young people in the Mid-Victorian age are not so different to the challenges of today.

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Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	28 septembre 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781800466883
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Copyright © 2021 Jennie Richmond

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 978 1800466 883

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For Peter

Contents
Part One
Ynys Mon
1
1st March 1848
2
1st March 1848
3
1st March 1848
4
14th March 1848
5
16th March 1848
6
16th – 19th March 1848

Part Two
Over the Mountains to England
7
20th March 1848
8
21st March 1848
9
22nd March 1848
10
23rd March 1848
11
24th – 26th March 1848
12
27th March 1848
13
27th March 1848
14
30th March 1848
15
31st March 1848
16
31st March 1848
17
31st March 1848
18
1st – 3rd April 1848
19
3rd April 1848

Part Three
The Road to London
20
5th – 9th April 1848
21
10th April 1848
22
10th – 11th April 1848
23
14th April 1848
24
14th April 1848
25
15th April 1848
26
15th April 1848
27
18th April 1848
28
20th April 1848
29
25th April 1848
30
25th April 1848
31
25th April 1848
32
25th April 1848
33
25th – 26th April 1848
34
26th April 1848
35
26th April 1848
36
26th April 1848

Author’s Note

Part One
Ynys Mon
North Wales

1
1st March 1848
Dinas Farm, Ynys Mon, North Wales
The wind threw sea salt in William’s face, as he led his dad’s horse, Seren, into the farmyard. Across the Menai Straits, the snow-capped mountains were bathed in the gold of the rising sun. Their magnificence filled him with unbearable longing. He was desperate to be droving cattle through those mountain passes; sleeping beneath the moon; fording rivers; crossing the English border; making his fortune in the great cattle markets of London, two hundred and fifty miles away. He ached for the experience.
Dad came striding across the yard, his greatcoat flapping in the wind as he rammed his wide-brimmed hat on his head. With him was Owain, William’s older brother, who went into the stable to fetch his own horse. Seizing the moment, William pulled Seren into Evan’s path. “Seren is ready,” he announced, sweeping his hand over the gleaming saddle which he had been polishing since before dawn.
“I should hope so.” Dad snatched Seren’s reins and heaved himself into the saddle without even commenting on William’s handiwork.
“Wait, Dad!” said William, clinging like a limpet to Seren’s bridle.
“We’re in a hurry, William. What’s the matter?”
“Please, take me with you. How can I learn to be a drover’s boy if you don’t give me the chance to learn?”
Dad looked down at William as if he were a weaner escaped from a pigsty, his weathered face full of annoyance. “Enough, William!” he thundered. “We’ve been through this a hundred times and I meant what I said. I am not taking you on the first drove of the season, when we all need our wits about us, and no one will have time to look after you. What’s more, I need you to stay here this morning and do Owain’s chores as well as your own. We’ve got supplies to buy in Beaumaris and men to hire for the drove. You’d only be in the way if you came. Now let us get on!” He kicked Seren forward with such force that William’s fingers were wrenched from her bridle.
Owain, now waiting by the gate on his own horse, added to William’s humiliation. “Don’t forget to muck out the stables, little brother. Leave those cattle in the top field. I’ll move them up to the Hughes’ farm when I get back.”
William felt trapped as a chained bull as he watched them go. Evan’s back, rocking in Seren’s saddle, blocked his view of the mountains, through which they would soon be travelling without him, like a great oak door. Ever since he could remember, William had wanted to be a drover’s boy – to learn how to drove cattle to London and sell them in Smithfield Market. To be part of the glorious welcome when the drovers returned, boasting about their adventures and the money they’d made. Before each new drove, William begged Dad to take him, but Dad always found an excuse not to: William wasn’t sensible enough, he was needed on the farm, he was too young. But this year William was fourteen – the same age that Owain had been when he went on his first drove – and William thought it only fair that he should be given the same chance.
He dug his hands into the pockets of his breeches and stomped around the yard kicking up stones. Instead of being a drover’s boy, he had to be a slave: collecting eggs, feeding pigs, mucking out stables and doing all the other boring jobs that Owain didn’t want to do. Except… William stopped short. What about the jobs that Owain did want to do? Didn’t he say he was going to move the cattle up to the Hughes’ farm when he got back? Well, William could do that.
Grinning, he kicked a stone so hard that it clanged against the water butt, setting Mab barking. Why shouldn’t he? If he showed Dad that he could herd cattle by himself, Dad would have to take him seriously.
William scanned the yard for trouble. He knew the rest of the family were busy for now. Mam and Margaret were in the dairy, churning butter for the market and Anne was getting ready for school. When he was sure he was alone, he ran over to Mab’s kennel. As soon as he unleashed her, she jumped up and covered his face with slobbery kisses and doggy breath.
“Calm down.” William cupped her chestnut-coloured head in his hands, flattening her ears. “I need your help.” Mab panted and writhed in William’s grasp as he slid one hand firmly down her back, ruffling her fur. “Now listen, Mab. I’m sick of Dad treating me like Owain’s stupid little brother. We’re going to show him that we can handle cattle. We can do that, can’t we? We’ve practised enough. Come on!” He brought Mab to heel and strode out of the yard and across a field with the dog prancing beside him.
The cattle were in the top field, which was a good thing because it meant that he could bring them down the back lane without being seen from the farm. It hadn’t rained for three days, so the ground was firm, and the world was bathed in spring sunshine. What more did he need? He reached the gate with Mab hard on his heels and vaulted over it as she squeezed underneath. Then he adjusted his cap, squared his shoulders and set to work with a grin.
The herd was several hundred yards away, scattered on the rise: brawny black Ynys Mon cattle, as familiar to him as the grass under his feet. On his first command, Mab raced across the field towards them, her white tail dancing in the breeze.