away.”
“That was quick. I must admit, I thought you would have been running to the hills before we filled our first trailer.”
“What? Never.”
“So what were the farms you grew up on like?”
“I didn’t grow up on any farm. But to earn some money I used to labour on weekends and holidays as a child.”
“Right.”
“They were very basic, more often than not we used horses and oxen to do our heavy work.”
“God, really? That is a time gone by.” Bruce dug his shovel into the steaming manure.
“No wonder you’re used to a bit of hard graft.”
“Some of the luckier farmers had old soviet tractors dating back to the war and before. But my favourite one was an old steam tractor.”
“Aye, love my old steam tractor engines.”
“As a child I remember.” Serge scratched his nose. “I used to watch that thing for ages, the smell of the hot oil and burning coal. Sure smells better than this shit.”
“I escape my wife once a year to go and visited the Royal Scottish show. They have loads of steam engines out on show there. It’s heaven for me.”
“You’ll have to take me this year. When is it held?”
Bruce smiled behind his scraggy grey beard. “The first week in August.”
“Right, I’ll book it in my diary.”
“Gives us a couple of days away from the wives.”
Serge crossed him arms. “Yeah.”
“I used the word wives deliberately.”
“I thought you did.”
Bruce ran his fingers through his beard, pulling at the knots. Sweat began to gather on his forehead as he summed up the courage to find more about his friend. “Marry the girl, she is a beauty.”
“I haven’t even kissed her yet.”
“I can’t believe that for a second.”
“I tried … today in fact. I crumbled like a school boy.”
Bruce’s beard parted with a smile. “Christ. Y … You're not a virgin are you?”
“No …. Fuck off Bruce.” Serge laughed and pushed Bruce on his shoulder. “I was married years ago. It’s just … I don’t know what it is, really.”
“Get her out. Have a few whiskies, so you’re relaxed. Then kiss her.”
“I know, I’ll have to try something, because this is driving me mad.”
“There was a saying when I was young, whisky makes you frisky, brandy makes you randy while rum makes you ….”
“OK, Bruce. I better stay away from the rum.”
* * * *
Tanya rubbed the sweat off her brow as she leaned on the mop. She glanced at
Beatrice who stood in the corner of the sitting room, dusting a small china ornament.
“Backbreaking this.”
“A good excuse to let Serge give you a nice saucy massage later.”
“Might just be a good idea.”
“Just don’t ask Bruce.”
Tanya chuckled as she held the small of her back. “How did you guys first meet?”
“Me and Bruce? Well, we met at a young farmers dance.”
“Did he have his beard then?”
“Oh, come on girl, will ya?” Beatrice chuckled. “I’ve hated that beard for years, but it’s kind of grown on me. I just accept it I suppose.”
“Really?”
“Oi, stop it.”
“I can see that he is quite handsome behind the beard.”
Beatrice stopped polishing a ceramic dog and glanced at the ceiling. “Oh he is, believe me.” She glanced back down and began polishing with the yellow cloth. “But he loves the damn thing. So who am I tell him to shave it off.”
“When was the last time you saw him clean shaven .”
“Our wedding.”
“Your wedding? How long ago was that?”
“Thirty six years and … sixteen days.”
“Oh my God.”
“Has it always been busy like Gandalf?”
Beatrice smiled as she reminisced. “No, it was trimmed and quite stylish for the late sixties and seventies.”
“Yeah, it wouldn’t be too bad trimmed.”
“But over recent years he’s just let it grow. He tells me it keeps him warm in the winter.”
“We’ll see what some girl
“That was quick. I must admit, I thought you would have been running to the hills before we filled our first trailer.”
“What? Never.”
“So what were the farms you grew up on like?”
“I didn’t grow up on any farm. But to earn some money I used to labour on weekends and holidays as a child.”
“Right.”
“They were very basic, more often than not we used horses and oxen to do our heavy work.”
“God, really? That is a time gone by.” Bruce dug his shovel into the steaming manure.
“No wonder you’re used to a bit of hard graft.”
“Some of the luckier farmers had old soviet tractors dating back to the war and before. But my favourite one was an old steam tractor.”
“Aye, love my old steam tractor engines.”
“As a child I remember.” Serge scratched his nose. “I used to watch that thing for ages, the smell of the hot oil and burning coal. Sure smells better than this shit.”
“I escape my wife once a year to go and visited the Royal Scottish show. They have loads of steam engines out on show there. It’s heaven for me.”
“You’ll have to take me this year. When is it held?”
Bruce smiled behind his scraggy grey beard. “The first week in August.”
“Right, I’ll book it in my diary.”
“Gives us a couple of days away from the wives.”
Serge crossed him arms. “Yeah.”
“I used the word wives deliberately.”
“I thought you did.”
Bruce ran his fingers through his beard, pulling at the knots. Sweat began to gather on his forehead as he summed up the courage to find more about his friend. “Marry the girl, she is a beauty.”
“I haven’t even kissed her yet.”
“I can’t believe that for a second.”
“I tried … today in fact. I crumbled like a school boy.”
Bruce’s beard parted with a smile. “Christ. Y … You're not a virgin are you?”
“No …. Fuck off Bruce.” Serge laughed and pushed Bruce on his shoulder. “I was married years ago. It’s just … I don’t know what it is, really.”
“Get her out. Have a few whiskies, so you’re relaxed. Then kiss her.”
“I know, I’ll have to try something, because this is driving me mad.”
“There was a saying when I was young, whisky makes you frisky, brandy makes you randy while rum makes you ….”
“OK, Bruce. I better stay away from the rum.”
* * * *
Tanya rubbed the sweat off her brow as she leaned on the mop. She glanced at
Beatrice who stood in the corner of the sitting room, dusting a small china ornament.
“Backbreaking this.”
“A good excuse to let Serge give you a nice saucy massage later.”
“Might just be a good idea.”
“Just don’t ask Bruce.”
Tanya chuckled as she held the small of her back. “How did you guys first meet?”
“Me and Bruce? Well, we met at a young farmers dance.”
“Did he have his beard then?”
“Oh, come on girl, will ya?” Beatrice chuckled. “I’ve hated that beard for years, but it’s kind of grown on me. I just accept it I suppose.”
“Really?”
“Oi, stop it.”
“I can see that he is quite handsome behind the beard.”
Beatrice stopped polishing a ceramic dog and glanced at the ceiling. “Oh he is, believe me.” She glanced back down and began polishing with the yellow cloth. “But he loves the damn thing. So who am I tell him to shave it off.”
“When was the last time you saw him clean shaven .”
“Our wedding.”
“Your wedding? How long ago was that?”
“Thirty six years and … sixteen days.”
“Oh my God.”
“Has it always been busy like Gandalf?”
Beatrice smiled as she reminisced. “No, it was trimmed and quite stylish for the late sixties and seventies.”
“Yeah, it wouldn’t be too bad trimmed.”
“But over recent years he’s just let it grow. He tells me it keeps him warm in the winter.”
“We’ll see what some girl
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