Luckpenny Land by Freda Lightfoot

think of selling, I might be willing to take a piece of land off your hands,’ Joe said, putting no particular emphasis upon the words.
    ‘Now why would I want to do that?’
    Joe was not put off by the difficulty in obtaining information. He expected it, it being all part of the game. ‘Thee has too much, happen, for you and Jack to manage on your own.’
    ‘We get by.’
    Joe decided he had gone far enough down this track. Unusually, Lanky owned his own land, and though he no longer put it to full use himself, would not contemplate letting it out to anyone else. Joe envied him since he still only rented Ashlea, despite his best efforts to buy. It was common knowledge that Lanky’s son and daughter weren’t interested in the farm, yet he persisted in saving it for them. A criminal waste in Joe’s opinion, and here he was with money set aside just waiting for a bargain, if there was one going. If Dan was growing restless, Joe could do with a bit more amenable land on which to increase the flock.
    This wasn’t by any means the first time the subject had been broached between the two men and both knew it would not be the last. Joe’s only hope of success was entirely dependent upon Lanky’s stubborn pride.
    What he didn’t know was that Lanky meant him to remain disappointed. Joe Turner wasn’t a bad farmer, not by a long chalk, but in Lanky’s opinion he was a mean-hearted man with no imagination or human feeling in him. He’d never give what the land was worth and Lanky would never take less.
    The two men gave their full attention to the auction for a while, both feigning indifference.
    When it was the turn of Broombank sheep to rush and jostle into the ring, seeking escape and companionship of their neighbours all at the same time, Lanky went in the ring with them. There was no question but that he needed a good price, this year more than ever if he was to keep his head above water. The ewes he didn’t need and some he did but couldn’t afford to keep were being sold off to lowland farms where they would have an easier time of it in their later years.
    He knew each one of them individually. Their faces, voices, the shape of their horns, were as well known to him as his own family, better perhaps since he saw little enough of them these days.
    ‘That didn’t take long,’ said Joe, as a sale was quickly made, far short of Lanky’s expectations. And he still had the ‘luck money’ to find by way of discount to the new owner. But if he wanted the farmer’s custom again he had no choice but to pay it. Besides, it was bad luck not to.
    ‘Thee’s not thinking of retiring then?’ Joe laughed, making a joke of it.
    ‘I’ll retire when you do.’
    Ashlea stock came next and it was Joe’s turn to give his full attention to business. Good stock, all of them, fetching a good price. The bidding went briskly and, satisfied with the result, Joe went so far as to offer to stand Lanky a brew of tea and an Eccles cake. Installed in a corner at a nearby cafe, he moved in for the kill.
    ‘You’ll be seeing your way clear to settling that other little matter between us quite soon, I hope?’
    The ‘little matter’ in question was a sum of nearly one hundred and fifty pounds, loaned to Lanky over the last year or two to buy stock and attend to running repairs to the barn, in danger of collapse at one time.
    ‘I’ve not forgotten.’ Lanky replied with careful patience, as was his wont, but for the first time that day some of his confidence evaporated.
    Joe noticed and he smiled to himself. ‘No hurry, mind. Some time this backend will do, and I’ll not raise the interest yet awhile.’ Knowing that if the money couldn’t be found now, after the sales, there wasn’t a hope of it later
      Lanky only grunted.
    ‘Don’t see much of your Jack these days, not like when he was a nipper. What’s he doing with hissel these days? Is he still set on leaving the farm or has he sown all his wild oats?’
    Lanky had no