The lonely plough

Chapter 25: CHAPTER XXIV MOTHERING SUNDAY

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About This Book

A rural narrative centers on a thoughtful landman who feels the weight of years and duty as domestic tensions, demanding tenants, and perplexing correspondence disturb his ordered routine. Domestic scenes with an indomitable aunt, visits from local characters, and a series of escalating troubles gradually reveal conflicts between tradition and change, individual conscience and communal obligation. Structured around mood-shifting episodes and recurrent symbolic moments, the work traces how steady stewardship, small sacrifices, and personal resolve are tested by social pressures and unfolding crises, leading to hard choices about work, loyalty, and the costs of maintaining an ideal of responsibility.

CHAPTER XXIV
MOTHERING SUNDAY

Dawn saw a boat-load of haggard faces under the walls of the Pride. There was water as far as eye could see, and the grim light filtered through six great gaps in the bank. The Let had given in all directions, and from Watch How the whole Wythe valley showed like one vast lagoon.

Lup stood up in the stern to hail, and found his voice a dead thing in his throat. All night long it had been calling, but it was dumb, now. In his pocket his icy fingers crushed the forgotten violets meant for his mother.

Lancaster, at an oar, looked up at his terrible face, and shivered. Somebody called, and they rowed closer. Across the sill of an upper room the wind had blown the silvery strand of a woman’s hair. They hailed once more, and drew towards it; but when they saw the watermark, they were silent.

So, on Mothering Sunday, Lup Whinnerah came home again.