It would be one dozen years later, Rebekha would take another journey towards the Saint Madoc’s. It would be during May of 1805. This time she’d be following her husband’s coffin through the dusty lane that she knew so well, under a sky-full of songbirds and seabirds, all crying out for Rebekha. The birds would go hungry today. Not a single worm would be turned as every Nolton ploughboy was here to bid farewell to the old county yeoman. Again, they’d be met by the rector, this time with a heart full of compassion and understanding for the family’s loss.
Perhaps as the service ended, at the graveside, a chorus would rise up from the gathered congregation.
For now, Rebekha would have to be the farmer.
God Speed the Plough.
Shortly afterwards, Rebekha would hear John’s words for the last time, spoken with deep reverence by another man, as John’s will was read.