But Why?
Tabitha trudged into the kitchen, her shoulders heavy with a sense of defeat. Dropping down into her favourite chair by the fire, she waved her phone at her brother with a sigh that spoke volumes. ‘We’ve got THE message,’ she muttered, rocking the chair in frustration.
‘What message?’ Timothy asked, briefly looking up before promptly returning to his discussion with Uncle Tamhas about how to cut peat for the fire.
Tabitha placed her phone in front of her brother’s face. ‘Look! You were sent THE message too, but you never check your email.’
Timothy pulled a face. ‘I hate emails.’
‘Me too,’ nodded Uncle Tamhas, reaching across to activate the smouldering peat fire with a practiced touch.
The distinct aroma of burning peat filled the air, lending a rustic charm to the kitchen. He put the kettle on and soon it was hissing softly atop the stove, bringing even more warmth to the room.
‘Well, if you’d read the message,’ continued Tabitha, ‘You’d know Paps and Mum are expecting us back after Easter. They’re even talking about reserving our flights.’
‘To be fair to your parents, your stay was only supposed to be for three months, remember?’ Uncle Tamhas remarked, pouring the hot water into a teapot.
Tabitha turned to her brother. ‘But why?’ she exclaimed, making a face. ‘I don’t want to go home just yet. The lambs are going to be born soon, and Fenella’s Shetland pony might be the first to foal on the island. There’s too much to see and do and we’ll miss it all if we must go back to London.’
Timothy crossed his arms. ‘I totally agree. London is way too noisy and packed with people. It’s like being insects crammed into a jam jar,’ he grumbled. ‘I like the space here. I want to do a soil experiment and learn how to shear sheep.’
‘I seem to remember you weren’t too happy when you arrived in Papala, Tabitha,’ reminisced Uncle Tamhas. ‘You got off the ferry complaining to anyone who would listen, and you were promptly sick, just missing my feet!’ He smiled as he put the steaming mugs in front of them.
Tabitha blushed. ‘Yes, but it was a rough crossing and my first time on a ferry.’
A warm smile spread across Uncle Tamhas’s face as he saw how much the twins wanted to stay in Papala.
‘Who would have guessed?’ He chuckled. ‘Da bairns fae London would swap skyscrapers for sheep, and WiFi for wide-open spaces?’ He looked at Tabitha, his eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘And, with just thirty islanders for company, and hardly any internet!’ His laugh filled the room.
Tabitha made a wry smile. ‘Yes, I know, I was horrible when I arrived. But it’s so different to London, and it’s true there’s hardly any WiFi here!’ she exclaimed.
‘Well, if we must leave, could you show us how to cut and dry peat slabs for the fire, before we go?’ asked Timothy leaning forward to catch Uncle Tamhas’s attention.
‘Well, recently we’ve had some heavy winds, the ground should be drying out, and the forecast for this weekend looks dry,’ remarked Uncle Tamhas thoughtfully. ‘I could show you how we cast peats and explain the drying process before we use them on the fire. As for the sheep shearing, we usually wait until after lambing, but we could shear a couple of rams before you leave.’
Timothy’s face beamed with excitement. ‘Oh, great!’ he exclaimed. ‘And, what about my soil experiment? Could we do it this weekend, alongside the peat cutting?’ He gazed at Uncle Tamhas, scanning his face for a hint of agreement.
‘I’m sure we can fit it in over the weekend,’ Uncle Tamhas confirmed, as he sipped his tea. ‘Maybe Tabitha likes staying here…’ He winked at Timothy conspiratorially, ‘…because her Tickety Tock platform #Living@TheEdge, is really popular, with loads of likes.’
‘Uncle Tamhas, for the last time it’s TikSnap! And, yes, it’s fun here. I love the sheep, the ponies, the huge cliffs in Papala and so does everyone else online. But what will happen to our digital platform when I go back to London? We won’t be #Living@TheEdge anymore but #LivingInLondon.’ Tabitha sighed.
‘Maybe Mrs Scott could turn it into a school project for everyone,’ Uncle Tamhas suggested, casting a glance over his shoulder. ‘And, who knows, if you ever return to Papala in the future, you could manage the platform again.’ With that, he left the kitchen to tend to his vegetables.
‘So, what’s your experiment? Anything to do with compost worms?’ asked Tabitha, taking a sip of tea.
Timothy’s eyes lit up as he explained, ‘Worms are vital, like superheroes for healthy soil. Uncle Tamhas also adds grass cuttings and seaweed in the spring. And to make it super-powered, he brings in the sheep and horse manure from Freyja’s shelties as fertiliser—’
Tabitha interrupted, raising her hand. ‘Yes, OK, I’ve got the picture, thanks!’ she exclaimed.
‘Yeah, it might not smell great,’ Timothy continued, undeterred, ‘but it does wonders for the soil. And, what’s cool is there’s a fun test we can do, to check if the soil is healthy. You’re going to love it!’
Tabitha wrinkled her nose and raised her eyebrows. ‘A soil experiment…?’ Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
‘You bury a pair of cotton underpants. If the cotton disintegrates in eight weeks, you’ve got proof the soil is excellent.’
‘You’re kidding me?’ Tabitha widened her eyes in astonishment.
‘Well, I’ve heard about it, that’s why I want to try it out, with Tamhas’s super soil.’
‘OK, I’m in, it could be fun, but we won’t be here to see the results,’ Tabitha sighed, frowning.
‘I’m sure someone could tell us, Fenella or Omar for example? They could dig up the pair of pants in two months’ time, and Fenella could always organise an online chat with us,’ suggested Timothy. ‘And the other idea I had was to bury a second pair of cotton underpants in the peat blanket bog area, to see the difference between the two soils.’
‘Now you’ve lost me. Blanket what?’
‘The wetland that’s in the south part of the island. It looks like a big, thick blanket made of squishy moss.’
‘OK.’ Tabitha hesitated. ‘But why would there be a difference for the underpants buried in the peat soil? Surely the soil is healthy there too?’
‘Well, that’s what I want to find out as it’s a different soil. For example, there’s hardly any oxygen, which means no earthworms.’
Tabitha nodded. ‘It’ll be fun to film you planting your underpants in two different areas in Papala.’ She shook her head. ‘But our followers will think you’ve gone crazy. They might even think you’re soiling your pants!’ She grinned at her own joke. ‘And’ she added, ‘are you sure you don’t want to add any worms to this experiment?’
‘There are no worms in peat soil,’ retorted Timothy, making a face at his sister. ‘Don’t you listen to anything I tell you?’
Tabitha jumped at the sharp ring of the landline, cutting through their conversation.
‘I’ll never get used to that contraption,’ she muttered.
Timothy, unfazed, reached for the receiver. It was Fenella, their island friend and croft neighbour.
Listening to the one-sided conversation, Tabitha immediately understood why Fenella was calling them. She rushed out to the polycrub, where her uncle was working on his vegetable patch.
‘Uncle Tamhas, guess what! The foal’s coming! Fenella’s sheltie Pamola is about to give birth, we’re off to see them.’
Uncle Tamhas looked up in surprise. ‘Aye, let me know when the foal is born, and if you’ll be back for supper.’
The twins dashed out of their uncle’s house, the brisk spring air a contrast to the warmth of the peat fire. The path between the two Shetland crofts was narrow and uneven, winding through tussocks of grass still damp from the morning’s rain. The wind ever-present on the island, whipped at their faces and tugged at their coats as they raced towards Fenella’s croft. Smoke from the peat fire was curling upwards from the house as they arrived. The sky was grey with the threat of more rain that afternoon.
As the twins arrived on the doorstop gasping for breath, Fenella flung the door open before they could even knock.
‘That was quick!’ Her small features and glimmering green eyes gave her an elf-like appearance. ‘Omar is with my Mam in the barn. I called him too as he loves animals and wanted to be here for the birth. Come on.’ She dashed off impatiently, her red hair streaming behind her like a flame. The twins eagerly followed their elf-like friend.
The barn was a squat, sturdy building, its stone walls thick and strong against the relentless Shetland winds. The roof, made of rusted corrugated iron, rattled softly in the breeze. In the corner, a pen lined with fresh straw had been prepared for the sheltie, who stood with her sides heaving.
Fenella’s mother, Freyja, and their friend Omar, recently arrived to Papala, stood by the stall gate, their faces etched with worry as they tracked every movement of the Shetland pony, Pamola.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Tabitha.
‘Oh, Pamola hasn’t eaten anything for a couple of days now,’ Freyja remarked, wiping her face with the back of her hand, tucking stray red hairs back into her sensible plait. ‘Fenella and I brought her in from the field yesterday because we thought she’d be more comfortable, but she’s restless. I’ve been up all night because I was worried about her.’
‘How can you tell if it’s her time?’ Omar inquired.
‘All the signs are there. She’s bagging up—’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Tabitha.
‘The udder starts to fill with milk, the teats get a waxy coat on them, and it means the foal is on its way.’
‘Oh, how exciting! I’ve never seen a newborn foal before!’ exclaimed Tabitha, clasping her hands together with delight. ‘I’ll do a post on our platform today to let everyone know.’
Timothy looked with interest at the tiny golden palomino horse. ‘What was the father like?’ he asked.
‘He was a palomino too, but a darker cream colour, with a more whitish mane and tail,’ Fenella stated.
‘Pretty!’ exclaimed Tabitha. ‘I can’t wait to take photos of the foal for our platform. Maybe, we’ll go viral with the first foal birth from Papala this year!’
‘Now there are several of us, we can take turns watching her, as we might be in for another all-nighter.’ Freyja remarked.
‘We can do the first watch if you want to have a rest, Mam,’ offered Fenella.
‘What else can we do to help?’ asked Omar.
‘It would be great if you boys could take some hay to the other ponies in the field. Make sure they have fresh water too,’ Freyja added as she walked back to the house with them.
The girls leaned on the stall gate gazing at Pamola.
'Girl or boy?' asked Tabitha.
Fenella laughed. 'You mean filly or colt?'
'Yes, that as well. I reckon it’ll be a girl.'
'Honestly, I don't care, so long as the foal survives. I've never seen my mam so worried about one of our ponies.' Fenella muttered, her brow furrowing.
Pamola started to pace nervously in her straw-filled stall, her stout little body quivered as a leaf in a strong wind, each whinny rippling through her frame with nervous energy. Tabitha and Fenella exchanged worried glances as they watched her restless movements.
‘Oh, I don’t like the look of her,’ Fenella concluded, biting her lip. ‘I’ll stay here with Pamola. Tabs, get my mam. Tell her Pamola is in pain.’
Tabitha sprinted into the kitchen, her footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. ‘Quick, Freyja, trouble with Pamola…’ exclaimed Tabitha, gasping for breath, her heart pounding with urgency.
‘OK, I’d better go Ahmed…’ Freyja mumbled, fidgeting with the landline receiver. ‘…there’s trouble with Pamola. Yes, your son’s already helping with the other horses... Good to know he has experience—I'll lean on him if needed. Thanks.’
She slammed down the phone, grabbed her coat, and hurried after Tabitha.
Having completed the field tasks for the other Shetland ponies, the boys headed back to the barn chuckling at a joke. But as soon as they stepped inside, the air seemed to change, and their laughter came to an abrupt halt. The tension in the air was impossible to ignore. In silence they joined Fenella and Tabitha, both looking at Pamola who was now pacing in circles in the stall.
In the dim light of the barn, Freyja was examining the mare, beads of sweat were glistening along the pony’s flanks and neck. The uneasy silence in the barn was broken only by Pamola’s high-pitched, distressed whinnies.
Abruptly, Freyja gasped, her eyes widening with realization. ‘It’s a red bag delivery,’ she exclaimed. ‘The foal might be deprived of oxygen,’ she added, turning towards the children, ‘Fenella, please get my veterinary kit and some iodine from our tack room. Timothy and Tabitha, find some clean cloths and a bowl of fresh water from the kitchen. Omar, come with me to wash up as I’ll need your assistance. Quick, everyone!’
As the children hurried to carry out their tasks, Freyja and Omar washed up to their elbows with soapy water in the kitchen. ‘What can I do, Freyja?’ asked Omar as he shook his wet hands in the air to dry.
Freyja’s expression was tense as she explained. ‘The foal might be fighting for oxygen. We need to act fast. Your father told me you’ve had some experience with ponies, which is great as I’ll need some help cutting open the placental membrane.’
When they were back in the barn, under Freyja's guidance, Omar reached for the red, blood-streaked membrane that had emerged from the mare. He hesitated glancing at Freyja, who nodded firmly. ‘Steady hands, Omar,’ she said, her voice low and reassuring. The mare’s frantic whinnies rang in his ears, but he forced himself to focus. With a careful snip, the taut membrane split open. A gush of fluid followed, and Freyja moved with precision reaching for the foal.
Pamola’s distress reached a peak, her stock body quivering; a branch bent to its limit in a gale. Frantic whinnies burst from her, echoing through the barn. Her dark eyes, wide with fear and pain, darted about as though searching for an escape. She tossed her head, sending droplets of sweat flying from her heaving flanks.
The three children watched in silence. Tabitha reached out for Fenella’s hand. Squeezing it gently, her own hand trembling slightly. Fenella turned to look at her friend, her green eyes mirroring Tabitha’s concern. For a moment the barn fell eerily silent–until Freyja let out a sharp exhale of relief. ‘There you are,’ she murmured, cradling the foal’s slick, wobbly body in her arms before resting the animal in the straw on the ground.
‘Is it breathing?’ Omar asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The air in the barn now felt stifling as if everyone was holding their breath. Nobody knew what would happen next. Every rustle of straw seemed amplified in the uneasy quiet.
‘Is the foal going to survive?’ Tabitha finally asked, unable to keep quiet any longer.
Freyja shrugged, pursing her lips. She stared intently at the wet and shivering mass laying in the straw. The foal took several tentative breaths, the tiny body trembling with each movement.
Freyja gently dried off the foal with straw and applied iodine to its belly button. As she guided the new arrival over to its mother she smiled to Fenella. 'It's a filly!’
With hesitation, the newborn unfolded her unsteady legs, fragile stilts wavering as she struggled to find balance on the straw-covered floor. She teetered for a moment, her body swaying with uncertainty, before a surge of effort brought her trembling frame upright beside her mother. Pamola, filled with maternal instinct, nuzzled her filly gently and began licking her clean.
As they watched the touching scene, everyone let out a collective sigh of relief.
‘Zahra,’ whispered Omar.
‘What’s Zahra?’ asked Fenella.
‘It means new beginnings and growth in Arabic.’
Fenella smiled and nodded in agreement; her gaze fixed on the filly. ‘That’s a perfect name!’ she murmured.
As Zahra took her first wobbly steps, everyone watched with relief and awe. The new foal was aptly named, symbolizing the start of Spring for the island of Papala.
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