The continuing story of John the Grain Farmer.

John was too old to be a farm labourer now, and nobody wanted to hire him anymore – he had no choice but to move to the city. He didn’t like the city but he hoped he could find work there.

The officer of the city always seemed to know where he was, and called on him once a month demanding the grain he owed the city, always checking to see that he wasn’t hiding anything that could be traded for grain.

He now owed the city more grain than he had ever produced in his best year.

Work was hard to find and he often had to stand in the grain cue for a daily ration of grain to feed himself. There were other old grain farmers there who lost their farms too; some like him had children in the city. Some of them knew where their children were, while others, like John, had no idea where they had gone.

There were other workers, some who had never had children. It annoyed the fathers that the officer of the city was always there, pointing out those workers who had children, and a share of their daily grain would be put aside for the officer of the city, while those that weren’t fathers got to keep their whole ration. The father’s argued amongst themselves as to whether this was fair or not.

There was one really thin old man, whose son would wait nearby. His mother swapped her grain for perfume and clothes in the hope of attracting a rich man, so the father would give his son half his grain so he wouldn’t starve. The other fathers were always suspicious often saying to each other that the boy didn’t look anything like the old man.

John was quite sure if it was better he didn’t know where his three children were, how would they survive on a quarter of a ration each once the officer had taken a share for the city?

At night the grain farmers would gather in the hostel for the night and talk about the price of grain before their wives and children had left, and what it might have been like if their sons had followed in their footsteps, while others would talk in hushed tones of plots to kill the officer of the city, although they weren’t sure that would change anything, and could never agree who had the best plot.

If it hadn’t been for the warm summer’s night, it all might have seemed quite a pointless existence. It was the sort of night that was light enough to take a walk for some peaceful reflection on life – as it had been, was now, and might be.

It was one such evening when three children came to the hostel looking for their father. They were told on nights like this John usually sat by the river watching the moonlight dancing on the rippling shallows.

They had no idea what John looked like, so they called his name, but there was no answer. They found a man hanging from a tree. There was no one else about so they guessed it might be John.

The others only knew him as John, and so they couldn’t be sure that it was their father.

“Ask the officer of the city,” they said. “He’ll know for sure.”

The continuing story of John the Grain Farmer.