“Didn’t you have any friends?” asked Ruth in total sympathy.
“Oh, yes, sometimes, but they didn’t last very long. They either fell ill – sometimes died – or they got dismissed; sent back to the orphanage”.
Sarah paused and stared into the fire as though seeing a picture of the past.
“If you were lucky one of the older maids might take pity on you. She’d probably endured this sort of life herself and understood, she’d help shelter you from the house-keeper’s wrath”.
Sarah stopped and cuddled her daughter to her side. Amos listened intently and experienced the emotion in Sarah’s story, but it seemed to him there was so much more untold. His inquisitive mind was forming question that remained unanswered but he bit his tongue. No point in pursuing matters to the point where she was reduced to tears; time would resolve all. Never-the-less he mused, where was this orphanage? Where were these houses where she was in service? When was Ruth born? What happened to her father? He was intrigued but he said nothing more.
Amos pulled a wooden pipe from his pocket. It was the stem of an Elder tree branch from which he had carefully removed the soft pithy centre. His trusty knife had made strategic holes along the length and the end was fashioned into a mouthpiece into which he inserted a thin reed. He casually put the instrument to his lips and blew, producing a shrill note. His nimble fingers moved along the stem of the pipe from hole to hole altering the note so producing a good tune. It certainly lifted the gloomy atmosphere that recounting the past had imposed.
As the evening fell to silence and contemplation, Amos broke the reverie with conversation about their situation.
“Tomorrow, we must walk into Halsmere for provisions. The walk and the fresh air will put colour in your cheeks”. Sarah didn’t answer but felt apprehension about returning to the place where such trauma had befallen her.
Chapter 8
As they approached the first of the houses, Amos thought it hardly worthy of the description of a town. Halsmere was in truth no more than a good sized village. The three all felt some trepidation about what to expect, Sarah most of all, and she grasped her daughter’s hand even tighter. They needed provisions and there was no option but to ‘face the music’. Amos had felt an atmosphere building the last time he had called there, some few days ago, and realised there was antagonism, and he readily guessed the reason. He kept his thoughts to himself but, he mused,
“Goodness only knows, this lot have nothing to be self righteous about”, as he looked across at the stark walls of the institution with its barred windows.
The building housed a fair number of souls who were, as he put it, “hardly the full shilling”.
He reasoned, “Is it some deficiency in their diet – lack of some mineral, or…?” He knew in his own mind that the real reason was more obvious. He remembered his father’s words, “Kick one and they all limp”, meaning they were all so closely interbred. These outlying hill areas around the town nurtured a population that rarely ventured far from the place where they were born. There were a good number of single daughters with children whose physical resemblance to the head of the household spoke for itself. Let’s face it, up in these hills the winters were long and arduous and the long candlelit nights spawned mischief. Life was hard and of what little recreation there was, the alehouse seemed favourite.
They pressed on towards the bakery and as they passed across the stone sets of the market square, the smell of the sheep from yesterday’s market filled their nostrils. There were few people about, but, from those Amos would have normally expected a civil greeting. This morning was different, most just turning away trying to avoid confrontation. The bakery smelled of its usual delicious self but the old woman buying her loaf, looked at them as they entered and with a sharp intake of breath, stuck her nose in the air, and walked out. The baker’s boy served Amos his loaf and took the coin which he placed between his teeth and bit to test its worth.
Sarah and her daughter, Ruth, said nothing but felt a little frightened and stuck really close to Amos. Her recent experience of being arrested and incarcerated whilst begging for food here, had left Sarah feeling very vulnerable. With their provisions in hand they turned back across the market square in the direction of their caravan. This led them by a row of weather-beaten cottages, where outside, was a group of four matronly women. One held a stick and another had a dog on a rope. They were clearly in a belligerent mood, and Amos considered it wisest to avoid them by crossing over the road. His mind was now made up; the time had come to move on, to his intended wintering destination, the village of Flash, high on the Staffordshire moors.
The experience had been unpleasant to say the least, considering what Sarah and Ruth had endured, the arrest and the gaol, now this hostility, who could blame them for feeling a little subdued and depressed.
“I’ve been thinking of moving for a while”, said Amos,”We have to be sure of a good spot near Flash before the others arrive and take all the best sites, so I think that tomorrow we’ll be on our way. I must call on Master John and Mistress Sissie, collect the money I’m owed, and make arrangements to stable Maggie for the winter.”
Bright Meadows Farm was on their way and Amos took the opportunity to call. Master John appeared in the kitchen doorway when the farm dog began it’s excited barking. Sarah felt a little embarrassment despite Amos’s re-assurance, so with Ruth, she stayed out of sight, behind the hedge-row near the entrance. Seeing Amos striding across the yard, Master John shouted, “Come thee in Amos”, and he beckoned Amos to follow. “Where’s the little un?” he asked. Amos shrugged his shoulders and replied,
“Well, she’s with her mother. They’re hiding near the gate. They didn’t want to come in; we’ve had an unpleasant time in the town and they’re not feeling very secure”.
Mistress Sissie was listening to the conversation and she pushed her large frame past them both to go bustling across the yard to the gate. After but a moment she came into view again holding the child’s hand and leading the way back to the farmhouse with Sarah following behind.
“Come inside me dear”, she said looking back towards Sarah,
“We shalln’t bite yer”.
She sat them both on a bench near the open fire.
“Amos tells us that things were a mite unpleasant in town. I tried to tell him what t’ expect when he called t’other day. There’s bin a whole lot o’ trouble with so many finding ’emselves destitute and havin’ to resort t’ beggin’”.
Mistress Sissie turned her back to stir the pan of stew steaming over the fire, but continued to speak whilst doing so.
“Some ’ave turned t’stealin’ an’ some ’ave caused trouble, and I knew feelin’s were runnin’ high. The new poorhouse is full an’ they don’t really know what to do about it”.
She was forthright and straight to the point in her manner, “Yer look to be in a bedraggled state, the both o’ yer.. We’ll have to do somert about that, but first, warm yourselves and I’ll get some food”. She soon had them spooning down a stew from the pot that was for-ever on the boil. Master John pressed some coins into Amos’s hand for the mole catching. Amos glanced at the money and his first thoughts were that Master John wasn’t being over generous with his money, but he bit his tongue.
“Master John, Thank you. I need to know, can I bring you my horse, Maggie, for the winter, as previously?” he asked and the reply came,
“Yer, o’ course, it be what I expected”.
Mistress Sissie excused herself and went upon a search of her bedroom and she returned with an armful of garments and odd and ends that she placed upon