Читать книгу A Surprising Legacy - Ernest Swain - Страница 15

Chapter 7

The day of Sarah’s release was at last here. The grime laden sandstone of the gaol was even more depressing in the heavy wet mist that blanketed the area. A real autumn chill was in the air, but was it the cold of the atmosphere or the oppressiveness of the building that sent a shiver down his spine? The journey had been one of doggedness in the thick mist and by the time they arrived their clothes hung heavily with the dampness. They both felt the apprehension and Ruth was full of chatter showing her excitement. She pulled her blanket about her and looked up at Amos, and he sensed that she needed his re-assurance. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, offering the warmth of his body. Suddenly there was activity behind the huge oak doors and the sound of bolts being withdrawn from their keepers on the inside. Noiselessly, one door swung open, and there she was.

Ruth broke away from Amos and ran to her mother, flinging her arms around her. They hugged desperately and Amos hung back to allow them their moment. There were tears and kisses and the emotion also had its effect upon him, although he tried hard not to show it.

“Oh Ma I’m so glad I’ve found you. I was so frightened I thought I’d lost you forever”. Sarah could only hug her. The tears and emotion choked her words. She lifted her head and looked at Amos,

“How can I ever begin to repay your kindness?” she sobbed.

The experience of the gaol had been of a really daunting nature but now she was free once more. She breathed deeply of this mist laden air that felt fresh and sweet to her. Amos suddenly realised that she was without any substantial cloak to ward off the wet and cold, and without embarrassment, he took hold of her hand and led her to where the mare was tied. He took the roll from the horse’s withers that revealed a heavy blanket which he shook out and then draped around Sarah’s shoulders.

“Here now, let this blanket keep you dry”.

She was grateful for the protection as they walked slowly together towards the town; Amos leading the horse. Ruth excitedly said,

“Oh Ma, the caravan’s wonderful. It’s warm and dry, and Amos cooks wonderful food on the camp fire”.

Amos remained rather quiet, he was more concerned about Sarah’s pallid complexion and her slight frame; she really did need some nourishment to build her up. He decided the time had come to broach the subject of her homeless dilemma. “Sarah, I’ve grown to like Ruth, and I’ve learnt so much about you too. It seems to me that if you simply go away to live in the way you have - begging for food - then you’re going to either fall desperately ill, or you’re going to end up back in prison. The best you can hope for is to find yourself in one of these new workhouses for the poor. Look, I’ve lived alone - that is until I found Ruth - in a caravan that’s warm, dry and big enough for the three of us. You’d be welcome to share it – what do you think?”

Without waiting for her reply, he continued,

“You wouldn’t be obligated to me. I’d have a separate cot, and I’ll respect your privacy”.

Sarah was quiet for a short moment and then she replied,

“Yes, I trust you. You were so kind to Ruth, when she was frightened and alone, and I’m grateful to you for that. I’d like to accept. Thank you”

A weight suddenly lifted from Amos’s shoulders.

As they walked toward the town centre, they became aware of an unusual hustle and bustle with people running and shouts of “Boney’s coming. Boney’s coming”. As they followed the hub-bub Ruth looked at her mother and asked,

“Who’s Boney?”

Sarah looked perplexed and Amos caught the hesitation in her reply, and said,

“They’re talking of Bonaparte – Napoleon Bonaparte”.

It really meant nothing to mother or child so he continued,

“Bonaparte is a nasty little man with a big army who’s been fighting across in France and people are afraid that he intends to attack us here. They’re trying to raise taxes to pay for an army to fight him”.

No sooner had he spoken than about twenty soldiers came marching, two abreast, into the square. Their splendid red jackets, with yellow facings, standing out over white waistcoats. White leather breaches and long black military boots that shone even on such a dull day. Black helmets with bearskin crest, each sporting a cockade of feathers at the side. Their broad belts of pipe-clayed leather supporting a scabbard, shining silver sword and a holstered pistol. The soldiers were brought to a halt, in the square, by a sergeant who shouted in an alarming fashion. Two of the ranks then unfurled a huge banner of red, green and gold of such splendour bearing the words ‘Staffordshire Regiment of Gentlemen and Yeomanry. Leeke Division’.

With the men at attention the sergeant then turned and addressed the crowd in a booming voice that demanded attention,

“Where are the good men of Leeke?” he shouted. “Men prepared to honour their town. Who can show bravery when needed? What man could resist the splendour of such a uniform and two shillings each day when called upon?”

A group of young men gathered around him and Amos stood close to listen to the recruitment. The sergeant continued his encouragement to draw the men in and explained,

“If you join us you’ll get this wonderful uniform free. Now who can resist that? Plus two shillings per day – for each day you’re called upon. You’ll live at home and gather for training just one day each week. It’s not expected that you’ll be sent to fight in any war but you’ll be trained in readiness in case we’re invaded. Come on now, who can say no to such a splendid uniform. Just think what the girls will make of that”.

Amos had heard enough and withdrew to the back of the crowd to rejoin Sarah and Ruth. He felt the tingle of excitement and the fervour that was being injected into the crowd by the splendour and the rhetoric, and understood how young men could be carried away by it all and rush to join without considering the consequences. They had enjoyed the spectacle but they needed to be on their way.

The long walk home became full of chatter and an atmosphere of ease developed between them. After a while Amos suggested that Sarah ride astride the horse with Ruth, and although a little apprehensive of the large animal, she was reassured and accepted. Amos cupped his hands together, making a step.

“Put your foot into my hands and I’ll give you a leg-up”, he said.

Ruth was only too anxious to ride with her mother and sitting directly behind Sarah she clasped both arms around her waist and clung tight. She had no fear of slipping from the mare, it was just so comforting to cling to her mother again.

By the time they reached the camp site the mist had begun to clear. Sarah was quite impressed with the traditional wooden caravan, painted a rust red- brown colour with wheels of yellow. The swirls and scrolls of yellow paint that decorated the panels, was typical of the gypsy caravans she had seen before. She climbed the wooden steps and entered to find a neat orderly interior, where everything seemed to have its place. She hadn’t really known what to expect but she noticed that it seemed to have a fragrance of its own, something that she seemed to recognise. Amos had followed her inside and he perceived her smelling the air. He opened a cupboard door, a cupboard full of blankets, and he pointed to a sizeable bunch of dried flowers, all tied together by the stems and hanging upside down from a wooden peg. He smiled as the realisation dawned upon her,

“It’s lavender”, she exclaimed.

Amos had re-organised the sleeping arrangements and where Ruth had slept before, he had put together a cot where she and Ruth could sleep. A wire across the width of the van held a blanket that could be pulled across to give some privacy. It all seemed so very cosy.

The fire was soon lit and blazing away and the large pot arranged on the metal tripod over the flames. Amos went to the stream and retrieved the pot containing the fish he had caught and prepared the previous day. The cool waters had kept the fish as fresh as the moment they had been caught. Sarah was tempted to show him that she had the ability to cook a meal but she held back and watched as Amos cooked the fish and plated it for them. A large piece of bread was broken and divided between them, and the three sat and ate in contentment. Ruth never once left her mother’s side and it was a pleasure to Amos to see them in this way.

There was a lot to discuss and Sarah was anxious to learn what she could of Amos. She realised that to a casual observer it would seem strange that a young woman should take such a huge risk in simply accepting such intimate accommodation from someone practically unknown to her. It was something to make the less enlightened raise their modest eyebrows in considering how close they would be living in the confinements of the caravan, but then - they weren’t homeless and destitute, with a child of tender years to consider. She pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind, and as Amos busied himself, tending the fire and cleaning the plates and utensils, she gently probed him about his circumstances.

“Tell me to mind my own business if you wish, but why are you travelling the countryside in this caravan? You’re not a gypsy”.

Amos smiled, perhaps hiding his true feelings, and said,

“I’ve explained to Ruth, my parents rented a small cottage from the local squire……..”, and he went on to relate the story again.

Amos paused and threw more wood onto the fire, then continued,

“Both my parents are dead now – buried in the church-yard at Hodnet in Shropshire. I just carried on travelling in the caravan – it’s called a vardo. I find a bit of work here and there as I travel around. Harvest time is always good, all the farmers depend on casual workers at that time of year”.

As the evening descended upon them he poked the fire and told of the lighter side of his life, travelling between the county fayres – which were colourful and exciting. Neither Sarah nor Ruth had ever been to such a fayre and the story fuelled their imagination. Tales of clowns and acrobats, bare knuckle fighting, monkeys – yes, monkeys dancing to a barrel organ. The dog fighting and the cock fighting wasn’t something they relished but it all painted such a wonderful picture for them both. Then came the matters of the shady dealings. Amos lowered his voice slightly to lend more drama to the tale and continued, telling of the sleight of hand, and the trickery and downright thieving that goes on. He left them to wonder about what shady dealings he involved himself in but in truth he had always managed to avoid brushes with the law and he trusted his wits to keep it that way.

It was now Sarah’s turn. She told as much as she remembered but there were things that were quite personal and private.

“I can’t remember anything of my parents. I think I must have been left – how do you say? – an orphan?, when I was very young. The earliest I can remember is the orphanage. Oh, what an awful place. The building was somehow harsh and cold and the people in charge were nasty. I dunno, they seemed to enjoy making things as unpleasant as they could. They used to beat us and it was quite a miserable time. There never seemed to be enough to eat and what there was, was awful. I suppose I was lucky, some of the children were already weak and they grew weaker. Some of us tried to smuggle food to them but we had to be careful we weren’t caught, otherwise we got a beating. I was always taught that you shouldn’t speak ill of anyone but I think they were pocketing the money that was supposed to be used to buy food for us”.

Sarah hesitated, obviously the deep feelings of distress, were rising to the surface and clearly showed as she gritted her teeth and wrung her hands.

Ruth took her mother’s hand, obviously feeling the unpleasantness her mother was re-living.

Amos thought it best to keep her talking rather than let her dwell on the unpleasantness.

“When did you leave the orphanage? Where did you go?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, I think I must have been about the age Ruth is now, I was sent out to work. I went to several places – big posh houses. I had to work in the kitchens and the laundries, sometimes cleaning the house with the maids or perhaps carrying the coals for the fires. Nothing was too heavy or dirty and things weren’t much better than back at the orphanage. It seemed that we got beaten for anything – not working hard enough, eating too much – anything”, she continued.

“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.