Authors: Valerie Wood
‘I’m sorry, ma-am, I didn’t mean you to be disturbed.’ Maria was apologetic as she hurried into the room. ‘I had to go to ’kitchen for some warm water.’ She was carrying a bowl of water with the same smell of roses.
‘It’s quite all right.’ Isobel smiled back at her. ‘It is about time I was introduced to my daughter. Mr Masterson is forever extolling her perfections.’
‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ agreed Maria. ‘Shall I take Sarah now, ma’am, and perhaps when I’ve finished washing Miss Lucy, you would like me to bring her to your room?’
Isobel stared at Maria. ‘But, I thought—’ She looked at Sarah and handed her back quickly.
Maria made no reply but simply put Sarah back into the crib and picked up Lucy. ‘Here she is, ma-am, little beauty.’ Lucy puckered up her face and let out a disgruntled wail. She was hungry, wet and uncomfortable and she punched her small fists in the air as Maria undid her sheets.
‘Why is she fastened up like that?’ demanded Isobel. ‘the other child isn’t. I am quite sure she doesn’t like it.’
‘No, no more do I, ma-am. But ’doctor said I had to. It’s what’s done to babbys, ’cept I don’t agree with it for my own.’
‘Then I won’t have it either,’ Isobel snapped. ‘Take them off at once and tell the doctor that I said so.’
She turned to leave the room. ‘I won’t have Lucy with me just yet,’ she said. ‘I seem to have developed a headache. I shall go back to bed.’
Violent storms battered the east coast that first winter they were at Garston Hall. Tremendous seas, whipped up by north-easterly winds, ravaged the soft boulder clay, and deep cracks spread across the top of the cliffs as the base disintegrated. Before January was out six feet of land had crumbled and slithered down into the sea.
‘Dost tha fancy a jar of ale at ’Raven before going ’ome, Will? I’ve got a right thirst on me.’
Will and Dick Reedbarrow had finished their work for the day. They had spent most of it repairing the wall of a barn which had taken the brunt of the bad weather, but now it was almost dark and they were unable to see what they were doing.
‘Aye, I’ll have a quick one with thee, Dick, we can do no more here.’
He called to Tom to hurry with the clearing up. ‘Take ’lamp, Tom, and get off home, and straight to bed after supper.’
‘All right, Da,’ Tom nodded wearily. He needed no second bidding. He rose every morning at daybreak when his father called him, his eyes barely open as his feet touched the floor. He worked as hard as any man, fetching and carrying for Dick and his father. He never shirked or grumbled, for it was recognized that he was now old enough to contribute to the household funds. He fell asleep as soon as he climbed into bed, and Maria would gaze pensively at him as he lay there, his hands folded beneath his plump, winter-rosy cheeks, full of wonder at how quickly her young son was growing into manhood.
Will followed Dick into the oak-panelled room of the small smoky inn which was already full of men who were unable to work because of the weather, and as they opened the door the gusty wind whipped in behind them, causing the blazing fire in the grate to throw out clouds of smoke and soot into the room.
This was the first time that Will had come to the inn, and he nodded a greeting to some of the men. They nodded back and some held his gaze and said, ‘’ow do.’ They joined two other men sitting at a heavy, rough-hewn table, one, Ralph Graves, a man just out of his youth with dark, deepset eyes and a sullen mouth, and the other, Nathan Crabtree, who looked so old and decrepit that Will wondered how he had ever found the strength to get there.
They sat for some time without conversing, just drinking their ale and smoking their clay pipes, and Will was beginning to muse thoughtfully on the difference between the quiet atmosphere here and that of the taverns he used to frequent in Hull, where the noise, and the voice of the landlord shouting to be heard above the din, was evident from half a street away.
‘I hear as thou’s a whaling man.’ The old man took his pipe from his mouth and interrupted his meditation.
‘Aye, I was, until my accident.’
‘And now tha’s going to be a farmer?’ Crabtree bent and tore up a long strip of paper, and lighting it from the fire held it to his pipe and sucked loudly, the flame flickering perilously close to his shaggy eyebrows.
Will hesitated. ‘I reckon that would take more time than I’ve got,’ he answered, ‘I just want to earn a living. But maybe my lad will be, he’s young enough.’
The old man nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer, but the younger man interrupted abruptly. ‘There’s plenty of us round here who want to do that, so why didn’t ’maister at Garston take on one of us. We could do ’job as well as anybody – aye, and better.’
‘He’s tekken on local labour! Me for one,’ butted in the normally taciturn Dick Reedbarrow. ‘And ’ostler, and another gardener, and women for ’house.’
‘I reckon if he’d known about thee, I’d still be looking for a job,’ Will agreed placatingly, ‘so it’s my good fortune that he happened to know me. I’ve worked for him since I was just a lad and he’s always looked after his men.’
The old man started to chuckle. ‘I met a seaman when I was a lad, and he used to tell such tales as tha’d never believe. About ’Esquimaux, and unicorns and icebergs as big as an ’ouse.’
Will laughed. ‘I could tell thee stories to make tha beard curl, if tha has a mind to listen.’
‘About yakkeyahs?’ asked Ralph, curiously.
‘Aye, that’s what ’whaling men call ’Esquimaux, on account of all ’yakking they do; they’re grand folk for talking and most hospitable. Why, I remember once when we were frozen into ’ice and running short of food, they came with their sledges laden with caribou and duck. They brought their women with them, and though there was no impropriety, tha understands, we had a grand party, with singing and dancing and all.’
Other men had gathered round when they heard that tales were being told, and Will looked up nonplussed. He hadn’t expected an audience. ‘I tell thee what, I haven’t wet my babby’s head yet. It’s ’custom in ’town to do that, and maybe tha’d join me, and I’ll tell thee a tale or two before I go home for supper.’
‘Aye, we have ’same custom,’ said the old man. ‘’Cept tha should do it on ’day ’bairn is birthed. But we’ll not refuse to drink its ’ealth for all that. Hast tha been fortunate enough to have a lad?’
He commiserated when told that it was a girl. ‘I’ve had six lads and four lasses, and outlived ’em all. They’re all in ’churchyard waiting – missus an’ all – but I’m not ready yet.’ He chuckled wickedly and started to cough as tobacco fumes caught his throat. His eyes watered and tears ran down his furrowed cheeks and disappeared into his stained grey beard.
‘I’ll tell thee summat,’ he said when he got his breath back. ‘That little lass o’ thine might see a bit of ’istory.’ He nodded his head sagely. ‘We’ll be part of it, even though we shan’t be here, ’leastways most of us won’t be.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Will perplexed. ‘Tha’s lost me, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s just it.’ The old man scratched his head absently. ‘Lost. We’ll all be lost.’
Will glanced at the other men. He thought the old fellow must be wandering in his head. But some of the others were muttering together in agreement, whilst the rest pondered silently over their tankards.
‘There’s nowt we can do about it. Leastways not in our lifetime.’ He rumbled on as if talking to himself. ‘It’s gone on right through ’istory and ’istory always repeats itself.’
Dick Reedbarrow caught Will’s eye. ‘He’s talking about destruction of ’cliffs. There’s more gone over this winter.’
‘Summat should be done about it,’ Ralph Graves broke in angrily. ‘Parli’ment should do summat. They should build a wall like we’ve tried to do.’
‘Nay, man,’ interrupted another. ‘It’d cost ’undreds, and we’re not that important.’
Nathan Crabtree smiled a toothless smile. ‘I’ve tell’d thee afore and I’ll tell thee again, it’s part of ’istory, same as all them other towns that was lost. Monkston will go ’same way – in time.’
He wagged a finger at the assembly but spoke specifically to Will. ‘What folk don’t realize, is that out ’ere, time is measured in centuries. Them cliffs have bin eaten away bit by bit for as long as man can remember. Life still goes on unchanged, bairns get born and ’awd folks dee and other things go on in between, and I’m not saying that thy little lass won’t grow up and have her own babbies here; but sooner or later we shall have to move back or be consumed, and our old bones’ll be crushed and washed away along wi’ all ’others.’
There was silence as he finished speaking and he put his head back and closed his eyes as if exhausted with the effort.
Ralph Graves surveyed Will churlishly. ‘Tha’ll be a bit of an expert, seeing as tha was a sea-going man. What would thee do to keep watter back?’
Will shook his head, for the man was plainly looking for a confrontation. ‘Tha can’t tame ’sea, never will in a million years. I’ve heard of ’lost towns of course, there isn’t a seaman who hasn’t. There’s some who’ll swear they’ve seen ’top of a steeple at low tide, or heard ’sound of a church bell through ’waves. And I wouldn’t disbelieve it.’
Old Nathan nodded in agreement, his eyes still closed. ‘That’s reet, that’s reet.’
‘But as for keeping it back,’ Will added earnestly, ‘from Bridlington Bay right down ’coast, ’cliffs are breaking up, and some say ’land is drifting down as far as Spurn and building up ’peninsula. But it’s like Mr Crabtree here says.’ He was careful not to breach the bounds of etiquette by calling the old man by his first name until invited. ‘Monkston probably will go ’same way, along with Old Ol’boro, Hartburn and Ravenser and all ’others, for there’s no science on this earth that’ll stop it.’
Nathan Crabtree started to hum under his breath and then to sing in a cracked, hoarse voice. Some of the men grinned and withdrew back to the places where they had been sitting previously. The discussion was over, but Will sat on and listened. The tune was unrecognizable and the old man had forgotten most of the words, yet here and there he caught the thread and was aware of an intangible shadow hovering within his consciousness as the old man sang.
Where life and beauty
Dwelt long ago,
The oozy rushes
And seaweed grow
And no-one sees
And no-one hears
And none remembers
The far off years.
‘Oh what a treat! It
will
be nice to see John. He will do me so much good. I declare, I feel better already just anticipating his visit.’
Isobel smiled warmly at Isaac when he gave her news of John’s arrival the next weekend. ‘I have missed him terribly. Just one brief visit since we came here, I did expect that he would have been over more frequently.’
‘I really can’t spare him so often, Isobel. He came when you were ill, and I have been giving him regular reports of your health and that of Lucy. Also the weather hasn’t been at all conducive to travelling.’
He shifted uncomfortably on the fragile chair in Isobel’s sitting-room. ‘Are you going to come downstairs now that you are feeling better? The doctor says that you are quite well enough.’
‘Perhaps I might, I have been thinking about it.’
In truth she was getting rather bored. Her health was improving gradually, and she was entertaining thoughts of inviting her local neighbours to visit, though she did not as yet feel strong enough to go out visiting them. Invitations and cards had been left, but sadly she had had to decline for the present.
‘When John comes at the weekend, I want to show him all the improvements we have made already. We’ve planted out hawthorn to compact the growing area, though we’ve left some of the old woodland for shelter, and built new pens for the spring lambs. If he has a mind and the sea isn’t too rough, I thought we might go fishing.’
Isaac had bought a cobble, and he and Will had discovered a mutual interest. With rod and line they had spent several satisfying hours far out at sea. Master and servant, the expeditions reaffirmed what they already knew, that the elements rendered no distinction between men’s status, and in the battle to preserve their vulnerable lives they were equal. They were not so foolhardy as to flout danger, but they both responded to the elation of landing a fish while waves towered above them, threatening to capsize their wooden ark, and they treated the sea as an awesome and terrible friend.
Isobel’s mouth pouted childishly. ‘Don’t forget that I would like his company too, Isaac. And don’t for goodness sake bore him with all your farming gossip. Why, you’re worse with your talk of oats and the price of wheat and sheep than you ever were with your ships!’
‘Isobel!’ He rose from the chair impatiently. ‘Our ships keep us in comfort, you seem to forget that. We have property, servants, and the farming isn’t a whim, I’m not just playing at it! I intend to succeed. I intend to make this land efficient and profitable. I intend to co-operate with the local community so that they might have a share in the success of this venture.’ Indignantly he paced the floor and Isobel grew alarmed.
‘Very well, Isaac, do please calm yourself. You are making me feel quite faint.’ She reached for the smelling salts on her table and immediately he was contrite.
‘I’m sorry, my dear. Do please forgive me. I know how irritating you find business talk. But don’t you see, I’m sure that the people around here think that I am just amusing myself and don’t take me seriously, and I should hate to think that you felt the same.’
‘Why, Isaac, as if I should do that. I am perfectly aware how important it is to you, and you must not take any notice of these other people, whoever they are, their opinion is of no account whatsoever. Now, shall I ring for tea?’
Isaac had once explained to John that in order to have the respect of one’s work force, it was necessary, in his opinion, to show capability oneself, and with farming there are no instant results to show success or failure. He knew that there was antagonism towards unscrupulous rich merchants coming from town into the country. They bought up the scattered strips of land from the peasant farmers who could not afford to enclose them as the government decreed, and evicted them from their homes, leaving them destitute and without any means of gaining a livelihood.