So Long At the Fair Page 2

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, Friday, Abbie spent helping her mother around the cottage. School had been over for almost a week now, and whereas Lizzie and Iris would be returning to their classes in September, Abbie had finished for good and would soon be out at work, earning her own living – a fact of which she was now reminded again.

  ‘What time are you going to Eversleigh tomorrow?’ her mother asked as she stood at the scrubbed pine table, peeling potatoes.

  Abbie was sitting at the window, darning the elbow of one of Eddie’s shirts. ‘In the morning.’ She paused. ‘Jane and I are going together.’

  ‘Jane.’ Mrs Morris gave a little snort. ‘I don’t know why you have to live in each other’s pockets. Still, at least she’ll be company for you on the road, I suppose.’

  ‘Well,’ Abbie said, ‘she’s looking for a position too.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything? You can’t both go there.’

  ‘We might be able to. Jane’s mother says she heard that Mrs Curren’s looking for two girls to oblige.’

  ‘I’d believe that when it happens. But if there’s only one position going just remember that you heard about it first.’ Mrs Morris finished peeling the last potato and dropped it into the pot. ‘Here’ – she tapped the pan holding the peelings – ‘these can go out for the pig. Then call the girls to come and get their dinners.’

  Abbie put her mending aside, took up the pan of peelings and went out into the backyard. In his sty the pig lay sleeping, but as soon as she tipped the scraps into the trough he awoke and came grunting and snuffling towards her. She idly scratched his back for a few moments as he ate, then set down the empty bowl on the old trestle table and went around the cottage to the front where in the little flower garden stocks and wallflowers and nasturtiums grew – planted and tended by her father, who also grew vegetables on the allotment nearby. He was, Abbie reflected, probably the only man in the village who grew flowers. Although the other cottages had little flower gardens, they were invariably the dominions of the women. Abbie’s mother had never bothered, though; it was always her father who had done the work.

  At the front gate she stood looking from left to right along the lane. The Wiltshire village of Flaxdown was situated in a valley between wide, rolling hills, midway between Frome to the west and Warminster to the east, two of the few towns Abbie had seen during her twelve years – and then only very infrequently, so they still retained some of the magic of mystery. There was no mystery about Flaxdown, however. She knew it like the back of her hand, from the newly opened post office to the old church of St Peter’s. And in truth there was not much to get to know, for a walk in any direction would, after just a few minutes, bring her to its outskirts.

  Now as she stood at the gate there came again the realization that in a very short time it would cease to be the place of her abode. It would still be her home, but she would be living elsewhere, and except for high days and holidays she would, in all likelihood, rarely return. She thought of all the other girls from the village who had left to go into service. They came back only infrequently – particularly if they now lived any great distance away. In those circumstances their visits were generally just annual affairs when, dressed in as much finery as they could muster, they would come to spend their two weeks’ summer holiday with their families. And would that, Abbie wondered, be the same with herself? Perhaps. Once she had found a situation there was no telling where she might travel.

  ‘Abbie?’

  At the sound of her mother’s voice she started slightly and turned and saw her standing at the now open window. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes!’ Mrs Morris said in an exasperated tone. ‘And I’m wondering how long you’re going to stand there. Call the girls. I want to get dinner over with.’

  Lizzie and Iris were at the foot of the back garden, playing with their dolls. She called them and they came running. As she looked down at their bright, upturned faces she reflected how very different they were. Lizzie, at nine, was little more than a year older than Iris, but although they were so close in age they were very dissimilar in appearance. Lizzie’s rich, dark hair and pretty, near-perfect features already gave a promise of beauty, unlike Iris with her fine, mouse-coloured hair and plain, freckled little face.

  Back in the cottage Abbie resumed her mending of Eddie’s shirt while her mother made tea and spread thick slices of bread with lard. As soon as the younger girls’ plates and mugs were empty they got up from the table to go and play again.

  Mrs Morris watched them go then said to Abbie, ‘Have you got everything ready for tomorrow when you go over to Eversleigh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t know why you and Jane are set on going into service together.’

  Abbie shrugged. ‘She’s my friend.’ Then she added, ‘When I told Father we were going to look for a place together he said it was a good idea.’

  ‘Your father. Well, if he said it then it must be so, mustn’t it?’ Abbie said nothing to this. After a moment her mother went on: ‘How do you think you’ll like it – being in service, away from home?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sure there’ll be a lot of work to do.’

  ‘Yes, and hard work. For a start there won’t be any staying in bed till seven.’

  ‘Oh, I know that,’ Abbie said. Her mother’s words were disturbing; she was already uneasy at the thought of leaving home. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘I’ll get on all right. And perhaps we’ll go away. Travel, I mean. Like Beatie, when she went with Mr and Mrs Callardine to France last year.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it.’

  ‘But you did, didn’t you? When you were a governess you came down from London. You travelled.’

  ‘Yes – and look where it got me. Well, just don’t make the mistakes that I did. See a bit of life. Take your time before you think about marrying and settling down.’

  ‘Mam,’ Abbie said, ‘I’m only twelve.’

  ‘Only twelve. Don’t worry, the time will soon pass.’

  The next morning Abbie did her hair as neatly as she could and put on her best dress. Standing before the little glass that hung beside the range she made a final adjustment to her bonnet, then turned to her mother. It was just after ten o’clock. ‘Oh, Mam, I’m going to be that nervous.’

  ‘There’s no reason you should be. Mrs Curren’s no different from you – except that she’s got money – which, I suppose, is all that matters in the end. Anyway – just be polite. But if she asks you to bring your own caps and aprons tell her you can’t. She’ll have to provide them. We can’t run to it.’

  Abbie had no idea how she could be so forthright with a prospective employer, but she nodded and said, ‘Yes, all right.’

  Crossing to the door, she hovered there, moving from one foot to the other, suddenly uncertain about taking the first step into the outside world. Her mother looked at her for a moment, then said: ‘Well, don’t just stand there. At this rate you won’t get there till tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m going.’ A pause. ‘Father will be back later on today, won’t he?’

  ‘Of course he will; it’s Saturday.’

  Abbie nodded and went out.

  Jane Carroll and her mother lived in a cottage in Tomkins Row on the west side of the village. As Abbie crossed the green she looked over to where Lizzie and Iris were playing with their friends. There were six of them, skipping with an old length of clothesline. Lizzie and another girl were twirling the rope while the others lined up, each waiting to take her turn, leaping into the arc of the looping rope and out on the other side to allow the next one to jump in. As they skipped they chanted an old skipping song.

  Catching sight of Abbie passing by, Lizzie, still rhythmically twirling the rope, called out: ‘Oh, look at Miss Fancy Drawers!’

  ‘You shut up, our Lizzie,’ Abbie called back.

  ‘Where you goin’, Abbie?’ Iris yelled. ‘To Eversleigh?’

  ‘In a minute.’

 
; ‘Can I come too?’

  ‘You know you can’t.’

  ‘Can I?’ Lizzie said.

  ‘No, you can’t.’

  ‘I’m older than our Iris.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘It’s not fair.’

  Abbie gave a superior smile, shrugged and went on.

  Knocking at the door of the third of the greystone cottages in Tomkins Row, Abbie found it opened to her by Mrs Carroll, Jane’s mother, a round-faced, jolly-looking little woman with fading red hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck.

  ‘Oh, thank God you’re ’ere, Abbie,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘Come and take the girl away, will you? She’ll just about have me down Devizes at the rate she’s goin’.’ Devizes, a nearby town, bore the dubious distinction of possessing the county’s insane asylum.

  Laughing sympathetically, Abbie entered the sunlit kitchen to find Jane sitting on a chair, fastening her right boot, her long, fair hair hanging down and obscuring her face. She wore a dark-blue cotton dress with a fine lace collar made by her mother. ‘I thought you’d be ready,’ Abbie said.

  ‘Ready!’ said Mrs Carroll. ‘The girl was ready an hour ago, and would be again if she could make up her mind what she’s going to wear!’

  Jane said through the curtain of her hair: ‘You make it sound like I’ve got no end of choice, when it’s a matter of finding what I look the least dreadful in.’ She finished fastening her boot and straightened, revealing a flushed face with a high forehead, short, straight nose, rather long, pointed chin and wide blue eyes. She spread her hands in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘Look at me! This is the only thing that’s half decent and it’s too small. I can hardly move my arms!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ her mother said, ‘you’re a growing girl. You can’t expect your clothes to fit you for ever!’

  Jane groaned, having heard it all before, then turned to a looking-glass with a cheap gilt frame that hung on the wall. After fussing with her hair for a minute or two she began to tie it with a pale-blue ribbon.

  ‘If you don’t leave soon,’ her mother said, ‘there won’t be any point in your goin’. Anyway, I heard as Mrs Curren was looking for a maid, not for a Queen of the May. You go there lookin’ too vain and she won’t think you’re capable of scrubbin’ a pot.’

  A minute later Jane decided to wear her hair in braids and she sat down while Abbie stood behind her and wove her long hair into two neat plaits, which she then coiled around and pinned to the crown of her head.

  While the girls were so engaged, Mrs Carroll got out a loaf of bread and a basin of lard. ‘You better take summat to eat with you, Janie,’ she said. ‘It’s a fair way to Eversleigh and you’ll get ‘ungry.’ She looked at Abbie. ‘You takin’ some dinner with you, Abbie?’

  Abbie had not thought of it; neither had her mother. ‘No, I didn’t think,’ she said.

  ‘Well, you better ’ave some too, then.’

  Three minutes later the girls, each holding a little package containing a slice of bread and lard and another of bread and jam, were ready to leave.

  Mrs Carroll followed them to the gate. ‘Now you be careful,’ she said, ‘and remember to be polite to the lady.’

  ‘Of course I’ll be polite.’ Jane sighed wearily and pulled a face at her mother across the gate. Abbie, watching, envied their closeness.

  ‘And,’ Mrs Carroll said, ‘don’t forget to wipe the dust off your shoes before you go in.’

  A sigh. ‘All right.’

  ‘And don’t go talking to no gypsies nor other vagabonds.’

  Turning, assuming an expression of patience tried to its limits, Jane said, ‘Is there anything else I should remember?’

  ‘Yes,’ her mother said, grinning, ‘remember not to lift up your arms.’

  Jane gave a cry and dashed towards her, and with a little shrieking laugh her mother turned and ran back into the house.

  The village of Eversleigh was seven miles to the northeast, between Trowbridge to the north and Westbury to the south, and as there was no convenient railway station – even supposing they had the money for their fares – the girls had no option but to walk.

  The day was very warm, the sun shining from a clear blue sky, and as the time wore on the girls grew increasingly hot and uncomfortable. Eventually, however, there lay before them at the foot of a hill the cluster of buildings that was Eversleigh village. As they drew nearer they glimpsed the church tower with the hands of its clock pointing to ten to one.

  ‘We’d better wait for a while,’ Jane said. ‘We mustn’t call when the lady’s having her dinner.’

  They stopped in the shade of a small copse not far from the road, sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, took off their bonnets and ate their sandwiches. Afterwards they found a little fast-running brook where, hitching up their skirts, they knelt down over the bank, dipped their cupped hands into the stream and quenched their thirsts and cooled and refreshed their faces.

  ‘It’ll be wonderful if we can get situations in the same house, won’t it?’ Jane said, sitting back in the grass.

  Abbie nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh, it will.’ She was silent for a moment, then she said, ‘We’ll be friends for ever, shan’t we?’

  ‘Yes, of course! Oh, Abbie, why ever shouldn’t we?’

  Abbie shrugged. ‘My mam said friendships never last. She said one person ends up going one way and the other goes another. In the end, they always forget.’

  ‘Well, I shan’t forget,’ Jane said emphatically. ‘That won’t be the case with me.’

  ‘No.’ Abbie shook her head. ‘Not with me, either.’

  ‘I wonder,’ Jane said, ‘what we’ll do. Later on in our lives, I mean. When we’re older. D’you think we’ll get married and have babies?’

  Abbie shrugged. ‘I don’t fancy getting married. I wouldn’t mind havin’ a baby, though. Just one. You could make nice clothes for her and dress her up and all that.’

  ‘You’d want a girl, would you?’

  ‘Oh, I think so. Boys are so rough.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Jane went on, ‘if you want a baby you’d need to get yourself a husband first.’

  ‘Why? Aggie Tarrant’s got a baby and she doesn’t have a husband. And Esther Strange, too. She hasn’t got a husband and she’s got two little ’uns.’

  ‘And she’s as big as a barn.’

  Abbie laughed. ‘Anyway, although a baby would be nice I don’t think I’d want to do what’s necessary in order to get one.’

  Jane shook her head. ‘Oh, no. Me neither.’

  The previous summer the two girls, on walking to White’s farm near Flaxdown to buy butter, had come to an enclosure where a stallion was about to mate with a mare. The farmer and some of his men were there, overseeing the process. Abbie’s brother Eddie, who worked at the farm, had been in attendance too. Neither he nor the others had been aware of the girls’ presence, and Abbie and Jane had stood watching, fascinated, as the stallion, hugely aroused, had mounted the mare and gripped her neck with his strong teeth. Being country girls they had witnessed the mating of various animals, but that time with the horses had made a strong impression on their blossoming awareness. When the act was over – so quickly – the horses had been led away. It was then that Eddie had turned and seen the girls.

  ‘What you doin’ ’ere?’ he had asked.

  ‘We came to get some butter for Jane’s mam,’ Abbie replied, then, ‘I hate it when they do that,’ she added.

  ‘What you on about?’

  ‘The stallion and the mare. The way he treats her. Doing that and biting her like that. I’m surprised she stands there and puts up with it.’

  Eddie reddened slightly. ‘Well – she’ve got to, ain’t she? If she wants a foal she don’t ’ave no choice.’

  And suddenly realization had come. Those other matings they had witnessed, they had been a part of the process of life, had been necessary for life to begin.

  On the w
ay back to the village she and Jane had discussed the matter. ‘And people, too,’ Jane had said, though not really believing it. ‘Men and women do it. I suppose they’ve got to.’

  ‘I s’pose so,’ Abbie agreed. Then she had added, laughing, ‘Though whoever done it to Esther Strange must have needed good strong teeth!’

  They had shrieked with laughter all the way home.

  Now, sitting beside the stream, Abbie took up the piece of newspaper that had wrapped her sandwiches and began to fashion from it a little boat, the way Eddie had taught her. Thinking of the meeting ahead with the prospective employer, she said, ‘Oh, I wish we didn’t have to go away.’ Then she went on with a sigh, ‘Course, if we were rich we wouldn’t have to bother about working for other people.’

  ‘If you want to be rich, then you must marry a rich man,’ Jane said.

  Having finished one paper boat, Abbie took up the sheet of newspaper that Jane had discarded and began to make a second. ‘I told you, I’m not getting married at all.’

  ‘You will when the time comes. All girls do if they get the chance. You’ll probably get wed before I do.’

  ‘I shan’t.’

  The second paper boat was finished, and Abbie plucked a buttercup from the grass and stuck its stem into a fold of the paper of one of them. Into the other boat she stuck the stem of the ragged robin.