by Val Wood
‘I don’t allow strangers here, so move on. And if I find you’ve caused any damage then I’ll have you arrested and charged.’
She gasped. ‘Just for sleeping in thy barn? Why it wasn’t fit to turn a dog out last night, surely tha wouldn’t begrudge a bed of hay?’
‘Confound you woman, don’t answer me back,’ he barked and she jumped at the ferocity in his voice. ‘Don’t you know that hardship is a necessity of life; that it’s good for the soul? Now be off with you.’
‘I’m going.’ She hitched her pack higher onto her back. ‘I can tell tha’s well endowed wi’ milk o’ human kindness, sir, and tha’ll sleep well at night I’m sure. I just hope as tha never has to stretch out a hand for charity and find none.’
She quickly moved away as the man’s face grew red, and headed off down the drive. She turned and looked back and saw Jed nodding his head in answer to his master’s raised arm which was pointing towards her, and Jed set off at a run after her. She too started to run, her boots sloshing in the snow, until she’d turned the bend in the drive and she slowed down and waited for Jed to catch her up.
‘I’ve got to see thee off his land. Where’s thy donkey-and-cart?’
‘Donkey’s dead in ’barn and cart’s in there as well. Can tha get rid of him for me and I’ll come back for ’cart in ’spring?’
He nodded. ‘Aye, I’ll see to it. But go now, don’t linger or he’ll have my hide. Take ’road straight down ’valley, then when tha gets to three oaks at ’bottom, turn left, after that ’road winds quite a bit so watch out tha doesn’t tummel into any deep drifts. Then there’s a crossroad, if it’s visible under ’snow. Go straight on again until tha comes to Hawksworth farm. They’ll give thee a bed for ’night and directions to get back home.’
It wasn’t until she was halfway down the valley that she wondered how he knew where she was going, or where home was, for she hadn’t told him or Mrs Rogerson where she had come from.
‘And where is home, Charlie?’ She gazed down at the vast expanse of whiteness, not a hedge or fence visible to break up the landscape. ‘Home should be with my childre’. Why am I wandering in a foreign country with a pack on my back? I’m a townie, used to cobbles and paving slabs; I’m a River Rat with my feet on damp staiths. Not a wanderer or gipsy in a place where there isn’t a house to be seen, onny trees and hills and sky.’
By midday the sun came out briefly and its light intensified the brightness of the snow. She squinted ahead. Her eyes hurt and her feet were wet, and her legs ached like never in her life before as she staggered up and down the hills. I can’t see no farmhouse. I hope I haven’t taken ’wrong road.
She couldn’t recall having passed a crossroad, but then the chalk road was so difficult to identify beneath the snow, and she was relying on Charlie, who was running ahead, to search out a track that she might follow.
The sky suddenly darkened, the sun could no longer be seen behind a curtain of grey, and within minutes she was drenched beneath a squally blizzard of snowflakes which eddied and swirled around her so fast that she had to catch her breath and bend double so that the force of it didn’t knock her over.
‘Charlie!’ she screamed. ‘Charlie!’ She was so afraid of losing the dog. She was sure that she would step into a gully if he wasn’t there to guide her.
She peered through the whirling flurry and shouted again. What if he had fallen down into a gully? The hillsides were steep and the snow banked high, it would be so easy to take a step too far.
There was no answering bark and she listened intently but all she could hear was the wind howling across the hillside. ‘Now I’m done for,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ll die out here. Me body’ll be found in ’spring, and nobody will know who I am or where I come from. There’ll be no name above me grave, I’ll be unknown.’
A thought suddenly struck her and she took a deep shuddering breath. Toby’ll think I’ve run off with his money, and ’Trotts’ll think I’ve pinched their donkey, and Robin’ll be that upset about his dog. She berated herself for her stupidity at coming out alone instead of listening to the warnings given by Toby and Robin, and she sniffed and snuffled in self-deprecation and wiped her streaming eyes with cold fingers.
She put her head down and walked on. There was no sense, she thought, in dying on the spot, she’d keep walking until she dropped. That way, it’ll maybe be quicker and perhaps I won’t suffer. Something snatched at the hem of her cloak and she pulled against it. Again it caught and she turned around to unloosen it from its hold, some bramble or twig protruding from the snow and holding her fast.
Charlie! Charlie, with his jaws firmly on the skirt of her cloak, and pulling her in the opposite direction from the one in which she was travelling.
She followed him. He seemed to know where he was going and she certainly didn’t, for with the whiteness of the snow and the unfamiliarity of the landscape, she had completely lost direction. Though she seemed to think he was leading her across the hills at a different angle away from the road, to where the snow was deeper, past her knees, and where he leaped and bounded and almost disappeared beneath the snow.
He gave a loud bark and stopped and she looked up from the thick white carpet where she had firmly kept her eyes, and saw before her a wooden shack, not a house or cottage, but merely a shelter, without windows but with a stout door and a roof.
‘Oh, Charlie. What a clever fellow. Is it open?’ She tried the sneck, it wasn’t locked and lifted beneath her fingers, but snow was lodged beneath the door and she had to scrape with her fingers to free it. She pushed and it gave, and she almost fell through the doorway into the small dark interior.
‘What does tha think it is, Charlie? A shepherd’s shelter, maybe?’
The dog just lay down on the mud floor and closed his eyes. ‘Poor old Charlie.’ She patted his head. ‘Tha’s worn out, same as me, but tha did well and I’ll tell Robin about thee when we get back.’ Gone were her morbid thoughts of death. Now she had shelter, she also had hope. Charlie opened one eye at the mention of Robin’s name and then closed it again and rolled onto his side and went to sleep.
There was no furniture in the room, just a wooden bed made from planks and set against the wall, and leaning in a corner were several long sturdy sticks, some with a crook like a shepherd’s staff. Someone had made a fire at sometime, for there was dead ash in the centre of the floor, and a small pile of dry kindling, but she couldn’t light it for she had no flint or stone. But never mind about that, she thought, I’m just glad to be inside. We’ll stop here ’till blizzard blows itself out.
It wasn’t until the next morning that the snow stopped falling and when she looked outside, it was as if the whole world was white. This must be what ’Arctic looks like, she thought. A field of ice, Alan said it was, when I asked him. Only it would be much colder than this. She looked up at the sky. It was blue with the sun just rising and not a sign of further snow.
Charlie whined behind her and put up a paw. ‘There’s no breakfast if that’s what tha’s after. Not a bit o’ bread, nothing.’
He whined again to go out and she opened the door and told him not to be long, and she lay down again on the bed and wrapped her cloak about her and wondered what to do. Should she risk walking on again or stay here without food and wait for the thaw? She closed her eyes. She had slept only fitfully through the night, being conscious of the wind howling, and wondering if the snow would blow deep against the door so that she couldn’t open it and so trapping her inside. She breathed deeply and tried to relax. She was safe for the moment.
She was woken by the sound of Charlie scratching on the door. When she opened it he was standing triumphantly, his eyes bright and his tail wagging, and a rabbit between his jaws.
‘I can’t cook it without fire,’ she said as he lay it at her feet and waited for praise. ‘And if I had fire, I don’t like skinning rabbits, ’thought of it makes me sick.’ She had always turned away when the butcher in the Butchery in Hull had lifted
his cleaver to chop the feet off a rabbit, or taken his knife and slit the belly, drawing the skin over its head like undressing a baby.
‘But we’ll take it with us. We’ll not waste it.’ She fastened it to the outside of her pack and picked up one of the sticks from the corner. She’d made a decision, they would move on.
They made slow progress, the snow was even deeper than before and though Charlie seemed to have a homing instinct for direction, she sometimes overruled him and headed off towards higher ground so that she could look down and try to find some familiar landmark.
By dusk they hadn’t passed or seen any kind of habitation or sign of life, and again she started to worry. Once it became dark she could be walking round in circles getting nowhere and she knew if she became too tired to walk, then she was finished. She would fall asleep with exhaustion and die.
Charlie sat down on his haunches and pricked his ears. She stopped behind him and listened. What had he heard? His nose twitched. Stupid dog, she thought. He’s got wind of another rabbit. He whined and then stood up and barked. Coming towards them was a figure on horseback.
Could it be Toby? He’s come looking for me, she thought excitedly and waved her arm and shouted. ‘Here, over here. Help.’
The man waved back and came towards her and her excitement faded as she realized that it wasn’t Toby after all. But still, I’m glad to see anybody, anybody who can guide me back. She narrowed her eyes as he trotted closer. He was wearing a heavy dark cloak and a black hat. It was Roxton, the revenue officer.
She didn’t think that he recognized her, he had only seen her once, on the night with Toby, when they had pretended to be young lovers, and it had been dark then beneath the trees; and now she deliberately kept her voice low and plaintive and not rough and raucous as previously when she had challenged him.
‘Can tha help me, sir? I’ve lost my way. I need to get back to Welton. Am I on ’right road?’ She didn’t want to mention Hessle and once she was in Welton she knew she could find her way back to the river.
‘You’re miles away,’ he said, ‘but on the right road. Keep going for another two miles and there’s an old farmstead. You’ll perhaps get shelter for the night.’
She thanked him and prepared to move off, when he stopped her. ‘What are you carrying in your packs?’
‘Oh, nothing to interest a gentleman such as yourself, sir. Only cloth and knitting pins, buttons and such like.’
‘It’s a bad time of year to be out selling such things.’ He leaned down and stared hard at her. ‘Aren’t you afraid of footpads and robbers?’
She shook her head. ‘I have no jewels or fancy baubles such as they’d want, and when there’s hungry mouths to feed and no man to bring in money, there isn’t a good time, sir. My bairns will be waiting for me and worrying that I’m so late home.’
‘Then I’ll not detain you. I wish you a safe journey.’ He touched his hat and rode off and she heaved a sigh of relief. If he’d asked to look at the contents of her bag he might wonder why such a poor woman had the remains of tea and tobacco and a bag of coins in her pack.
I’m lost again, she thought. She looked down into the next valley but couldn’t see any farmhouse. Everywhere gleamed white as darkness fell and the trees were bowed down under the weight of snow, their branches bending low to the ground. She listened. She thought she heard a whistle. Charlie heard it too and stood, his ears pricked and body quivering. There it was again, a long sharp whistle and Charlie was off, flying down the valley into the darkness and leaving her alone.
She shouted. Her voice muffled against the blanket of snow. There it was again. Surely someone must have heard her, if she could hear them. She waited a few minutes and then set off downhill, trying to follow Charlie’s paw marks set deep in the snow and testing every step with the long staff.
When an old man appeared out of the darkness she jumped in fright. Then Charlie rushed up to greet her, barking and running in circles around her. The old man peered at her. ‘It’s a good thing tha has a dog,’ he shouted, his voice clipped and sharp. ‘Tha’d never have got out of ’valley. ’Road’s completely blocked.’ He waved his thumb at her. ‘Tha’d better come wi’ me.’
‘Where does tha live? I don’t see a house.’ She stumbled alongside him.
He didn’t answer but kept on walking.
‘I heard tha whistling. Did ’dog find thee?’ Still he didn’t answer and she bent her head questioningly to him.
He turned towards her. ‘It’s no use talking to me,’ he shouted. ‘I’m as deaf as stone.’
He led her out of the valley and up the hillside and into his one-roomed, low-beamed cottage where there was a fire burning and a pan of soup hanging over it. He ladled some into a bowl and passed it to Annie. He picked some of the meat from the pan with his fingers and gave it to Charlie. Annie silently handed him the rabbit and he nodded his thanks and took it and hung it up high on the wall outside.
Annie supped the soup, her eyes kept closing and her fingers and toes tingled from the warmth of the fire. She took off her boots and looked at her reddened toes and rubbed them with her hands. Then sleep finally claimed her and she lay down on the floor, wrapped her cloak around her and fell fast asleep.
She lost track of time as she slept on and on. She was vaguely aware of the old man giving her soup and as she gazed blearily around, found she was lying on a straw mattress. Then she was lost again in slumber. She dreamt she heard him opening the door for Charlie to be let out and seeing a flurry of snow blow in through the door. She got up once herself when she heard frantic scratching at the door and on opening it found the dog there with another rabbit in his mouth. She climbed back onto the mattress and closed her eyes and let the old man deal with it.
Finally she woke and felt refreshed, she stretched and wondered how she had got into this bed. She glanced warily towards the old man. Where had he slept? The mattress was narrow, no room for two and surely she would have known? Then she saw the blanket by the fire and realized that he had given her his own bed and he had slept on the floor.
‘How did I get here?’ she shouted, indicating the mattress. He gave a toothless grin and came towards her. She shrank back as he reached for her hand. But he was only placing it on his forearm and inviting her to test his biceps, which were as firm as a young man’s and as hard as iron.
‘Tha’s light as a feather,’ he chortled. ‘No trouble at all.’
He went to the door and opened it wide. A soft drizzle was falling. ‘Thaw’s started. Tomorrow tha can travel. Tha’d best go whilst tha can, for we’ll have another frost after, and then more snow.’ He nodded his head. ‘Believe me, I know. Next lot will be worse than this.’
Charlie came bounding triumphantly over the snow with yet another rabbit in his mouth. ‘He’s a good dog that one,’ the old man said. ‘Wilt tha leave him? My dog’s gone missing.’
She shouted at him that she couldn’t, that Charlie wasn’t hers, and he nodded and sat down and gazed pensively into the fire. It was later that Charlie stood by the door with his ears cocked as if listening, and then whined and frantically scratched to be let out.
He didn’t come back and night fell and she called and called, fearful that he had gone home without her. She insisted this time that the old man had his bed back and she lay on the floor on a canvas sack by the fire and worried about Charlie.
The next morning the old man woke her early. ‘I’ll take thee to ’head of ’next valley,’ he said, pulling on his boots. ‘’Snow’s thick but I know ’best way out.’ He stood up and pointed up the hills. ‘I reckon thy dog’s gone, ’same as mine. He’ll be in a gully or a trap, we’ll find ’em both come spring.’
She shuddered and wondered if it was worth going back when she had to confess to losing both a dog and a donkey. Poor Charlie. He’d been so faithful. Poor Robin, what would he say?
She turned to pick up her packs and the old man dampened down the fire, when she suddenly remembered what she ha
d in her other pack. ‘Wait!’ She called him back from the door. She handed him first some tea and watched his face crease with pleasure and then reached for his hand and opened it, and made him close his eyes. She delved into the waxed bag and pulled out a handful of tobacco and placed it on his open hand and waited for his reaction.
His grin spread from ear to ear and as he opened his mouth to speak, Annie heard a bark. She turned to the open door. There was Charlie, wet through and panting, and accompanied by another dirty, dishevelled and limping dog.
15
She stood on the ridge and looked back. The old man was halfway down the valley, heading back for the copse of trees which he had led her through, and which afforded them some shelter from the deep snow which was now turning to slush, filling her boots and soaking her cloak and skirt. He turned and waved just before he entered and she waved back. I didn’t even ask his name, nor he mine. Yet he saved my life. I wouldn’t have survived another night without him, that’s for sure.
And Charlie saved his dog. Poor old man, he nearly cried when he saw him, and he wrapped the old dog in his blanket like a sick bairn and told him he wouldn’t be long, that he’d just see us safe.
She gave a deep sigh and turned away towards the direction she was heading. There’s some good folk about, just as many as bad, though I’d never have believed it once. Her gaze took in the dale below her and the narrow track running through it which was only just discernible as the snow melted on its chalk surface; a cluster of farm buildings nestled in its hollow, and as she raised her eyes she saw in the distance, the gleam of the Humber.
Instantly her spirits rose. She was nearly home. She felt animated and vigorous, filled with a resilient energy of spirit. What’s happened to me? I’m not ’same person who left Hull all those weeks ago. I’m not frightened of life the way I was, and though I’m scared of what’ll happen if ’law finds me, I think I can meet what’s to come.
