Lily's Journey

by Tania Crosse

  I didn’t get up when I heard him in the morning, but lay in bed, curled up against the cold, allowing my resentment to brew up inside me, counting the minutes until I was sure he had gone. Then I snuggled my feet into my slippers, pulled my thick cardigan over my nightdress and scooted downstairs to the warmth of the kitchen. The range firebox had been banked up with coal, smouldering quietly with two tiny spirals of grey smoke scrolling up towards the flue. Today, Sidney had judged it perfectly, as I imagined he usually did, yesterday’s failure being uncommon. Everything had been left neat and tidy. Precise. The Bible on the chair was the only reminder of Sidney’s presence.

  I moved it as I sat down to repeat my breakfast of the previous day. The National Loaf bread was turning stale, and I wondered when Sidney did his shopping. On Saturday afternoon, I assumed, as he worked in the morning, and in this Princetown I had heard about. I found it hard to imagine a substantial settlement in such a remote place, but I supposed it had been developed to accommodate the prison and all its staff.

  The water in the kettle was still warm, so I gave myself a quick wash and ran back upstairs to get dressed. It was fully light now and I went to the window to draw back those tatty curtains.

  I think I will remember that moment for ever. Dartmoor, revealed in all her spectacular glory. To my left, the view was partly obscured by the sunken building I had noticed on my arrival, a house of more stature than the cottages and with the overgrown remains of what once may have been a pretty garden. But beyond that, the land stretched out to the sky, as if its soul was reaching up to the heavens and out into eternity. And it was green. Green and brown.

  I had seen my first green fields as the train had steamed away from London and into the countryside. Flat and enclosed with bare autumn trees spreading their dark fingers into the rain. Cows were moving creatures, not static pictures in a book. Later, the land had undulated. I had seen sheep on hills, a tractor ploughing in rich, red earth. But this was different. It was sage green, bottle green, jade and emerald, bronze, cinnamon and burnt sienna. It rolled out at my feet with no trees or tall walls to impair my feasting eyes, a long dip that lifted to the horizon in a sharp ridge. Beyond its tip, to the right, far, far away, the blue hills of what must be the moors of Cornwall merged into the great dome of the sky.

  Here, over Dartmoor, silvery shafts bore down like searchlights from holes in the dapple-grey clouds, striping the sky. And then, further down, a wisp of white smoke was puffing along a dark, horizontal line skirting the base of the ridge. Of course. The little train that coiled its way up to Princetown on the tortuous route I had seen on the map but had not been aware of as I had travelled up in the dark.

  I was enthralled and threw on my coat, not waiting to plait my hair but allowing it to flow about my shoulders, Veronica Lake style, as it did naturally. Outside, the sky was clearing, so different from the blinding fog of the previous day. The unearthly mystery had given way to a bright sparkle. The landscape was breath-taking, begging to be explored. It made me feel nervous, excited and serene all at the same time. Lifting my spirit and giving me strength.

  I hurried over to the quarry and found myself looking across a massive granite amphitheatre, ten times the size of what I had glimpsed in the mist. The lofty walls rose like a mighty fortress, opening up to a further, even more immense quarry to the right. But I wouldn’t investigate further for the moment. Just now, I wanted to gain a more general picture of my surroundings and, retracing my steps, I walked back to the humble cluster of empty cottages. I glanced further along the track, beyond some other derelict buildings nestling in a dip that I hadn’t noticed yesterday in the fog. To my astonishment, I spied a hundred yards or so away a large house that was very much in good repair with smoke wafting from the chimneys. Other outhouses, a tractor, two or three enclosed fields declared it a working farm. So we had neighbours after all!

  Way beyond it, distant hills rose to sharp summits, not rolling gently but in strong, dramatic lines. A couple of vehicles, resembling ants at that distance, were passing along what must be the main Tavistock to Princetown Road. Beside it was a long, low building that roused my curiosity, and further along on the opposite side, I could make out what had to be Merrivale Quarry where Sidney worked.

  I walked along to the farm, stopping to lean on a gate in a stone wall to watch a stout black horse in a field. When I clicked my tongue, he ambled over, ears pricked forward, and he lifted his head over the gate to blow down his nose at me. I was uncertain, but he seemed friendly enough, so I dared to lift my hand, slowly so as not to startle him, and stroked the long white patch down the front of his head. It felt warm and smooth beneath my fingers.

  ‘Hello, young maid. You’m not lost?’

  I turned and looked into the gnarled face of a small man with bandy legs and an old and ripped waxed coat. His tweed cap had seen better days, too, and his gumboots were thick with sludge. But he had a kind smile and faded eyes, and he had spoken with that lovely local accent.

  ‘No, not really,’ I told him, feeling confident in my newfound belief that the moor and everyone on it was to be trusted. ‘I’m Sidney Latham’s daughter. I’ve come to live with him. I’m out exploring.’

  ‘Aaah,’ the old fellow drawled, removing his cap and scratching his bald pate. ‘Didn’t know ’er ’ad a darter, like.’

  I paused for a second while my brain deciphered the dialect, but I thought I understood. ‘Oh, well, we’ve been sort of estranged,’ I explained with a smile. ‘I was brought up by my grandmother in London, but she died a few weeks ago, so now I’m living here.’

  I had decided on the spur of the moment that it was best to say the truth but to keep it to the barest minimum. The farmer nodded and replaced his cap. ‘London, eh? Never bin mesel’. Not used to the country, eh, then?’

  ‘No. A total stranger, I’m afraid. The horse is lovely. What’s his name?’

  ‘’Er’s a she. Poppy. Belongs to my darter. Tell you what, us was just ’bout to ’ave a cuppa. You wants to come in?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ I followed him eagerly towards the farmhouse. I felt I had arrived, making new friends on the doorstep. I was waiting behind the old man as he pulled off his boots by the door, when a mewing cry from high above caught my attention and I looked up to see a huge brown bird circling overhead. I’d never seen anything like it. ‘Gosh, what’s that?’ I gasped in wonder.

  The farmer cocked an eyebrow skywards and grinned. ‘Buzzard. S’ppose you’ve never seen one afore. Lookin’ for ’is dinner, likely. Common on the moor. In singles, or pairs, usually. See the shape of the wings? Not like a rook. Wings like fingers, old rookie. Eh, Nora!’ he called as I followed him through a small porch and into a ramshackle room. ‘Got a visitor, us ’as!’

  It was just as I imagined a farmhouse kitchen should be, and a woman with a beaming face and a pinny tied about her rotund figure looked up from mixing something in a bowl on a huge table.

  ‘This is Sidney’s darter, come to live with ’en. Sorry, maid, didn’t get your name.’

  ‘Lily,’ I smiled back. ‘Only it’s Lily Hayes, not Latham. A long story.’

  ‘Well, I never,’ the woman called Nora shook her head. ‘The old devil never told us he had a daughter. Well, you’ve met Father here, that’s Barry. Barry Coleman. My husband, Mark, and Father run the farm. We’ve three children, two girls and a boy. All younger than you, mind. Go to school in Princetown. You going to go there?’

  ‘No. I left school in the summer,’ I explained, noticing that she was easier to understand than her father. ‘I used to work in Woolworths in London. I’ll be looking for work here, but I’m taking a few days to get to know the place first. Because of the fog yesterday, I’ve only seen the quarry so far.’

  ‘It’s ’cuz of the quarry that us is here,’ Barry nodded. ‘My grandfather worked there and took on this farm – Yellowmeade us is called – when ’er retired. Then my father were a quarryman, too, but when the quarry here closed in 190
6, ’er took over the farm, like. Could’ve gone to Swell Tor or Merrivale, but ’er preferred farmin’. Then it were my turn, wa’n it, and me an’ the missis ran this place for years. She died back along, an’ now Mark an’ me runs it.’

  ‘Coffee do?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please. My father hasn’t got any, and I can’t drink tea.’

  ‘With cream from our cows? Two Devonshires we’ve got for our own use,’ Nora announced proudly. ‘Keep them in the barn in the winter. Your father buys his milk from us, and his butter and cheese. Make it myself, I does.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ve tasted it!’ I enthused, taking the mug of coffee. ‘It’s delicious!’

  ‘That’s livin’ in the country for you. Best place on earth, Dartmoor.’

  ‘From what I’ve seen, it’s stunning. I’m going to go exploring!’

  ‘Well, you take care, maid. Moor’s a dangerous place if you doesn’t know it. Always take a compass an’ a map. An’ watch that sky. Mist can descend just like that. An’ beware of bogs. D’you know what bog-cotton is? I’ll show you later. If you sees it, take care. An’ black Scottish bullocks. Bin known to charge. Most other cows roamin’ on the moor is all right, unless they’ve got a calf.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I think I’ve got a lot to learn.’

  ‘Father’ll put you off,’ Nora chided fondly. ‘It’s not that bad. Really beautiful.’

  ‘Best to be warned, I always say. This maid’ll find it very different from London, I dare say.’

  ‘I’m sure she will. Piece of cake to go with that, Lily? I don’t know. We go for months without visitors, and then we have two in a row, first Artie and now you.’

  ‘I ’opes the funeral went well. Lovely woman, old Mrs Franfield.’

  My ears pricked up. I hadn’t imagined my mystery man after all. ‘Oh, is that the man who came up here yesterday? He was born in one of the cottages, he said, but his father had died at the quarry before he was born?’

  ‘That’s right. Artie Mayhew. ’Is mother, the lady what’s just died, she remarried and they went to live in Tavvy, ’er new ’usband bein’ a doctor, like. But they used to come up here often, and Artie and me would play together, though ’er’s a bit younger. Now, the doctor’s father were a wealthy man.’ Barry Coleman sat back in his chair and I gained the impression he loved to tell a tale, especially one that involved reminiscing. ‘’Er ran what us’d call now a big antiques business in Plymouth. Artie were really interested an’ went to work for ’en. Eventually, ’er in’erited the whole affair, but it were bombed out in the war, an’ ’er lost almost everything. But ’er managed to build it up again, just a small place now. With ’is mother and the doc’s ’elp. Very close family. I be sorry the old lady be passed on. But I can’t sit ’bout talkin’. Work to do. You like to come with us, maid?’

  ‘Oh, that’s very kind,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I’d love to some other time, but I think I ought to go into Princetown. There’s a few things I need.’

  ‘Some other time, then. But I’ll come out with you and point out bog-cotton.’

  ‘Thank you. And thank you very much for the coffee and the lovely cake, Nora.’

  ‘You’re welcome any time, my dear. I’m sure we’ll see you again soon.’

  I went outside with Barry and he duly showed me the distinctive plant. ‘You remember that,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Oh, I will. And thank you. Oh, what’s that building over there, by the way?’ I asked, pointing into the distance.

  ‘Used to be a school. Nora went there. Closed back along. The Yanks used it during the war.’

  ‘Dartmoor was used a lot for training the Army, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Always ’as been. An’ still is. So don’t you go wandering too far the other side of the road there. Come onto the firing range if you does. Marked on the map, if you’ve got one.’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ I assured him.

  ‘Well, I’m going this way to check on our sheep. You take care, now.’

  ‘I will! And I’ll see you soon!’

  He turned back to wave as he strode up over the moor with remarkable agility, and I made my way back to the cottage. I felt so reassured, knowing there were such good people living a stone’s throw away.

  A little later on, I set out for Princetown. I followed along the track in the opposite direction from the farm towards the railway halt, and another magnificent vista opened up before me. The land dipped away on the far side of the railway whose single track looped about on itself below me. My eyes swooped along the horizon and caught sunlight shimmering on the distant sea, or perhaps it was the river estuary. As I turned slowly on my heel, the endless moor cut a wild, dark slash against the open sky through all three hundred and sixty degrees. Not far away, a group of wild ponies were standing like hairy statues, long, tangled manes and flowing tails drifting in the light breeze. I was enchanted and watched as they settled to cropping the grass. I could hear the soft tug and munch of their teeth as they grazed unperturbed not ten yards away.

  And that was how I suddenly felt. Free and untroubled, as if the grief was trickling from my heart. It didn’t matter that Sidney was going to give me a tough time. I would need infinite patience, but I would eventually talk to him about the family I had never known. In the meantime, I would allow this sense of calm and belonging to heal me. Was that what Artie Mayhew had meant when he said the moor was alive? I was beginning to understand.

  I had no idea if there was a train due that would take me into Princetown, so I decided that I would attempt to follow alongside the railway line which, from the map, seemed the most direct route. It was a splendid walk, relatively flat and with constant, far-reaching views, so that I seemed to cover the two miles in next to no time. I called in at the station to get a timetable, and then went on into the centre. I knew, again from studying my map, that the prison was just outside the main settlement, so I wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t visible from where I was. I found not only the shops that Sidney had described but a Post Office, a Town Hall advertising various functions, several cafés and no less than three pubs.

  Amazingly, I found a pitcher and bowl set quite easily in the shop called Bolts, and when the lady learnt where I lived, she said her husband would deliver it as it would be heavy to carry, which I thought was very kind. I purchased that much-needed pair of Wellingtons from her, too, but decided there would be a wider choice of shoes in Tavistock. I also bought some Camp coffee and registered for the few items that were still on ration, including meat in one of two butchers, but it seemed that the rules were adhered to less strictly than in London! It meant I had to introduce myself, but that was no bad thing. I gained the impression that Sidney Latham wasn’t particularly liked. Miserable old bugger, someone said. When I briefly explained my situation, rather than being eyed suspiciously as a fureigner, I was pitied for having to live with him.

  I did mention in several places that I was looking for a job, but no one had anything to offer me, so Sidney had been right that I would probably have to work in Tavistock. I made enquiries into the bus service, but it only ran three days a week and at such unsuitable times that it wouldn’t be much use. But with the train having a good connection to the mainline at Yelverton, the journey should take about three quarters of an hour, so much longer than I was used to, but it would give me my independence again.

  As I sauntered back to Foggintor wearing my new wellies and carrying my shoes, I sang softly to myself, realising it was the first time I had felt like singing since Ellen had died. When I arrived home, I went in search of the old earth privies, cautiously peering into each cubicle in the little row. Oddly enough, they didn’t smell at all, but they were draped with cobwebs like something out of a horror film. They were cold and draughty, and from then on, the pot in my room seemed infinitely preferable, even if it meant slopping out each morning!

  I shut the last rotting door with a shudder, and decided to walk along the great mound of discarded, inferior stone on which the closets s
tood. Big Tip was two hundred yards long and perhaps forty foot high, and when I came to the end, I imagined I was standing in the prow of a great ship, steaming across the ocean of the moor. Sidney was a difficult man and was going to make the voyage stormy, but as I watched the sun sink, painting the sky with apricot and topaz and draping the hills in an indigo haze, I made up my mind. I was courageous – or foolhardy – enough to want to set sail.

  ‘Did you have a good day?’ I asked with a jaunty smile when Sidney arrived home not long afterwards.

  He scowled. ‘It was work. What do you expect?’

  ‘I’ve made you a cup of tea,’ I answered undaunted. ‘And dinner won’t be long. I got us some chops with my rations, and I’m doing potatoes and carrots and onion gravy.’

  Sidney grunted with no hint of gratitude as I poured his tea. I had opened up the vents on the range and brought it up to full heat, adding a little coal when necessary. I already felt like an old hand with an acute sense of satisfaction that I had mastered it so quickly. I ignored Sidney’s black humour and, as I cooked, bombarded him with a cheery relation of my day. It was like talking to a stone, but I was happy and expectant, and he was bound to come round. ‘Oh, and tomorrow I’m going to Tavistock to look for a job,’ I concluded.

  ‘About time, too,’ was the response.

  I wanted to catch the first train of the day which passed King Tor Halt soon after half past seven. So I had to get ready at the same time as Sidney which meant washing in my freezing cold bedroom using the new china set that had been delivered as promised. But hurrying along the track soon warmed me up again. The moor was fresh and smelt of damp peat following overnight rain. After an evening incarcerated with Sidney, the invigorating sense of freedom was more than welcome!