by Nell Leyshon
i stamped out the kitchen and walked along to where mr graham was in his wood room. i knocked on his door and went on in and he was sat at his table with a pen and some paper. and he was bending over.
o. sorry, i said.
he looked up. it’s all right, mary. i was just writing my sermon for sunday. what is it?
i had to come and see you, vicar, i said, for i have had enough and i wanna go home. i don’t like it here. i never liked it from when i come and i never wanted to leave the farm anyway and if father wasn’t getting the money for me being here then i would never have had to come.
have you finished? he asked.
no. yes.
he smiled. you do speak your mind.
i only got one mind to speak so i ain’t got no choice, i said.
i suppose not, he said. though the rest of the world does not think in quite such a clear way. why don’t you sit down?
i shook my head.
why not?
i don’t like to.
all right. now what exactly is the matter? i did promise your father i’d look after you so if something’s wrong you’ll have to tell me.
there was a knock at the door. edna stuck her head round. sorry, mr graham, she said. mary, you’re not to bring every problem here. mr graham’s a busy man.
he ain’t that busy, i said. he’s just sat here.
mary, edna hissed.
mr graham smiled. she’s all right. she’s fine here, edna. leave her with me.
she’s got jobs to do and you’re busy.
i said you can leave her with me. thank you, edna.
edna went and closed the door behind her.
i know it’s not what you’re used to, being here, but you have to give it longer. you will get used to it.
i won’t.
look, mary, mr graham said. my wife likes you. that’s what i care about.
but i don’t care about any of you.
mr graham laughed. what are we to do with you?
let me go home.
not that, no. i have to go out straight after breakfast so look after my wife well today. try and get her to eat something. her appetite’s poor. o, and mary –
what?
i’ll tell edna to sort you out some new clothes.
ain’t nothing wrong with these.
they’re the only ones you have, aren’t they?
i only got one body to wear them.
but you could wash them occasionally. cleanliness, you will find, is next to godliness. you are god’s servant as i am and i must rush for i don’t like to be late.
where are you going?
he smiled. i didn’t know i had to tell you my whereabouts. i am seeing a parishioner. happy now?
no.
now give it a chance here, and remember, look after my wife.
i got the white room ready for mrs for when she come downstairs. i laid the fire and i put the cushions straight and i opened a window for to air the room like what edna showed me.
and then i had to go in the kitchen only i was careful to stay clear of edna’s hand. and she gave me a jug of hot water and told me to go up the stairs and see mrs for mrs asked for me to go and no one else.
i knocked on her door and she said come in and so i did.
i put the hot water down and went to the window and pulled the red cotton off the glass. i opened the window so the air could come in and she could hear the birds.
it’s a summer day, mrs, i said. the sun’s shining and i got the room ready for you down there so you can lie on the thing what you got what you lie on.
thank you, mary.
and i got hot water so you can wash your face.
yes, i can see.
so you gonna get up?
i’ll need you to help me.
and so i did. i helped her wash and then i had to help her in to her clothes.
when she was done she lay back against the white cushions and she was pale as them. i went to the window and looked out. i could see up the hill behind the house and i thought of the farm the other side of it and the day when we were all laid down at the top of the hill and dreamed of what it was we all wanted. and who would say i would end up in this house and be doing this. and i didn’t remember wishing for that.
downstairs i made sure mrs was settled and though it was warm outside the sun wasn’t yet round that side of the house so i lit the fire and closed the windows.
mrs watched all the while but she didn’t say nothing. her head was back on the pillow and her hands was by her sides and her arms looked like they was made of china like a clay pipe. and when i was all done i was gonna walk out the room only she called me back.
mary, she said. stay with me.
i got to help edna, mrs.
tell edna i said i want you here.
all right. but i’m gonna get you summat to eat.
i don’t want food. sit down here. she pointed at the chair.
i don’t like to sit down in the day, mrs. my legs got too much life in them for that.
don’t you ever get tired?
if i am i go to sleep.
you make everything sound so simple.
it is, i said.
if only you were right. tell me, did my husband go out?
yes, i said. he says i am to look after you and make you eat for he says you do not eat much. he says your appetite is poor.
then you had better get me something to eat. and while you are in the kitchen tell edna i asked that you be allowed to stay with me.
and so i went and told edna and then she went out in to the garden to get some fruit for she was to make a steamed pudding and i made mrs her food. i got some bread and cut small pieces of cheese. and i lay them on a plate and put it all on a tray with a pot of tea and i took it to the white room. and i put it down on the table next to her.
that’s your food, i said.
she looked at the plate. bread and cheese?
yes, i said.
is that what you eat on the farm?
we wouldn’t have no cheese for breakfast. we’d be having bread and tea.
o, she said. she smiled. that is not what i normally have.
well i didn’t know that, i said.
it’s all right. i’ll eat it, she said. you made it for me so i will eat it.
go on then.
but not now. i’m not hungry, she said. talk to me, mary. you cheer me up. tell me what your farm’s like.
ain’t gonna talk till you eat summat.
i told you i’m not hungry.
and i’m not in no desperate need to talk about anything.
i folded my arms and stood there. i didn’t say nothing and the clock ticked and she started smiling.
and if i eat you’ll talk to me?
i nodded.
she picked up a small bit of bread and ate it. i stepped closer. go on, i said, and she ate a bit more. when half the bread was gone and some of the cheese was gone i went and stood by her.
sit down, she said.
and so i did. i perched on the edge of the chair for it was daytime and i didn’t never sit down in the day and i started to talk.
all farms are the same, i said. so i don’t know what there is to say. we got a house and some places where the animals sleep and there’s mud and in the summer the fields is full of stuff what grows and what’s got to be cut to dry in the sun.
i know you have sisters.
i got three.
and you never had any brothers?
father says he wishes there was but there ain’t nothing he can do about that. he’s stuck with us, he says, and none of us can work as much as a man and none of us has got the sense of a man.
mrs laughed. do you talk a lot when you are at home?
they say i talk too much, i said. mother says i come out talking.
what is she like? do you take after her?
she’s always doing summat. making bread. cream. cheese to sell. she don’t have much time for talk but she s
ays i can help her long as i don’t prattle on but then i can’t stop my self so she just has to stand it. only there isn’t just me prattling on cos father’s father lives with us. and grandfather is a talker too and they say i get it from him.
what’s he like?
well he’s all right. he sleeps downstairs cos his legs is no good. and i go in to see him cos he can’t move round much and he’s on his own a bit.
i can tell from your voice you like him.
i can’t hide nothing in my voice, mrs. least you know where you stand with me. don’t reckon i could lie if i was ordered to.
that’s a good quality.
depends whether you wanna hear what i got to say.
i suppose, yes.
i get in some terrible troubles with being like i am.
do you?
yes i do. can you lie?
i waited for her to say summat but she never. and i was about to go on talking some more but she’d gone quiet. her skin was white and her eyes like glass. you all right? i asked.
i’m a bit warm, she said. could you open the doors?
i went to the big doors what opened in to the garden and unlocked them and pushed them open. the fresh air come in and i stood there a while looking at the grass and the table out there and i could hear the birds.
i knew what time it was though i ain’t never read no clock in my life. the milking would be done now and they’d be back in the house. grandfather would be eating his breakfast. if they remembered to get him from the apple room.
mary?
yes.
would you brush my hair? but i need you to be gentle. my scalp gets tender.
i stood behind her and started to brush. how’s that?
perfect.
she smiled as i brushed and i thought she was falling asleep but then she spoke. don’t stop. you do it so well.
i put the brush down on the table. i’ll only carry on, i said, if you have a bit more to eat.
mrs laughed. all right. just a little.
she took a lump of cheese and held it up and looked at it then she put it in her mouth and ate it. happy now?
happier, i said.
she laughed. are all farm girls so cunning? she asked.
i dunno what you’re saying, mrs.
it was time to cook the food and edna sent me out to get some vegetables. the man was in the garden and he stopped working and watched me walk up to him.
you harry? i asked.
he nodded but he didn’t say nothing.
edna sent me to get potatoes and beans, i said.
he just looked at me.
you got ears? i asked.
he turned and walked off and then came back with a spade. he stuck it in the soil and turned it over and the potatoes was there. i bent down and picked them up.
they’re early, i said. and your beans is early.
he still didn’t say nothing.
you do the horse and that, i said. edna says you do everything round the place.
i picked up the last potato and stood up straight. glad i came out, i said. good to have a chat with someone. i walked over to the beans and looked through for the big ones. he passed me a basket and i started to pick.
don’t take them all, he said.
i ain’t gonna, i said.
first ones is only for the vicar and his wife.
really? i said. you surprise me. i thought first ones was gonna be for me. thought you’d grown them all specially for me cos you heard i was coming.
that night i went on up the stairs and got in to the bed under the roof. i lay there for a bit then edna come in.
she got in to bed but she never blowed out the candle. she lay there and then got out of bed again. she pulled out a box what she kept hidden under her bed. and lifted it up on to the mattress and opened it and she called me over. come and see, she said. come and see what i got.
she lifted the lid of the box and inside there was a blanket spread over the things. she took out the blanket and put it on the chair. then she took out the things in the box. one by one. she unfolded them and held them up for me to see. i made these, she said.
she passed me one.
what are they? i asked.
shrouds, she said. for to be buried in.
and she held them up. one by one. each of them was embroidered with small crosses. and the stitches was all perfect.
this one’s for me, she said, and this one’s for my husband only i ain’t got one. and this for if i have a child that dies.
she held up the last one what was the size of a baby. and then she laid them all out on the bed.
i had another small one, she said, only i used that.
she put her hand in to the box and brought out a piece of paper what was folded. she unfolded it and inside there was a cutting of hair. and it was a curl. and where she held it up to the flame i could see it was blonde.
i had a baby, she said, only i was on my own when he was born and there was a cord around his neck. and he never breathed.
she folded the paper back up and put it in the box.
after he died, she said, i was sent here to work. and i been here ever since.
where did you live before? i asked.
over that way. two miles or so. i don’t see them, she said.
how old are you? i asked.
thirty two.
you been here years.
that’s right, she said. she folded up the shrouds and put them back in the box then laid the blanket over them. she put the lid down and put it back under the bed.
i get cold here, she said. and alone.
she put her hand out and touched my arm. her hand stayed there for a bit then she took it back.
i never meaned to hit you, she said.
it’s all right.
i was scared you would show me up.
it don’t matter, i said.
it does. i ought to be glad of the company.
she got in to her bed and i got in to mine and we lay there not moving and i said nothing and she said nothing and then i heard her start to cry and i put the pillow over my head.
a woman called at the door and edna told me to tell mr graham she was asking for the vicar. i went in to the dining room where he was sat finishing his breakfast. and he was sat at the table in his suit made of wool what was brown and he had a notebook and was writing in it and doing some drawings.
what are you drawing? i asked.
just some birds.
o.
i like to study birds. see how they nest, listen to their cries.
why?
he looked at me. because i find them interesting, he said.
o.
he put his knife and fork down on the plate.
you eaten as much, i said, as our pig does in a morning.
he smiled. mary, he said, allow me to give you some advice. don’t compare your employer to a pig.
o, i said. i wasn’t meaning to be rude. we all like our pig.
even so, in the hierarchy of life your employer should be above the pig.
he wiped his mouth with his napkin.
humans and animals, he said, are quite different.
ain’t that different to me, i said. there’s things they both do that’s the same.
he put up his hand. enough, he said. i don’t think we should continue this conversation.
right, i said. but there’s summat else, sir.
what?
i just remembered why i come in. edna said to tell you there’s a woman to see you, i said.
there’s always someone to see me, he said. tell edna to show her in to my study.
she already has. the woman’s there now.
right. well, she’ll wait for me.
he watched me as i cleared away the plates and knives what was used and put them on the tray to go to the kitchen.
you don’t look unhappy, he said.
ah, but you didn’t say i look happy, i said.
maybe. but you
are doing really well here. my wife is eating and seems a lot more cheerful. edna seems to have settled down and says you are a real help. and all that means i can get on with my work and concentrate on the church and the parishioners. he rubbed his chin and closed his notebook.
is there anything we can do, he asked, to make you happier here?
no.
there must be something. don’t be scared to ask.
i ain’t scared of nothing, i said.
but is there anything at all you need?
i got food and summat to drink. i got a bed and clean clothes.
but i take it you would like to see your family?
why you asking questions when you know the answer to them?
he laughed. you are a sharp little thing.
knives is sharp, i said.
if they have been sharpened upon your tongue they would be. i can see why my wife likes you being here. look, she and i have spoken and thought you should have the morning off. go on, go back to the farm. it’ll do you good.
i can go home? i started ripping off my apron.
slow down. i mean when you have finished clearing away, and just for the morning. you must be back after luncheon.
i will, i said.
tell edna to bring tea for the woman in my study. and send your father my regards.
i will.
my hand is hurting and so i stop.
i look out of the window.
it is raining as i write this. the water falls down the glass of my window and there is a mist and i can not see to the end of the fields.
i have to stop to blot the pages.
i shake my hand for it hurts where i am writing so fast.
my hair is the colour of milk.
i am mary.
m. a. r. y.
the sun was warm that day as i went over the hill and down the other side. the yard was empty and i went on in to the house through the scullery and past the pails of milk and the churns and the butter pats. i went on in to the kitchen what was empty. i walked through in to grandfather’s room but he wasn’t there neither.
i went across and opened the door in to the apple room. the boxes was piled high but between them there was the bed and on the bed there he was.
he must’ve heard me coming cos he was smiling. look who’s here, he said. well bugger i, didn’t expect to be seeing you today.
hello, grandfather.
