Just a Travelling Girl

by Chrissie Wren

  He swung the sack expertly over his shoulder. They ambled side by side along the edge of the field, careful not to tread on the prickly straw stubble.

  They were both so lost in their own thoughts that they didn’t notice the gateway was blocked. Three teenage boys with club like sticks barred their exit.

  “What have you got in that sack, gippo?” said the tallest one; he slapped his stick into his hand menacingly.

  Peter feared for Jenny. If he had been on his own, he’d have tackled the three of them―he was good with his fists. Sometimes, he had to fill in as the ‘volunteer’ at the fair when they couldn’t find a local, to challenge the prize fighter. But this was different; he saw the way they looked at Jenny. He followed their eyes as they took in her long blonde hair, and how the gentle breeze was blowing it seductively, away from her face. Her blouse was unbuttoned, one too many to be considered decent, her skirt hitched up to reveal her shapely tanned legs. It would take two of them to hold him, but that would still leave one to attack Jenny, he calculated.

  “We are on our way home, sir,” said Peter.

  Jenny could not believe what she was hearing; Peter calling this lout sir!

  The three youths looked at one another uneasily. They were confused, it was one thing to tussle with trespassing gypsies, but there would be trouble if they were respectable citizens. Peter had put doubt in their minds.

  The ringleader looked Peter and Jenny over again. Yes, he thought, they had to be gypsies; their clothes were ill-fitting, their shoes worn out and grubby, and yet as soon as he convinced himself, he became unsure again, what about the lad’s voice and the girl’s blonde hair? Peter couldn’t help smiling; he could read their thoughts as if they had spoken them out loud. It was a mistake. The one with the bulging eyes and stubbly chin said, “Laughing at us, are you gippo?” He raised his stick over Peter’s head. Quick as lightning, Peter swung the sack of corn, he caught the lad on his chin and he fell to the ground stunned.

  The other two grabbed Peter. One came up behind him and pinned his arms behind his back, the other punched him viciously in the stomach. Peter was bent, double by the second blow; his captor let him drop to the ground on his knees.

  “I’ll teach you to pinch our corn,” said the ringleader.

  Before Peter had a chance to protest, the club hit him on the back of his head. He sprawled onto the grass unconscious.

  Jenny stared, it had all happened so quickly. Her first instinct was to run but she couldn’t leave Peter. A small trickle of blood had started to ooze out of his wound. She felt rooted to the spot, not knowing what to do next. She had never been so frightened. Even hanging onto the cliff that night did not compare to this.

  The lout with the bulging eyes sat up. Seeing Peter lying helpless on the ground, he staggered to his feet and kicked him in the back. Jenny leapt into action and pushed him, spilling her carefully picked blackberries.

  “Leave him alone, you bully!” she screamed and finding strength in her anger, grabbed his club and swung it round, not caring who she hit. The other two laughed and taunted her.

  “Need any help, Bill?” the tallest youth asked. Bill’s eyes bulged even more as he took the offered hand. He stepped towards Jenny.

  “I’m warning you!” she shouted, feeling confident, “You’ll have a fight on your hands if you tackle me.”

  “Wasn’t fighting I had in mind,” he leered.

  A flicker of fear passed through Jenny. She now realised why Matron had been so insistent that all the girls in her care attended self-defence classes. Until now, she hadn’t needed to put what she had learned into practice.

  “Nice blouse,” he said, feeling the material on her sleeve. Jenny swung the club in the air and was just about to bring it down on Bill’s head when the ringleader grabbed it and wrenched off her. Fear knotted in her stomach; she knew she had to keep her wits about her.

  “Oh you are very brave with your clubs, aren’t you?” she sneered.

  They did as she had hoped and threw the weapons on the ground. The three louts circled Jenny; one touched her hair.

  “How come you are blonde? Your mother strayed outside the camp?”

  They all laughed. It took all Jenny’s willpower not to defend her gypsy friends. She was determined not to be goaded into answering; if only she could get rid of two of them, then she might stand a chance.

  “Come on, lovely, give us a kiss.”

  Hands grabbed Jenny’s shoulders; instinctively, she brought her forearm up under her attacker’s chin and kneed him as hard as she could in the groin. His cry made a rabbit run for his life and a flurry of pheasants flew up squawking as much as the doubled up figure rolling on the ground.

  “Get her.”

  The ringleader grabbed Jenny from behind.

  “You’ve had your fun,” he laughed, “Now, we are going to have ours.”

  She kicked out at the one in front but he grabbed hold of her legs. She screamed and struggled, but it was hopeless; she was held fast. Dreading what they would do next, Jenny closed her eyes. Then, as suddenly as she had been grabbed, she was let go, falling unceremoniously onto the sharp straw stubble.

  Peter had clubbed the ringleader, knocking him off balance.

  “Now, put your fists up,” he shouted to the other two. One punch, made short work of the bully.

  “Look out,” cried Jenny. Peter ducked just in time to avoid being hit by the ringleader who had managed to stand up. Peter turned on him.

  “No,” shouted Jenny, “Let me,” and before Peter could stop her, she kicked the lout on his nose, making it bleed.

  “Stop! That’s enough,” he cried, “Leave me alone.” Peter looked at Jenny in amazement. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  “At self-defence classes, it’s called kick boxing,” she answered breathlessly. A singing skylark spiralled high into the clouds, and Jenny’s heart felt as if it would burst. Peter stepped towards her. They were being drawn together like magnets. She closed her eyes in anticipation; this was the moment she had been waiting for. Nothing else mattered, she just longed to be in his muscular arms and feel his lips on hers.

  “Hey, you two, are you all right?”

  A horse whinnied and the familiar sight of the two lurchers bounded up to them. Sam appeared, a few minutes later. He quietly took in the scene before him; three lads sprawled on the ground, Peter looking flustered and Jenny smoothing her skirt down and buttoning up her blouse.

  “Jenny, are you all right?” he asked, and jumped down from his horse.

  “I’m fine, Sam.” She could see he still looked worried, “Nothing happened, really, I’m okay.”

  “Peter, are you hurt?”

  “Just a few bruises. I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of Jenny though,” he said, composing himself. He could feel himself shaking then changing the subject, “You should have seen her fight, Dad.”

  Sam smiled with relief. “I heard a shout and saw the birds fly up; I thought you might have been in trouble.”

  “Now, you three, I think you owe Jenny and my son an apology,” said Sam.

  “What?” spluttered the ringleader as he staggered to his feet. “My father owns this land; they were trespassing.”

  “Even if they were,” said Sam calmly, “That doesn’t give you the right to attack them.”

  “I think we ought to report them to the police,” interrupted Jenny.

  “Leave this to me, Jenny,” said Sam sternly. Jenny recognised the tone of Sam’s voice and knew from experience that he would not tolerate an argument.

  “Is your father Geoff Thompson?” asked Sam.

  “Y…yes,” replied the ringleader, “How did you know that?”

  Sam ignored the question, “I don’t think he would like to hear about you attacking a girl, would he?”

  “N…no,” he replied, looking at his feet.

  “Well,” said Sam, “An apology?”

  “We apologise,” said the youth sullenly
.

  “I’m still going to tell my father, he was stealing,” said the ringleader, pointing his finger at Peter.

  “You do that,” replied Sam, “And don’t forget to give your father my regards.”

  “They got off lightly,” said Jenny, “I still think we should tell the police. Do you really know his father, Sam?”

  Peter glared at her, “My father doesn’t lie. If he says he knows a man called Geoff Thompson, then he does.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Jenny, feeling ashamed. Once again she had offended the gypsy’s high moral standard.

  “Geoff and I go back a long way,” said Sam kindly, “You’ve had a shock, Jenny. But calling the police would not have been wise. The police are probably still looking for you.”

  “I…I didn’t think, Sam, I’m sorry. I don’t deserve such good friends as you and Peter.”

  “What nonsense are you talking now, everybody deserves good friends. Now, collect up those spilt berries, Rebecca will be waiting for them.”

  Sam rode off with the two lurchers, barking happily at the horse’s heels. “I keep getting things wrong,” said Jenny.

  “Don’t worry,” replied Peter, “I expect if I had to live in your community, I’d make some mistakes too.” Jenny laughed, imagining Peter sitting at the dining room table at Rushbrook, worrying that he might be eating out of someone else’s bowl.

  “Does your head hurt?” she asked, involuntarily touching his dark curls matted by the blood.

  “It’s not my head, it’s my heart,” he replied softly.

  Jenny saw a new admiration and respect in his eyes. She felt he was just seeing her for the first time. He held her gaze until she had to look away. Then he took hold of her hands and placed them round his waist. He drew her to him and tilting her head up towards his own he kissed her lips, gently at first, then with an urgency that thrilled and frightened her. Jenny felt as if time was standing still.

  “We had better get back to the camp before Sam sends out a search party,” said Peter laughing. Jenny felt awkward, he had aroused feelings in her she didn’t know she had. Peter scooped up the barley while Jenny collected the blackberries, and her thoughts. “Shall we tell the others, we are walking out?”

  “What!” Jenny spluttered, then seeing the hurt look on Peter’s face said, “I’m sorry, it’s my mouth speaking before I think. I must have caught it from you.” She looked at him shyly.

  “Well, what do you call it when a couple are serious about one another then?” he continued. Warning bells not wedding ones sounded in Jenny’s head. She tried to make a joke of it.

  She was just beginning to know herself; she wasn’t ready for a commitment.

  “I think it’s far too soon to call us serious,” said Jenny, “And we are so different.”

  “They say opposites attract,” he laughed, “You don’t have to worry about anything, Jenny, I’ll look after you.”

  “I don’t want or need to be looked after, Peter,” Jenny replied, a feeling of panic rising in her.

  “Oh yes, I forgot your self-defence lessons, you can look after yourself.”

  “That’s not quite what I meant,” said Jenny. But Peter was not listening.

  “We won’t say anything to the others yet.”

  They walked back to the camp, Peter’s arm protectively round Jenny’s shoulder.

  As they trudged through the stubble field, Jenny’s doubts melted away, she felt good; nothing else mattered. She felt as if she were walking on air.

  It took two weeks to get up the country and with winter approaching, Jenny added another layer of clothing to keep out the chilled crisp air. She smiled to herself, as she remembered how fashion conscious she used to be. Now, her only concern was that her clothes were warm and dry. On the way, they had replenished their stores of food for the winter. Blackberries, of course, were safely packed. The jars wedged tightly together with straw, so they wouldn’t break. Hazel nuts had been gathered and stored in sacks; these were bound to the side of the caravan, just under the overhanging roofs, to protect them from the rain.

  Finally, the apples; these were separated into individual nests of hay, carefully cut and dried from the grass verges where they had camped during the summer. Kate had explained it would save losing all the crop, if one went bad. These sacks were strapped to the caravan axle. Jenny was amazed at the ingenious ways the gypsies found of carrying their supplies. There was not an inch of space wasted that could be used for storage. It was dark, when they arrived at their winter quarters. Jenny glanced at her watch: 5:30―Tea time at Rushbrook House, she thought.

  “Do you miss your old life?” asked Kate, noticing that Jenny had that faraway look in her eyes.

  “Sometimes,” replied Jenny, “Not so much the place but the people, especially Dan.”

  “Your boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” said Jenny, blushing, “We are just good friends.”

  Their eyes met and they both laughed.

  “What’s the joke?” said Sam, walking up alongside them.

  “Just women’s talk,” laughed Kate, “It wouldn’t interest you, Sam.”

  Sam grunted. “Wait here, I’ll open the gates.”

  The tall corrugated iron gates shuddered and screeched as he pulled them open. “It looks very gloomy,” said Jenny.

  “Wait till we get the lights on,” replied Kate, “You won’t think its gloomy then.”

  “Seems like we are the first ones here,” shouted Sam as he disappeared into the blackness. Then, the floodlights came on, lighting up the enormous enclosed yard.

  Jenny blinked and rubbed her eyes. She gazed in amazement there were pony traps and old fairground rides, and a beautiful, brightly coloured roundabout.

  Proud, prancing horses dancing from striped poles, the beams of light and the damp misty air played tricks on her. The horses seemed real, their polished wooden coats, gleamed and their nostrils flared. It was as if they were straining against the confines of the roundabout and she felt that any minute they would burst into life. “Get a move on,” said Sam, slapping Merlin on the rump.

  The magic moment had passed and Jenny looked excitedly round the building. “Look at that carriage; it looks like the one Cinderella went to the ball in.”

  “Probably was,” laughed Kate, “Cousin Jack hires out a lot of his carriages to film makers.”

  “Do you get free tickets?” asked Jenny, “I haven’t been to the cinema for ages.”

  “No,” said Kate, “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “I used to go every Saturday morning,” replied Jenny.

  “I’ve never been,” said Kate.

  Jenny was astounded. “Never! Why not?” As soon as she had spoken, she wished she hadn’t, Jenny had forgotten that gypsies didn’t have much actual money.

  “We queued up once,” continued Kate wistfully, “But when we got to the door, they wouldn’t let us in because we were gypsies. I don’t know how they knew though because we had our best clothes on.”

  “That wasn’t fair,” said Jenny indignantly. She felt sad for Kate as she imagined her and the children waiting excitedly for what was for them; the treat of a lifetime.

  “Are you going to bring that van over here or sit there talking all night?” shouted Sam, “The others want to get in too.”

  Kate and Jenny unhitched Merlin and took his harness off. Then she led him round to a stable at the back of the yard.

  “We’ll just get him fed and watered, and then I’ll show you around,” said Kate as she filled the hay net. Merlin stamped his foot impatiently, but a few minutes later was chomping contentedly on his hay, watching the other horses as they were led into the stables next to him.

  “This is where we repair and repaint the caravans,” explained Kate as they left the stables and walked back into the large building, “Also the fairground rides are inspected to make sure they are up to standard. Jack is proud of his record. No one has ever had an accident on his fairgrou
nd due to faulty machinery.”

  “Will I be able to paint?” asked Jenny.

  Kate smiled, “I expect we will find something for you to do, but it takes years of practice to paint intricate details like that,” she pointed to an old gypsy caravan with a square roof.

  “It’s beautiful,” gasped Jenny. The basic body work was deep scarlet with gold-painted shutters at the windows. Its wheels were cream with a scarlet line on each spoke. Even underneath on the chassis, there were more dark green and gold scrolls.

  The half door was painted with a rearing horse also in gold.

  “My Ben painted the door and the horse,” said Naomi joining the other two. She was heavily pregnant now and was finding it difficult to unhitch the horse, so Peter was helping Ben.

  “Isn’t it lovely to have electric light and a tap with running water?” she said to Kate brightly.

  Kate grinned, “It’ll make boiling up the water, when your baby arrives, easier,” she joked.

  “When is the baby due?” asked Jenny.

  “Just before Christmas, I hope,” replied Naomi, patting her stomach.

  There was a huge workshop at one end of the barn; big enough to take three caravans, but only one was inside. Old Rebecca’s was the first one to be repainted. The next day, the children and Jenny were given sand paper and for the next two days, they spent their time rubbing off all the flaking paint on Rebecca’s van. Jenny didn’t like using the sandpaper; it broke her nails and made her fingers sore. None of the others complained, so Jenny didn’t either.

  The men were busy at a long work-bench, cutting and sawing new wood, and making new parts to replace the old and broken ones.

  Suddenly, they let out a roar of welcome. Cousin Jack stood in the doorway. “Glad to see you are all busy,” he laughed.

  “What took you so long?” taunted Sam.

  “Oh, you know this and that, cars going too slow, getting in our way.” They all laughed. “Any cider about?” The men didn’t need any more prompting; they all disappeared from the workshop. Peter gave Jenny a wink as he joined the others.

  The vehicles, Cousin Jack and his men travelled in, were old vans and buses. Though in Jenny’s eyes, they were not so pretty as the traditional horse drawn caravans; she had to admire their paint-work. One had flames on the bonnet and roof. Another had painstakingly drawn a map of all the places he had visited. All were bound together by their common interest: ‘freedom of the road’.