Just a Travelling Girl

by Chrissie Wren

  Chapter 5

  The Baby

  Rock a bye baby on the tree top when the wind blows the cradle will rock, when the bough breaks the baby will fall, down will come baby cradle and all.

  It was tea time on the third day at their winter quarters. Jenny was perched high up on the bales, holding a cup of hot soup. The gypsies, showmen and some individual travellers were sitting on the bales of straw below, a wood-burning stove in the corner of the barn kept the chill away. Jenny watched and listened as they swapped stories about the summer events. They were a motley bunch, both in dress and appearance. The new age travellers stood out from the others with their Mohican style haircuts and their pierced and studded faces.

  “Which of you is Rosie?” shouted Cousin Jack. For a minute, Jenny did not realise he meant her.

  “Oh, it’s me,” she said, feeling rather stupid, everyone was looking at her. She saw a young lad nudge his companion and overheard him saying, “Doesn’t she know her own name?”

  “I have a letter for you,” Jack continued, “It was given to me after you left the fair, by your boyfriend.”

  Jenny blushed with embarrassment. “M…my boyfriend,” she stuttered.

  “Yes, come and get it then.”

  She climbed awkwardly down off the bales of hay and took the crumpled letter from him. She could feel Peter’s eyes boring into her; she dared not look at him. Since the blackberrying incident, she had not given Dan a thought; now as she looked at the familiar handwriting, memories came flooding back.

  “Why don’t you go to the van and read it, love?” said Kate.

  Jenny smiled at her gratefully. As she walked out to the yard, she could hear Kate explaining to the others how she came to have another name.

  Her hand was shaking as she opened the envelope. She had, long ago, forgiven Dan for his insulting words about the gypsies―she might have said the same things herself before she knew what wonderful people they were.

  She glanced quickly over the ‘hope you are well section’, and tears came into her eyes as she read that little Helen, the deaf girl, had been adopted and was very happy. Then she stopped at the next sentence and re-read it: Matron was a gypsy.

  At least she was by birth; apparently, she had been abandoned when she was a baby and had been brought up in an orphanage. Jenny ran back to the others.

  “Listen to this,” she said excitedly.

  The gypsies loved a story and listened attentively as Jenny read Dan’s letter to them. When she had finished, some of the elders were a muttering and glancing at one another. Jenny felt uncomfortable and cleared her throat.

  “Isn’t that an amazing coincidence?” she said.

  No one replied. Even Peter, who always had something to say, said nothing; he just looked puzzled.

  “The chain of time is linking us together.” All heads turned towards old Rebecca. She stood up and nearly fell over, one of her sons ran to her side, gently took her arm and led her back to her caravan. As she passed, Jenny she could see the tears welling up in her old wrinkled eyes.

  “What did she mean the chain of time is linking us together?” asked Jenny.

  Kate placed her hand on Jenny’s arm. “Leave it, love, don’t pry.”

  Jenny knew it was best not to argue; she was getting quite good now at thinking before she spoke.

  Jenny took her cup to be washed and the gypsies all made their way back to their sleeping quarters. She was about to go up the caravan steps, when Peter blocked her way.

  “Oh, Peter you made me jump.”

  “Show me the letter, Jenny.”

  His voice sounded different, almost threatening; he held out his hand. “No,” replied Jenny, “It’s private.”

  “Show it to me.”

  “Why should I? It has nothing to do with you.” Jenny backed away, clutching the letter tightly.

  “I won’t ask you again,” Peter’s eyes were fixed on her staring, willing her to do as he asked.

  “Good, because I wouldn’t give it to you anyway,” said Jenny, attempting false bravado. Peter lunged at her, trying to grab her arm. Jenny dodged him and ran up the caravan steps and quickly closed the door. She leaned against it knowing that if he used all his strength, she would not be able to hold it shut. He banged on it loudly with his fist.

  Jenny looked around for a place to hide the letter. She was frightened. Peter was acting completely out of character. She couldn’t think what was the matter with him.

  Then it all went quiet. She could hear distant voices as the gypsies were settling down for the night. Suddenly, the door burst open. Jenny screamed. It was Kate

  “What on earth is the matter?” she said.

  “I…I thought it was Peter,” she said and burst into tears.

  Kate looked at her sternly, “Did you ask him to come in here, with you alone in this caravan?” Jenny could not understand why Kate was being so angry with her.

  “No, of course not,” said Jenny, getting more and more flustered, “It was him, he was trying to get in.” Immediately the words were out, she regretted them; she saw the hurt in Kate’s eyes.

  “It’s not what you think, Kate,” said Jenny, remembering the gypsies’ high moral code. A boy or girl only had to be in each other’s company for one night and they were considered married; it would have brought the greatest shame on the whole family if a boy had forced himself on a girl.

  “Peter wanted me to show him my letter,” sobbed Jenny, “And when I said no, he tried to attack me.”

  “That’s nonsense,” replied Kate, “My son would never attack a girl.”

  “Now calm down, you two, what’s all this fuss about?” It was Sam. Jenny was so relieved to see him. He put his arm round Kate.

  “Come on, old girl, I’ve just seen Peter. Seems our lad is jealous.” He chuckled to himself, “Jealous of a piece of paper, got it bad, hasn’t he?”

  Kate and Sam left Jenny blowing her nose noisily, but as they reached the bottom of the steps, Kate turned and said, “Why couldn’t you have just shown Pete the letter instead of making him so upset?”

  Jenny closed the door and sat down on the edge of the bunk. She felt isolated. It was the first time Kate had not been her side. Sadly, Jenny realised that when it came down to it, she was still an outsider. She was cross with herself and with Pete; why did he have to go and spoil everything. Jenny lit a candle and sat watching the gentle flicker casting shadows on the walls. Then, almost without knowing what she was doing, she held the corner of the letter to the flame. It consumed it, greedily, until the remains dropped; black and charred onto the stove. ‘I hope we can meet again and be more than just friends.’ Dan’s words were clear in her mind. Perhaps, Peter had reason to be jealous, thought Jenny. She realised then that she did want to meet Dan again, wanted to with all her heart.

  Peter and Ben, Naomi’s husband, were learning the art of painting gold leaf from Jack. It not only took great skill and concentration to paint the intricate details, but also discipline. It was a very slow process. Jenny was amazed that Peter could turn his hand to this type of work; normally he was always so restless.

  It took a month to complete the paint-work and it was while Jenny and Naomi stood admiring the red green and gold scrolls that Naomi’s labour pains began.

  Naomi was taken to Rebecca’s caravan. Kate and another married woman helped. “Can I do anything?” asked Jenny.

  “No,” replied Rebecca, “And keep that husband of hers out of the way.” Naomi’s daughter was born the next morning.

  That evening, the violins were playing and a celebration feast was prepared to welcome the new baby into the world. Jenny watched as the proud parents gazed adoringly at her.

  I wonder, if my mother and father ever looked at me like that, she thought, and felt the tears pricking her eyes.

  Jenny had written a long letter to Dan, glad that she had an address, if only for a while, for him to reply to.

  It was November the 5th, and the gypsies went up
to the top of the hill to watch the town’s fireworks display. The sky was lit with sparkling gold and silver falling stars. The heady smell of burning autumn leaves wafted up to them from the bonfires below. Peter stood close behind her, pointing to the rockets he thought she had not seen. He took hold of her hand. It was the first time he had touched her since their argument over the letter.

  “Jen,” he said softly, “Would you run away with me?”

  “What!” said Jenny surprised, “Why would I want to run away with you? I’m quite happy here.”

  “Oh Jenny, you are so naive sometimes, don’t you know what I am asking?” She turned and looked at him, but before she could speak, Sam intervened.

  “We had better get back to the yard,” he said, “The horses might be frightened by all this noise.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” whispered Peter as he left with Sam.

  But tomorrow came and went without Jenny speaking to him. Some men from the council arrived, holding clipboards and looking very efficient. Jack was shouting, “What do you mean we are being evicted?”

  “What’s going on?” asked Jenny as she joined the others crowding round the men. “They want us to go,” said Naomi, clutching her baby and looking very worried.

  “My family have been at this yard for a hundred years,” said Jack, “You can’t evict us.”

  “That is where you are wrong,” said the man from the council, smirking, “Your family had a 99-year lease on this yard and now it’s up. You were notified. We heard nothing, so assumed you did not want to reapply.”

  Jack scratched his head, “I do remember something. I got a letter in the spring, just before we started to move out with the fair. I did speak to someone at the council offices and they said it was just a formality.”

  The council man nodded, “Yes a formality, but you have to apply for planning permission. And you didn’t.” Jenny had never seen anyone smile so much as he did, when giving bad news.

  “We need it, you see, for redevelopment.” He handed Cousin Jack the piece of paper from his clipboard.

  “You have 48 hours to vacate the premises; anything here after that time will be towed away to the council dump.”

  “You can’t be serious,” interrupted Sam, “It’s the middle of winter. We have just finished painting the caravans. There is nowhere for us to go at such short notice.”

  “Not my problem,” the council man sneered.

  The gypsies crowded in closer.

  “Make a barricade,” an angry voice shouted. “Get him,” said another.

  The council man backed away as the crowd surged forward. “Let him go,” said Jack.

  Quickly, the men ran to their car and drove off, their wheels screeching. “What are we going to do?” wailed Jack’s wife.

  He sat down on the steps of his bow-topped caravan and put his head in his hands. “I don’t know,” he groaned, “I just don’t know.”

  “There must be something you can do,” said Jenny, “Why don’t you see a solicitor.” Jack’s fierce scowl silenced her. Kate took Jenny’s arm.

  “Come on, leave it to the men, they will sort it out.”

  Jenny shook her arm free. “Why always the men,” she said angrily, “I can think too, even though I’m female. I only wanted to help, how can all of you women stand by and leave it to the men?” A couple of the younger women murmured in agreement, the older ones tut-tutted and said, “She should learn her place before there is real trouble.”

  This made Jenny even angrier.

  “What is this, if it isn’t real trouble?” she shouted.

  “What do you propose then?” said Peter sarcastically. “Have you got somewhere for us to go? Perhaps, you own a few acres of land with a barn to keep us warm?” Some of the lads laughed.

  “Can you take us there, Jenny?” one of them jeered.

  She felt herself blushing and then an idea came into her head. “Let me make a phone call and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Give her 20p,” said one of the men laughing.

  “Give her 50p, she might do better with two phone calls,” another shouted.

  Kate put her arm, protectively, round Jenny’s shoulders; she was grateful, it felt good to have Kate close to her again.

  “What are we going to do with you, love?” said Kate warmly, “You are always getting yourself into impossible situations.”

  “It’s all right, Kate, this time I really do have an idea. I must get to a phone.”

  Jenny started the two mile walk to the nearest telephone box. It was a sunny afternoon but the air was crisp and cold. She shivered and wished she had thought to put a coat on. She hadn’t gone more than half a mile, when the familiar clip clop of a pony’s hooves made her stop. It was Peter with the gig.

  “Hop in,” he said, “I’ll give you a lift.”

  “I hope you haven’t just come to gloat,” she said, still angry at him for not supporting her earlier.

  “No, I haven’t,” he said feeling ashamed, “I’ve never met anyone like you, Jen, you…you’ve got such spirit and sometimes, I get so angry with you, and then I admire you.” It was Peter’s turn to blush. Jenny wasn’t sure what to say. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and had the awful feeling he was going to say more. She didn’t want him to.

  “There is the phone box, stop here, Peter, and wish me luck.”

  Jenny jumped down off the gig and ran to the box. She took a deep breath and dialled the number. Sam had once said she could stay with them until she felt ready to go back. Well, she was ready to go back now and she would take them all with her!

  “Winton common 286,” it was Matrons voice. For a few seconds Jenny was tempted to hang up, but as she looked through the telephone box window she saw Peter smiling at her. She had to speak, they were all depending on her.

  “M… Matron, it’s me, Jenny.”

  “Oh Jenny, are you all right? Where are you?”

  “I’m fine Matron,” Jenny could hear the television blaring away in the background and Gemma’s shrill voice arguing with someone. Suddenly, she felt very homesick.

  “Come home, Jenny,” said Matron, “We’ll sort everything out, just come back to us.” Jenny burst into tears.

  “I want to,” replied Jenny, “But it’s complicated and I only have 20p.”

  “Give me your number and I’ll phone you back.”

  Jenny replaced the receiver, how on earth was she going to ask Matron if 30 people and various wagons and fairground rides could be housed at Rushbrook. She suddenly realised the idea was quite ridiculous.

  The phone rang, once, twice, three times.

  “Why don’t you answer it?” shouted Peter, climbing of the gig, he opened the phone box door and picked up the receiver. Jenny stood frozen to the spot. “I can’t talk to her, Peter, it’s too much to ask.”

  “Hello, hello,” Matron’s voice filled the silence; Peter passed the receiver to Jenny. “Just say something, you owe her that much,” he said. Jenny reluctantly took the receiver.

  “For a moment I thought you had gone,” said Matron in a matter-of-fact voice, “Now, Jenny please tell me what’s happening, whatever it is.”

  “Well,” Jenny began, “I’ve been living with some gypsies.”

  “I know all about that,” she replied, “I saw you at the fair.”

  “Y…you did?” said Jenny, “But…how…”

  “Yes, I know,” Matron interrupted, “You thought I wouldn’t recognise you, but I’d know you anywhere, all of you children are like my own, of course I would recognise you.” Jenny chewed her lip, determined not to cry again.

  “Are you okay, Jen?” asked Peter kindly.

  “Who was that dear?” said Matron, “Is there someone with you?”

  Putting her hand over the receiver she said, “Leave me alone, Peter, wait for me outside.” Unwillingly, he did as he was asked and led the pony onto the grass verge to eat.

  Jenny took a deep breath.

  “That was
a friend of mine,” said Jenny, “He and his family are being evicted and not only him, the fairground people too. It will be winter soon and they have nowhere else to go… I was hoping they could all come to Rushbrook.”

  It was said. She had done it.

  “Well,” said Matron, “It will take a bit of organising, but I don’t see why not.” Jenny could hardly believe her ears: Matron had said yes!

  “You really mean it? Oh, Matron, I could hug you, this will mean so much to the others, and to me,” she added.

  “Save your hugs for when you see me,” she laughed, “To tell you the truth, I had the idea of having some animals about the place. After I had a chat with your fairground boss, Jack? Was that his name?”

  “You know Jack?”

  “Yes, dear Dan and I came looking for you, but you had already left. That was when we gave him the letter. I approached the authorities at the time. I suggested we had a pets’ corner and some playground equipment at Rushbrook. I don’t suppose this is quite what they had in mind, but we’ll sort it out, don’t worry.”

  “Can we use the barn too?” asked Jenny.

  “Yes, of course, good job, somebody cleaned it out.”

  Jenny could hear the amusement in Matrons voice and remembered how she had moaned when Matron had made her and Dan move out all the logs.

  “How long will it take you to get here?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Jenny, “at least three weeks, although Uncle Joe will be there sooner; lorries move faster than horses.”

  “So, you will be home in time for Christmas,” said Matron, “That is just perfect wait until I tell Dan.”

  “Is he there? Can I speak to him?”

  “No, dear, he’s popped out to the shops, any message?”

  “Yes, could you tell him…” Jenny hesitated, remembering that Peter was stood beside her. “No, no message, I’ll tell him myself. See you soon, and thank you, Matron, I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”