The bad weather brought plenty of work for Dan and Jed. Pipes were bursting and roofs collapsing under the weight of snow. Together they worked from dawn to dusk, wrapped in layers of old clothing with thick hoods pulled over their heads. They spent much of their time up ladders exposed to the full fury of the wintry weather. In the evenings they would sit by a wood fire in Dan’s back room, cooking a meal on the hot embers. Jed enjoyed these quiet evening together. It gave him a chance for the first time in his life to discuss things that were on his mind.
“I been thinking, Dan.”
“Thinking what?”
“The future. I’m thinking about my future. Is it good thing to have ambition, you know, to want things?” Dan raised his gaze slowly from the fire where he had been quietly contemplating the dancing embers.
“Well, that’s a big question. What makes you ask that?”
“Perhaps I could make something of myself, you know, earn some real money – become successful. And I was just wondering, what’s it down to? Is it luck or is it down to me? I mean – does what I do make any difference?”
“You mean can you control your destiny? It’s a big question – one that wiser men than me have considered.”
Dan drew heavily on the clay pipe, emitting a plume of acrid grey smoke. He had no formal education but he made up for this with a life spent travelling and observing many different cultures. Brought up in a farming community on the east coast, he tired of working on the land and at the age of nineteen he signed up with the British army and was shipped out to the Transvaal where he saw action in the Anglo Zulu war of 1875. He travelled widely across Africa as an infantryman and took part in many bloodbaths as the boundaries of the Empire were extended across the continent.
When he came home in 1880, he suffered a breakdown and lived an isolated life in the woods and forests of eastern England, eking out a meagre living by making simple pieces of furniture from fallen wood. In fact, so good did he become at crafting wood, that his services were sought by increasing numbers of people, leading him eventually to this simple work shop in the centre of Frampton, which also served as his home.
“Let me tell you about a wise man I met in North Africa,” he said eventually, tapping the remnants of tobacco from his pipe onto the stone hearth. “Sort of priest he was. He’d travelled right across Africa and knew about lots of things. I was in charge of him. He was my prisoner. We got on well together, talking through the hot nights about this and that. I asked him that same question, ‘Do we all have a destiny and if so, how do we reach it?’”
“What did he say?”
“He told me that there’s two sorts of people in this world, those that follows their dream and those that follows their star.”
“What does that mean?” enquired Jed, not quite seeing the point.
“It means this. Those that follows their dream has an idea of what they want and where they want to get to – call it ambition if you like. They shut their eyes to everything else because they’re busy chasin’ that dream. If they achieve that dream, then they’re happy and contented. Trouble is most people don’t realise their dream and end up miserable. And they also miss a lot of chances on the way ‘cos they’ve had their eyes shut.”
“What about them that follows their star?”
“Well, them’s different, you see. They don’t have a dream. They go where life takes them – following all manner of twists and turns on their way. They let fate decide for them.”
“Like they’re not in control?”
“Well, this wise man told me that some of the greatest people he’d met followed their star. They never set out to be special, they just went where life took them and did what they had to do. But somehow they succeeded. Maybe because their eyes were open and they could see things that others couldn’t.”
“So what do you think, Dan, follow your dream or follow your star?”
Dan relit the pipe with a smouldering taper pulled from the embers.
“It seems to me you’ve got to do a bit of both. We all need a dream, something that we want to reach out for – something that drives us on. But you’d be foolish to close your eyes to other opportunities. So I think you’ve got to be open. Head off down your path but if you see a good opportunity, don’t be afraid to make a turn and take a chance. Life’s a gamble alright but if you don’t join in the game you’ll never get the winnings.”
There was a pause whilst Jed reflected on Dan’s story. He was beginning to feel the stirrings of ambition within him where before there had only been dull acceptance of the inevitable. He had never dared to dream before but now he was excited by the possibilities that began to flood though his mind.
“Well, I’ve got a dream.”
“What‘s that?”
“Be successful, have people look up to me and respect me – maybe even run my own business.”
Dan tapped his pipe on the hearth again with apparent agitation.
“What about friends, lovers, family? What about travel, learning, and wisdom – don’t they have any place in your dream?”
“Maybe,” answered Jed, slightly taken aback. “But they’ll have to fit in with that dream. I ain’t going to compromise, Dan.”
They both returned their gaze to the fiery embers which seemed to conjure up in Jed’s mind tantalising yet intangible images of a future he couldn’t yet visualise.
“What happened to that prisoner of yours – the wise man?”
“We shot him dead a few days later. He was a trouble maker.”
It took Alice half an hour to trudge through the snow to the bakers shop. The contrast between the freezing streets and the warm shop smelling of freshly baked bread was blissful. She had settled in well to her work and the little extra money she earned had made a big difference. For the first time she had some independence and the taste of this made her yearn for more.
One morning in early December, a new customer came into the shop. She was a girl about Alice’s age, with a rounded figure, a pretty face and shoulder length black hair. Her name was Flora and she told Alice that she’d just moved out of her parents’ house into a room in the centre of Frampton. She was housekeeping for an old lady in the afternoon and working at the drapers store in the morning. The two girls soon became firm friends, meeting during their lunch breaks and occasionally visiting the tea shop together after work. They discovered that their lives shared common themes. Both had oppressive fathers and both had suffered physical abuse. Flora told Alice about the ‘Brotherhood’ and how it controlled the lives of its congregation and about her near forced marriage to an ageing elder. Alice recounted the story of her flight from their former home after her father had been caught stealing; how her sister Polly had become ill and how she had to arrange for her to be sent away to stay with an aunt in London. Over many long conversations, they slowly helped to build each other’s confidence, daring to talk about their hopes for a different type of future.
“What chance is there for women like us?” asked Flora one evening as they slowly walked home together through the gas lit streets of Frampton. “I mean, it seems like men have all the power and the best we can hope for is to marry someone who treats us nice.”
“I don’t think like that,” replied Alice. “I think you’ve got to treat marriage just as you would any other deal. You’ve got to see what both sides offer and if it makes good sense – take your chance.”
“How do you mean? What about loving the man?”
“It’s not all about love, Flora. It’s about power and position too. That church elder they tried to make you marry – that wasn’t love. That was control – him controlling you. Well, women have power too – it’s just different to men. Men need a home, they need a companion, they need a woman in their bed. They need someone to encourage them and sometimes to comfort them. That’s a lot of power a woman has. All I’m saying is that you’ve got to use that power. Don’t be a victim, Flora. You’ve got to be a bit cunning.”
�
�So you’re not going to fall in love, Alice?”
“Some things are more important than love, Flora.”
As Christmas 1919 approached, Jed felt himself becoming more reclusive again. Decorations were beginning to appear around the town and this added to his sense of detachment. The continued bleak winter meant that he and Dan were either battling the elements on a windswept rooftop or else toiling in the workshop late into the evening. Although ostensibly they continued to work together well, Jed had begun to notice that Dan was slowing down. His ‘after lunch’ snooze was extending from one hour to almost two hours and he increasingly left the heavy work to Jed, complaining of attacks of ‘lumbago’.
Jed spent Christmas Day with his father and Tom. They ate in silence around the large table in the farmhouse kitchen. After lunch his father retired to their little used sitting room, and sank into his late wife’s favourite chair where he drank half a bottle of brandy before slipping into a coma from which he didn’t recover until the next morning.
Early on Boxing Day, Jed returned to the workshop, unable to stand the atmosphere at Mount Farm any longer.
“What you doing back here then?” asked Dan in surprise as Jed walked in.
“Come back to work. Ain’t nothin’ of interest to me at home.”
“You should be off with the other youngsters, not working on your holiday.”
“Doing what?”
“Well, I don’t know. In my day we went skating in the winter.”
“I’ve no time for sliding around on ice, Dan. We’ve got jobs to get done so we gets paid on time. A bit more work and a bit less snoozing would make all the difference.”
Dan felt a wave of dismay wash over him.
In February the winter turned icy. There were storms in the North Sea and fishermen were reported lost in the freezing waters around the coast. People no longer lingered to chat in Frampton’s town square and Jed found himself becoming morose and uncommunicative.
“Somethin’ wrong with you then, lad?” enquired Dan one afternoon. “Hardly said a word to me in days. Somethin’ I’ve done is it?”
“There’s nothin’ wrong with me.”
“Well, if it’s not me, it’s gotta be somethin’ else. I reckon you need to get out a bit and meet some people your own age – time you found yourself a young woman. That’s what most lads your age would do.”
“Then why ain’t you ever married, Dan?” demanded Jed more aggressively than he had intended. “Maybe we’re not so different after all.”
There was an uncomfortable silence during which Jed regretted his outburst.
“There was a girl, many years ago,” replied Dan in a quiet and reflective voice. “Her name was Mary – lived in Little Marcham, about twenty mile from here. We were due to be wed. Her parents had agreed and it was all set.”
“What happened?” asked Jed, putting down a chisel and listening more attentively.
“It were after I came back from Africa, fighting them Zulus. I’d been living rough in the woods for over a year. My head had been done in and I needed time alone. One cold winter, her father found me, frozen and half dead. They took me in and brought me back to life. That’s how I met Mary – she nursed me. They treated me like their own son and when Mary and me announced our engagement, they were delighted. But then it all started to go wrong. Lots of arrangements, a wedding service, a new job and talk of babies. My head still weren’t right. On the day of the marriage, I just couldn’t do it. I went back into the woods. I heard the bell tolling in the distance. I knew it was for our wedding and I should have been there. But I couldn’t do it. I deserted her.”
“You deserted her?”
Dan’s head drooped and he placed a hand over his eyes.
“That weren’t good, deserting a girl on her wedding day.”
“Worst decision of my life – never forgiven myself.”
“So what did you do?”
“I went back to living in the woods. I was there for another two year before I eventually found my way to Frampton.”
“And Mary?”
“She found someone else – at least her parents did. A local lad – simple but OK. They had children and still live in Little Marcham, I believe.”
“Did you ever see her again?”
“Once I met her. I wanted to say sorry – to explain that it wasn’t her – it was me. But she didn’t want to know. It was over. She had moved on. And that’s it, I suppose. You’ve got to seize your opportunity. ’Cos if you don’t you may not get another chance.”
In early March the winter weather finally broke and spring invaded the Norfolk countryside. Hedgerows burst into life and bird song filled the air. Heavy Shire horses moved out from their winter barns and once again worked the fields and meadows, side by side with spluttering tractors which were an increasingly common sight on the land now.
The spring brought with it news that the traditional May Fair was going to be revived. During the war years it had been cancelled but now the town council had decreed that Frampton needed an injection of merriment to counter post war gloom and the first weekend in May was designated for the event.
As May Fair fever began to grip the small town, Dan and Jed found their time increasingly taken up with making stalls and sideshows. Jed had to visit the site to help plan the position of stalls that he and Dan had been commissioned to build. The fairground was situated on common land to the east of the town. In earlier times it had been grazing land, given to the village by the local land owners. Now, it had mostly reverted to gorse and grass with small pockets of stunted trees, their branches bent towards the west by the powerful winds blowing inland from the east coast. It was a place where town’s people walked in the summer with their families and where young lovers would linger in the evenings, slipping in and out of cover provided by wooded thickets. Jed thought how pleasant it would be to walk with a girl up here amidst the freshness of the spring flowers.
In the final weeks leading up to the fair, Dan and Jed were kept frantically busy producing a range of items that seemed essential to the success of the event – latrine seats, a magician’s screen, a maypole, staves for the Morris dancers and flagpoles.
On the few occasions that he was able to venture into the town, Jed noticed strangers beginning to arrive – tinkers, traders, horse dealers, fortune tellers and beggars. They gathered around the Fox and Hounds which began to take on a distinctly decadent aura. Two constables were drafted in from neighbouring North Walsham to help the local policeman who found himself accommodating extra ‘guests’ each night in a gaol designed for two inmates. The day before the fair, crowds gathered in the square to watch a massive steam engine trundling slowly through on its way to the fairground. It was towing a trailer emblazoned with the words ‘Famous Flying Horses Carousel’. Joining the cheering crowds by the roadside, even Jed felt his spirits lift briefly.
Jack was seated in the opulent surroundings of a private dining suite in London’s Mayfair Hotel. The table was laden with wine and cigars. Opposite him sat the imposing figure of Grant P. Hoester, Chief Executive Officer of Deltic Sewing Machines. He was flanked by two aides who had accompanied him on his trip from Chicago. Alec Morgan sat next to Jack, sucking on a large Havana cigar.
Through the fog of cigar smoke, Grant P. Hoester addressed Jack.
“So, Jack, I deliberately haven’t told you how much we’ll pay. For me that’s not an issue. If I want something I’ll pay for it and you’d be stupid to refuse my offer. In here, Jack, is my offer price. It’s non negotiable.”
Grant P. Hoester passed an expensive looking envelope across the table. Jack opened the gold embossed flap and pulled out a folded piece of note paper. Across the table, all eyes were trained on him. Jack unfolded the paper – twenty five thousand pounds. It was much more than Jack had imagined. This was a fortune to him, an East End boy brought up on charity in hard times.
“There’s one thing though, Jack. I need you to stay with us for one year from today
to help us get established in the UK.”
“One year?” echoed Jack.
“Yes, one year – it’s non negotiable.”
Jack calculated that left him with four years at the most. Twenty five thousand pounds to spend in four years. Then he would be dead.
The wine and the cigar smoke began to play tricks on his mind. Banished memories came flooding back. A cellar, stinking of sweat and urine. Ropes cutting deep into his flesh. A whip lashing mercilessly into his back. The sound of his own screams. Yvette nearby, calling out in pain. How he longed for death then. Now he wanted to live. But he knew he was going to die.
“Jack, Jack – are you ready to sign?” Hoester was standing over him, a document clutched in his hand.
“Sign here, Jack. Then we’re done.”
The pen felt leaden as Jack lifted it to sign his name. Four years to live the rest of his life. What could he do in that time? Where could he go?
“That’s it, Jack. You’re going to be a rich man.”
They clapped him politely. It felt like he’d just signed his death warrant.
The Guest Who Stayed: Chapter 4 – Spring 1920
The fair opened on Friday, 30th April, but for most towns folk this was still a working day with Saturday and Sunday set aside for the main celebrations. Jed was occupied in the workshop, angered by the absence of Dan who had met former cronies amongst the travellers and itinerants who had flooded into Frampton and was spending increasing time drinking with them in the Fox and Hounds. He relied on Dan for conversation and normality. Now, working alone in the cluttered workshop, he began to feel himself drifting back towards that feeling of isolation that he’d tried hard to put behind him.
Saturday morning dawned bright and warm. Everywhere there was evidence that the long cold winter was now a distant memory. Cherry trees were in full blossom and Frampton had taken on a distinctly pink hue.
The Guest Who Stayed Page 4