Admonition

by Chris Throsby

  Mr Dodds led the way inside and headed straight upstairs. Unsure if I should follow, I hesitated, but not hearing my footsteps behind him, Mr Dodds returned to the top of the stairs and called down.

  “Come on lad, this way.”

  When I reached the top and turned the corner, in front of me there was a dark corridor containing two doors. Mr Dodds had passed the first and was waiting for me by the second. Opening it, he invited me in saying,

  “This is your bedroom Jabez, mine’s next door. When you’re ready, join me downstairs and I’ll show you where we work.”

  With that, he stepped back from the doorway, shut the door and I heard his steps retreat down the corridor and fade away as he descended the stairs. Transfixed, I stood in the middle of the room. For as long as I could remember, I had only slept in a dormitory, but this room was to be mine and mine alone.

  Turning slowly, I took in the room. Apart from a bed beneath the window, the room contained only a chest against the far wall and a chair by the bed. I put the book Mr Deeming had given me and my few other possessions on the chair and knelt on the bed to look out the window. For so long I had seen only the confining walls of the workhouse, but now from the bedroom window I could see out across the Inn’s orchard to the fields beyond. The horse that had brought us to the pub was grazing on the grass that grew long around what, looking down, I could see was a deep well. The last time I’d seen an orchard, the trees had been largely bare and the only evidence that they’d once borne fruit were a few maggoty apples lying in the grass. But here, as it was May, there were no signs of fruit, but every tree was full of white blossom; to me, it looked like a sudden snowstorm had struck the field and by some miracle, all the snow had caught in the trees.

  As I marvelled at the view, Mr Dodds called for me from the bottom of the stairs and broke my reverie. Panicking, I leapt from the bed, wrenched the door open, ran down the corridor and headed down the stairs, descending three at a time. Only because Mr Dodds stepped back smartly into the bar was a collision avoided, instead I skidded to a halt just short of the front door. I had barely stopped and was still turning to face Mr Dodds, when I began apologising.

  “Sorry sir, I was distracted by the trees outside my window, I’ve never seen…”

  But I was astonished into silence; Mr Dodds was laughing.

  “There’s no need to apologise lad, and no need to call me sir. Mr Dodds will do just fine. Remember, you’re not in the workhouse anymore. I called you because I just wanted you to know there’s a few victuals down here if you’re hungry.”

  Relieved that I wasn’t in any trouble, I realised suddenly how hungry I was. The only food I’d eaten that day was the bowl of thin gruel they’d given me for breakfast at the workhouse and now, sat on the bar, were a hunk of bread and the largest piece of cheese I’d ever seen. Mr Dodds poured a mug of ale and passing it to me, said,

  “I need to tend to the horse; he needs food just like the rest of us. You stay here and eat some of that bread and cheese; eat as much as you want. It looks to me like you need fattening if you’re going to give me a decent day’s work. When I return, I’ll show you what I want you to do.”

  Though it was simple fare, to me that bread and cheese was the finest food I’d ever eaten and by the time Mr Dodds returned, I had devoured most of the bread and half the cheese and I was just draining the last of the ale.

  “You finished then, lad?”

  Still swallowing, I could only nod.

  “Right then, let me show you what I want you to do.”

  He told me that in the morning he wanted me to clean and tidy the bar room and wash out the jugs and mugs, in the afternoon I was to help him with any odd jobs and in the evening I was to work behind the bar. Then he surprised me by saying I need not start until the next morning.

  “Seven o’clock sharp, mind. I’ll give you a call at a quarter to. Until then your time’s your own, so if you want to go out into the orchard, maybe introduce yourself properly to the horse, or make a start on that book Mr Deeming gave you. It’s up to you.”

  Bemused, I’d never had so much freedom; I remained where I was.

  Mr Dodds smiled and said,

  “Why don’t you go out to the stable? Just inside the door you’ll find a box of windfalls. Take one and give it to the horse. He loves ’em and it will be a good way for you two to get acquainted. Only give him one mind, too many makes his belly swell. Have one yourself if you want, but make sure you give him his first. He won’t like it if he thinks you’ve stolen his apple.”

  So that’s what I did. Going back outside, I went across the grass and into the stable. The horse, which by this time had wandered to the far end of the orchard, at first took no notice of me, instead, he stood dozing and enjoying the day’s sun. But when I came out of the stable, an apple in both hands, he behaved very differently. First, having recognised what I held, he came quickly towards me. He was only trotting, but it was the fastest I had ever seen him, or any other horse, move. Not knowing what else to do, I closed my eyes tightly and with my arm outstretched, held one of the apples in the palm of my hand. The next thing I knew, he’d snatched the apple from me leaving my hand completely untouched. I opened my eyes and there he stood in front of me, apple juice dripping down either side of his mouth; Mr Dodds was right, he definitely loved apples.

  The horse showed no interest as I began to eat the other apple, seeming only to want to enjoy the taste of apple that remained in his mouth. I reached out and cautiously rubbed his nose and he responded by putting his head down to make my reach easier; encouraged, I rubbed more firmly. For a while, whilst I rubbed, he pushed hard against my hand, but then tossed his head and moved away. I didn’t know why, but later I learnt from Mr Dodds that he loved to have his ears fondled and that’s what he was expecting me to do. Despite my failings, in time we nevertheless become firm friends and Mr Dodds was not only to give me full responsibility for his care, but also taught me to ride him.

  After the horse moved away, I drifted to the top of the orchard and there, overhung by long grass and reeds, found a sizeable stream. Slow–flowing but clear, I wondered why I hadn’t spotted it when I’d looked out earlier from my bedroom window. It was only the next morning, when looking out the window again and knowing the stream was there, I spotted an occasional glint from the water as the morning breeze fleetingly parted the grass. Otherwise, the stream was completely obscured and once I had located it from my bedroom, became of little interest to me, remaining so for many years and only much later in my life taking on a greater significance. I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering aimlessly around the field, exploring the stable and finally dozing under a tree.

  It was dusk when the sound of Mr Dodds calling dragged me awake.

  “Are you coming in lad? I’ve just heated some soup if you want it.”

  Running in, I followed Mr Dodds straight into the bar, where I stopped abruptly. I had forgotten the Boar was an inn as well as my new home and there, sat by the unlit fire, were two men sharing a jug of ale. I must have looked startled because one of them spoke to reassure me.

  “It’s alright lad. We don’t bite; you must be the new apprentice Jack was tellin’ us about.”

  I smiled nervously.

  “So what’s your name then son?”

  After I told him, he said,

  “Well Jabez, pleased to meet you. I’m John Bostock and this here is Gilderoy Smith. If you stay here, you’re probably going to see quite a bit of us. Ain’t that right, Gil?”

  They both laughed at something which, at the time, I didn’t really understand. But then John stopped laughing and said,

  “I hope you turn out to be what Jack’s been looking for, but just now, you’d better turn around because I think you’re wanted.”

  I swung round just as Mr Dodds finished pouring a bowl of steaming soup. Putting the pan down, he said,

  “Here you are then Jabez.” He put the bowl on the table in front of me. “If you go
out the back, you’ll find the rest of that bread you had earlier.”

  The soup was thick with potato and full of pieces of meat and with the bread was more, even though I tried, than I could eat. I put down my spoon, fearing what would happen; I still remembered how things had been with my father. But Mr Dodds just said,

  “You had enough then Jabez? I’ve only ever had to feed myself. I’ve never had to feed a boy before. Still, I suppose there’s quite a lot we’re going to have to learn about each other.”

  A little later, he poured me another mug of ale and I think the ale, along with the rest of the day’s events, made me very weary. Mr Dodds must have seen how tired I was because as soon as I finished, he said,

  “Right lad. Let me light you a candle and then you get yourself off to bed. Work starts in the morning, remember.”

  To calls of ‘night Jabez’ from the others, I left the bar, and with candle in one hand, stair rail in the other, began to climb. As I reached the top and turned the corner, exhaustion rolled over me. Supported by the wall, my legs leaden, I made it to my bedroom where, pausing only to place the candle on the chest and without even removing my shoes, I lay on the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

  My day had started full of anxiety, containing an array of bewildering new experiences. But when I was woken the next day by the early morning sun shining through the window, something told me my life was about to take a new and better path.

  Just like in the workhouse, life as an apprentice was mostly routine. Six years in that place had got me very used to six o’clock starts, so when on that first morning, there was a rap on my bedroom door, I was already dressed and kneeling on my bed looking out the window. The curious thing was I couldn’t remember undressing the night before, but that morning I’d found my clothes all folded neatly on the chair.

  Telling myself I’d probably been too tired to remember getting undressed, I answered the knock by wrenching the door open and saying,

  “I’m up and dressed Mr Dodds, and ready to start work.”

  Mr Dodds was standing there holding in one hand a jug of hot water and in the other, a folded towel that I was to discover hid a piece of soap. He stepped back and said,

  “Steady there Jabez, we’ve got a few minutes before we have to start. Lift the lid on that chest, will you? I’ll pour some water into the basin for you.”

  I looked at the chest and as far as I could see, it had a solid top, four identical drawers and a fifth slightly bigger one at the bottom. I looked back at Mr Dodds.

  “Go on lad, before this water gets cold.”

  Still unsure, I reached for the top; it opened easily and Mr Dodds poured water into the basin which replaced the top two drawers. Leaving the soap next to the bowl, he put the towel on a rung which ran along the side of the chest and stepping back, emptied the jug into the bowel. Before leaving he added,

  “Right. When you’re finished, just throw the water out of the window, then come down and we’ll have some breakfast.”

  So that was that. Every morning, there was a knock at my bedroom door and Mr Dodds would bring me in a jug of hot water. And every day, after washing and dressing, I would join him in the bar where he would have already poured me a bowl of gruel; but his gruel was always made with milk.

  On that first morning and most that followed, after breakfast I started work, but I was to find that compared to the workhouse, my duties at the Boar’s Head were light and most days I was finished by midday. For the whole of that summer, after I checked with Mr Dodds that he didn’t need me for anything else, I found my new book and if the weather was fine, I spent the afternoon lying under a tree in the orchard reading. If it rained, as it did on a few occasions, I’d kneel on my bed and read whilst still, every so often, gazing out of the window.

  In the main, Mr Dodds left me alone at these times, just occasionally needing my assistance maybe to position a new barrel at the back of the bar or help stack some hay bales that had just been delivered. It was only after I’d been at the Boar about six months that a real change occurred. It was now autumn and though the weather was dry, it was too cold for me to sit outside, and so I spent most afternoons in my bedroom. However, in mid–October, the weather changed and for about a week summer returned. Glad for the opportunity to sit outside again, I found my favourite old apple tree, which now carried a few apples but also still had a fair covering of leaves, and even though the sun sometimes shone surprisingly strongly, lying beneath them I received only a dappled warm glow.

  Originally, as Gulliver had been the sole survivor of a shipwreck, I thought that despite what Mr Deeming had told me, the story would be like Robinson Crusoe. But I soon became fascinated by the tales of his adventures in the land of the Lilliputians and I had only just begun to read of his time with the giants of Brobdingnag, when a shadow fell across my book. I looked up and saw Mr Dodds, looking down at me and nervously rolling and unrolling a piece of paper he held. I shut my book and stood up, annoyed I hadn’t seen him approaching, but before I could say anything, he asked me,

  “Can I see that book you’re reading?”

  He held out his hand and I gave him the book. I knew he couldn’t read, so I supposed he was taking it to punish me for something I’d done wrongly or forgotten to do at all; life in the workhouse had left its mark. But as I stood wondering what it was that I’d done wrong and what was going to happen next, he slowly flicked through the pages before handing it back with a sigh and saying,

  “So you can read that book then, can you?” I nodded. “And you’ve got to be a good reader to read it?”

  I found my voice. I had relaxed the moment he’d given me back my book.

  “I’m alright I think. It gets easier with practice, but I’m definitely not as good as Mr Deeming.”

  I looked at the paper he still held, that since he’d given me back my book he’d gone back to rolling and unrolling. Then it dawned on me.

  “Mr Dodds, would you like me to read that for you?”

  In an instant, he had offered me the paper.

  “If you can?” he said. “I can’t read you see; never learnt.”

  I told him I already knew and that was why I had been chosen to be his apprentice. I unrolled the paper, but one glance told me I would have great difficulty reading it. It wasn’t like a book – printed, regular and each letter always the same. No, this had been handwritten using a quill and by the look of the scrawled, irregular letters, each carrying an incomplete mirror of itself, the nib of the quill must have been split. Not wanting to worry him, I tried to sound confident when I asked Mr Dodds if I could have the invoice (I had worked out that much) for the evening and let him have it back in the morning. Just happy he may have found the solution to a worry that gave him sleepless nights, he said,

  “Of course lad. There’s no hurry. It’s just the bill from Esther Barton. She’s been supplying me with most of the drink I sell here for years. I’m sure it’s alright, just seems a bit steep, that’s all.”

  That night, I burnt a new candle until it guttered, working out exactly what the bill said. However, the next morning after we’d had breakfast, I was able to explain it all to Mr Dodds. He listened quietly as I told him the bill covered six months and made no comment when I told him the quantity of beer Esther Barton said she’d supplied. He looked surprised when I told him how much she’d charged him for gin, but when I told him how much five bottles of whisky and the same amount of brandy had cost him, he looked at me sharply and said,

  “Are you sure that’s what it says, five whisky and five brandy?”

  I admitted that those entries had been particularly hard to read, but I was certain I’d read them right.

  “And that bill’s for six months, you say?”

  I nodded.

  “I knew that vixen was trying to cheat me,” he said. “I’m lucky if I sell a bottle of either of them in a year; too expensive for my customers, you see. Comes to that, how much did she charge me?”

  I to
ld him, eighteen shillings for the whisky and a pound for the brandy.

  “One pound eighteen shillings. That must be a quarter of the whole bill. Right. That settles it. I’ll go and ready the horse. Then you and me can go and see dear Esther and find out what she’s got to say for herself.”

  I must have looked alarmed because he added,

  “It’s alright lad. You can wait with the horse. I won’t need you inside unless she argues. I’m not expecting her to do that because if she does, I’ll tell her we haven’t checked all the old bills she’s sent me yet and we won’t do as long as she corrects this one. I haven’t kept any of the old bills; didn’t seem any point as I couldn’t read them.”

  Then he grinned and added,

  “But she isn’t to know that, is she?”

  With that, he went to fetch the horse and cart and we drove into town.

  Mr Dodds was right, of course. Though she made several dark glances in my direction, when he returned to the cart, Mr Dodds was delighted to be able to show me a corrected bill and I was happy to be able to confirm that everything now appeared to be in order.

  It became my job to read every piece of paper Mr Dodds received. I did ask him once whether he would like me to teach him to read, but he said he was too old. What he did enjoy, though, was for me to read to him. Of course I read Robinson Crusoe and Gulliver’s Travels (as most people called it), but one day, almost shyly, he handed me the biggest book I’d ever seen and asked,

  “Do you think you could read that to me, lad? It belonged to my mother.”

  Fortunately, as we were in the bar, I was able to rest the book on the nearest table and turning it round read the beautiful gold letters:

  The Bible

  King James Authorised Version

  Of course, I told him, I would be very happy to read it for him.

  So that’s what I did. Every afternoon, about an hour before we opened for the evening, we’d sit in the bar, rest the Bible on a table and I read to him. Starting at Genesis and heading for Revelation, every day for several months without omission, I read each and every page. There were many exciting stories and of course other passages that were less interesting, but whether I was reading about David and Goliath, or struggling through all the ‘begetting’ in Chronicles, Mr Dodds never said anything other than ‘thank you Jabez’, when I stopped. That is until I reached The Psalms and in particular Psalm 27. I had just read, be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord when he said,