Admonition

by Chris Throsby

  Of course, the fires under the pans had to be watched and fed all the time and although I said nothing to Tom, I couldn’t see how just two of us could manage all the work. I also worried how people would treat me when they saw I was back; I hoped they would carry on as if nothing had happened.

  I needn’t have worried on either score. Although everyone knew what had happened, when they arrived in the shed, though some mumbled a few words of condolence, most just got on with their work. How they really felt started to become clear after we’d been working for about half an hour.

  Like everyone else, our first job on Monday was to remove the common salt which had formed in the cooling pans since they were last used on Saturday morning. We had just drained the remaining brine from the pan and were about to start work on removing the salt, when a young lad appeared at Tom’s side. Like all the children working on the pans, he was pale and skinny.

  “Ma dad said I should come and give you a hand. I’m not so good with the sledge’, but I can use a shovel if you can let me have one.”

  “What’s your name, son?” Tom asked as he handed the boy a shovel.

  “Charlie, same as ma dad.”

  He puffed his chest out when he answered, it was clearly something he was proud of and I saw the trace of a smile on Tom’s lips when he said, “Well Charlie, thank you and when you go back, thank your dad for me, will you?”

  Tom might not have recognised him, but I knew Charlie from the village. He’d been living there with his parents ever since, like so many others, they’d lost their farm. I liked his father; in a way the older Charlie was a bit like Mum. Watch him and often you’d catch him staring who knows where – certainly somewhere distant. I’d seen Mum doing the same thing and when I’d asked her why, she’d laughed and said she was just remembering her childhood on her parent’s farm and not to mind her.

  Anyway, Tom told Charlie what he wanted him to do.

  “If you can go and get us a box barrow, me and Will can start breaking up the salt with the sledgehammers. When you get back, I want you to start shovelling salt into the barrow.”

  With Charlie gone to find a box barrow, me and Tom started breaking up the salt which lay thick in the bottom of the pan, and by the time Charlie got back, we’d broken up enough for him to start filling the barrow. But even though he worked like a demon, he couldn’t keep up. The trouble was the barrow stood much taller than he did, so he had to throw each shovel-full high above his head. Although he managed to do this quite quickly, I could see he was slowing down as his arms became more and more tired. I was about to suggest that I should switch jobs and give Charlie a hand, when Tom called a halt so we could all have a swig out of the water jug he’d filled at the Boar. Charlie pulled so hard on the jug that I wondered if there’d be any left for me and Tom and I was about to make my suggestion, when a voice hailed us from across the way.

  “Hey Tom, looks like you could use an extra pair of hands. If it’d help, I don’t need my lad ’till the tide turns and that Liverpool barge comes in, so can you make use of him?”

  “Thanks, George. This lad looks fit to drop.” Tom put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “If your boy can help us for a while, we might get the job finished.”

  When George’s son loped across, he looked more my age than Charlie’s and he didn’t look too pleased to be joining us. But he’d brought his own spade with him, and without a word he started shovelling the salt into the barrow.

  Tom sent an exhausted Charlie back to his dad and the three of us were soon joined by one of the women who worked on the pans. Like Charlie and his parents, Sarah and her children lived close to us in the village. At about five foot eight, she was a tall, imposing woman, but it was her strength that was the most remarkable thing about her, though given the size of her arms which compared well with any man on the pans, not surprising.

  Two years before the accident that killed most of my family, Sarah’s husband had slipped on one of the hurdles that bordered the pans and fallen into the boiling brine; he was dead before they could pull him out. They had raised a big family and two of the boys were already working with their father when he was killed. Sarah loved her husband and mourned his death deeply, but she had worked on the pans before the children started coming, so barely a week after she buried him, she took her husband’s place, leaving her eldest girl in charge of those still too small to work. Since then, two more of her boys had grown enough to join her. Sarah wasn’t happy that her children were working with her, especially when some were still so young, but she had little choice if she wanted to keep her family out of the workhouse.

  I know when her husband was killed, Dad had helped Sarah, quite a few though not everyone did; there were still some who had a disliking for Jews. Yet even though Tom had been one of those who hadn’t helped her, it was clear Sarah wanted to return Dad’s favour by helping me.

  First she helped us finish clearing the pan. Tom had our chipping paddle and Sarah had brought her own, so with them clearing the rims of the pan and me and George’s lad shovelling out, the last of the salt was soon cleared.

  Before she came over to us, Sarah had helped her boys with their first draft, leaving strict instructions that the youngest ones should stay well back from the boiling brine. But now their first make was about ready and she headed back to help them with what was one of the toughest jobs in the pans, dragging the salt from the bottom of the pan to the sides. From there, using their skimmer, the still hot salt would be scooped out and put on the far side of the shed to dry.

  But before returning to her family, she took me to one side and said,

  "Your dad was a good man Will. I know he was proud of you boys. What happened to him and the rest of your family was awful, a terrible tragedy that should never have happened.

  Still, it’s good to see you back. It’s what your dad would have wanted."

  Lowering her voice, she said.

  “Tom’s not to be trusted. He’ll keep you and your sister whilst he thinks he should and for as long as you’re of use to him. You must know he isn’t very popular here and though there’s only rumour and suspicion about him without any proof, that’s enough for some. We all talked about it last week after the accident and agreed that we would help if you came back. People are coming to help the pair of you because you’re Bill’s son. But I have to tell you Will, there were already a few who didn’t want to help Tom. So you’ll probably get help for the next month or so. After that, me and my boys will help you as and when we can, but apart from that, you’ll be on your own.”

  She glanced at Tom, who was already beginning to look at us suspiciously and added,

  “My advice to you Will, is as soon as you get a chance to get out, you take it. You hear me?”

  Tom wasn’t the most popular person on the pans, I knew that, but by now he was looking straight at us and I knew I couldn’t ask her for any more, so bowing my head so he couldn’t see what I said, I muttered,

  “I hear you.”

  When she left, Tom came straight to me.

  “What was she talking about then?”

  I hadn’t had time to think, so I just said,

  “Oh, you know, she was just saying how sorry she was about Dad and everything.”

  He looked at me suspiciously.

  “Is that all? She was talking for a long time.”

  “She was saying how grateful she was to Dad for all the help he’d given her when her husband was killed and that she would help us whenever she could.”

  This seemed to satisfy him because he said,

  “Alright then Will let’s get on. You take that barrow out to the yard and I’ll get another draft started.”

  Life in the salt works carried on just as Sarah said it would. When I started, people had told me I’d get used to the heat, which wasn’t true. I don’t think anyone got used to it. They simply learnt how to cope. So every day despite the heat, we raked, shovelled, lifted and loaded tons of salt, and every day suppor
t would be offered or, especially with the young ones, just appear. They’d stay for at least a couple of hours, sometimes all day. There were never more than two, but rarely were we left to work on our own.

  I noticed that none of the men ever helped us. There were boys of all ages, a few girls – always with a brother or a mother – and some of the women who came alone, but no men. It didn’t worry me though, I was sure if you’d asked them, the men would have said it was because, apart from working the pans, they also organised the rest of their family and made sure the youngsters kept out of danger. Whether that was true or not, I’m certain it’s what they would have said, and at the time I wouldn’t have doubted them.

  Anyway, we soon settled into a routine and even when the extra help first dwindled then stopped completely, we still managed to produce enough salt to make sure Tom and Elizabeth had enough money to feed all four of us. We worked hard, but we would never have coped when help declined, had Tom not made a crucial decision.

  When help diminished, Tom gave up producing fine-grained salt and switched us to a common pan. The common pan produced only coarse salt but the fire beneath it needed much less attention than the one we’d been using. To produce fine salt, the brine had to be kept boiling at all times, but for common salt it didn’t need to be quite so hot. All that was needed were banked fires attended to by a shared fireman. Once made, the salt was transferred in barrows straight to storage ready for delivery, by land or water, to whichever firm had bought it. This way, although the work was still hot and hard and the salt we produced was worth less, we managed to get by with just the two of us.

  Sarah stayed away and what she’d told me slipped completely from my mind. For the next three years, not knowing the truth, life for me in the salt works continued uneventfully and it was much the same at the Rider’s. We worked hard together, me and Tom, and never argued. In fact Tom treated me as a workmate. For him, I think, I became a replacement for Dad. At the same time Elizabeth and Adie got on well and as she got older, Adie was able to help Elizabeth in more and more of her chores. Yet, in the end, it was their relationship that was to cause a rift between me and Adie, a rift that has never healed completely.

  “Oh Will, I’ve really upset Mrs Rider. I know I have.”

  That’s how Adie greeted me when I walked through the door. After fourteen hours of shovelling salt and pushing a box barrow, my response wasn’t too kind and I’m sure I sounded more than just a little irritated when I said,

  “So what did you do to upset her?” Looking round I added, “and where is she, now?”

  My tone made her worse and now in a fearful voice, she replied,

  "I don’t know. I never meant to upset her Will. She’s always been good to me. Whatever I’ve done, I’ll do anything to put it right. Anything.

  You’ve got to tell me what to do; I must be a terrible person.

  Perhaps we should leave, run away before Mr Rider comes home."

  She was on the edge of panic and I could think of only one way to stop her, so in the sternest tone I could muster, I said,

  “Admonition, stop it. Whatever you’ve done, I’m sure it’s not that bad. Now think, what have you been doing today?”

  This appeared to work; she had been close to tears, but now she began to think back over her day.

  “Well, we were doing our usual jobs. When we’d got back from the woods where we’d been gathering mushrooms, we took down the washing. All the time we talked just like we always do. I love it when we talk. It doesn’t matter about what. It just makes me feel special. I s’pose she won’t ever want to talk to me again.”

  I could see she had again taken herself close to tears, so I said quickly,

  “Now come on, crying won’t help. What else did you say to her? Think.”

  Holding back the tears, she said,

  “The only other thing I remember is after we came indoors, I needed to go down to the privy, but before I went, I asked her if it would be alright for me to call her Mum. She smiled at me, but didn’t say anything; she didn’t look angry though. Anyway, I really needed the privy and I just couldn’t wait any longer. I thought she’d give me her answer when I got back. I wasn’t gone long, but when I got back, she’d disappeared. I thought she must have just popped out because she’d left the washing in a pile and she’d never do that if she was going to be out for long. When she didn’t come back, I went looking for her, but I couldn’t find her anywhere…”

  With that, I saw the light dawn in her eyes, but with it came the dark clouds that never seemed far away.

  “Will, that’s it, isn’t it? That smile hid her real feelings. She isn’t my mum and she doesn’t want to be, does she? She’s been good to me and now I’ve spoilt everything.”

  I know I was weary and Adie’s first words when I came home had felt more like an assault than a greeting, but I don’t think they were the reasons I reacted as I did. The fact was I’d lost my parents too, yet I was expected to put that behind me, stride back into the world and return to work as if nothing had happened. All the while Adie could remain a child, behave like one and be treated as one; she could even think about replacing Mum. So I aimed both barrels at her and fired.

  “What the devil made you do that? Mum’s dead, so is Dad. Tom and Elizabeth haven’t got any children and I don’t expect they want anybody else’s calling them mum and dad.”

  I could see I’d hit home, but my anger hadn’t diminished; I knew I had to get out of the house before I said too much, so I just said,

  “Right. Now I’m going out to try and find her, see if we can’t sort this out before Tom comes home.”

  I turned to go, but as I did, there was a light tap at the door. I opened it a little too forcefully and a startled Betsy Grimes took a step back. Old and wizened and bent nearly double, making her stand hardly taller than Adie, Betsy Grimes had delivered all the children in the village for as far back as anyone could remember. She’d had no children of her own and had never married, although she did like to say that all the children in the village were hers, which I suppose, in a way, was true, she’d certainly met them all before even their mothers had. Now past eighty, it was still to her, anxious dads would run and mums cry out, when their baby was ready to be born. Though Elizabeth had never had any children, she and Betsy were great friends. Mum said it was because neither of them had any children that they were close; they could talk about things other than children.

  In my anger I’d forgotten that Betsy’s was the most likely place for Elizabeth to have gone, so having apologised, I explained I was just going out but asked how I might help her.

  “Actually, it’s Adie I was looking for,” she said. “I have a message for her from Lizzie Rider. She thought Adie might be worried after the way she left this morning without a word and hasn’t come back. So is Adie here?”

  Because she was so small and I was still standing in the doorway, she couldn’t see Adie, who anyway had retreated to the bed.

  I said,

  “Yes, she’s here.”

  Now that I’d remembered Betsy and Elizabeth’s friendship, I imagined I knew what this was about, so I added,

  “And as soon as she sees Mrs Rider, she’s going to apologise to her.”

  Taken aback, Betsy said,

  “Young man, she has nothing to apologise for.”

  She called out, “Adie, can I have a word?”

  Adie came and stood close behind me. Smiling, Betsy reached past me, grasped her arm and said,

  “I have a message for you dear, from Mrs Rider.”

  Adie tried to pull away. She still believed she’d upset Elizabeth and as old age had robbed Betsy of most of her teeth, her gummy smile did little to reassure her. But Betsy’s grip was surprisingly strong, so holding firm she went on.

  “She said I should tell you that what you asked her this morning was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her and if you still feel the same, she’d really love you to call her ‘mum’.”
/>   Adie looked confused. Betsy, who had already begun her slow walk back down the gennel, called back,

  “Well, so what shall I tell her then dear? Do you still feel the same?”

  Adie’s face was transformed, the clouds already replaced by the brightest smile.

  “Please tell her yes,” she said. “I’d very much like to call her mum. And can you tell her I’m sorry if I upset her.”

  Betsy made a strange sound. I think it was a chuckle but it sounded more like the honk of a goose flying home.

  “I’ll let her know your reply dear. Anything else you want to say to each other can wait ’til she’s back home.”

  As Betsy slowly walked away, Adie turned to me and started to speak,

  “Will, she wants to be my…”

  But interrupting her, the anger I felt turning to rage, I slammed the door and fired again.

  “So that’s it then, is it? Mum and Dad are dead, and Dad got killed rescuing you, remember, your sisters are dead and so is your brother, but you’ll be alright, you’ve got a brand new mum and no doubt you’ll want Tom to be your new dad.”

  I knew that I’d hurt her, but I hadn’t finished; I couldn’t help myself. As I stood there clenching and unclenching my fists, I shouted,

  “No new brothers or sisters, though. And I’ll tell you Adie, if you go through with this, you’ll lose the only brother you have, ’cos I won’t want anything to do with you.”