Copyright © 2018 Patricia Stone
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Itch, itch; scratch, scratch. It really was dreadfully uncomfortable and sore. Mother will never know, she thought. I’ve just got to do it.
With a flourish, off came her long cotton drawers which had been starched in honour of her new job. The relief! She carefully folded them, tucked them under her arm and walked on. She usually didn’t wear any knickers at all, so she immediately felt more at ease and began to run and laugh in the sun.
As she skipped along, Dora Annie had to be careful not to trip on the hard, dusty earth in the centre of the rutted lane. She was still two miles from the farm, and she wanted to look her best when she arrived.
“What a beautiful morning,” she said to herself. The bees were buzzing, crickets chirruping, and the high hedgerow was thick with nesting birds. Sometimes she glimpsed the countryside spread out before her through the gaps in the hedge, marvelling at the different greens of the fields and trees. It was late spring, 1888, in rural Gloucestershire.
The lane that she was walking along was a very old road; her father had told her that the hedgerows and banks were built and planted hundreds of years ago by the Saxons, as boundaries and to keep cattle and sheep contained. She dreamed about all the people who had travelled this road over so many years, and if she closed her eyes and imagined hard enough she felt she could nearly see them and hear their voices and laughter.
The lane was like a green tunnel and the hedges were thick with shiny young leaves, stretching upwards to the sun. At the foot of the hedges were great clumps of shining primroses and violets. She was very tempted to pick them for her new mistress, but she knew that by the time she got to the farm they would be wilted and it was better to leave them by the path so that everybody could enjoy them.
From the hedge she suddenly heard a very loud chirping, and stopped to listen. Standing very still, she at last saw a little wren, singing its heart out. How astonishing that such a tiny bird could make so much noise. Almost immediately, as if in reply, she heard the clear, joyous singing of a blackbird.
Looking around her, she saw an old tree stump, and decided to sit down for a while and rest. I will always remember how I feel this day, she thought, now that I am eight. She stood up again briefly and scraped her shoe on the earth of the lane in a large figure of eight.
“This will make me remember,” she said aloud, “how I feel at this moment; for the rest of my life.”
Scurrying around in the grass at her feet were hundreds of ants, some carrying bits of leaves and others carrying their eggs. Dora watched them, fascinated. Where were they all going? Dipping by, she spotted a meadow brown butterfly, and then her favourite, a beautiful holly blue. I could sit here forever, she thought dreamily, but I’d better get going. I don’t want to be late!
Her long chestnut hair had been pulled back from the sides of her head and tied at the back with a big ribbon to keep her hair from her face. She had a beautiful face, with sparkling green eyes. She was very proud of her new blue dress which Mother had made specially for her, and she knew that, whatever happened, she must try not to tear it on any branches or bushes during her journey.
That morning, Dora had woken early at half past four when she heard, through the walls of her cottage, the chimes of the grandfather clock belonging to her neighbours. Hiding her face under the pillows and cuddling up tight to Rhoda, her comfy, plump sister, she thought, This is the morning of my first great adventure: my new job. She was so excited that she cuddled Rhoda too hard and woke her up.
“Leave me alone. Stop it, I want to sleep.”
Dora poked her and whispered quickly, “It’s today, wake up.”
After many mumbles and grumbles, Rhoda reluctantly opened her eyes and then squeezed Dora in a loving embrace. It was Monday, and Rhoda’s favourite sister was to start her first job with the Moabys, the local small farmers, whose farmhouse was about five miles from the village where the sisters lived.
They crept out of bed and down the stairs onto the cold stone kitchen floor, then filled up the huge black kettle and placed it on the range. Next they started scrubbing the floor and wiping all the dust and dirt so that everything would be clean and shining when their father came down to wash and get ready for his morning’s work. He was a husbandman – someone who cultivates the land – working for the Moabys, who were tenant farmers for Lord and Lady Huxtable.
Soon Father came downstairs and quickly went out to the tap in the cobbled yard, where he took a noisy, splashing shower and scrub.
“Oh, why do men have to make such a hubbub, snorting, coughing and making a big fuss?” said Rhoda, giggling.
Out of the corner of her eye Dora saw her cat, Maggie Best Tail, slinking back into the kitchen, avoiding Father and the tap. Maggie then curled up with her new, pure black kitten, which was the latest darling to enchant the family. He was such a delight. There had been two other kittens, both black-and-white, who were passed on to good homes. But the family decided to keep Merlin Black Boy, the brightest and most beautiful of the litter. Bible black he was, so quick and intelligent, with the deepest purr and so biddable with Dora’s siblings. Little Megs, Dora’s youngest sister, would parade Merlin Black Boy in her dollies’ pram which greatly amused and entertained the local children, especially when he played with the toys dangling from the pram hood.
One morning, Mother was in the kitchen, busy cooking, when she noticed that everything was unusually quiet. Kitten Merlin was usually playing noisily, bouncing around for hours on end somewhere nearby, but there was no sign of him at all. Mother searched around, which didn’t take long in such a small cottage, and discovered Merlin and little Joe, her baby, snuggled up together in his cot, the two youngest members of the family keeping each other nicely warm.
At eight years old Dora was leaving home for the first time. She was to become the live-in companion to Mrs Moaby, the farmer’s wife, who had a bad heart. The Moabys had two strapping sons, but no daughters to help their mother. So if Mrs Moaby fell down or was taken ill, Dora’s task was to ring a handbell outside the farmhouse to call the farmer and his sons home to help. It was a very responsible job, but she knew she was fully capable of doing it and was well aware that even her small wage would be a help to her own family.
There were twelve children in the Larner family, and she was the seventh born. Lucky seventh, some people said. Perhaps this might explain why, from a very early age, she could sometimes see ghostly people, even in daylight. On one such occasion
Dora came running excitedly into the cottage to warn her mother that a lady was coming up the path. The lady had a beautifully trimmed grey dress and was carrying a parcel and a bunch of flowers. Dora thought she might be coming for tea. Her mother hurried to take off her pinny, then looked down the path and the road beyond, but there was no one to be seen. The Grey Lady had disappeared.
“Don’t worry, Dora,” said Mother matter-of-factly. “She isn’t calling today.”
“But I saw her!” Dora exclaimed. “I really saw her.”
These kinds of sightings happened quite regularly to Dora, but nobody else she knew saw such things. One hundred and thirty years ago, particularly in the countryside, people were much more prepared to believe and come to terms with things that were difficult to explain. The ‘supernatural’ was quite easy to accept, fear, or even enjoy in the days when science was not well understood. Some might say that this was merely superstition; others that without the constant distractions of modern-day life people were more in tune with the natural and the hidden world, and with their own feelings for both.
Dora’s mother reassured her, saying that this was a gift from God and that it was nothing to be worried about. She explained that – though very rare – other lucky, special people had these experiences, and that Dora must say her prayers and thank God for his visions.
The family lived by the River Coln, a sparkling, fast-running river which eventually runs into the head of the Thames. Their home was a thatched cottage in a village called Quenington. Dora’s father, Joseph Larner, had a job which was physically very hard, and he worked long hours earning a wage of twelve shillings and sixpence a week – sixty-two and a half pence in today’s money. He was about the only man in the village who could read and write, having taught himself with the help of the son of the farmer whom he worked for when he was young. Joseph was determined that his children would also have some education, so he turned to the local vicar, Father Dudley, who agreed to charge tuppence a week to teach each child, which Joseph was happy to pay. This sort of arrangement was not unusual in rural Gloucestershire as formal education took some years to reach such remote areas.
Dora and her sister Rhoda enjoyed their lessons with the Reverend Dudley, and both of them were anxious to learn, though their brother Elton was not so keen. Dora thought this was typical of boys: usually wanting to be out playing rather than being forced to think. Their schoolroom was part of the vicar’s study, and they sat at little desks with their writing slates which made a horrid squeaking, scratching noise as they wrote on them with their small sticks of chalk while the vicar helped them with their letters and numbers. They couldn’t afford paper, pens and pencils in this little village. Times were hard, and food and shelter were their main expenses.
The Reverend John Dudley had a florid, weather-beaten face, the result of his passion for shooting and all other country sports, and he had a very infectious, loud laugh. He was a tall, well-built man who wore very hairy tweed suits when he was not in his clerical clothing. He had a great love of children with six of his own, but they were now in their late teens and early twenties. Dora thought he was wonderful, and the best man she had ever met except for her father.
Although wages were low, the family were always well fed. They grew their own vegetables in the small garden of their cottage and after the harvest they were allowed to go gleaning in the wheat fields, picking up ears of corn that had been missed by the harvesters, a perk which was completely free. They usually collected enough to contribute usefully to the family’s diet.
They also had a pig at the bottom of the garden, which lived on household scraps in a sty alongside the river that flowed steadily and sweetly and contained dells of watercress which they could pick. Rabbits were easily trapped, and they kept several hens for eggs and meat.
Inside the cottage there were oil lamps and a kitchen range for cooking. A huge copper with a tap on the side was placed on the range to heat water. This water was used for baths and to boil clothes in soda on washdays. A metal bath hung on a hook in the kitchen when not in use.
To the left of the cottage, down a small pebble path, was the earth closet, the family loo. Often freezing cold in winter and hot and smelly in the summer, you wouldn’t want to stay in there any longer than necessary, unless you had something particularly important or secret you wanted to discuss with the person sitting next to you. Though it was a ‘companionable’, the tiny, brick-built building was barely adequate for such a large family. A companionable always had more than one seat; in the Larners’ case the family shared just two, though Dora had heard of one locally which had four.
There were some fairly strict rules, only broken if you were really desperate. Only two boys or two girls together, never a mix of the sexes, and Mother and Father always enjoyed the facility alone.
Dora was never embarrassed about sharing with her sisters. There was so little space in the cottage that there was hardly any privacy anyway. If you were brought up to it and never knew any difference, it seemed quite normal to share a privy. After all, they were only doing something entirely natural, which everybody, absolutely everybody in the world had to do. Even, it was said, Her Majesty the Queen, Queen Victoria, albeit in rather more comfort and splendour, though Dora found such a thing almost impossible to believe.
Dora’s brother Elton was a year older than her and a terrible tease, always in the middle of trouble wherever he went. But he was an amiable, kind boy and really loved his sisters, though he just could not stop himself from thinking of ways to have fun at their expense.
Fishing was his main hobby and he fished nearby in the beautiful millstream with his village friends. This was strictly forbidden, but it didn’t stop Elton. This part of the River Coln could run very fast and was dangerous in flood time. He fell in regularly and had to be rescued, arriving home soaking wet to receive the usual scolding from his father and be ordered to bed without any supper. But one of his sisters, usually Dora, would smuggle a hot drink up to him, or a lump of bread and cheese, and then he would tell her how many fish he had nearly caught and how certain he was that the next day he would get a large brown trout for supper.
“Elton, you mustn’t fish there again,” said Dora bossily. “Suppose you were caught.” He would be in terrible trouble and hauled before the local magistrate.
“I don’t care; I love fishing, and think how we would all enjoy a trout for supper.”
“How about if you end up in the village police cell?” said Dora with a worried sigh. “Mother and Father would be furious. You might be transported to Australia. For life!”
“Don’t care. I’d get away from your nagging.”
In fact transportation had been stopped fifty years beforehand, but Dora wasn’t clear about this and had often heard stories of local people who had suffered such a fate for even the most minor crimes.
In the autumn, scrumping was Elton’s main sport and, once again, he often got caught, receiving a beating for his troubles, but he took this in good part. He was tall and well built; people thought he was much older than his ten years. Dora and her sisters often enjoyed the fruits of his illicit foraging: apples, pears, gooseberries and delicious juicy black plums stolen from the vicarage garden and other dangerous local sources.
A few months earlier he had involved his brothers and sisters in some real trouble. “Why don’t we skip Sunday school, spend the money we’ve been given for the collection on sweets, then go over the fields and play by the river?” persuaded Elton.
They got away with this for several weeks, until Dora fell in the water trying to jump from one large stone to another. She dried herself as well as she could, banging her socks on a tree to dry them before using them to scrub the mud off her face. “Do I look all right?” she asked.
“Yes,” they all lied.
Of course Mother spotted what had happened as soon as they got home. Dora suffered the lash of a wet,
stinging tea towel around her legs, even though Elton owned up that it was his fault.
Thereafter, because of their truanting, Father Dudley made each child stick a special religious stamp on an official card each week to show to their parents as proof that they had attended Sunday school. Dora was very upset, and ashamed of this indignity.
Dora’s Maggie Best Tail was a beautiful long-haired tortoiseshell-and-white cat with one black eye. She earned her surname because she had by far the best tail in the village (probably the county!), twitching and waving it like some beautiful furry fan. She was very clever and extremely talkative, always having the last miaow, “Just like all the other females in this cottage,” grumbled Father.
Dora taught her tricks, with Maggie leaping from one piece of furniture to another at the click of Dora’s fingers. She also trained Maggie to jump up and walk backwards on the kitchen windowsill. This was great fun to watch, and achieved through love and encouragement rather than bribery with titbits. Maggie Best Tail was always rewarded with a stroke and a tickle under the chin during her performance, and also when she had finished. The local children were always calling in to see Maggie perform, and the family were delighted with Dora’s Maggie, who was much loved and spoiled.
Maggie often popped into the cottage next door where an old couple called Bedlows lived. The wife was bedridden, and Dora’s mother looked after them for years. Their only valuable possession was a very old grandfather clock in an oak case, which Dora’s family could hear through the thin walls of the cottage. At the age of six Dora had to wake up her father for work when she heard the clock strike five. Many years later, when old Mr and Mrs Bedlows died, they left Dora’s mother the clock, which was looked after very well.
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