This is my book and i am writing it by my own hand.
in this year of lord eighteen hundred and thirty one i am
reached the age of fifteen and i am sitting by my window and
i can see many things. i can see birds and they fill the sky with
their cries. i can see the trees and i can see the leaves.
and each leaf has veins which run down it.
and the bark of each tree has cracks.
i am not very tall and my hair is the colour of milk.
my name is mary and i have learned to spell it. m. a. r. y.
that is how you letter it.
i want to tell you what it is that happened but i must be ware
not to rush at it like the heifers at the gate for if i do that i will
get ahead of my self so quick that i will trip and fall and anyway
you will want me to start where a person ought to.
the year was eighteen hundred and thirty by the years of our
lord. and my father lived on a farm and he had four daughters
of which i am the one who was born most recent of all.
also living in the house was a mother and a grandfather.
we were not within the habit of letting animals to live in
the house though sometimes the small sheep would come in
if they lost their mothers and we had to feed them in the
night.
the story begins in the year of eighteen hundred and thirty.
the years are of the lord.
the day it started was not a warm day to begin. no it was a
cold day to begin and the frost was on every blade of grass.
but then later the sun did come up and the frost went and
then the birds were all starting up. and it was like the sun was
in my legs for i got the feeling that i get. it goes in to my legs
and then goes up in to my head.
the sap was rising up through the stems. and the leaves
were unfurling. and the birds were putting a lining in their
nests.
and the world was put in mind of spring.
i remember where i was that day for i was letting the hens
out for they had been inside all morning for to lay their eggs
and now they were to be let out for to run and eat worms and
insects what would make the eggs taste and they was to eat
some grass which was starting to grow after the winter that
was so cold.
i opened the door of the house where the hens lived and
the cock came out first and he was marching to music though
there was none.
the hens stood in the doorway looking at the day and i did
chase them out in to the home field and that is when i heard
my sister beatrice calling out to me. she was stopped at the
gate in to the home field and she was saying my name.
mary, she said. what you doing?
whatsit look like i’m doing? i asked.
looks like you been letting the hens out, she said.
really? i said. that’s strange cos i ain’t been doing that.
i been dancing with the cockerel and then we had a feast
together and the pig came and he sat on the top chair and he
sang us all a song.
you don’t get no better, she said.
how can i get better? i asked. if i ain’t exactly ill.
you wanna do less talking and more working, she said.
and you wanna do less watching what everyone else is
doing, i said, and do more of the doing yourself. so where is
it you been?
at the church.
well that ain’t gonna get the animals fed, is it?
it might make god provide their food.
look at me, i said, i been hauling round this big tub of food.
i ain’t seeing god doing that.
he might not be dragging the food round, she said, but he
grows it.
well bugger me, i said, and i thought it was me who planted
all that seed.
i put my hands on my hips. i been getting in to trouble all
my life, i said, but it ain’t never stopped me saying what i
think.
i noticed, she said.
so where you been did you say?
i been to church, she said, cos i done some cleaning cos it
gets dusty.
i know it gets dusty, i said. i ain’t stupid.
she tipped her head to the side. o, ain’t you, mary?
no, i said. i am not stupid. and before you say it i ain’t slow.
i ain’t none of them things.
beatrice walked off to the house and i followed her and we
went to the back door. only she didn’t realize it but mother
was standing right there with the pail full to the brim of milk
in her hand. and she was looking at beatrice with a look what
says what you doing in the house? get out to work.
and beatrice stood there with her mouth open then she
said to mother all sweet like milk wouldn’t curdle, mary said
i should come in. she said you asked for me.
and then beatrice turned to me and give me one of they
looks what says you better shut up.
mother stared at her, then she said, get out. go on.
and beatrice went.
so that left me and mother in the kitchen.
mother said to me, so you done the hens?
course i have, i said. you asked me to do them so i done
them.
now, no fly ain’t never rested on mother since the year
seventeen hundred and ninety two when she was a week old
and a fly come in the room and rested on her crib. but even
then she was as quick as a river and she swatted that fl y off
her and from that day on they knew not to come near her.
yeh, eggs, she said. how many were there?
i lost count, i said.
lost count? how?
how? i said.
yes. how.
ah, i said, i know what happened.
she looked right at me. and waited.
i reckon, i said, i was so busy counting my steps coming
back here it made me clean forget i was sposed to be carrying
the eggs.
if you got time to count steps, she said, then you ain’t got
enough jobs and you’ll be looking for more, won’t you?
i nodded.
or your father’ll have summat to say to you. and he’ll have
summat to say to me. so you better go get them.
and so i went back in to the hen house and i put the eggs in
the basket. some was still warm and some had shit and feathers
on them.
and one was under a hen and i pushed her off it.
i counted them all. twenty and that is not lucky for the
eggs should always be odd so i put the one back under the
hen and it was nineteen. i told them for to lay more tomorrow
or they would be in the pot.
mother was standing by the table. and she had a mixing bowl
clutched to her like as if she was stopping it from jumping
right out of her hand and down on to the fl agstones.
i put the basket of eggs on the side and went to go next
door.
where you reckon you’re going? she asked.
in to see grandfather.
don’t you reckon you’re staying in there all day. you wanna
be doing less talking and more working.
i know, i said.
and i do know. but i can’t help it. cos i am how i am. my
tongue goes fast as the cat’s tongue when he laps up the milk
from the bucket.
i went on in the other room and there he was sat by the
fire. there wasn’t no flames. i sat in the other chair face to
face with him and my grandfather looked at me and he
smiled.
what you been doing? i asked.
this and that, he said, and some more of that.
i moved my chair closer in to him. did violet wash you?
o yeh, he said. she washed me all right. bloody scrubbed at
me skin till it was nearly all rubbed off. she reckons i’m a cow
she’s getting ready for the market. mind, don’t reckon they’d
get a lot for me. not a lot of meat on me, is there?
i laughed and pulled straight the coat which was over his
legs to keep them warm cos they were dead where he fell off
the hayrick.
how many eggs today then, young miss? he asked.
not enough.
bugger. they’ll be for it.
i’ll be for it.
take them out some scraps. feed them up a bit. get a bit of
fat on them. that’ll get them laying.
pig has the scraps.
steal some from the pig.
grandfather wagged his finger. none of that language from
a young’n like you, he said. mind, you speak right, he is a
greedy bugger.
i laughed. so, i said, what you gonna do now?
not a lot to do. i’ll have my dinner when it’s ready. i’ll have a
bit of old shut eye after that. then i’ll shuffle through and peel
some taters, eat summat at the table with you lot, and then get
on to bed and find meself another day nearer death.
don’t say that.
why the bloody hell not? he asked. roll on death the working
man’s friend.
don’t say that neither.
that what you come for, tell me what i can and can’t say?
no, i said. come in to see you was all right. if you need anything.
all i need’s two new legs.
o, i said.
yeh, o.
he looked at the empty fireplace then back at me. look at
us, he said, what a bloody pair we are. four legs between us,
and only one’s any good.
we laughed and i stood up.
where you going? he asked.
she said i wasn’t to talk all day. spec there’s some jobs for
me to do.
bugger the jobs. get your cheeks back on the chair.
so i sat down. you seen beatrice? i asked.
grandfather yawned. she’s been in here, he said, boring me
nearer to my maker than i was. praying for my soul she was,
so loud she near made me deaf. what does she reckon? if she
asks her god loud enough to heal me, i’ll be jumping up from
the chair and dancing? gonna need more than a miracle for
that.
and he laughed. then his eyes started cos he laughed so
much and he got out his thick red and white hanky and
wiped.
you sisters, he said. couldn’t get more different if you
covered every woman in the parish, had a daughter out of
each one.
but i’m your favourite, ain’t i? i asked.
he stared at me, then smiled and nodded. course you are.
but don’t you tell one of they buggers i said so.
then we heard mother’s voice outside the door. she still in
there talking? she asked.
i stood up. i ain’t waiting for her to come and thicken up
my ear, i said.
i tucked the coat back round his legs and opened the window.
i climbed clean out and jumped down in to the home
field. shut the window behind me.
i went on round the home field towards the hen house and
the other gate and i had a stick in my hand and i was hitting
at the dead thistles and spraying their seed in the air.
what you doing?
i looked up and saw father standing at the gate.
look at you, he said, flouncing round like you ain’t got
nothing better to do.
i ain’t flouncing, i said. i was only wanting to know where
violet was.
she’s where she ought to be, in the three acre. where you
ought to be.
all right, i said. i’m going there.
then get on with it. ain’t like you’re special. just cos of that.
i went on through the home field and past the hens and
over the gate and up the lane towards the three acre.
i didn’t say i was special.
and i never have said that.
and i never even thought that.
my leg is my leg and i ain’t never known another leg.
it’s the way i always been and the way i always walked.
mother says it was like that when i come out in to the world.
i was some scrap of a thing with hair like milk and i was born
later than they thought and for that reason i was covered in
some hair like i was an animal and my nails was long. and she
says i took one look around me and i opened my mouth and
i yelled and some say i ain’t never shut it since.
and some say mother was sick that summer and she was
still working in the fields and she had this lump which was me
and she couldn’t very well bend down cos i was in the way.
and they say that my leg was twisted round underneath
me and it ain’t never been right since.
when i was a baby they tied it to some piece of wood to
straighten it only it rubbed and there was blood and i
screamed till they took it off and let my leg go in the way it
wanted to.
and so that is the way i am.
i got in to the three acre and my sisters were there the three
of them. there was beatrice and there was violet and there
was hope. and i took my bucket and i started doing the same
as they was doing which was bending down and picking up
stones and putting them in the buckets till they was full then
going to the cart to tip them in.
and as i was working the sun was shining and for the fi rst
time since the winter i could feel it on my back and the birds
felt it too cos they started making a racket and it was so loud
i could hardly hear the sound of the stones hitting the metal
buckets and then i thought o well father might be like he is
but here we are on a day like this and how can i hang on to
being that cross. and then i started to feel it again where the
sun is in my legs and it crawls up and goes in to my body and
then it comes out in my head.
that night i thought i was gonna sleep like as if i was dead cos
i was tired and my leg was aching but i no sooner dropped off
as i was awake again and my eyes was open and i could not
sleep.
the moon was bright and came in the room and for that i
could see.
beatrice lay next to me and though she was asleep she still
held her bible in one hand. i could hear her breathing. in and
out.
most of the time in bed she has the bible in her hands
and sometimes she opens it and turns the pages and she
moves her head and her eyes from side to side only she can’t
read.
that is because father needs us here on the farm to do the
work and he can not afford for us to be away at a school
learning things which we would not be able to use for who
needs to learn to read words and write them down when
they are picking up stones from the earth and putting them
in buckets. and taking milk from the cows and putting it in
buckets.
beatrice stopped breathing and then made a loud sigh and
she turned in the bed and her hand opened and her bible
slipped out and banged down on to the wooden fl oor. only
she didn’t wake up. i didn’t wake up on account of that i was
already awake.
i have shared beds with all my sisters at different times and
they are all problems. beatrice has to hold the bible and when
you are trying to sleep she prays. violet is very long in the bed
and is always saying that her feet are cold for they do stick out
of the end and when she bends to pick up stones or potatoes
she says it hurts her back for she has further to bend. and she
has sharp elbows. and hope is filthy of temper and she will do
all she can to take the covers and make me cold and she says
she does it in her sleep but i know she is awake and doing it
for the on purpose of it.
so beatrice made a sigh and dropped her bible and i was
awake. so i got out of the bed and picked up the bible and i
made sure that the dead nettle which she had dried and made
flat between the pages was in there. and i put it on the top of
the bed again for i know that if she wakes and her hands are
empty of it then she will feel the devil has a hold of her collar.
i went to the window and pulled aside the blanket that is
nailed to the frame. the moon was out and was lighting up
the outside bright enough for there to be shadows like there
are in the day when the sun is out. the cow was lying down in
the home field and i could see the black and white patterns in
her coat. and i went from the window and i pulled on my
skirt and put my shawl over my shoulders. and i went out of
the room.
i went down the stairs so quiet for that i was careful my
bad leg did not bang on the steps for if i woke up father he
would not be happy with me. i put on my boots and went
through the kitchen and then the scullery which stunk of the
new cheese and it stunk of milk too for cheese is only hard
milk and i went out of the door in to the night.
and outside was cold and i should have taken a blanket to
put on my shoulders only it was too late. and i went through
the yard and i climbed the gate and went in to the home fi eld
and there was a ground frost for in the light of the moon the
grass was silver. and the cow watched me and she did not
move for she is the house cow and for that she is used to
people and i think she even likes it when she has company.
and so i walked up to her and she let me kneel down by her
and lean against her and she was warm and i should have
stayed there. and i wish i did stay there but i never.
the house was a black shape in the night. i could see the
roof and the chimneys of which there are two but we only
ever use one. and i could see where the windows were though
i could not see glass but black shapes like there were holes in
the brick.
there was windows upstairs and i could see the one which
was my bedroom where i had just been looking out from.
then there was another window next to it what is where violet
and hope sleep. and there is another window what is
where father and mother sleep. and there is another room
what has a window but i can’t see it for it is at the front of the
house and that is where my grandfather used to sleep only
now he can’t get up the stairs on account of his legs so he
sleeps in the downstairs room where we keep the apples and
that is why the house smells of apples and grandfather smells
of apples.
i left the cow lying there in the dark and i went back round
the side of the home field and past the sleeping hens and over
the gate and in to the yard. i do not know where i did think i
was going only that i was having a look.