NO BRIDGE TOO FAR
by Richard Banks
Mother
often said that she had crossed many bridges. For someone not much travelled
this was a surprising if not fraudulent claim until one understood that it was
merely a figure of speech, a metaphor for the many problems she had encountered
and overcome. If there were bridges too difficult for her to cross mother never
spoke of them. To her logical but inventive mind, the obstacles in her way were
not the bridges across rivers too deep to ford but the difficulties placed in
our way by those determined to keep us poor and beholding to them. Despite
their uncaring neglect mother would always find a way that paid the rent and
kept us children clothed and fed.
There were three of us, myself John Caleb, and my sisters Beth and Agnes. Our playmates in the village were ragamuffins like ourselves
except that they had both mother and father, our father lay in the churchyard
below a wooden cross. Without his wages, we should have been in the poor house
or on outdoor relief but because of her, we not only survived but sometimes
thrived.
That mother worked hard was evident for
anyone to see. In the mornings and until three o’clock in the afternoon she was
housekeeper to a gentleman farmer bringing home his washing and that of other
households, in addition to which she spun thread for Harris the weaver and
plaited straw dollies for selling to travellers stopping at the Fox and Hounds
on the turnpike road. It seemed that she never stopped, being at her wheel each
evening until we fell fast asleep. Although sometimes abandoned to our own
devices mother always found time for us and those she deemed less fortunate
than ourselves.
In the context of our village this
consisted of only one person, an old woman racked with rheumatism who lived
like a hermit in the woods that lay beyond the corn and meadow. Discovered by
boys who daily tormented her with hard words and the throwing of stones mother
stopped their mischief and henceforth became a regular visitor to her home
reporting her needs to the churchwarden and making sure she received every
penny of relief that was due. In the village, she was known as Old Meg and those
still not free of superstition whispered that she was a witch who had once been
seen on a broomstick flying circles around the moon. But mother knew better,
telling us that no such thing happened and that Meg was a wise woman who made
potions for the healing of the sick. These we drank and although the taste was
not to our liking we seldom had a day unwell.
When I was eight and the girls ten and
eleven mother gathered us to her and told us of the plans she had made for our
future. She had watched us grow, taken stock of our talents, such as they were,
and decided the different routes by which we would become valued members not
only of the hundred but of the whole shire.
Beth, the firstborn, was the blithe
child, fair of face whose sparkly blue eyes and ready smile warmed, if not
melted, the hearts of all those setting eyes on her. For three years now she
had sold mother’s dollies outside the Fox receiving more pennies for them than
the landlord took for mild ale. Her face was her fortune and mother was
determined that it should win her a grand match and by that means raise her far
beyond her present station in life.
Agnes, although far from plain, would
have to settle for less. Her marriage, when it came, would be to a tradesman of
the better sort who would be needing not just a wife but someone able and
willing to assist him in the running of his business. The world was changing
and the prosperity of merchants was beginning to rival the landed interest of
ancient families. A daughter in both camps, said mother, would ensure our
fortunes and those of generations to come. Who knows what time might bring.
As for myself, mother marked me out as
the scholar of the family who through dint of effort might gain preferment in
the established church. That none of us had attended church in over a year was
no impediment to mother who affected a religious conversion that some thought
more striking than the one turning Saul into Paul on the road to Damascus.
Fortunately, the road to the parish church was a short one and having said our
prayers and listened to the Vicar’s sermon on a Sunday we were soon back home
and playing our rough and tumble games with the other children. But slowly the
demands of our new allegiance began to eat more deeply into our free time. The
Curate started a Sunday school that mother insisted we attend and when it was
discovered that I had a good singing voice I was made a member of the choir.
But mother was not content with that. My book learning at Mrs Price’s penny a
day school was extended to three days a week, while Agnes and Beth were taken
out of school, mother saying that they had schooling enough and that from now
on she would teach them all that they needed.
Agnes became mother’s apprentice in the
running of our household, learning the practical skills that for so long had
kept us fed and clothed. From Meg she learned the herbal remedies that kept us
healthy, and for two days a week worked as an unpaid assistant to Mr Reeve, the
butcher, who, in lieu of wages, taught her the commercial and practical skills
of his trade, including the keeping of accounts.
Beth was also set to work. In
accordance with mother’s plan, she was found a scivvying job at the country
home of Viscount Berkley. There she washed dishes and swept rooms at a wage
that undercut those demanded by the parents of other girls. But, for once,
earning money was not mother’s objective. Beth’s role was to observe the
several young ladies of the house, to learn, without their knowing, their way
of behaving and speaking. It was a task to which she was well suited; from
early childhood, she had exhibited a talent for mimicry and acting that, in
time, might have made her a living on the
Her insight into their lives deepened
when she became maid to Amelia, the eldest daughter, accompanying her to dances at the Assembly
Room in
When Amelia was twenty-one and Beth
seventeen William, the son of Earl Stafford came visiting and, having found
Amelia’s charms insufficient to compensate for the additional allowance of
another potential wife, came across Beth dressed in one of her mistresses old
gowns. Mistaking her for a daughter of the house he asked her name and when
told in the sweetest of voices and with the most captivating of smiles that it
was
It was, therefore, no coincidence that
one evening he came across Beth returning on foot to the village and, being the
polite young gentleman he sometimes was, conveyed her to our home in his
carriage, observing on his arrival its mean condition that confirmed, if
confirmation was needed, the absurdity of a legal union. A day or two later at
their next meeting he suggested that they break their journey at a country inn
and on finding Beth easily persuaded conveyed her to the Golden Lion where
there were upstairs rooms for the hiring. For now, their dalliance was conducted
in the saloon bar of the house where William introduced Beth to the drinking of
fine wine. If he calculated that she would soon succumb to a pleasant, light
headed intoxication that would enable him to transfer proceedings to the floor
above he was much mistaken. While Beth seemed unaffected by the several wines
pressed upon her, William found his mind reeling with the strange but
undeniable conviction that he was in love and that his love was of a purity
that could only be satisfied within the sacred institution of marriage. Having
conveyed Beth back to our home and briefly, but courteously introduced himself
to mother, he continued back to his own home where in raptures of joy he
informed his parents for a second time that he wished to marry Beth. That
William’s joy was not reciprocated by his father came as no surprise to
everyone but the young man who was told in no uncertain language that at
eighteen he needed his father’s permission to marry and that under no
circumstances would this be given until he found a bride within the first three
ranks of the peerage. Distraught beyond reason he sought Beth’s agreement to a
slitting of their wrists in the hope that their souls be united forevermore
in Heaven, to which, she suggested, it was better to elope.
And so it was that two days later at
the midnight hour William’s coach arrived at our door and mother dispatched her
daughter with a chest of necessary things that included another of Meg’s
potions in case, as mother said, the first one be not enough.
If, on their return from
If mother was perturbed by this
overthrowing of her plan she showed no outward sign. Indeed her optimism that
all would be well was undiminished. But how could it be, I reasoned. The
connection to the nobility she thought so much to our advantage was now an
empty glass. But before the year was out mother was proved right, as she always
was, and the glass quickly filled back to the brim. As often happens one
person’s gain is another’s misfortune. William’s father suffered a fatal
convulsion while out riding with the hunt to be succeeded by his elder son who
a month later, to the consternation of the shire, but mainly to himself, fell
off
While it cannot be claimed that William
was particularly generous to his wife’s family he was at least anxious to
relieve our poverty in case it became an embarrassment to his noble dignity. He, therefore, brought us a fine brick house on the outskirts of the village and
granted mother a comfortable annuity on the understanding that we live there
quietly, out of sight and out of mind. However, the news of our noble
connection was common knowledge to the village folk who often saw Beth’s
carriage at our door. From being the least of the least our social standing
rose almost to that of the Squire.
We were now people worth knowing and
Agnes had suitors aplenty from whom mother chose Joe, the miller’s son, whose
family also owned a bakery. Here was a business that through hard work and
ambition could be made large and ever more prosperous. They married in the
parish church by special licence which, they were told, was the fashionable way
to wed, and by so doing signalled their intent to rise high above their present
situation.
So what of me, the boy put to his
lessons at Mrs Price’s school? Could she teach me what I needed to become a
Minister of the faith? The answer was no and although she taught me well in
reading and writing she knew nothing of the Latin and Greek that I needed for
holy orders. If mother’s plan for me was to work, another teacher would be
needed, and on my fifteenth birthday, he duly arrived. In fact, as Rector of the
parish he had been in clear sight for many years and during that time had often
observed me singing in the choir and at prayer which mother urged me to do as
conspicuously as possible. Knowing of our new-found status within the village
he visited us one afternoon and partook of refreshments that included a cup of
Meg’s herbal tea. If the Rector intended to pass the time in polite
conversation and a parting prayer he was soon knocked off course by mother who
acquainted him with her son’s passionate desire to enter the church and his
thirst for that knowledge that would enable him to be a true servant of God. It
was, I judge, at this moment that the Rector looked upon me with new eyes and
seeing the son he never had was suddenly infused with an ambition to be my
teacher and benefactor. Through him, I acquired the classical education that
qualified me for an
There were no potions now but no need
for them. Our lives were set fair on a steady course that like a stately
galleon was sailing serenely down waters far broader than the meandering
streams of our village. Beth became one of the most admired women of her
generation, a favourite of King George and mother to six children one of whom
was to become a Duke. Her sister if envious never showed it and devoted herself
to her husband, their business and four strong sons that have since become partners in a business that
is now the largest of its kind in the eastern shires.
As for myself, I administer to the flock
as Dean of York Minster. There are those who say I will rise higher still but
only I know that for sure. Mother also knew, for everything that has happened
was according to her plan. That Meg helped her we never doubted until we
discovered in a box beneath mother’s bed the devices of a witch. It was she,
not Meg, who enchanted William and the Rector and, sadly, it was she who struck
down all those who stood in our way.
As the son of a witch now dead I have become a warlock. In this,
But enough of me. Let’s talk of the
future, of those yet to come, the great leaders of religion, state and business
that will shape the destinies of nations and bring them together as one; a
world united, one government, one religion and an untroubled, compliant people
freed from want, living well like the gentry of my own time. No more war, no
need for revolution, a world forged by sorcery for the especial benefit of our
kin to come, who knowing their part in mother’s plan will take it forward
through the centuries to come. Only at the end of time will they be gone.
Copyright Richard Banks
