and accepted. Amos cupped his hands together, making a step.
“Put your foot into my hands and I’ll give you a leg-up”, he said.
Ruth was only too anxious to ride with her mother and sitting directly behind Sarah she clasped both arms around her waist and clung tight. She had no fear of slipping from the mare, it was just so comforting to cling to her mother again.
By the time they reached the camp site the mist had begun to clear. Sarah was quite impressed with the traditional wooden caravan, painted a rust red- brown colour with wheels of yellow. The swirls and scrolls of yellow paint that decorated the panels, was typical of the gypsy caravans she had seen before. She climbed the wooden steps and entered to find a neat orderly interior, where everything seemed to have its place. She hadn’t really known what to expect but she noticed that it seemed to have a fragrance of its own, something that she seemed to recognise. Amos had followed her inside and he perceived her smelling the air. He opened a cupboard door, a cupboard full of blankets, and he pointed to a sizeable bunch of dried flowers, all tied together by the stems and hanging upside down from a wooden peg. He smiled as the realisation dawned upon her,
“It’s lavender”, she exclaimed.
Amos had re-organised the sleeping arrangements and where Ruth had slept before, he had put together a cot where she and Ruth could sleep. A wire across the width of the van held a blanket that could be pulled across to give some privacy. It all seemed so very cosy.
The fire was soon lit and blazing away and the large pot arranged on the metal tripod over the flames. Amos went to the stream and retrieved the pot containing the fish he had caught and prepared the previous day. The cool waters had kept the fish as fresh as the moment they had been caught. Sarah was tempted to show him that she had the ability to cook a meal but she held back and watched as Amos cooked the fish and plated it for them. A large piece of bread was broken and divided between them, and the three sat and ate in contentment. Ruth never once left her mother’s side and it was a pleasure to Amos to see them in this way.
There was a lot to discuss and Sarah was anxious to learn what she could of Amos. She realised that to a casual observer it would seem strange that a young woman should take such a huge risk in simply accepting such intimate accommodation from someone practically unknown to her. It was something to make the less enlightened raise their modest eyebrows in considering how close they would be living in the confinements of the caravan, but then - they weren’t homeless and destitute, with a child of tender years to consider. She pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind, and as Amos busied himself, tending the fire and cleaning the plates and utensils, she gently probed him about his circumstances.
“Tell me to mind my own business if you wish, but why are you travelling the countryside in this caravan? You’re not a gypsy”.
Amos smiled, perhaps hiding his true feelings, and said,
“I’ve explained to Ruth, my parents rented a small cottage from the local squire……..”, and he went on to relate the story again.
Amos paused and threw more wood onto the fire, then continued,
“Both my parents are dead now – buried in the church-yard at Hodnet in Shropshire. I just carried on travelling in the caravan – it’s called a vardo. I find a bit of work here and there as I travel around. Harvest time is always good, all the farmers depend on casual workers at that time of year”.
As the evening descended upon them he poked the fire and told of the lighter side of his life, travelling between the county fayres – which were colourful and exciting. Neither Sarah nor Ruth had ever been to such a fayre and the story fuelled their imagination. Tales of clowns and acrobats, bare knuckle fighting, monkeys – yes, monkeys dancing to a barrel organ. The dog fighting and the cock fighting wasn’t something they relished but it all painted such a wonderful picture for them both. Then came the matters of the shady dealings. Amos lowered his voice slightly to lend more drama to the tale and continued, telling of the sleight of hand, and the trickery and downright thieving that goes on. He left them to wonder about what shady dealings he involved himself in but in truth he had always managed to avoid brushes with the law and he trusted his wits to keep it that way.
It was now Sarah’s turn. She told as much as she remembered but there were things that were quite personal and private.
“I can’t remember anything of my parents. I think I must have been left – how do you say? – an orphan?, when I was very young. The earliest I can remember is the orphanage. Oh, what an awful place. The building was somehow harsh and cold and the people in charge were nasty. I dunno, they seemed to enjoy making things as unpleasant as they could. They used to beat us and it was quite a miserable time. There never seemed to be enough to eat and what there was, was awful. I suppose I was lucky, some of the children were already weak and they grew weaker. Some of us tried to smuggle food to them but we had to be careful we weren’t caught, otherwise we got a beating. I was always taught that you shouldn’t speak ill of anyone but I think they were pocketing the money that was supposed to be used to buy food for us”.
Sarah hesitated, obviously the deep feelings of distress, were rising to the surface and clearly showed as she gritted her teeth and wrung her hands.
Ruth took her mother’s hand, obviously feeling the unpleasantness her mother was re-living.
Amos thought it best to keep her talking rather than let her dwell on the unpleasantness.
“When did you leave the orphanage? Where did you go?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, I think I must have been about the age Ruth is now, I was sent out to work. I went to several places – big posh houses. I had to work in the kitchens and the laundries, sometimes cleaning the house with the maids or perhaps carrying the coals for the fires. Nothing was too heavy or dirty and things weren’t much better than back at the orphanage. It seemed that we got beaten for anything – not working hard enough, eating too much – anything”, she continued.
“Didn’t you have any friends?” asked Ruth in total sympathy.
“Oh, yes, sometimes, but they didn’t last very long. They either fell ill – sometimes died – or they got dismissed; sent back to the orphanage”.
Sarah paused and stared into the fire as though seeing a picture of the past.
“If you were lucky one of the older maids might take pity on you. She’d probably endured this sort of life herself and understood, she’d help shelter you from the house-keeper’s wrath”.
Sarah stopped and cuddled her daughter to her side. Amos listened intently and experienced the emotion in Sarah’s story, but it seemed to him there was so much more untold. His inquisitive mind was forming question that remained unanswered but he bit his tongue. No point in pursuing matters to the point where she was reduced to tears; time would resolve all. Never-the-less he mused, where was this orphanage? Where were these houses where she was in service? When was Ruth born? What happened to her father? He was intrigued but he said nothing more.
Amos pulled a wooden pipe from his pocket. It was the stem of an Elder tree branch from which he had carefully removed the soft pithy centre. His trusty knife had made strategic holes along the length and the end was fashioned into a mouthpiece into which he inserted a thin reed. He casually put the instrument to his lips and blew, producing a shrill note. His nimble fingers moved along the stem of the pipe from hole to hole altering the note so producing a good tune. It certainly lifted the gloomy atmosphere that recounting the past had imposed.
As the evening fell to silence
