Adam Thorpe - Ulverton

The pain of my son’s bringing out — a large-boned baby — was as nothing to his father’s cunning.

I write this at dawn upon the window-seat — I have been here most the night, moonlight upon me — owls — then dawn came with song, from the far woods — alas, too far! — the room full now of fragrant harvest — & seeds borne upon the breeze, out the hedgerows — that steal in my little gap — settle on my hair, that is loose about the shoulders — poor silvery things — tiny angels, free to go whither they will, now they have found but useless soil here — one caresses my hand, yet I scarce feel it — blows & rolls to the paper — ’tis the seed of wild clymatis, that is named bedwine here, it must grow & tangle these words ere long, or I puff it out again — out the window — there! — it gleams — in the dawn light — high upon the breeze — and higher — & further — whither I don’t know, yet it be where I long to follow — ’till it be no more, tho’ I fancy I glimpse it still — against the glade, the sky — afar off — a gleam — hark! — a lark trills — then nothing — but the scratching of my pen — and the sea — no — ’tis the scythes — ’tis the scythe that mows down kings, exempts no meaner mortal things — you know the verse — we read it together — all flesh is grass — and the aged man that is Time mows these fields — we loved verses –

Alas.

Adieu.

A.C.

Ulverton Hall.

September 12th, 1743.

To Mr William Sykes:

Received — one snuff-box, & a quantity of clothing, formerly your own, addressed to Elijah Mabberley, Maddle Lane, Ulverton.

This is the last communication shall occur between us. Suffice to say that your folly has reaped its ill reward: the bulky nature of the parcel made concealment beneath Mabberley’s shirt impossible. He was thought to be stealing — was followed by Bint — was apprehended in the act of passing the bundle to the black boy, behind the laurel. Both were taken. The black boy don’t know anything. Mabberley would not betray me. A simple and loyal soul. He is before the magistrate on Tuesday. I am to be released, at my husband’s entreaty — he is full of kindness — to attend the spectacle, if he is to hang. Tho’ this won’t be likely sooner than October, when I am Out in any case. The black boy Leeward was delivered of a beating by Wall and Bint between them — I heard his screamings — tied up — carried upon the first ship at Portsmouth direct for the West Indies.

The Squire visits tomorrow. I will give him this to forward. I will tell him it is the invitation to the Christening.

I hope you find your stay in Italy pleasing, after your fashion.

Your verse I have burned.

I might fill a page — but let my consolation be — no, ’tis trash — our senses are all deluded –

— save skin upon a candle –

— so –

SONDAY THE 20 day of thi incant aug 1775 Surly Ro Ulver

Deer francis

Mr john Pounds tailer du rite this for mee my sone I dont kno how manny thar will Bee of us take pitty on thy mother francis lunnen is a wickit plaic yr father ood bee dropin teeres He sed as you alers hed a wagin tung I bee afeart francis i ent bin to lunnen afore

Mind yr sole

thy evere loving

mother

Sara Shail

Sonday 3 day of this incant sept 1775 Surlyro Ulvoton

My owne son francis,

I ont bare it you mus reply the wagon doo tak this plees replye francis my som

thy evere lovving mother

Sara Chail

Sonday 17 daye of the instan 1775 sept Surley rew Ulv

Deerst sun francis

plees replye a meditly els thy mamy shalt die my son off greeve Mr P tak thi to the wagon God speed itt I praye itt bent be cort when bee the day I shll buck thy weddin shirt & soe as itt hev a ter you mus look trimm thee mus replye

thy loving motther

Sarah Shail

Sundaye 1st dae of thi insant Oct 1775 Surley row Ulvoton

My son francis

thy leter was sh verry shoart the bee poorely shore enohg it were vingern hissop at the mowthe wot thee donne taikin that hat I minds i when thee wer danglin att my duggs they still be teart when i minds I tha thee wer a guzslerer al rite nowe theell be danglin wi all off lunnen lookin upp an lahging alover they faices Mr P hev his shoos on a brickc itt be the wett God hev massy on thee rite emeedittly gie itt to the laddy at the gaite Mr P brothr paye hur he saye Noogait be a terble stink fro the strit

thy lovin mothe

Sara Shail

her bee cow slipp for the cramps

Sunday 15 daye off this insan Oct 1775 surley Rowe Ulvetane

My dear francis my ownly sum,

I hev writ to the King wi Mr Ps hande it shall moov they stoney hartes think on yr sole an pray to God judith saye you hev the tyfoit shee hev thi from john witeacre as hed itt fro a mann on the coche as hev jus lef thy side his naime bee Tom bolt he sais the hev ratts bigern ours an you bee bit an swoln lord hev massy on uss all i ont bare itt wen I thinks on thee lnnen bee a wickit plaice tha hats blo off temtay shin rite how thee bee I hev a blakk spott on my dugg as be lik fier very sor

thy ever lovein mothr

Sara Shail

Sunday 29th daye of thinsan Oct 1775 Surlyrow Ulverten

My lam

thy leter tinds the fier of my destes I bourn and they dam jintlemen & pasens ooll swing fro al ower heeles sas Mr P the all hev ther tung in the kings ars ower lorde charls be mity chufd at the noose ses judith tha bee yr pochin dayes las weeke he wer blubbrin att all his swanns ther craws wer slitt judith ses the laik wer redd fro they crooel crooel burn thi inn the fier tell thy mammy my lam wen the daye bee theell com back hear arter ward for christern berry ole my son my lam wee be detarmied to fine the shillns uppon my worde

thy loving mother

Sara Shal

her bee clivers leef grind upp for thy tyfoit feavr

Sunday 12th day of this inst Novr 1775 Suleyrowe Ulver

My deer lam francis

wot my son be cutt up inn to ribons wot bee they sur jans jantlemen of the divil too cut upp my owern sun no hand oll toch thee a hare of thy hed els dam my eies an dam this fifly gurnray of engelin for barin my boddy an thine this woreld hev no massy itt makes my blakk spott biggern afore it maks my eies teart it makkes i blas feeme agin God an al His workes it maks i scroop an skweel like ower doore as thee met bee mendin nowe we shll cum onn a waggern by nite wen bee the daye my lam if so bee as thee ent took afore with thy feverswet an fiflth my lam

thy loveng mother

Sara Shail

use this papper atwen the lines

P.S. mark itt bee TRANS POTASHIN for caryin thy cowpse aff I hope ye nkose that

john Pounds tailr

Sunday 19th daye o this instan Novr 1775 Surley rowe Ulverton

My lovly lam my son francis

thy mark on the papper came Mr P red itt the numbers i dint paye a penny so the daye be March 31st it bee lik a nale in in my hed Mr Ps brother oll bring thee yr shirte as I hev cleend & lef owt al nite in the moon lite itt maide itt verry wite for thee do you hev a blaide to cutt yr hares & chin you mus be trimm all of lunnen ool be theyar an the famly thy wilfe were heyre yes erdaye shee ses you med hev com bakk wi a sakk o shillns stead of thy cowpse i sed bekky thare ont bee no cowpse hole to berry iff so bee as wee ent at Ti bourne lik yo saye my dov my lam to saiv thee fro them sur jans bluddy dam villions wi their nives & spesely sores i dont heyar swaldld bells francis wiout I heyar thy deth bell tang

lord hav marsy on thee in thy aflition

thy greefing mother

Sara Shail

P.S. hav you frends enouhg to cary it aff els weell be took al so

john Pounds tailer

Sundaye 3rd day off this ins Dec 1775 Surly Rowe Ullverton

My deesrt lam Francis