Adam Thorpe - Ulverton

Aye.

I will an all.

Thank ’ee.

My old woman, she was onto me, see. As how I never spoke my mind. I was allus behind the master. I felt tart about it some time, his bally-raggin, aye. But I never spoke my mind. Never.

He got my bristles up once or twice, I can tell thee, surely. Aye. That he did.

Heh.

Dead an gone now, all on ’em. Dern it, I never spoke my mind to him. Aye. Now I’ve had a drop o’ two, I don’t mind tellin. This en’t a grizzle, though. This en’t a grizzle. You be a genneman, listenin so long. I be planin through to the heart, make no mistake. Pure oak, this tale. It be a ripper. Don’t you go now. Don’t you go. You be a-lush as you fancy, you don’t have far to rise, up them stairs. Stay wi’ me an drain that cask to the grouts, an you won’t hear no codger’s grizzle out o’ me. No. I tells you, there be one or two wenches here as I know ud fancy talkin to a genneman like you, sir. They be a-rampin for a genneman the likes o’ you, make no mistake. Fine good clean country wenches, aye. An young an lissom, as ud fancy wrestlin wi’ the likes o’ you, sir. I knows all about them as be rampin ater decent strangers like you, sir. Hear me out an I’ll tell ’em as you be game, sir, to have thy room warmed by a simple wench. Aye.

Make no mistake. You don’t want to touch them as be in here. No. They be dampen straw in here. These’d not douse a candle.

Aye.

Heh heh.

See she, like a drownded rat, agin the cask? She ud do it wi’ a pig if he paid her. In an out more times nor a nag shot out o’ the shafts. Bin whipped at the cart’s tail, that un, for thievin wine. Years ago, now. Didn’t make her aright, though. Be thievin men from their wives, now. The worsest kind o’ men, mind. The worsest kind. Aye. She be lookin our way now. Cotched her one while past, out in the orchut, up to her anticks. Thought it were two lads a picky-back, till I saw it straight. Years ago now. Aye.

I’ll bet them ladies as rides up to the Hall, from Lunnen an abouts, I’ll bet their limbs be white an smooth as chestnut. Aye. I’ll bet.

Aye.

This gettin to be a rigmarole afore I’ve finished. Abraham allus said I lacked summat. It were allus my thoughts doin the meddlin. I never had his dedication, not to the work in hand. I were allus stuck for that. Mind, I could strip them oaks out their bark quicker nor he, at strippin-time. They’d mount up in the tan-yard thick as the ale-house on pay-night, certain sure. I were out an out the best o’ the boys at strippin.

Aye. That I were, certain sure.

He couldn’t deny me that.

I don’t recall as who first thought on it. Belike it weren’t I, but Ketchaside. Out on that down, past Ewe Drop. It were a slappin piece o’ mischuf, whoever thought on it. The other boy, name o’ Sheppard, he were a mite slippy about it, an wanted nowt to do on it, but when we telled him it were to stop our work bein so tardy, like, he come round to us soon enough, up there on that down. It were deep, that piece o’ mischuf. Heh heh.

Poor old Sheppard, the lad thought as how he’d end up at the cart’s tail, or worse, transportashin, for goin agin Abraham. It were awmost worth transportashin, the way I seed, it. It were deep, an all. Aye.

Heh heh.

Lay the dust in that throat an listen to this. There be a tree, a gurt fine oak, haafway atween Stiff’s place an here. It be right agin the road, an all splashed white in the wet, an good’n thick in the leaf, so as thee can hide up there an narn don’t ever sees thee. You can be a right King Charlie up there in that oak. Belike it were the same one as he used. I dunno. Anyways, early next mornin, bein back on the job, like, we comes to the tree, on the way to Stiff’s, an shins up it, an sits in all them branches, hearts a pit-a-pat, an we watches the old sun do his bit, an we giggles, an gets sittin easy, like, on them gurt branches, an minds what we’ve to do, that we’ve gone over yeserday, an sits tight, waitin.

For Abraham, see.

Now I weren’t a lad, but I feeled like one up there in that oak. I used to get pleasure from climbin trees as a lad, if you gets my meanin. I were allus shinnin up an down, as a nipper, an wonderin why I were gettin damp in the britches, like, an it so pleasin. An this, I’ll be honest, were the same kind o’ pleasure, this piece o’ mischuf. I were in great spout, up there in that oak, waitin for Abraham Webb.

For I had the deepest voice, like. It were I as had the job in hand. My heart was a pit-a-pat, I can tell thee, waitin.

Aye. I be dry, thinkin on it. Fill her up.

You’ll recall what it be like, up a tree. Thee be king, up there. Thee be master. All spread pokey aneath ’ee, an thee gurt proud, an tall, up there in them branches. Like the old tree be spreadin through thee, growin up through thee, king o’ the world, master o’ the fields, up there in that tree. Aye. Thee be God, up there.

God.

Aye.

For thee be the one a-rustlin now, with thy gurt proud limbs o’ pure oak!

Aye.

A-comin to it. I’ll find thee a wench, don’t fret. Plenty o’ time for that. A clean squishy wench. Give me a spell more an I’ll seek one out wi’out a splotch on her. Let I finish.

Gin-trap, see. That be what it were. Gin-trap for master. To be struck by he. Narn else.

So he comes, don’t he? — bang on church strikin six he comes over the brow, on his way to Stiff’s, checkin up on us. An I cups my hands about my mouth all ready, see, like this, big dubby hands about my mouth, an I sits bolt up, an the other two anigh me sits stock as a hare, an stops their breathin they be so still, an lo behold Abraham’s step be comin nearer an nearer, his boots a-clippin them flints like old Bowsher in his forge, see, an my heart be hammerin louder an louder, an all three on us creamy-faced an a-muck with fear, but stock still up that gurt tree like three dead men, only our hearts a-goin, an lo behold Abraham be under us wi’ the top of his head an I hears the whistlin through his nose an smells his sweetness an through them leaves I sees him an I sings out, like, I don’t blare I sings out, like:

‘A-bra-ham …!’

Jus like that, see. Heh.

‘A-bra-ham …!’

Heh.

And he stops bang in his tracks, an he looks up, an I thinks I be for a whippin or worse, I feels so a-feared, but astead o’ that I hears him say,

‘Yea, my Lord?’

Wi’ such a gingerly look on his face I well nigh bust out laughin. For I knew I had done him, then.

It were like the squawk of a hare when the trap strikes. It were tip-top.

Aye.

An then I says, all sing-song like, but mortal strong an more bellockin it out this time:

‘If thee keepest thy lads at work till eleven,

Thee shalt not enter the kingdom of Heaven!’

An then the two old boys, they gives out a great sigh, like as if God were closin off into the clouds, out of the mortal world full of sin, into His Kingdom, leavin old Abraham starin upperds, up at the sky, as though he have a-had a big crack a-top o’ the head.

An he says, all quiet, but wi’ a mouth big as a saw-pit:

‘Dang un.’

Then he comes to it, like, as though he be on a sudden doushed in cold water, an gets down on his knees, an claps his two hands into one, an makes a gugglin noise out o’ his throat, an coughs, an starin upperds he says:

‘Lord, dost thou forgive me?’

Aye. An we were quiet as the grave. I tells thee. Sir.

An when he gets up an walks all gawky, like, off, as we thought it, to Stiff’s, lookin up now an agin, a mite a-feared, it seemed, o’ them old clouds o’ early mornin openin wi’ a big voice agin, we shins down an runs like the Devil be ater our souls the crow-way across the down to Mapleash Farm — for the road way do a dog-leg, don’t it? — an old Abraham, well, we be hid from him by that hedge as were jus about tall enough by then, though it be a mite thicker now, an by the brush as were north o’ the road them days.