Cover

THE WIDOW IN THE
BYE STREET

BY
JOHN MASEFIELD

LONDON
SIDGWICK & JACKSON LTD.
3 ADAM STREET, ADELPHI
MCMXII

Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A.
All rights reserved

Second Thousand

TO
MY WIFE

I

Down Bye Street, in a little Shropshire town,

There lived a widow with her only son:

She had no wealth nor title to renown,

Nor any joyous hours, never one.

She rose from ragged mattress before sun

And stitched all day until her eyes were red,

And had to stitch, because her man was dead.

Sometimes she fell asleep, she stitched so hard,

Letting the linen fall upon the floor;

And hungry cats would steal in from the yard,

And mangy chickens pecked about the door

Craning their necks so ragged and so sore

To search the room for bread-crumbs, or for mouse,

But they got nothing in the widow's house.

Mostly she made her bread by hemming shrouds

For one rich undertaker in the High Street,

Who used to pray that folks might die in crowds

And that their friends might pay to let them lie sweet;

And when one died the widow in the Bye Street

Stitched night and day to give the worm his dole.

The dead were better dressed than that poor soul.

Her little son was all her life's delight,

For in his little features she could find

A glimpse of that dead husband out of sight,

Where out of sight is never out of mind.

And so she stitched till she was nearly blind,

Or till the tallow candle end was done,

To get a living for her little son.

Her love for him being such she would not rest,

It was a want which ate her out and in,

Another hunger in her withered breast

Pressing her woman's bones against the skin.

To make him plump she starved her body thin.

And he, he ate the food, and never knew,

He laughed and played as little children do.

When there was little sickness in the place

She took what God would send, and what God sent

Never brought any colour to her face

Nor life into her footsteps when she went

Going, she trembled always withered and bent

For all went to her son, always the same,

He was first served whatever blessing came.

Sometimes she wandered out to gather sticks,

For it was bitter cold there when it snowed.

And she stole hay out of the farmer's ricks

For bands to wrap her feet in while she sewed,

And when her feet were warm and the grate glowed

She hugged her little son, her heart's desire,

With 'Jimmy, ain't it snug beside the fire?'

So years went on till Jimmy was a lad

And went to work as poor lads have to do,

And then the widow's loving heart was glad

To know that all the pains she had gone through

And all the years of putting on the screw,

Down to the sharpest turn a mortal can,

Had borne their fruit, and made her child a man.

He got a job at working on the line

Tipping the earth down, trolly after truck,

From daylight till the evening, wet or fine,

With arms all red from wallowing in the muck,

And spitting, as the trolly tipped, for luck,

And singing 'Binger' as he swung the pick

Because the red blood ran in him so quick.

So there was bacon then, at night, for supper

In Bye Street there, where he and mother stay;

And boots they had, not leaky in the upper,

And room rent ready on the settling day;

And beer for poor old mother, worn and grey,

And fire in frost; and in the widow's eyes

It seemed the Lord had made earth paradise.

And there they sat of evenings after dark

Singing their song of 'Binger,' he and she,

Her poor old cackle made the mongrels bark

And 'You sing Binger, mother,' carols he;

'By crimes, but that's a good song, that her be':

And then they slept there in the room they shared,

And all the time fate had his end prepared.

One thing alone made life not perfect sweet:

The mother's daily fear of what would come

When woman and her lovely boy should meet,

When the new wife would break up the old home.

Fear of that unborn evil struck her dumb,

And when her darling and a woman met,

She shook and prayed, 'Not her, O God; not yet.'

'Not yet, dear God, my Jimmy go from me.'

Then she would subtly question with her son.

'Not very handsome, I don't think her be?'

'God help the man who marries such an one.'

Her red eyes peered to spy the mischief done.

She took great care to keep the girls away,

And all her trouble made him easier prey.

There was a woman out at Plaister's End,

Light of her body, fifty to the pound,

A copper coin for any man to spend,

Lovely to look on when the wits were drowned.

Her husband's skeleton was never found,

It lay among the rocks at Glydyr Mor

Where he drank poison finding her a whore.

She was not native there, for she belonged

Out Milford way, or Swansea; no one knew.

She had the piteous look of someone wronged,

'Anna,' her name, a widow, last of Triw.

She had lived at Plaister's End a year or two;

At Callow's cottage, renting half an acre;

She was a hen-wife and a perfume-maker.

Secret she was; she lived in reputation;

But secret unseen threads went floating out:

Her smile, her voice, her face, were all temptation,

All subtle flies to trouble man the trout;

Man to entice, entrap, entangle, flout...

To take and spoil, and then to cast aside:

Gain without giving was the craft she plied.

And she complained, poor lonely widowed soul,

How no one cared, and men were rutters all;

While true love is an ever-burning goal

Burning the brighter as the shadows fall.

And all love's dogs went hunting at the call,

Married or not she took them by the brain,

Sucked at their hearts and tossed them back again.

Like the straw fires lit on Saint John's Eve,

She burned and dwindled in her fickle heart;

For if she wept when Harry took his leave,

Her tears were lures to beckon Bob to start.

And if, while loving Bob, a tinker's cart

Came by, she opened window with a smile

And gave the tinker hints to wait a while.

She passed for pure; but, years before, in Wales,

Living at Mountain Ash with different men,

Her less discretion had inspired tales

Of certain things she did, and how, and when.

Those seven years of youth; we are frantic then.

She had been frantic in her years of youth,

The tales were not more evil than the truth.

She had two children as the fruits of trade

Though she drank bitter herbs to kill the curse,

Both of them sons, and one she overlaid,

The other one the parish had to nurse.

Now she grew plump with money in her purse,

Passing for pure a hundred miles, I guess,

From where her little son wore workhouse dress.

There with the Union boys he came and went,

A parish bastard fed on bread and tea,

Wearing a bright tin badge in furthest Gwent,

And no one knowing who his folk could be.

His mother never knew his new name: she,--

She touched the lust of those who served her turn,

And chief among her men was Shepherd Ern.

A moody, treacherous man of bawdy mind,

Married to that mild girl from Ercall Hill,

Whose gentle goodness made him more inclined

To hotter sauces sharper on the bill.

The new lust gives the lecher the new thrill,

The new wine scratches as it slips the throat,

The new flag is so bright by the old boat.

Ern was her man to buy her bread and meat,

Half of his weekly wage was hers to spend,

She used to mock 'How is your wife, my sweet?'

Or wail, 'O, Ernie, how is this to end?'

Or coo, 'My Ernie is without a friend,

She cannot understand my precious life,'

And Ernie would go home and beat his wife.

So the four souls are ranged, the chess-board set,

The dark, invisible hand of secret Fate

Brought it to come to being that they met

After so many years of lying in wait.

While we least think it he prepares his Mate.

Mate, and the King's pawn played, it never ceases

Though all the earth is dust of taken pieces.

II

October Fair-time is the time for fun,

For all the street is hurdled into rows

Of pens of heifers blinking at the sun,

And Lemster sheep which pant and seem to doze,

And stalls of hardbake and galanty shows,

And cheapjacks smashing crocks, and trumpets blowing,

And the loud organ of the horses going.

There you can buy blue ribbons for your girl

Or take her in a swing-boat tossing high,

Or hold her fast when all the horses whirl

Round to the steam pipe whanging at the sky,

Or stand her cockshies at the cocoa-shy,

Or buy her brooches with her name in red,

Or Queen Victoria done in gingerbread.

Then there are rifle shots at tossing balls,

'And if you hit you get a good cigar.'

And strength-whackers for lads to lamm with mauls,

And Cheshire cheeses on a greasy spar.

The country folk flock in from near and far,

Women and men, like blow-flies to the roast,

All love the fair; but Anna loved it most.

Anna was all agog to see the fair;

She made Ern promise to be there to meet her,

To arm her round to all the pleasures there,

And buy her ribbons for her neck, and treat her,

So that no woman at the fair should beat her

In having pleasure at a man's expense.

She planned to meet him at the chapel fence.

So Ernie went; and Jimmy took his mother,

Dressed in her finest with a Monmouth shawl,

And there was such a crowd she thought she'd smother,

And O, she loved a pep'mint above all.

Clash go the crockeries where the cheapjacks bawl,

Baa go the sheep, thud goes the waxwork's drum,

And Ernie cursed for Anna hadn't come.

He hunted for her up and down the place,

Raging and snapping like a working brew.

'If you're with someone else I'll smash his face,

And when I've done for him I'll go for you.'

He bought no fairings as he'd vowed to do

For his poor little children back at home

Stuck at the glass 'to see till father come.'

Not finding her, he went into an inn,

Busy with ringing till and scratching matches.

Where thirsty drovers mingled stout with gin

And three or four Welsh herds were singing catches.

The swing-doors clattered, letting in in snatches

The noises of the fair, now low, now loud.

Ern called for beer and glowered at the crowd.

While he was glowering at his drinking there

In came the gipsy Bessie, hawking toys;

A bold-eyed strapping harlot with black hair,

One of the tribe which camped at Shepherd's Bois.

She lured him out of inn into the noise

Of the steam-organ where the horses spun,

And so the end of all things was begun.

Newness in lust, always the old in love.

'Put up your toys,' he said, 'and come along,

We'll have a turn of swing-boats up above,

And see the murder when they strike the gong.'

'Don't 'ee,' she giggled. 'My, but ain't you strong.

And where's your proper girl? You don't know me.'

'I do.' 'You don't.' 'Why, then, I will,' said he.

Anna was late because the cart which drove her

Called for her late (the horse had broke a trace),

She was all dressed and scented for her lover,

Her bright blue blouse had imitation lace,

The paint was red as roses on her face,

She hummed a song, because she thought to see

How envious all the other girls would be.

When she arrived and found her Ernie gone,

Her bitter heart thought, 'This is how it is.

Keeping me waiting while the sports are on:

Promising faithful, too, and then to miss.

O, Ernie, won't I give it you for this.'

And looking up she saw a couple cling,

Ern with his arm round Bessie in the swing.

Ern caught her eye and spat, and cut her dead,

Bessie laughed hardly, in the gipsy way.

Anna, though blind with fury, tossed her head,

Biting her lips until the red was grey,

For bitter moments given, bitter pay,

The time for payment comes, early or late,

No earthly debtor but accounts to Fate.

She turned aside, telling with bitter oaths

What Ern should suffer if he turned agen,

And there was Jimmy stripping off his clothes

Within a little ring of farming men.

'Now, Jimmy, put the old tup into pen.'

His mother, watching, thought her heart would curdle,

To see Jim drag the old ram to the hurdle.

Then the ram butted and the game began,

Till Jimmy's muscles cracked and the ram grunted.

The good old wrestling game of Ram and Man,

At which none knows the hunter from the hunted.

'Come and see Jimmy have his belly bunted.'

'Good tup. Good Jim. Good Jimmy. Sick him, Rover,

By dang, but Jimmy's got him fairly over.'

Then there was clap of hands and Jimmy grinned

And took five silver shillings from his backers,

And said th'old tup had put him out of wind

Or else he'd take all comers at the Whackers.

And some made rude remarks of rams and knackers,

And mother shook to get her son alone,

So's to be sure he hadn't broke a bone.

None but the lucky man deserves the fair,

For lucky men have money and success,

Things that a whore is very glad to share,

Or dip, at least, a finger in the mess.

Anne, with her raddled cheeks and Sunday dress,

Smiled upon Jimmy, seeing him succeed,

As though to say, 'You are a man, indeed.'

All the great things of life are swiftly done,

Creation, death, and love the double gate.

However much we dawdle in the sun

We have to hurry at the touch of Fate;

When Life knocks at the door no one can wait,

When Death makes his arrest we have to go.

And so with love, and Jimmy found it so.

Love, the sharp spear, went pricking to the bone,

In that one look, desire and bitter aching,

Longing to have that woman all alone

For her dear beauty's sake all else forsaking;

And sudden agony that set him shaking

Lest she, whose beauty made his heart's blood cruddle,

Should be another man's to kiss and cuddle.

She was beside him when he left the ring,

Her soft dress brushed against him as he passed her;

He thought her penny scent a sweeter thing

Than precious ointment out of alabaster;

Love, the mild servant, makes a drunken master.

She smiled, half sadly, out of thoughtful eyes,

And all the strong young man was easy prize.

She spoke, to take him, seeing him a sheep,

'How beautiful you wrastled with the ram,

It made me all go tremble just to peep,

I am that fond of wrastling, that I am.

Why, here's your mother, too. Good-evening, ma'am.

I was just telling Jim how well he done,

How proud you must be of so fine a son.'

Old mother blinked, while Jimmy hardly knew

Whether he knew the woman there or not;

But well he knew, if not, he wanted to,

Joy of her beauty ran in him so hot,

Old trembling mother by him was forgot,

While Anna searched the mother's face, to know

Whether she took her for a whore or no.

The woman's maxim, 'Win the woman first,'

Made her be gracious to the withered thing.

'This being in crowds do give one such a thirst,

I wonder if they've tea going at "The King"?

My throat's that dry my very tongue do cling,

Perhaps you'd take my arm, we'd wander up

(If you'd agree) and try and get a cup.

Come, ma'am, a cup of tea would do you good;

There's nothing like a nice hot cup of tea

After the crowd and all the time you've stood;

And "The King's" strict, it isn't like "The Key,"

Now, take my arm, my dear, and lean on me.'

And Jimmy's mother, being nearly blind,

Took Anna's arm, and only thought her kind.

So off they set, with Anna talking to her,

How nice the tea would be after the crowd,

And mother thinking half the time she knew her,

And Jimmy's heart's blood ticking quick and loud,

And Death beside him knitting at his shroud,

And all the High Street babbling with the fair,

And white October clouds in the blue air.

So tea was made, and down they sat to drink;

O the pale beauty sitting at the board!

There is more death in women than we think,

There is much danger in the soul adored,

The white hands bring the poison and the cord;

Death has a lodge in lips as red as cherries,

Death has a mansion in the yew-tree berries.

They sat there talking after tea was done,

And Jimmy blushed at Anna's sparkling looks,

And Anna flattered mother on her son,

Catching both fishes on her subtle hooks.

With twilight, tea and talk in ingle-nooks,

And music coming up from the dim street,

Mother had never known a fair so sweet.

Now cow-bells clink, for milking-time is come,

The drovers stack the hurdles into carts,

New masters drive the straying cattle home,

Many a young calf from his mother parts,

Hogs straggle back to sty by fits and starts;

The farmers take a last glass at the inns,

And now the frolic of the fair begins.

All of the side shows of the fair are lighted,

Flares and bright lights, and brassy cymbals clanging,

'Beginning now' and 'Everyone's invited,'

Shatter the pauses of the organ's whanging,

The Oldest Show on Earth and the Last Hanging,

'The Murder in the Red Barn,' with real blood,

The rifles crack, the Sally shy-sticks thud.

Anna walked slowly homewards with her prey,

Holding old tottering mother's weight upon her,

And pouring in sweet poison on the way

Of 'Such a pleasure, ma'am, and such an honour,'

And 'One's so safe with such a son to con her

Through all the noises and through all the press,

Boys daredn't squirt tormenters on her dress.'

At mother's door they stop to say 'Good-night.'

And mother must go in to set the table.

Anna pretended that she felt a fright

To go alone through all the merry babel:

'My friends are waiting at "The Cain and Abel,"

Just down the other side of Market Square,

It'd be a mercy if you'd set me there.'

So Jimmy came, while mother went inside;

Anna has got her victim in her clutch.

Jimmy, all blushing, glad to be her guide,

Thrilled by her scent, and trembling at her touch.

She was all white and dark, and said not much;

She sighed, to hint that pleasure's grave was dug,

And smiled within to see him such a mug.

They passed the doctor's house among the trees,

She sighed so deep that Jimmy asked her why.

'I'm too unhappy upon nights like these,

When everyone has happiness but I!'

'Then, aren't you happy?' She appeared to cry,

Blinked with her eyes, and turned away her head:

'Not much; but some men understand,' she said.

Her voice caught lightly on a broken note,

Jimmy half-dared but dared not touch her hand,

Yet all his blood went pumping in his throat

Beside the beauty he could understand,

And Death stopped knitting at the muffling band.

'The shroud is done,' he muttered, 'toe to chin.'

He snapped the ends, and tucked his needles in.

Jimmy, half stammering, choked, 'Has any man----'

He stopped, she shook her head to answer 'No.'

'Then tell me.' 'No. P'raps some day, if I can.

It hurts to talk of some things ever so.

But you're so different. There, come, we must go

None but unhappy women know how good

It is to meet a soul who's understood.'

'No. Wait a moment. May I call you Anna?'

'Perhaps. There must be nearness 'twixt us two.'

Love in her face hung out his bloody banner,

And all love's clanging trumpets shocked and blew.

'When we got up to-day we never knew.'

'I'm sure I didn't think, nor you did.' 'Never.'

'And now this friendship's come to us for ever.'

'Now, Anna, take my arm, dear.' 'Not to-night,

That must come later when we know our minds,

We must agree to keep this evening white,

We'll eat the fruit to-night and save the rinds.'

And all the folk whose shadows darked the blinds,

And all the dancers whirling in the fair,

Were wretched worms to Jim and Anna there.

'How wonderful life is,' said Anna, lowly.

'But it begins again with you for friend.'

In the dim lamplight Jimmy thought her holy,

A lovely fragile thing for him to tend,

Grace beyond measure, beauty without end.

'Anna,' he said; 'Good-night. This is the door.

I never knew what people meant before.'

'Good-night, my friend. Good-bye.' 'But, O my sweet,

The night's quite early yet, don't say good-bye,

Come just another short turn down the street,

The whole life's bubbling up for you and I.

Somehow I feel to-morrow we may die.

Come just as far as to the blacksmith's light.'

But 'No' said Anna; 'Not to-night. Good-night.'

All the tides triumph when the white moon fills.

Down in the race the toppling waters shout,

The breakers shake the bases of the hills,

There is a thundering where the streams go out,

And the wise shipman puts his ship about

Seeing the gathering of those waters wan,

But what when love makes high tide in a man?

Jimmy walked home with all his mind on fire,

One lovely face for ever set in flame.

He shivered as he went, like tautened wire,

Surge after surge of shuddering in him came

And then swept out repeating one sweet name,

'Anna, O Anna,' to the evening star.

Anna was sipping whiskey in the bar.

So back to home and mother Jimmy wandered,

Thinking of Plaister's End and Anna's lips.

He ate no supper worth the name, but pondered

On Plaister's End hedge, scarlet with ripe hips,

And of the lovely moon there in eclipse,

And how she must be shining in the house

Behind the hedge of those old dog-rose boughs.

Old mother cleared away. The clock struck eight.

'Why, boy, you've left your bacon, lawks a me,

So that's what comes of having tea so late,

Another time you'll go without your tea.

Your father liked his cup, too, didn't he,

Always "another cup" he used to say,

He never went without on any day.

How nice the lady was and how she talked,

I've never had a nicer fair, not ever.'

'She said she'd like to see us if we walked

To Plaister's End, beyond by Watersever.

Nice-looking woman, too, and that, and clever;

We might go round one evening, p'raps, we two;

Or I might go, if it's too far for you.'

'No,' said the mother, 'we're not folk for that;

Meet at the fair and that, and there an end.

Rake out the fire and put out the cat,

These fairs are sinful, tempting folk to spend.

Of course she spoke polite and like a friend;

Of course she had to do, and so I let her,

But now it's done and past, so I forget her.'

'I don't see why forget her. Why forget her?

She treat us kind. She weren't like everyone.

I never saw a woman I liked better,

And he's not easy pleased, my father's son.

So I'll go round some night when work is done.'

'Now, Jim, my dear, trust mother, there's a dear.'

'Well, so I do, but sometimes you're so queer.'

She blinked at him out of her withered eyes

Below her lashless eyelids red and bleared.

Her months of sacrifice had won the prize,

Her Jim had come to what she always feared.

And yet she doubted, so she shook and peered

And begged her God not let a woman take

The lovely son whom she had starved to make.

Doubting, she stood the dishes in the rack,

'We'll ask her in some evening, then,' she said,

'How nice her hair looked in the bit of black.'

And still she peered from eyes all dim and red

To note at once if Jimmy drooped his head,

Or if his ears blushed when he heard her praised,

And Jimmy blushed and hung his head and gazed.

'This is the end,' she thought. 'This is the end.

I'll have to sew again for Mr Jones,

Do hems when I can hardly see to mend,

And have the old ache in my marrow-bones.

And when his wife's in child-bed, when she groans,

She'll send for me until the pains have ceased,

And give me leavings at the christening feast.

And sit aslant to eye me as I eat,

"You're only wanted here, ma'am, for to-day,

Just for the christ'ning party, for the treat,

Don't ever think I mean to let you stay;

Two's company, three's none, that's what I say."

Life can be bitter to the very bone

When one is poor, and woman, and alone.

'Jimmy,' she said, still doubting, 'Come, my dear,

Let's have our "Binger," 'fore we go to bed,'

And then 'The parson's dog,' she cackled clear,

'Lep over stile,' she sang, nodding her head.

'His name was little Binger.' 'Jim,' she said,

'Binger, now, chorus' ... Jimmy kicked the hob,

The sacrament of song died in a sob.

Jimmy went out into the night to think

Under the moon so steady in the blue.

The woman's beauty ran in him like drink,

The fear that men had loved her burnt him through;

The fear that even then another knew

All the deep mystery which women make

To hide the inner nothing made him shake.

'Anna, I love you, and I always shall.'

He looked towards Plaister's End beyond Cot Hills.

A white star glimmered in the long canal,

A droning from the music came in thrills.

Love is a flame to burn out human wills,

Love is a flame to set the will on fire,

Love is a flame to cheat men into mire.

One of the three, we make Love what we choose,

But Jimmy did not know, he only thought

That Anna was too beautiful to lose,

That she was all the world and he was naught,

That it was sweet, though bitter, to be caught.

'Anna, I love you.' Underneath the moon,

'I shall go mad unless I see you soon.'

The fair's lights threw aloft a misty glow.

The organ whangs, the giddy horses reel,

The rifles cease, the folk begin to go,

The hands unclamp the swing-boats from the wheel,

There is a smell of trodden orange peel;

The organ drones and dies, the horses stop,

And then the tent collapses from the top.

The fair is over, let the people troop,

The drunkards stagger homewards down the gutters,

The showmen heave in an excited group,

The poles tilt slowly down, the canvas flutters,

The mauls knock out the pins, the last flare sputters.

'Lower away.' 'Go easy.' 'Lower, lower.'

'You've dang near knock my skull in. Loose it slower.'

'Back in the horses.' 'Are the swing-boats loaded?'

'All right to start.' 'Bill, where's the cushion gone?

The red one for the Queen?' 'I think I stowed it.'

'You think, you think. Lord, where's that cushion, John?'

'It's in that bloody box you're sitting on,

What more d'you want?' A concertina plays

Far off as wandering lovers go their ways.

Up the dim Bye Street to the market-place

The dead bones of the fair are borne in carts,

Horses and swing-boats at a funeral pace

After triumphant hours quickening hearts;

A policeman eyes each waggon as it starts,

The drowsy showmen stumble half asleep,

One of them catcalls, having drunken deep.

So out, over the pass, into the plain,

And the dawn finds them filling empty cans

In some sweet-smelling dusty country lane,

Where a brook chatters over rusty pans.

The iron chimneys of the caravans

Smoke as they go. And now the fair has gone

To find a new pitch somewhere further on.

But as the fair moved out two lovers came,

Ernie and Bessie loitering out together;

Bessie with wild eyes, hungry as a flame,

Ern like a stallion tugging at a tether.

It was calm moonlight, and October weather,

So still, so lovely, as they topped the ridge.

They brushed by Jimmy standing on the bridge.

And, as they passed, they gravely eyed each other,

And the blood burned in each heart beating there;

And out into the Bye Street tottered mother,

Without her shawl, in the October air.

'Jimmy,' she cried, 'Jimmy.' And Bessie's hair

Drooped on the instant over Ernie's face,

And the two lovers clung in an embrace.

'O, Ern.' 'My own, my Bessie.' As they kissed

Jimmy was envious of the thing unknown.

So this was Love, the something he had missed,

Woman and man athirst, aflame, alone.

Envy went knocking at his marrow-bone,

And Anna's face swam up so dim, so fair,

Shining and sweet, with poppies in her hair.

III

After the fair, the gang began again.

Tipping the trollies down the banks of earth.

The truck of stone clanks on the endless chain,

A clever pony guides it to its berth.

'Let go.' It tips, the navvies shout for mirth

To see the pony step aside, so wise,

But Jimmy sighed, thinking of Anna's eyes.

And when he stopped his shovelling he looked

Over the junipers towards Plaister way,

The beauty of his darling had him hooked,

He had no heart for wrastling with the clay.

'O Lord Almighty, I must get away;

O Lord, I must. I must just see my flower,

Why, I could run there in the dinner hour.'

The whistle on the pilot engine blew,

The men knocked off, and Jimmy slipped aside

Over the fence, over the bridge, and through,

And then ahead along the water-side,

Under the red-brick rail-bridge, arching wide,

Over the hedge, across the fields, and on;

The foreman asked: 'Where's Jimmy Gurney gone?'

It is a mile and more to Plaister's End,

But Jimmy ran the short way by the stream,

And there was Anna's cottage at the bend,

With blue smoke on the chimney, faint as steam.

'God, she's at home,' and up his heart a gleam

Leapt like a rocket on November nights,

And shattered slowly in a burst of lights.

Anna was singing at her kitchen fire,

She was surprised, and not well pleased to see

A sweating navvy, red with heat and mire,

Come to her door, whoever he might be.

But when she saw that it was Jimmy, she

Smiled at his eyes upon her, full of pain,

And thought, 'But, still, he mustn't come again.

People will talk; boys are such crazy things;

But he's a dear boy though he is so green.'

So, hurriedly, she slipped her apron strings,

And dabbed her hair, and wiped her fingers clean,

And came to greet him languid as a queen,

Looking as sweet, as fair, as pure, as sad,

As when she drove her loving husband mad.

'Poor boy,' she said, 'Poor boy, how hot you are.'

She laid a cool hand to his sweating face.

'How kind to come. Have you been running far?

I'm just going out; come up the road a pace.

O dear, these hens; they're all about the place.'

So Jimmy shooed the hens at her command,

And got outside the gate as she had planned.

'Anna, my dear, I love you; love you, true;

I had to come--I don't know--I can't rest--

I lay awake all night, thinking of you.

Many must love you, but I love you best.'

'Many have loved me, yes, dear,' she confessed,

She smiled upon him with a tender pride,

'But my love ended when my husband died.

Still, we'll be friends, dear friends, dear, tender friends;

Love with its fever's at an end for me.

Be by me gently now the fever ends,

Life is a lovelier thing than lovers see,

I'd like to trust a man, Jimmy,' said she,

'May I trust you?' 'Oh, Anna dear, my dear----

'Don't come so close,' she said, 'with people near.

Dear, don't be vexed; it's very sweet to find

One who will understand; but life is life,

And those who do not know are so unkind.

But you'll be by me, Jimmy, in the strife,

I love you though I cannot be your wife;

And now be off, before the whistle goes,

Or else you'll lose your quarter, goodness knows.'

'When can I see you, Anna? Tell me, dear.

To-night? To-morrow? Shall I come to-night?

'Jimmy, my friend, I cannot have you here;

But when I come to town perhaps we might.

Dear, you must go; no kissing; you can write,

And I'll arrange a meeting when I learn

What friends are doing' (meaning Shepherd Ern).

'Good-bye, my own.' 'Dear Jim, you understand.

If we were only free, dear, free to meet,

Dear, I would take you by your big, strong hand

And kiss your dear boy eyes so blue and sweet;

But my dead husband lies under the sheet,

Dead in my heart, dear, lovely, lonely one,

So, Jim, my dear, my loving days are done.

But though my heart is buried in his grave

Something might be--friendship and utter trust--

And you, my dear starved little Jim shall have

Flowers of friendship from my dead heart's dust;

Life would be sweet if men would never lust.

Why do you, Jimmy? Tell me sometime, dear,

Why men are always what we women fear.

Not now. Good-bye; we understand, we two,

And life, O Jim, how glorious life is;

This sunshine in my heart is due to you;

I was so sad, and life has given this.

I think "I wish I had something of his,"

Do give me something, will you be so kind?

Something to keep you always in my mind.

'I will,' he said. 'Now go, or you'll be late.'

He broke from her and ran, and never dreamt

That as she stood to watch him from the gate

Her heart was half amusement, half contempt,

Comparing Jim the squab, red and unkempt,

In sweaty corduroys, with Shepherd Ern.

She blew him kisses till he passed the turn.

The whistle blew before he reached the line;

The foreman asked him what the hell he meant,

Whether a duke had asked him out to dine,

Or if he thought the bag would pay his rent?

And Jim was fined before the foreman went.

But still his spirit glowed from Anna's words,

Cooed in the voice so like a singing bird's.

'O Anna, darling, you shall have a present;

I'd give you golden gems if I were rich,

And everything that's sweet and all that's pleasant.'

He dropped his pick as though he had a stitch,

And stared tow'rds Plaister's End, past Bushe's Pitch.

O beauty, what I have to give I'll give,

All mine is yours, beloved, while I live.'

All through the afternoon his pick was slacking,

His eyes were always turning west and south,

The foreman was inclined to send him packing,

But put it down to after fair-day drouth;

He looked at Jimmy with an ugly mouth,

And Jimmy slacked, and muttered in a moan,

'My love, my beautiful, my very own.'

So she had loved. Another man had had her;

She had been his with passion in the night;

An agony of envy made him sadder,

Yet stabbed a pang of bitter-sweet delight--

O he would keep his image of her white.

The foreman cursed, stepped up, and asked him flat

What kind of gum-tree he was gaping at.

It was Jim's custom, when the pay day came,

To take his weekly five and twenty shilling

Back in the little packet to his dame;

Not taking out a farthing for a filling,

Nor twopence for a pot, for he was willing

That she should have it all to save or spend.

But love makes many lovely customs end.

Next pay day came and Jimmy took the money,

But not to mother, for he meant to buy

A thirteen-shilling locket for his honey,

Whatever bellies hungered and went dry,

A silver heart-shape with a ruby eye.

He bought the thing and paid the shopman's price,

And hurried off to make the sacrifice.

'Is it for me? You dear, dear generous boy.

How sweet of you. I'll wear it in my dress.

When you're beside me life is such a joy,

You bring the sun to solitariness.'

She brushed his jacket with a light caress,

His arms went round her fast, she yielded meek;

He had the happiness to kiss her cheek.

'My dear, my dear.' 'My very dear, my Jim,

How very kind my Jimmy is to me;

I ache to think that some are harsh to him;

Not like my Jimmy, beautiful and free.

My darling boy, how lovely it would be

If all would trust as we two trust each other.'

And Jimmy's heart grew hard against his mother.

She, poor old soul, was waiting in the gloom

For Jimmy's pay, that she could do the shopping.

The clock ticked out a solemn tale of doom;

Clogs on the bricks outside went clippa-clopping,

The owls were coming out and dew was dropping.

The bacon burnt, and Jimmy not yet home.

The clock was ticking dooms out like a gnome.

'What can have kept him that he doesn't come?

O God, they'd tell me if he'd come to hurt.'

The unknown, unseen evil struck her numb,

She saw his body bloody in the dirt,

She saw the life blood pumping through the shirt,

She saw him tipsy in the navvies' booth,

She saw all forms of evil but the truth.

At last she hurried up the line to ask

If Jim were hurt or why he wasn't back.

She found the watchman wearing through his task;

Over the fire basket in his shack;

Behind, the new embankment rose up black.

'Gurney?' he said. 'He'd got to see a friend.'

'Where?' 'I dunno. I think out Plaister's End.

Thanking the man, she tottered down the hill,

The long-feared fang had bitten to the bone.

The brook beside her talked as water will

That it was lonely singing all alone,

The night was lonely with the water's tone,

And she was lonely to the very marrow.

Love puts such bitter poison on Fate's arrow.

She went the long way to them by the mills,

She told herself that she must find her son.

The night was ominous of many ills;

The soughing larch-clump almost made her run,

Her boots hurt (she had got a stone in one)

And bitter beaks were tearing at her liver

That her boy's heart was turned from her forever.

She kept the lane, past Spindle's, past the Callows',

Her lips still muttering prayers against the worst,

And there were people coming from the sallows,

Along the wild duck patch by Beggar's Hurst.

Being in moonlight mother saw them first,

She saw them moving in the moonlight dim,

A woman with a sweet voice saying 'Jim.'

Trembling she grovelled down into the ditch,

They wandered past her pressing side to side.

'O Anna, my belov'd, if I were rich.'

It was her son, and Anna's voice replied,

'Dear boy, dear beauty boy, my love and pride.'

And he: 'It's but a silver thing, but I

Will earn you better lockets by and bye.'

'Dear boy, you mustn't.' 'But I mean to do.'

'What was that funny sort of noise I heard?'

'Where?' 'In the hedge; a sort of sob or coo.

Listen. It's gone.' 'It may have been a bird.'

Jim tossed a stone but mother never stirred.

She hugged the hedgerow, choking down her pain,

While the hot tears were blinding in her brain.

The two passed on, the withered woman rose,

For many minutes she could only shake,

Staring ahead with trembling little 'Oh's,'

The noise a very frightened child might make.

'O God, dear God, don't let the woman take

My little son, God, not my little Jim.

O God, I'll have to starve if I lose him.'

So back she trembled, nodding with her head,

Laughing and trembling in the bursts of tears,

Her ditch-filled boots both squelching in the tread,

Her shopping-bonnet sagging to her ears,

Her heart too dumb with brokenness for fears.

The nightmare whickering with the laugh of death

Could not have added terror to her breath.

She reached the house, and: 'I'm all right,' said she,

'I'll just take off my things; but I'm all right,

'I'd be all right with just a cup of tea,

If I could only get this grate to light,

The paper's damp and Jimmy's late to-night;

"Belov'd, if I was rich," was what he said,

O Jim, I wish that God would kill me dead.'

While she was blinking at the unlit grate,

Scratching the moistened match-heads off the wood,

She heard Jim coming, so she reached his plate,

And forked the over-frizzled scraps of food.

'You're late,' she said, 'and this yer isn't good,

Whatever makes you come in late like this?'

'I've been to Plaister's End, that's how it is.'

'You've been to Plaister's End?'

'Yes.'

'I've been staying

For money for the shopping ever so.

Down here we can't get victuals without paying,

There's no trust down the Bye Street, as you know,

And now it's dark and it's too late to go.

You've been to Plaister's End. What took you there?'

'The lady who was with us at the fair.'

'The lady, eh? The lady?'

'Yes, the lady.'

'You've been to see her?'

'Yes.'

'What happened then?'

'I saw her.'

'Yes. And what filth did she trade ye?

Or d'you expect your locket back agen?

I know the rotten ways of whores with men.

What did it cost ye?'

'What did what cost?'

'It.

Your devil's penny for the devil's bit.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Jimmy, my own.

Don't lie to mother, boy, for mother knows.

I know you and that lady to the bone,

And she's a whore, that thing you call a rose,

A whore who takes whatever male thing goes;

A harlot with the devil's skill to tell

The special key of each man's door to hell.'

'She's not. She's nothing of the kind, I tell'ee.'

'You can't tell women like a woman can;

A beggar tells a lie to fill his belly,

A strumpet tells a lie to win a man,

Women were liars since the world began;

And she's a liar, branded in the eyes,

A rotten liar, who inspires lies.'

'I say she's not.'

'No, don't'ee Jim, my dearie,

You've seen her often in the last few days,

She's given a love as makes you come in weary

To lie to me before going out to laze.

She's tempted you into the devil's ways,

She's robbing you, full fist, of what you earn,

In God's name, what's she giving in return?'

'Her faith, my dear, and that's enough for me.'

'Her faith. Her faith. O Jimmy, listen, dear;

Love doesn't ask for faith, my son, not he;

He asks for life throughout the live-long year,

And life's a test for any plough to ere

Life tests a plough in meadows made of stones,

Love takes a toll of spirit, mind and bones.

I know a woman's portion when she loves,

It's hers to give, my darling, not to take;

It isn't lockets, dear, nor pairs of gloves,

It isn't marriage bells nor wedding cake,

It's up and cook, although the belly ache;

And bear the child, and up and work again,

And count a sick man's grumble worth the pain.

Will she do this, and fifty times as much?'

'No. I don't ask her.'

'No. I warrant, no.

She's one to get a young fool in her clutch,

And you're a fool to let her trap you so.

She love you? She? O Jimmy, let her go;

I was so happy, dear, before she came,

And now I'm going to the grave in shame.

I bore you, Jimmy, in this very room.

For fifteen years I got you all you had,

You were my little son, made in my womb,

Left all to me, for God had took your dad,

You were a good son, doing all I bade,

Until this strumpet came from God knows where,

And now you lie, and I am in despair.

Jimmy, I won't say more. I know you think

That I don't know, being just a withered old,

With chaps all fallen in and eyes that blink,

And hands that tremble so they cannot hold.

A bag of bones to put in churchyard mould,

A red-eyed hag beside your evening star.'

And Jimmy gulped, and thought 'By God, you are.'

'Well, if I am, my dear, I don't pretend.

I got my eyes red, Jimmy, making you.

My dear, before our love time's at an end

Think just a minute what it is you do.

If this were right, my dear, you'd tell me true;

You don't, and so it's wrong; you lie; and she

Lies too, or else you wouldn't lie to me.

Women and men have only got one way

And that way's marriage; other ways are lust.

If you must marry this one, then you may,

If not you'll drop her.'

'No.' 'I say you must.

Or bring my hairs with sorrow to the dust.

Marry your whore, you'll pay, and there an end.

My God, you shall not have a whore for friend.

By God, you shall not, not while I'm alive.

Never, so help me God, shall that thing be.

If she's a woman fit to touch she'll wive,

If not she's whore, and she shall deal with me.

And may God's blessed mercy help us see

And may He make my Jimmy count the cost,

My little boy who's lost, as I am lost.'

People in love cannot be won by kindness,

And opposition makes them feel like martyrs.

When folk are crazy with a drunken blindness,

It's best to flog them with each other's garters,

And have the flogging done by Shropshire carters,

Born under Ercall where the while stones lie;

Ercall that smells of honey in July.

Jimmy said nothing in reply, but thought

That mother was an old, hard jealous thing.

'I'll love my girl through good and ill report,

I shall be true whatever grief it bring.'

And in his heart he heard the death-bell ring

For mother's death, and thought what it would be

To bury her in churchyard and be free.

He saw the narrow grave under the wall,

Home without mother nagging at his dear,

And Anna there with him at evenfall,

Bidding him dry his eyes and be of cheer.

'The death that took poor mother brings me near,

Nearer than we have ever been before,

Near as the dead one came, but dearer, more.'

'Good-night, my son,' said mother. 'Night,' he said.

He dabbed her brow wi's lips and blew the light,

She lay quite silent crying on the bed,

Stirring no limb, but crying through the night.

He slept, convinced that he was Anna's knight.

And when he went to work he left behind

Money for mother crying herself blind.

After that night he came to Anna's call,

He was a fly in Anna's subtle weavings,

Mother had no more share in him at all;

All that the mother had was Anna's leavings.

There were more lies, more lockets, more deceivings,

Taunts from the proud old woman, lies from him,

And Anna's coo of 'Cruel. Leave her, Jim.'

Also the foreman spoke: 'You make me sick,

You come-day-go-day-God-send-plenty-beer.

You put less mizzle on your bit of Dick,

Or get your time, I'll have no slackers here,

I've had my eye on you too long, my dear.'

And Jimmy pondered while the man attacked,

'I'd see her all day long if I were sacked.'

And trembling mother thought, 'I'll go to see'r.

She'd give me back my boy if she were told

Just what he is to me, my pretty dear:

She wouldn't leave me starving in the cold,

Like what I am.' But she was weak and old.