Hey love, gather round and let me tell you a little saga from our old Yorkshire countryside, just like we used to chat over a cuppa.
Martha or Mum as the old folk called her was the sort of woman theyd call a spinster without children, halfawoman, as her motherinlaw, Ethel, liked to mutter. Martha sighed, forced a bitter smile, and said, Dont listen to her, Ethel. God knows what Hes doing. Youre not ready for a baby yet; He sees ahead of us all.
Ethel snapped back, Dont you dare, Shirley, that was the halfdeaf neighbour whod always lean in loud Gods got a plan, even if you cant see it. Youve been here five years, youre itching for a child. Tears rolled down Marthas cheeks. She rarely spoke of it out loud; most of the ache was hidden deep inside. Shed come back to her home village, ten miles away, to tend her mothers grave, and now she was sitting with her old neighbour, spilling her heart.
The truth is hard to swallow, Ethel said, but were not the ones who find children they find us. Hang in there, love. The village dogs barked, sparrows chirped, but the usual sounds of a bustling hamlet were gone. Littlebrook in Yorkshire was dying, its crooked cottages sloping toward the River Ouse like a final bow.
Martha headed home to her husband, Nicholas, in the larger parish of Ilford. She had to leave Littlebrook at dawn shed always been terrified of the night woods and fields, a childlike fear that never left her. Six years ago shed been left all alone; her father had died after the war and her mother passed when she was young. Shed taken a job milking cows at the local collective farm.
It was June when she first met Nicholas, the summer of her seventeenth year and her first season on the farm. The farm was a trek, but she loved the walk, even though her arms ached from the hard milking. One morning a slanting rain caught her on the lane. The sky turned gray, thunder growled, and everything seemed to tilt.
She ducked under a shed by the edge of the woods, sat on the floorboards, and twisted her wet hair into a knot, wringing out the rain. Through the sideways sheets of water she saw a darkhaired lad in a checkered shirt and trousers rolled just above his knees. He slipped under the shed, saw her and grinned, Well, look what the rain brought! Im Nick, who are you?
Marthas heart hammered, the world a blur of wet darkness. She stayed silent, edging away on the boards. Got struck by lightning, or just born mute? he teased. Not mute. Im Martha, she replied. Cold? Need a warm spot? He kept joking, staying just out of reach, Got a new tractor, the rain knocked it over, Im from BT. He laughed a while longer, then his jokes turned a bit pushy. Her blouse stuck to her skin maybe that made him more eager, maybe he was just a bit of a flirt. Martha bolted out of the rain, running as fast as she could, glancing back every now and then. The woods under the looming clouds felt terrifying.
Later Nicholas, now working as a temporary herdsman, showed up at the farm. Martha looked at him with a flicker of annoyance, but then he started courting her seriously, clearly smitten after that rainy encounter. She dove into marriage with hope, though shed never imagined what life with her husbands family would be like. Ethel turned out to be stern and a bit sickly, quick to offload chores on her daughterinlaw but watching everything closely.
Martha was diligent, tough as old rope, though Ethels sharp words sometimes got under her skin. You came here with no dowry, an orphan, barely anything, Ethel would mutter. After a while, though, Ethel softened a bit, seeing Marthas knack for getting things done. Still, the years slipped by without a child. Youre barren, youre a halfwoman, how can our house have grandchildren? Ethel would bark. Martha wept into Nicholass shoulder, he tried to defend her, but Ethel just glared, only watching when Martha fed the cows.
Martha kept hope alive, visiting the local midwife, sneaking to the vicars house for herbal teas that were supposed to help with infertility. Life went on; the Nixons werent exactly rolling in money, but after the war they scraped enough to keep the roof over their heads. One crisp morning Nicholas brought home a halfpouch of damp grain. Dont let anyone see this, Mum, his mother hissed. Were all pulling our weight, Nicholas replied, trying to calm her.
Martha stopped sleeping well. Shed sit on the bed with the lamp off, legs tucked underneath, waiting for Nicholas. One November day a fierce wind slammed the open doors, rain lashing her face. She set out to find him, tugging on a shabby dress, a cotton shirt, a cardigan, and a pair of rubber boots shed hidden beneath the bed. She also grabbed his canvas coat and stepped onto the porch. The wind howled, the rain pelted down, and she trudged toward the edge of the village, where the houses were dark and even the dogs were tucked away. Her little terrier, Fido, stayed close, his tail wagging nervously.
She stopped by an old barn at the villages rim. The night field and woods always terrified her, so she lingered, waiting for Nicholas. The rain drummed on the cold ground, sometimes a roar, sometimes a steady patter. Through it she heard a light, girlish laugh from the barn. She leaned in and recognized Nicholass voice, but then a second voice rose it was Kate, the cheeky girl from the neighboring hamlet whod worked with her on the farm.
Kate had once been the lively, talkative sort, dreaming of leaving the village for the city, saying, Ill find a rich, bald bloke in town, ditch this farm life! Lately, though, shed grown quiet, her laughter fading, and the other women whispered that shed been angry about a married mans attention. Martha guessed it was Nicholas, but she hadnt put two and two together.
The rain kept pounding, Kates laughter rang clear, then she darted out of the barn, slipping on the muddy path, her coat getting tangled in the weeds. She raced home, breathless, and burst into the kitchen, shouting, Lets wash this mud off, Fido! The house was filled with the scent of milk and the soft murmur of the fire. Martha stared at the empty chair, thinking of the love shed hoped for, but now feeling the weight of betrayal.
The next morning, two policemen and the head of the collective farm showed up. Ethel clutched the coat lapel, sobbing, while the farms manager watched the incoming guests with a cold stare. Fourteen villagers were hauled off to the council office, later loaded onto a truck and driven to the town for trial. Martha glanced up and saw Kate standing under the birch trees, eyes wide.
The whole village was buzzing with gossip, but most kept quiet, hidden behind their thatched roofs. Ethel fell into a deep sorrow, the old man beside her grew feeble. Days went by and Martha barely slept. She felt torn between anger at Nicholas and fear for her husbands fate. Divorce was out of the question a wife of an arrested man wasnt welcomed anywhere else.
A few days later, Martha returned from the fields with a bucket of milk, only to find Kate sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded around a swollen belly. Beside her were the farms elderly couple, the Nixons. Kate looked straight at Martha, clicked her tongue, and the old couple bowed their heads. Hello, Kate chirped. Martha, dear, Ethel replied, Kate used to visit the city and see our folks Olga, Nina, and their families. Her husbands brother, Kolya, is on the other side.
Ethel placed a hand on Marthas shoulder, wiping away tears, Martha, they gave Kolya ten years. Think about it. Kate added, The state called us all criminals, gave everyone ten years. Marthas heart sank. Ten years? she whispered. Kate nodded, Yes, they were all sentenced together.
Ethel wept, Martha, maybe theyll let the boy go, maybe not. Martha tried to comfort her, Mum, maybe theyll release him, maybe they wont. Well just have to wait. Kate, never missing a beat, blurted out, Listen, Kolya was going to marry me, but he wanted a divorce before he could. Im pregnant with his child, and Im not planning to raise him alone. My dad wont let me go back to the village with a baby. So Im here, looking after his son. Hell be a grandson for you. She stared at Martha, waiting for a reaction. Martha, weary, simply sat at the hearth, her hands folded on a faded armysized skirt, eyes fixed on the floor.
Ethel, unable to hold back, burst out, This is our house, we decide what to do. A grandchild will come. Kolya whats become of him? Let Kate stay; at least the boy will have a home. She slipped into the kitchen apron and began to weep. Martha sighed, Im fine with it, she said, rising to strain the milk.
Kate and the old man fetched some blankets. Ethel asked, Where do we put him to sleep? On the floor, of course, she replied, Hell need a corner for his baby. Martha spread a bundle of straw on the floor by the fire, laid a homemade quilt over it a makeshift bed for the little one, much like the one Fido curled up in.
Winter grew colder, and Ethel fell ill. Kate, surprisingly, became a sort of ally, often stepping in for Martha when the workload became too much. Shed even chide Martha gently, Lie down, love, or theyll keep on nagging you. Martha spent her days milking, watching the misty woods across the river, wondering if she could ever return to her own home. The thought of her mother haunted her Two wives under one roof, whos the real lady? Her mother would have said, Youre a proud, strong woman.
The days slipped by, marked only by the birth of a tiny boy in January a sliver of joy. One bitter morning, Kate arrived with the newborn, a chubby lad named Edward, wrapped in a little blanket. Martha tried not to stare too much, though her heart ached that the child wasnt hers. The old man kept reminding her, Hes yours, Martha, just like Kolyas, and she would nod, Yes, he looks a lot like him.
The farm saw changes. Four new twobed cottages were built, and a few temporary milkmaids arrived, chatty and diligent. One of them, Vera, befriended Martha on her day off. Whats that about a wife and a lover sharing a roof? Vera asked, shocked. Martha shrugged, Where else would they be? The farm needs us.
Edward grew, crawling on his knees, tugging at Marthas hair, planting kisses on her cheeks, giggling as he wrestled with Fido. Martha loved him fiercely; Kate was strict but occasionally tender, sometimes harsh when the boy tested her patience. The boys dreams of a city life clashed with Marthas own hopes of studying to become a lab assistant, but the farms demands left little room for that.
On May Day, Martha mixed a big batch of dough, planning to bake pies. Kate announced she was off to a village dance, slipping on white beads and hurrying away. Ethel sat beside Martha, holding Edward, Martha, I need to say something. I fear Kate will leave for the city, she wants to study and work there, but she cant take Edward with her. Well have to look after him ourselves.
Marthas eyes widened. What? How can she abandon her own child? Ethel replied, Shes a stubborn one, not a mother. Shell leave us the little boy, and well have to raise him. Martha kept kneading, the rhythm of the rolling pin echoing her thoughts. What do we do, Mum? she asked.
Ethel sighed, Maybe its for the best. You never had a child of your own, but youll have one now. Kolya will come back; hell pick whoever looks after his son. Martha shrugged, Maybe. Lets see what the future holds. Ethel, eyes softening, added, Well grow him, love him, even if hes not yours by blood.
Winter deepened, Ethels health worsened, and Kate, despite her quirks, began to manage the household more. Shed sometimes defend Martha, saying, Dont push her too hard, shes doing her best. Martha often stared out the small window at the snowy woods, remembering the fear of the dark forest that had haunted her since childhood. She could never truly go back to the little hamlet where the wind whistled through the thatched roofs, and the trek to the milking shed was a tenmile slog in the cold.
One night, after the harvest, Kate returned, cheeks flushed, laughing, Martha, you shouldve come to the dance! We sang, we danced, we drank cider! Martha lifted the cloth covering the pies, Here they are. Kate snatched a slice, Im starving!
Martha kept the farm running, pausing now and then to stare into the distance, feeling a quiet sadness. Fido circled the yard, unaware of the turmoil. The rain tapped gently on the roof, and Martha thought, The rain cant stop me. The forest I feared as a child cant hold me either.
She decided it was time to leave. She packed a sturdy canvas bag, slipped on her rubber boots, and wrapped a thick coat around herself despite the summer heat. She stepped out onto the wet lane, feeling the earth beneath her boots, and headed toward the railway station. Shed heard about a training centre in Manchester for textile workers, a place that offered a dormitory. Vera had mentioned it.
At the station, a horsedrawn cart arrived, its driver offering to help. He lifted her bag onto the cart. Ill get you there, love, he said. Dont worry about walking all the way with that weight. He handed her a small packet of tenpound notes the kind the bank had issued for the new scheme. Martha thanked him, watching the cart disappear down the track.
The train whistled, steam puffing, and Martha felt a pang of goodbye as the village receded. She settled into her seat, heart racing with a mix of fear and hope. This was her new beginning, a chance to forge a different life, far from the tangled threads of Littlebrook.
And thats where shes headed now onto a fresh path, with a pocketful of pounds, a head full of dreams, and a story worth telling. Cheers, love, and keep me posted if you ever hear how it turns out.
