children.
‘This is Pearl. She’s living with us now.’ Freda plonked herself down and waved her hand for Pearl to do the same. Starting with the girl nearest to her, she introduced each one. ‘Betsy, Naomi, Sarah, Etty, Jemima and Repronia.’
The names whirled in her mind; she knew she wouldn’t remember who was who. As the other girls began to chatter in their own language, Freda showed her how to begin working the prepared rushes together on a mat which was already half finished. It looked easy, but it wasn’t. The rushes seemed to have a mind of their own and they were sharp and unforgiving on her soft flesh. Furthermore, she couldn’t seem to get them tight enough so they didn’t promptly spring loose and go out of shape. And she knew the other girls were looking at her and laughing at her efforts. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but she didn’t have to, to know they didn’t like her, that they considered her an outsider. Which she was. She bit down on her bottom lip so the pain would prevent the tears that threatened.
At midday everyone returned to their own caravans and tents for a quick meal. Mackensie and the boys weren’t back and Madora had a pan of potatoes and meat ready which was heavily augmented by mushrooms she’d picked earlier from the fields beyond the camp. In spite of her morning in the fresh air Pearl wasn’t hungry, since misery was weighing her down, but she ate the bowl of food she was given before returning to her task with Freda.
She fared no better with the rushes in the afternoon, and although Freda talked to her now and again, the other girls barely glanced at her. Her fingers were sore, and by evening she had three large blisters. Her back was aching too; the hours of sitting on the ground in one position had set off the nagging pain at the bottom of her spine again. The only thing which gave her a faint trace of comfort was the way Freda had slipped her arm through hers as they walked back to the tent.
A summer twilight richly flavoured by the smell of the campfires had fallen by the time the whole family settled down to eat their evening meal. Mackensie and his sons were in fine fettle; the trading had gone well and one of the landed gentry had bought all four animals for a handsome price and expressed an interest in doing further business the next time the Romanies were in the district.
While they had been waiting for the menfolk to return, Freda had taken Pearl inside the tent. It hadn’t been at all as she had imagined. In fact, the interior had presented an air of luxury. Woven matting covered the whole of the floor, and on top of this reposed a large square of carpet in bright, rich colours. In the middle of the tent a row of cushioned seats sat either side of the carpet with a low table between them, the bedroom areas being curtained off. Several large wicker baskets, presumably holding clothes and bedding, stood behind the seats. Besides the horse-drawn caravan, the family owned an enormous farm cart, pulled by another horse, and it was this which transported the tent and most of their belongings from place to place.
Pearl had stared at the interior of the tent, awed by the comfort and cleanliness, and was overwhelmingly thankful that Freda and the others hadn’t seen Low Street and her beginnings.
‘’Course, not everyone’s as particular as us,’ Freda said with some pride. ‘And some don’t have a caravan and a tent, just one or the other, but Dai was a Buckley and she brought a fine dowry with her. Lots of men wanted her, but she set eyes on Dad when the Buckleys were visiting a horse fair in Ireland at the same time as the Locks – and that was that.’ This was said in a manner which told Pearl it was a favourite story. ‘If Dad had been just a tinker or pedlar like some, likely there’d have been trouble, but the Locks were already the head of ten gypsy families, so that was all right.’
Pearl nodded without really understanding
‘This is Pearl. She’s living with us now.’ Freda plonked herself down and waved her hand for Pearl to do the same. Starting with the girl nearest to her, she introduced each one. ‘Betsy, Naomi, Sarah, Etty, Jemima and Repronia.’
The names whirled in her mind; she knew she wouldn’t remember who was who. As the other girls began to chatter in their own language, Freda showed her how to begin working the prepared rushes together on a mat which was already half finished. It looked easy, but it wasn’t. The rushes seemed to have a mind of their own and they were sharp and unforgiving on her soft flesh. Furthermore, she couldn’t seem to get them tight enough so they didn’t promptly spring loose and go out of shape. And she knew the other girls were looking at her and laughing at her efforts. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but she didn’t have to, to know they didn’t like her, that they considered her an outsider. Which she was. She bit down on her bottom lip so the pain would prevent the tears that threatened.
At midday everyone returned to their own caravans and tents for a quick meal. Mackensie and the boys weren’t back and Madora had a pan of potatoes and meat ready which was heavily augmented by mushrooms she’d picked earlier from the fields beyond the camp. In spite of her morning in the fresh air Pearl wasn’t hungry, since misery was weighing her down, but she ate the bowl of food she was given before returning to her task with Freda.
She fared no better with the rushes in the afternoon, and although Freda talked to her now and again, the other girls barely glanced at her. Her fingers were sore, and by evening she had three large blisters. Her back was aching too; the hours of sitting on the ground in one position had set off the nagging pain at the bottom of her spine again. The only thing which gave her a faint trace of comfort was the way Freda had slipped her arm through hers as they walked back to the tent.
A summer twilight richly flavoured by the smell of the campfires had fallen by the time the whole family settled down to eat their evening meal. Mackensie and his sons were in fine fettle; the trading had gone well and one of the landed gentry had bought all four animals for a handsome price and expressed an interest in doing further business the next time the Romanies were in the district.
While they had been waiting for the menfolk to return, Freda had taken Pearl inside the tent. It hadn’t been at all as she had imagined. In fact, the interior had presented an air of luxury. Woven matting covered the whole of the floor, and on top of this reposed a large square of carpet in bright, rich colours. In the middle of the tent a row of cushioned seats sat either side of the carpet with a low table between them, the bedroom areas being curtained off. Several large wicker baskets, presumably holding clothes and bedding, stood behind the seats. Besides the horse-drawn caravan, the family owned an enormous farm cart, pulled by another horse, and it was this which transported the tent and most of their belongings from place to place.
Pearl had stared at the interior of the tent, awed by the comfort and cleanliness, and was overwhelmingly thankful that Freda and the others hadn’t seen Low Street and her beginnings.
‘’Course, not everyone’s as particular as us,’ Freda said with some pride. ‘And some don’t have a caravan and a tent, just one or the other, but Dai was a Buckley and she brought a fine dowry with her. Lots of men wanted her, but she set eyes on Dad when the Buckleys were visiting a horse fair in Ireland at the same time as the Locks – and that was that.’ This was said in a manner which told Pearl it was a favourite story. ‘If Dad had been just a tinker or pedlar like some, likely there’d have been trouble, but the Locks were already the head of ten gypsy families, so that was all right.’
Pearl nodded without really understanding
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