where you came from – unless you want to work in the mines. Up here in Humberland, children don’t just loll around and play – they have to earn their bread, same as adults. Do you know what a doul is, niece?’
‘A slave.’
‘And that’s the status children have here – douls – until they are twenty. They have to make their contribution to society. And so will you, if you stay.’ He gave her a glance of dislike.
‘Don’t worry, Roy, she’s already ’prenticed to Chester Lemman,’ said Aunt Ishie placidly, rethreading her needle.
At that moment Dr Lemman himself walked into the room.
‘Hilloo, dearie,’ he said coolly to Uncle Roy. ‘Saw your rig outside. How’s the liver – eh? Giving us a bit of a twinge – eh? I can see that, from the colour of your cornea. Let’s have a look at the tongue. Open wider – ’ and he peered thoughtfully into the huge red cavity of Uncle Roy’s open mouth. ‘Hmnnn, not very pretty; no, by Joshua! You’d best lay off rich food, pastry and stimulants for the next few weeks. No more Early Purl. Stick to broth and rice pudding – that’s my advice.’
Uncle Roy looked glum, but seemed prepared to pay heed to the doctor’s counsel.
‘Follow the example of the gaffer, here,’ went on Lemman, patting Mr Twite’s bony shoulder and darting a bright-brown, needle-sharp malicious glance at each man in turn. ‘You want to live to a hundred and two like him – eh? Then moderate your way of life, my dear fellow!’
The malicious smile moved, like a sunbeam, to Grandpa Twite’s face.
He said, ‘Roy hasn’t my constitution, more’s the pity! Here’s a conundrum for you, Roy:
My first is a vessel, my second revered
First’s round as a penny, second wears a beard
And my first holds my whole, neither wine nor wealth,
Which keeps my second in good health.
Well? What’s the answer, my dear grandson?’
‘You know perfectly well that I’ve no time for your cursed nursery-rhyme balderdash!’ said Roy angrily. He seemed ready to burst with exasperation, but restrained himself and, after a moment, went on, ‘I came to invite you to a review. But what welcome do I ever get here? Can’t think why I trouble to come, no I can’t, damme!’
‘A review of what, Roy dear?’ mildly inquired Aunt Ishie, stitching two of her canvas squares together.
‘Of the militia, what else? Are those broadsheets ready, by the bye? We have got a tolerable troop now, but we should have double the number.’
‘Yes, yes, they are done.’
Old Mr Twite returned to the cellar and reappeared with an armful of posters. The cat Montrose came in through the back door, let out a kind of subdued, angry caterwaul at sight of Uncle Roy, and made a beeline for the cellar. Grandfather Twite tripped over him and he lashed out with a forepaw, drawing blood from the old man’s leg, but this seemed a routine occurrence; nobody expressed surprise. Except Uncle Roy, who muttered, ‘Why you keep that ill-conditioned, mangy beast – ’
Aunt Ishie broke in, as she selected another pair of squares:
‘How can you expect to recruit a sizeable troop of young men, nephew, when most of the lads do not survive into their twenties?’
‘Oh, there’s always a new supply from the south,’ he returned carelessly. ‘So – how about the review? You wish to attend? You may sit in my box, provided you arrive at least two hours beforehand. It is at three tomorrow.’
Aunt Ishie shook her head. ‘Thank you, Roy, I am far too busy.’ At which he hardly tried to conceal his relief. ‘Papa may wish to come, perhaps.’
‘I doubt it, I doubt it,’ said old Mr Twite. ‘Perhaps if I finish my pamphlet for the Nautical Union.
I can break and mend again
I wear a crest and a snowy mane
I can whisper, I can roar
And I shall last for evermore.’
He grinned broadly at Roy, who scowled. ‘How about Is, here? She’d like to see the review, Roy. All your gallant young fighters.’
‘Certainly
‘A slave.’
‘And that’s the status children have here – douls – until they are twenty. They have to make their contribution to society. And so will you, if you stay.’ He gave her a glance of dislike.
‘Don’t worry, Roy, she’s already ’prenticed to Chester Lemman,’ said Aunt Ishie placidly, rethreading her needle.
At that moment Dr Lemman himself walked into the room.
‘Hilloo, dearie,’ he said coolly to Uncle Roy. ‘Saw your rig outside. How’s the liver – eh? Giving us a bit of a twinge – eh? I can see that, from the colour of your cornea. Let’s have a look at the tongue. Open wider – ’ and he peered thoughtfully into the huge red cavity of Uncle Roy’s open mouth. ‘Hmnnn, not very pretty; no, by Joshua! You’d best lay off rich food, pastry and stimulants for the next few weeks. No more Early Purl. Stick to broth and rice pudding – that’s my advice.’
Uncle Roy looked glum, but seemed prepared to pay heed to the doctor’s counsel.
‘Follow the example of the gaffer, here,’ went on Lemman, patting Mr Twite’s bony shoulder and darting a bright-brown, needle-sharp malicious glance at each man in turn. ‘You want to live to a hundred and two like him – eh? Then moderate your way of life, my dear fellow!’
The malicious smile moved, like a sunbeam, to Grandpa Twite’s face.
He said, ‘Roy hasn’t my constitution, more’s the pity! Here’s a conundrum for you, Roy:
My first is a vessel, my second revered
First’s round as a penny, second wears a beard
And my first holds my whole, neither wine nor wealth,
Which keeps my second in good health.
Well? What’s the answer, my dear grandson?’
‘You know perfectly well that I’ve no time for your cursed nursery-rhyme balderdash!’ said Roy angrily. He seemed ready to burst with exasperation, but restrained himself and, after a moment, went on, ‘I came to invite you to a review. But what welcome do I ever get here? Can’t think why I trouble to come, no I can’t, damme!’
‘A review of what, Roy dear?’ mildly inquired Aunt Ishie, stitching two of her canvas squares together.
‘Of the militia, what else? Are those broadsheets ready, by the bye? We have got a tolerable troop now, but we should have double the number.’
‘Yes, yes, they are done.’
Old Mr Twite returned to the cellar and reappeared with an armful of posters. The cat Montrose came in through the back door, let out a kind of subdued, angry caterwaul at sight of Uncle Roy, and made a beeline for the cellar. Grandfather Twite tripped over him and he lashed out with a forepaw, drawing blood from the old man’s leg, but this seemed a routine occurrence; nobody expressed surprise. Except Uncle Roy, who muttered, ‘Why you keep that ill-conditioned, mangy beast – ’
Aunt Ishie broke in, as she selected another pair of squares:
‘How can you expect to recruit a sizeable troop of young men, nephew, when most of the lads do not survive into their twenties?’
‘Oh, there’s always a new supply from the south,’ he returned carelessly. ‘So – how about the review? You wish to attend? You may sit in my box, provided you arrive at least two hours beforehand. It is at three tomorrow.’
Aunt Ishie shook her head. ‘Thank you, Roy, I am far too busy.’ At which he hardly tried to conceal his relief. ‘Papa may wish to come, perhaps.’
‘I doubt it, I doubt it,’ said old Mr Twite. ‘Perhaps if I finish my pamphlet for the Nautical Union.
I can break and mend again
I wear a crest and a snowy mane
I can whisper, I can roar
And I shall last for evermore.’
He grinned broadly at Roy, who scowled. ‘How about Is, here? She’d like to see the review, Roy. All your gallant young fighters.’
‘Certainly
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