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G J Griffiths Writer
Amazon
Category:
Historical Fiction
Publisher: GJG
Type: Fiction
Pages: 243
Copyright: Feb 16, 2020
ISBN-13: 9798614336332
Price: $0.99 (eBook)
A Romantic tale about a feisty young woman who demanded equality! She became a Runaway from the Altar.
Now only 0.99 from Amazon
“Readers will not be disappointed with the Mule Spinners Daughters. It had me gripped from start to finish.”
“G J Griffiths superb storytelling captures the historical elements of socioeconomics, religion, humor, romance…”
Sebastian : But there is an obstacle, a principle of hers that she’s read of in a book by a woman called Mary Wollstonecraft... ‘Women should be wives and companions to their husbands!”
Did Mary Wollstonecraft fill the farm girl’s head with too many ideas of feminism?
When Sally Sefton runs away from Sebastian at the altar on her wedding day there is a desperate chase to find her. Some of her friends think they know why she ran. But only Cathy Priestley thinks she knows where. Her chief bridesmaid suspects Sally may have joined the Christian Israelites. Will they find her before the group sails on a missionary tour abroad? The split causes a bitter dispute between Sebastian and Wesley, her brother. While feelings are running so high there seems to be no hope of reconciliation between the families.
Book One in the series, ‘The Quarry Bank Runaways’, tells the much earlier tale of their fathers when they journeyed on foot to Hackney workhouse in London. They were then boy apprentices who had escaped from the Cheshire cotton mill, desperate to find their destitute mothers.
Book two, ‘Mules; Masters & Mud’, is about what happened to the apprentices during the Industrial Revolution, when they were qualified cotton mule spinners. Serious events, including the Peterloo Massacre, impinge upon the lives of Thomas Priestley and Joseph Sefton.
Excerpt
The view towards the Peak District from Ipstones Edge was one of gentle rolling hills and the sparkling of the river below, gently rushing south, added to the romance of the day. They ate silently for a while taking in the tranquillity of the beauty spot. Sebastian had bought Sally a slim book of poetry and she was reading it while he leaned against a tree, her back against his chest. She paused to take in the view, sighing happily.
“This is a lovely place, Seb. How did thee find it? Which girls did you bring here?” Sally was intent on letting him know that she was not as naïve as he may believe.
“What a thing to say, Sally. I may have been here before but not with another girl. Read me one of the poems. That would be perfect.”
“Well, my dear, I might ask thee again about that - one day soon. But for now this poem is one I like. It’s called, The World.”
Sally paused, awaiting Sebastian’s response. There was none. She took in a deep breath and commenced, “The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!”
Sally paused once more, thinking about the land that had been retched up for railways and canals. She waited yet again for his remark about those lines. Sitting on a blanket together they were unable to make eye contact, she with the back of her head on his chest, and he with his back resting on the bark of the large upland oak that still clung to the limestone below their resting place. Sally felt his breathing chest, rhythmically, pushing at her hair and found it somehow comforting, but there was still no comment from him.
“This sea that bares her bosom to the moon;” Her pause this time was because some of the young farmers she knew would have made a ribald reply to that phrase, whereas either of her brothers would have tutted and said something very disapproving while in her presence. But still from Sebastian there was nothing. How curious? she thought.
“The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gather’d now like sleeping flowers…”
It was this line that caused Sally to look around the heathland at the struggling foxgloves beneath the brimstone blooms of gorse nearby. There were patches of brilliant white cotton grass and golden spires of bog asphodel in the peaty hollows further down the slope they had climbed. She listened to a distant song thrush in a hedge, only to have its singing accompanied by a low continuous humming. It seemed to come from behind her and it was getting louder every second.
“Sebastian Brewer, how unromantic of thee! Snoring thy head off while I read thee a poem of love and nature. Well, I never…”
She jumped up and stood a yard or two from him with her hands on her hips. Sebastian spluttered his apologies in an incoherent fashion and stared up at Sally, blinking and squinting in the sunlight that dazzled him, coming from the sky behind her.
“No, no, Sally, my dearest. Please believe me when I say it was not the sound of thy beautiful, dulcet tones… It, er… it was…”
She cocked her head to one side and said, “Oh, aye. What was it, then?”
“I was doing a bit of book work, for my faither till late, see. And I didn’t get enough sleep, Pet.”
He had taken to using some of the local parlance lately whenever he was trying to get back on better terms with Sally or attempting to get around her. She had noticed and was not in the least fooled by his wheedling ways. Sally disliked it as it lowered her respect for him. The truth was that Sebastian had finished his bookwork much earlier so that he could join his friends in the Three Tuns Inn. Their drinking session had gone on well past midnight and he was still recovering from a severe headache when he had called for Sally that morning. Sally was not fooled.
“I suspect thou had just a drop too much of the falling-down water as Granny Esther calls it. Just like Gabriel did from time to time.”
Sebastian just groaned. His thoughts turned, for a few guilty moments, to the events that had occurred in the Three Tuns before he had crawled home. There had been an argument about settling his gambling debts, earlier at cards, and then during a game of skittles. When his brother, Luke, had arrived later Sebastian immediately asked him to settle the amount, promising Luke that it could come out of his next week’s wages. This had happened before, on more than one occasion, and when Luke refused this time, Sebastian lost his temper. He forgot how often his older brother had rescued him from such awkward situations, in the Three Tuns, but also at home, or in the funeral parlour when Mr Brewer took Sebastian to task about his shoddy work. His father had never let him forget his worst mix-up, at a time when he was much younger.
Sebastian had clothed a deceased colonel, who was the local squire no less, in the clothes of a farmer who was to be buried the next day. Instead of placing the squire’s regimental, leather-bound swagger stick complete with its silver plated top, in his hand, Sebastian had inserted a sickle. In the coffin alongside the military man was the farmer’s favourite shepherd’s crook. The incident had cost Brewers Undertakers more than the fee for the funeral; they lost much of their good reputation locally, both for reliable decorum and their rigorous attention to detail. To this day Mr Brewer still insisted that much of their business had gone to Biggleys in nearby Biddulph, just a few miles away.
With his head in his hands, up on Ipstones Edge, Sebastian groaned repeatedly. He looked so vulnerable and pathetic, so much less than the tall, confident, well-educated man who Sally had become used to seeing call for her, and her heart softened. She smiled to herself and knelt down taking his hand in hers.
“Seb, I know what men can be like sometimes. My faither, uncle and two brothers all like a drop of cider or ale from time to time. Faither used to say it ‘took the edge off hard times’ occasionally. When the weather was against us or the crop was poor or we’d lost some of the herd.”
He looked into her eyes and admitted, “Well, yes, I had a drop too much last night, but…”
“Don’t say any more, Seb. Just promise me it’s not going to be a problem for us in future.”
“I promise.” He paused, thinking. “So… we may have a future then? Together.”
Sally Sefton felt certain that Sebastian was a man who she could learn to love; a man who was educated and so different to any she’d met in her life thus far; his hands were smooth against her cheek, not rough like the bark of an oak. Her mind told her that they would make a good match, he was clever and she was caring, diligent. Yet Sally’s heart told her nothing. She knew that Sebastian wanted her, but he was not going to hear the answer he required until she’d decided he would treat her as an equal. That would take time so, for now, this fish was not quite ready to be reeled in. Sally leaned forward, took his other hand from his face and kissed each of his palms, taking in the scent of his cologne.
Gently cupping his face in her hands she kissed him on the lips and whispered, as though it was a secret to be kept from the world. “If thou’s to become the man of my dreams, my dear Seb, then our future together would seem to be very likely. Provided…”
Puzzled, Sebastian said, “But… when… if –”
“Provided, we understand a few things, together, agree things between us and –” She stopped speaking suddenly and asked, “Seb, why did thee buy me this book of poetry?”
“Sally, my darling, the more we meet, and talk… about the world and nature, then more and more I see we are kindred spirits. I, too, love that poem that you chose… Please believe me, I do feel bad that I fell asleep as you read it. And it was through drink… So, I… er…”
She placed her forefinger on his lips. “Not now, Seb. I’d like to go home.”
“Yes, of course, I just wanted to say there’s another poem in the book by Wordsworth that he calls, Perfect Woman and as soon as I read it, it reminded me of you. Truly! Have you read it?”
Sally looked hard at him. She was not about to be fooled by his flattery. Kindred spirits? I wonder? she thought.
“No, but I will read the poem soon, you devil! I’m eager to see whether I can ever live up to this… this paragon of William Wordsworth’s – and yours it seems. For now, I think I am happy to take the reins and prove my skill with horses.”
The ride home was in silence for much of the way, until Sally broke it when she pointed out an abandoned cottage on the land near to the Caldon canal.
“That would make a good home one day, for newly-weds. What do you think, my dear?”
Sebastian’s jaw dropped open but from it came no sound, other than a perplexing hiss of strangled air. Sally patted his hand, smiled at him, kissed his cheek and then geed-up the horse. Their conversation for the rest of the journey was about whose land it was on and what improvements were needed in Sally’s opinion. If a listening passenger had hung on behind them they would have observed Sebastian’s enthusiastic agreement to everything that Sally spoke of. When the confused but happy young woman arrived back at her home, much later, she sat alone in her room reading the poem, Perfect Woman, over and over. Whilst her happiness increased with every new scan and interpretation, the last four lines also increased her confusion; increased it enough to be replaced by some consternation.
“… A perfect Woman, nobly plann’d,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.”
Chapter 6
Prophets and Preaching
“WHEN I stopped the pony on that bridge that overlooks the old cottage, Sebastian was a little surprised, Cathy, because he thought I’d gone off him, see.”
Sally giggled again, when her thoughts turned back to the day she had tormented her suitor.
“What did he say, Sal?”
“Nowt, Cath. He just listened to all the plans I’d had for months about it and didn’t object at all. I knew he’d been drinking the night before and when I caught him out, he didn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“Well, it’d make a lovely home, Sal, but it does need a lot doing to it. When you showed it to me last year even I could see it wanted a new roof and one of the floors’d rotted through.”
“Since Sebastian has been coming round a great deal I’ve asked Uncle Daniel to give me his opinion. Cus he had a lot to do with the cottage that he’s in with Granny.”
“Pa told us that your uncle had been repairing it for years, so that he and your grandma could live there comfortably.”
“Aye, Cathy, he’s done all that and not missed a day working on the farm and all. He’s a fine man, considering his past. Pity he never married cus he would’ve made a fine husband for some woman.”
“Pa said that Daniel had been sent to Australia years ago when he was a youth for some wrong-doing.” Cathy paused, waited for Sally to say more, but her travelling companion looked out from the carriage at the passing scenery, saying nothing. “It must have been very serious to be transported to Australia.”
“Aye, but we never speak of it now.” Sally turned her face back to look at her dearest friend. “It was there he found Jesus once more; and a more devoted man thee could never hope to meet, my dear.”
Sensing the need to change the subject Cathy replied, “You said that your Uncle Daniel would have come with us to Ashton if it had not been so busy on the farm, Sal.”
“Aye, the large field needed dressing see. But he wants to hear all about it when I get back.”
“My heart’s all of aflutter for some reason. Like when we go to the fairground in the autumn.” Cathy smiled at Sally and their conversation switched to the reason for their travels.
They were travelling in a coach-and-four to attend one of Preacher Wroe’s open air meetings in the main market square at Ashton-under-Lyne. Thomas had gone on ahead, having had some business to attend to in Stockport first of all. He was to meet the two young women at the public coach house near to Church Street where the preacher had his abode that was called the Sanctuary. This was regarded by his followers as a temporary temple to him, until the building known as new Christian Israelite Church was completed.
They were a little travel weary as they alighted from the carriage but this was of little consideration to them when they spotted Thomas and their excitement mounted. He was sat outside the inn wearing his best coat and an enormous grin while holding a glass of ginger beer. After hugging his daughter with his one and a half arms, and kissing her cheek, Thomas turned to Sally and said, “By heck, young Sally, that young man of yours is a mighty lucky feller. Thou gets bonnier every time I sees thee.”
“How are thee, Uncle Tommy? I can see thou’s been celebrating already, eh!”
He grabbed his drink from the table and protested his innocence. “Hey up, lass, this here’s just ginger beer. I’ve been a teetotaller for a while now, tha knowst. That’s right, ain’t it, Cathy? Tell her the truth now.”
Cathy smiled wistfully and answered, “Yes, it’s true. Pa won’t have strong or weak alcohol in the house no more. Not even a bottle of Uncle Eddy’s home brew or his elderberry wine that they make in September. He boils the berries properly and everything like they say.” She looked at her father who nodded. “But no matter; Pa says No, so that’s that.” Then Cathy lifted Tommy’s right hand in order to kiss the back of it, indulgently smiling at him.
This demonstration of Cathy’s love for her father caused Sally to briefly bear a painful pang at the memory of losing her own dear ‘faither’. Nevertheless, Sally also was interested to hear more of this abstinence, coming so soon after her conversation with Sebastian during their Ipstones picnic. “Oh, I see. No strong drink. What’s that all about then?”
“See, I reckon it’s the ruin of too many working folk, Sally. Specially the men. Too many of them drink theys wages away afore their family gets enough on it to buy food and clothes and such for the kids, see.”
“I think I agree with thee, Uncle Tommy. And I’ve seen too many blokes lose their rag after boozing. Fighting and what have you.”
“And hitting out at the nearest folk to them for no reason… poorly kids, the missus what’s doing her best. It’s just not right… I joined in with the temperance lot at first, but then, later on like, I found the teetotallers had got it better - to my way of thinking.”
Thomas looked down, shook his head gently, then suddenly, he looked up and grabbed Sally around the waist with his one arm.
“That’s enough of all that, eh! Thou hasn’t give yer Uncle Tommy a kiss yet, lass. And you’ve both got a treat in store when thou hears Preacher Wroe. Come on; he’s holding his meeting near his new gatehouse on Mossley Road instead of the market square.”
Sally gave Tommy a quick peck on his cheek and they set off in high spirits for Mossley Road.
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