Aye. I can see it all. My memory en’t be ramshackle. No.
An this Ketchaside, he stays like that, like a hare that’s sniffed summat, till I says, ‘Thomas, what thee be up to, then? I can’t be lollin about wi’ my hammer till the cows come. Hitch that old gal true an let’s be gettin up to Manor.’
I was allus behind the master, then.
An the other lad stops his stampin, an we all looks at young Ketchaside, an Abraham bein summat discomfited, like, turns to us an he says, ‘What be up with the old boy? He en’t goin soft in brain-pan, belike?’
An Ketchaside turns slow, see, an he lets go o’ the gate so as it near drops down on my boots, crashin down like, an he says, mortal slow, ‘Master, methinks I sees an angel up there.’ An Abraham, bein a church-goer, whips his head up an eyes the sky like it were rainin angels, though it be still green wi’ dawn, see, an there be I thinkin as how he’d give Ketchaside a good hidin for his cheek — for I knowed Thomas afore, an he’d allus been a original, a rascally kind o’ tongue to him — but no, old Abraham acts all gullible like, wi’ eyes upperds, but only the peewits be circlin an swoopin, hell on a din, so he looks agin at Ketchaside, half-suspicious like, an says, ‘What angel, lad?’
An Ketchaside acts right up, don’t he, an spreads his arms like this, an flaps ’em up an down, an says, ‘She were mortal big, an all golden, an smiles at I wi’ wings wi’ a touch o’ silver, like they be rimed wi’ mornin, master.’
An he plays it up so surely, as Abraham coughs, an spits, an wipes his mouth, an looks upperds agin, agin at Thomas, then at me, an the other boy, an says, ‘We’d best be on our knees, then, lads.’ An so we all sinks down about the gate, as be a-spraddle on the grass, an offers up our thanks to the Lord, an I be awmost bust from gigglin at the rig, as got the right side o’ old Abraham, make no mistake. An he crosses hisself till I thought he’d wrick his wrist, old Abraham.
But we gets to it straight ater, for sure. An stays that night at the Manor, hammerin till eleven, for the Squire be in Bath that week.
That were a ripper, certain sure.
But the next lot were better. This be a deep un. That Sunday, I meets the two lads by luck, like, a-lollin agin the bridge, Bottom Bridge, past Barr’s farm, an we walks up Chalky Lane to’ards Plumm Farm, an out atop Ewe Drop Hill, an anigh the Folly Clump, an that daft hut of her Ladybitch’s, they call a hermitage, as weren’t ramshackle then as ’tis now, an were lived in by Old Surley, as was in the military, an had a head as was agoggle from the wars, see, but she thought him parfit, an a-dressed him in a long white gown, like out o’ the Scriptures — daft, weren’t it? — an out on the ridge by hatch gate we sat us down on a tuffut, an said as we were jus about slick up to here wi’ old Abraham’s ways, an kepin us to eleven for the last week, an no sign o’ let-up, see.
Now I were summat older nor these two lads. My old woman was allus sayin to me as how I were a slow-worm wi’ old Abraham, an didn’t say as I ought to him, but bein past thretty it weren’t so easy for I to find work else, see, an like I’ve said I weren’t no master, though I could do any joinery you axt of I, an no mistake, but it weren’t like Abraham’s, it weren’t toppermost. No.
I’d bin wi’n for past twenty year by ’75, when this went on as I be tellin. An all that time Abraham had never not a snick o’ praise for owt I done. Not even for them two scrolls, as I cut for Squire. No. He were mortal near wi’ his admiration. He were allus larnin I, right to the last day. That be as how he seed it, by my reckonin. Aye. An I knowed as how I weren’t no lean o’ the trade, but no fat jobber neither, but summat betwixt the two — on account, as I sees it, of my hands, bein as they are summat dubby, though I allus had the strength, see, in my arms. I could snap a lop a-two the width o’ thy thigh, make no mistake. But I never had the touch that he had. An he knowed that, see, to be sure.
Aye.
I will an all.
Thank ’ee.
My old woman, she was onto me, see. As how I never spoke my mind. I was allus behind the master. I felt tart about it some time, his bally-raggin, aye. But I never spoke my mind. Never.
He got my bristles up once or twice, I can tell thee, surely. Aye. That he did.
Heh.
Dead an gone now, all on ’em. Dern it, I never spoke my mind to him. Aye. Now I’ve had a drop o’ two, I don’t mind tellin. This en’t a grizzle, though. This en’t a grizzle. You be a genneman, listenin so long. I be planin through to the heart, make no mistake. Pure oak, this tale. It be a ripper. Don’t you go now. Don’t you go. You be a-lush as you fancy, you don’t have far to rise, up them stairs. Stay wi’ me an drain that cask to the grouts, an you won’t hear no codger’s grizzle out o’ me. No. I tells you, there be one or two wenches here as I know ud fancy talkin to a genneman like you, sir. They be a-rampin for a genneman the likes o’ you, make no mistake. Fine good clean country wenches, aye. An young an lissom, as ud fancy wrestlin wi’ the likes o’ you, sir. I knows all about them as be rampin ater decent strangers like you, sir. Hear me out an I’ll tell ’em as you be game, sir, to have thy room warmed by a simple wench. Aye.
Make no mistake. You don’t want to touch them as be in here. No. They be dampen straw in here. These’d not douse a candle.
Aye.
Heh heh.
See she, like a drownded rat, agin the cask? She ud do it wi’ a pig if he paid her. In an out more times nor a nag shot out o’ the shafts. Bin whipped at the cart’s tail, that un, for thievin wine. Years ago, now. Didn’t make her aright, though. Be thievin men from their wives, now. The worsest kind o’ men, mind. The worsest kind. Aye. She be lookin our way now. Cotched her one while past, out in the orchut, up to her anticks. Thought it were two lads a picky-back, till I saw it straight. Years ago now. Aye.
I’ll bet them ladies as rides up to the Hall, from Lunnen an abouts, I’ll bet their limbs be white an smooth as chestnut. Aye. I’ll bet.
Aye.
This gettin to be a rigmarole afore I’ve finished. Abraham allus said I lacked summat. It were allus my thoughts doin the meddlin. I never had his dedication, not to the work in hand. I were allus stuck for that. Mind, I could strip them oaks out their bark quicker nor he, at strippin-time. They’d mount up in the tan-yard thick as the ale-house on pay-night, certain sure. I were out an out the best o’ the boys at strippin.
Aye. That I were, certain sure.
He couldn’t deny me that.
I don’t recall as who first thought on it. Belike it weren’t I, but Ketchaside. Out on that down, past Ewe Drop. It were a slappin piece o’ mischuf, whoever thought on it. The other boy, name o’ Sheppard, he were a mite slippy about it, an wanted nowt to do on it, but when we telled him it were to stop our work bein so tardy, like, he come round to us soon enough, up there on that down. It were deep, that piece o’ mischuf. Heh heh.
Poor old Sheppard, the lad thought as how he’d end up at the cart’s tail, or worse, transportashin, for goin agin Abraham. It were awmost worth transportashin, the way I seed, it. It were deep, an all. Aye.