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Great Writing - Home > Extended > Bench Wells - Chapter 1
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Extended Work
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| Bench Wells - Chapter 1 | |
| By jean.day | ||||||||||||||||||||||
| 15 April 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||||||
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I've rewritten this. The idea behind the story is a photograph of a house, now owned by two of the people in our creative writing group. It was taken somewhere around 1903 - and in the foreground you see a maid, smiling in a sort of embarrassed way. In the background you see two women standing together by one of the doorways of Bench Wells - which is semi-detatched. The house is a large stone built one, more or less on its own at the end of the lane - with beautiful gentle hills in the background. Others from the group are writing their own books, also based on the same photograph but with very different story lines. I've used real people, by searching on ancestry to find out who lived in that area at the time. Hannah There we were, standing in my doorway chatting, Mary and me, when Blanche came up and handed us each a large white stiff envelope. She smiled and waved, and as she was going off down the path towards Ivy House, her brother, who was just coming out of the drive said, “Wait there, Sis. I have my new camera. I want to take a picture of you. We can use Bench Wells as a background. You stand there, just by the front drive.” “What fun,” I said. “Lucky Blanche. I have never had a photo taken of me, although come to think of it, just maybe our pictures are in the background of that one he just took of her. I will have to ask her sometime.” “He’s a bit of all right, that man, Blanche’s brother Fred,” said Mary. “You might try to think of some way of getting to know him better. You have been a widow too long, Hannah. And your Annie would benefit from a father’s firm hand. She is getting quite wild, that one.” “He’s a nice enough bloke, I grant you that, Mary, but I just don’t think he is my type of man. When you have had a man who was just about perfect, it is hard to find someone who might come up to him again.” “I know, luv, and I wasn’t trying to put pressure on you to replace your man. I can’t imagine what it would be like to find someone to equal my Joseph, but then again, I don’t need to worry about that now do I? And what do you think is in this envelope then? I suppose I’d better wait til Joseph gets home tonight and let him open it.” “Don’t be silly. It is addressed to both of you. You have as much right to read it as he is. And anyway, I am going to open mine right now, and I want to know if yours is the same.” So we both slit open the sealed ends of our envelopes, and took out the thick cardboard invitation. Each of them said, “ To ( and then hand written in: Mrs. H. Harrison and child - and Mr. and Mrs. J. Thornley, and children) Bench Wells Ludworth You are cordially invited to afternoon tea on Sunday, May 27th, at 3 p.m. Horatio and Louisa Whittington 3 Stanley Terrace Ludworth “Horatio.” I let slip in a soft voice, and was instantly annoyed with myself. “What’s that you say? Surely it is Mr. Whittington to the likes of us. How come you think to call him Horatio?” I couldn’t stop myself blushing. “I only know him slightly. We are both in the church choir. He has ever such a wonderful tenor voice. He is always doing the solo parts when they come up.” “And do all the people in the choir call him Horatio, then?” “The other men do. We women hardly speak to the men, and of course we all have to be quiet when we are in church, even for the practices, and we don’t meet together at other times.” “Well, then, lovey. What do you think this Horatio and his la-di-da wife and stiff and haughty mother-in-law and fancy French maid want with the likes of us then?” “Maybe it’s a birthday party, or just a neighbourhood gathering to be sociable.” “Best to bring some small present then, but wrapped, and keep it in your bag until you see what others have done.” “I suppose a crochet doily could never come amiss, whatever the occasion. They don’t have children so it won’t be a child’s birthday they are celebrating. Maybe it is the mother-in-law’s birthday.” “Well whatever, they seem to be prepared to have a houseful because they have specifically invited us to bring our children - and there are five of them. You only have the one, Hannah, so that won’t be a problem. But with our children, making them sit still for a couple of hours and be polite when all they want to do is be outside running around, well, you can imagine. I suppose it won’t hurt them for once.” “I wonder who else will come? Do you think they have invited all the neighbours?” “I would think so, otherwise why would they have included us. Well let’s see, there are the Highams from Rock Tavern. You’ve met them haven’t you? Thomas and his Alice. Their little boy Stanley is blind. Has been from birth. And they have a daughter Ethel. “Is their daughter friends with yours as you know them so well?” “Not really. But I have met up with Alice when she has been shopping at Lane Ends the same time I have and I think my Joseph sometimes has a drink at the Rock Tavern, now that it has been changed back into a pub again. And they have let the Simpson girls board there, after their parents moved.” “Do you think they will invite the people from Lane Ends - what are they called again?” “Well at the Lane Ends it’s now Herbert Steward - and as he is a neighbour of your friend Horatio, I expect they will be invited. You know that the father, Joseph took it over when the Irish couple stopped doing it a few years ago - the Howells. You remember them don’t you? You could hardly make out what she was saying her accent was so thick even after all the years. Well, Joseph, who was a teacher in Compstall, hadn’t been in the pub for six months when he up and died. Only 57 he was, but maybe being a publican was hard on his heart. And his three children were given the job of taking it on, but Oswald, the oldest, he’s a solicitor down in the South, so there’s no way he was going to give that up. But the daughter, Emma, gave up being a schoolmistress and she is the one who deals with the grocery side of that. I’m surprised you don’t know her but you get your groceries delivered from the Coop, don’t you? All right if you have the cash, which we don’t.” “I could always add your order to mine, and we could get them delivered together, Mary. You know I have suggested that many a time.” “Oh, I know Hannah. But I quite like the walk down the road and the gossip that I manage to get in while I am there. And it is an excuse to get out of the house, which when all our children are around is often not a nice place to be, as I am sure you well know from the noise you get from us.” “Whose the other pub owner then?” “James Sayer he’s called, and his wife is Hannah too. They have a daughter, Freda. They come from Mellor but weren’t in the pub business before. “I wonder if the Allsops will be invited. That maid who brought us our invitations, Blanche Hodkinson, they’re her adopted parents. Her family originally comes from Bollington and I think the parents both died about the same time. I wonder why they didn’t take in her brother too, but at least he managed to find a place near by to where she is.” “Oh course they might invite that upstart farmer from Woodheys - William Potts, he is called. You know that not long ago he was just a plain farm labourer and then when his boss John Hall up and dies, it turns out he has left the farm to him. That was quite a shock for one and all.” “That was very kind of him, I am sure. He was an old man by then, and Mrs. Potts - Mary, she is called, well she was always having him over for meals and doing his laundry and things. I expect he either didn’t have children who wanted it - or he had some other reason for not having them inherit it.” “Well perhaps some of our questions will be answered at the party. I expect we should dress up in our finest, as they are the poshest people in the area and we don’t want them to look down on us.” “I’ll wear my black silk. It does for funerals - so I expect it will do for the party. I don’t want to dress too fancy since we don’t know what it is for. I will put on my nice lace collar to dress it up a bit.” “I’d best be off. I can here little Jane crying in the room. Nearly time for her feed. See you later on, Hannah,” and Mary hurried back to her half of our shared house.
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