2
O CTOBER Fair-time is the time for fun
For all the street is hurdled into rows
Of pens of heifers blinking at the sun,
And Lemster sheep which pant and seem to doze,
And stalls of hardbake and galanty shows,
And cheapjacks smashing crocks, and trumpets blowing,
And the loud organ of the horses going.
There you can buy blue ribbons for your girl
Or take her in a swing-boat tossing high,
Or hold her fast when all the horses whirl
Round to the steam pipe whanging at the sky,
Or stand her cockshies at the cocoa-shy,
Or buy her brooches with her name in red,
Or Queen Victoria done in gingerbread.
Then there are rifle shots at tossing balls,
“And if you hit you get a good cigar.”
And strength-whackers for lads to lamm' with mauls,
And Cheshire cheeses on a greasy spar.
The country folk flock in from near and far,
Women and men, like blow-flies to the roast,
All love the fair; but Anna loved it most.
Anna was all agog to see the fair;
She made Ern promise to be there to meet her,
To arm her round to all the pleasures there,
And buy her ribbons for her neck, and treat her,
So that no woman at the fair should beat her
In having pleasure at a man's expense.
She planned to meet him at the chapel fence.
So Ernie went; and Jimmy took his mother,
Dressed in her finest with a Monmouth shawl,
And there was such a crowd she thought she'd smother,
And O, she loved a pep'mint above all.
Clash go the crockeries where the cheapjacks bawl,
Baa go the sheep, thud goes the waxwork's drum,
And Ernie cursed for Anna hadn't come.
He hunted for her up and down the place,
Raging and snapping like a working brew.
“If you're with someone else I'll smash his face,
And when I've done for him I'll go for you.”
He bought no fairings as he'd vowed to do
For his poor little children back at home
Stuck at the glass “to see till father come.”
Not finding her, he went into an inn,
Busy with ringing till and scratching matches.
Where thirsty drovers mingled stout with gin
And three or four Welsh herds were singing catches
The swing-doors clattered, letting in in snatches
The noises of the fair, now low, now loud.
Ern called for beer and glowered at the crowd.
While he was glowering at his drinking there
In came the gipsy Bessie, hawking toys;
A bold-eyed strapping harlot with black hair,
One of the tribe which camped at Shepherd's Bois.
She lured him out of inn into the noise
Of the steam-organ where the horses spun,
And so the end of all things was begun.
Newness in lust, always the old in love.
“Put up your toys,” he said, “and come along,
We'll have a turn of swing-boats up above,
And see the murder when they strike the gong.”
“Don't 'ee,” she giggled. “My, but ain't you strong.
And where 's your proper girl? You don't know me.”
“I do.” “You don't.” “Why, then, I will,” said he.
Anna was late because the cart which drove her
Called for her late (the horse had broke a trace),
She was all dressed and scented for her lover,
Her bright blue blouse had imitation lace,
The paint was red as roses on her face,
She hummed a song, because she thought to see
How envious all the other girls would be.
When she arrived and found her Ernie gone,
Her bitter heart thought, “This is how it is.
Keeping me waiting while the sports are on:
Promising faithful, too, and then to miss.
O, Ernie, won't I give it you for this.”
And looking up she saw a couple cling,
Ern with his arm round Bessie in the swing.
Ern caught her eye and spat, and cut her dead,
Bessie laughed hardly, in the gipsy way.
Anna, though blind with fury, tossed her head,
Biting her lips until the red was grey,
For bitter moments given, bitter pay,
The time for payment comes, early or late,
No earthly debtor but accounts to Fate.
She turned aside, telling with bitter oaths
What Ern should suffer if he turned agen,
And there was Jimmy stripping off his clothes
Within a little ring of farming men.
“Now, Jimmy, put the old tup into pen.”
His mother, watching, thought her heart would curdle,
To see Jim drag the old ram to the hurdle.
Then the ram butted and the game began,
Till Jimmy's muscles cracked and the ram grunted.
The good old wrestling game of Ram and Man,
At which none knows the hunter from the hunted.
“Come and see Jimmy have his belly bunted.”
“Good tup. Good Jim. Good Jimmy. Sick him, Rover,
By dang, but Jimmy's got him fairly over.”
Then there was clap of hands and Jimmy grinned
And took five silver shillings from his backers,
And said th' old tup had put him out of wind
Or else he'd take all comers at the Whackers.
And some made rude remarks of rams and knackers,
And mother shook to get her son alone,
So's to be sure he hadn't broke a bone.
None but the lucky man deserves the fair,
For lucky men have money and success,
Things that a whore is very glad to share,
Or dip, at least, a finger in the mess.
Anne, with her raddled cheeks and Sunday dress,
Smiled upon Jimmy, seeing him succeed,
As though to say, “You are a man, indeed.”
All the great things of life are swiftly done,
Creation, death, and love the double gate.
However much we dawdle in the sun
We have to hurry at the touch of Fate;
When Life knocks at the door no one can wait,
When Death makes his arrest we have to go.
And so with Love, and Jimmy found it so.
Love, the sharp spear, went pricking to the bone.
In that one look, desire and bitter aching,
Longing to have that woman all alone
For her dear beauty's sake all else forsaking;
And sudden agony that set him shaking
Lest she, whose beauty made his heart's blood cruddle,
Should be another man's to kiss and cuddle.
She was beside him when he left the ring,
Her soft dress brushed against him as he passed her:
He thought her penny scent a sweeter thing
Than precious ointment out of alabaster;
Love, the mild servant, makes a drunken master.
She smiled, half sadly, out of thoughtful eyes,
And all the strong young man was easy prize.
She spoke, to take him, seeing him a sheep,
“How beautiful you wrastled with the ram,
It made me all go tremble just to peep,
I am that fond of wrastling, that I am.
Why, here's your mother, too. Good-evening, ma'am.
I was just telling Jim how well he done,
How proud you must be of so fine a son.”
Old mother blinked, while Jimmy hardly knew
Whether he knew the woman there or not;
But well he knew, if not, he wanted to,
Joy of her beauty ran in him so hot,
Old trembling mother by him was forgot,
While Anna searched the mother's face, to know
Whether she took her for a whore or no.
The woman's maxim, “Win the woman first,”
Made her be gracious to the withered thing.
“This being in crowds do give one such a thirst,
I wonder if they've tea going at ‘The King’?
My throat's that dry my very tongue do cling,
Perhaps you'd take my arm, we'd wander up
(If you'd agree) and try and get a cup.
“Come, ma'am, a cup of tea would do you good;
There's nothing like a nice hot cup of tea
After the crowd and all the time you've stood;
And ‘The King’ 's strict, it isn't like ‘The Key.’
Now, take my arm, my dear, and lean on me.”
And Jimmy's mother, being nearly blind,
Took Anna's arm, and only thought her kind.
So off they set, with Anna talking to her,
How nice the tea would be after the crowd,
And mother thinking half the time she knew her,
And Jimmy's heart's blood ticking quick and loud,
And Death beside him knitting at his shroud,
And all the High Street babbling with the fair,
And white October clouds in the blue air.
So tea was made and down they sat to drink;
O the pale beauty sitting at the board!
There is more death in women than we think,
There is much danger in the soul adored,
The white hands bring the poison and the cord;
Death has a lodge in lips as red as cherries,
Death has a mansion in the yew-tree berries.
They sat there talking after tea was done,
And Jimmy blushed at Anna's sparkling looks,
And Anna flattered mother on her son,
Catching both fishes on her subtle hooks.
With twilight, tea and talk in ingle-nooks,
And music coming up from the dim street,
Mother had never known a fair so sweet.
Now cow-bells clink, for milking time is come,
The drovers stack the hurdles into carts,
New masters drive the straying cattle home,
Many a young calf from his mother parts,
Hogs straggle back to sty by fits and starts;
The farmers take a last glass at the mns,
And now the frolic of the fair begins.
All of the side shows of the fair are lighted,
Flares and bright lights, and brassy cymbals clanging,
“Beginning now” and “Everyone 's invited,”
Shatter the pauses of the organ's whanging,
The Oldest Show on Earth and the Last Hanging,
“The Murder in the Red Barn,” with real blood,
The rifles crack, the Sally shy-sticks thud.
Anna walked slowly homewards with her prey,
Holding old tottering mother's weight upon her,
And pouring in sweet poison on the way
Of “Such a pleasure, ma'am, and such an honour,”
And “One 's so safe with such a son to con her
Through all the noises and through all the press,
Boys daredn't squirt tormenters on her dress.”
At mother's door they stop to say “Good-night.”
And mother must go in to set the table.
Anna pretended that she felt a fright
To go alone through all the merry babel:
“My friends are waiting at ‘The Cain and Abel,’
Just down the other side of Market Square,
It 'd be a mercy if you'd set me there.”
So Jimmy came, while mother went inside;
Anna has got her victim in her clutch.
Jimmy, all blushing, glad to be her guide,
Thrilled by her scent, and trembling at her touch.
She was all white and dark, and said not much;
She sighed, to hint that pleasure's grave was dug,
And smiled within to see him such a mug.
They passed the doctor's house among the trees,
She sighed so deep that Jimmy asked her why.
“I'm too unhappy upon nights like these,
When everyone has happiness but I!”
“Then, aren't you happy?” She appeared to cry,
Blinked with her eyes, and turned away her head:
“Not much; but some men understand,” she said.
Her voice caught lightly on a broken note,
Jimmy half-dared but dared not touch her hand,
Yet all his blood went pumping in his throat
Beside the beauty he could understand,
And Death stopped knitting at the muffling band.
“The shroud is done,” he muttered, “toe to chin.”
He snapped the ends, and tucked his needles in.
Jimmy, half stammering, choked, “Has any man—”
He stopped, she shook her head to answer “No.”
“Then tell me.” “No. P'raps some day, if I can,
It hurts to talk of some things ever so.
But you're so different. There, come, we must go.
None but unhappy women know how good
It is to meet a soul who 's understood.”
“No. Wait a moment. May I call you Anna?”
“Perhaps. There must be nearness 'twixt us two.”
Love in her face hung out his bloody banner,
And all love's clanging trumpets shocked and blew.
“When we got up to-day we never knew.”
“I'm sure I didn't think, nor you did.” “Never.”
“And now this friendship's come to us for ever.”
“Now, Anna, take my arm, dear.” “Not to-night,
That must come later when we know our minds,
We must agree to keep this evening white,
We'll eat the fruit to-night and save the rinds.”
And all the folk whose shadows darked the blinds,
And all the dancers whirling in the fair,
Were wretched worms to Jim and Anna there.
“How wonderful life is,” said Anna, lowly.
“But it begins again with you for friend.”
In the dim lamplight Jimmy thought her holy,
A lovely fragile thing for him to tend,
Grace beyond measure, beauty without end.
“Anna,” he said; “Good-night. This is the door.
I never knew what people meant before.”
“Good-night, my friend. Good-bye.” “But, O my sweet,
The night 's quite early yet, don't say good-bye,
Come just another short turn down the street,
The whole life's bubbling up for you and I.
Somehow I feel to-morrow we may die.
Come just as far as to the blacksmith's light.”
But “No,” said Anna; “Not to-night. Good-night.”
All the tides triumph when the white moon fills.
Down in the race the toppling waters shout,
The breakers shake the bases of the hills,
There is a thundering where the streams go out,
And the wise shipman puts his ship about
Seeing the gathering of those waters wan,
But what when love makes high tide in a man?
Jimmy walked home with all his mind on fire,
One lovely face for ever set in flame.
He shivered as he went, like tautened wire,
Surge after surge of shuddering in him came
And then swept out repeating one sweet name.
“Anna, O Anna,” to the evening star.
Anna was sipping whiskey in the bar.
So back to home and mother Jimmy wandered,
Thinking of Plaister's End and Anna's lips.
He ate no supper worth the name, but pondered
On Plaister's End hedge, scarlet with ripe hips,
And of the lovely moon there in eclipse,
And how she must be shining in the house
Behind the hedge of those old dog-rose boughs.
Old mother cleared away. The clock struck eight.
“Why, boy, you've left your bacon, lawks a me,
So that's what comes of having tea so late,
Another time you'll go without your tea.
Your father liked his cup, too, didn't he,
Always ‘another cup’ he used to say,
He never went without on any day.
“How nice the lady was and how she talked,
I've never had a nicer fair, not ever.”
“She said she'd like to see us if we walked
To Plaister's End, beyond by Watersever.
Nice-looking woman, too, and that, and clever;
We might go round one evening, p'raps, we two;
Or I might go, if it 's too far for you.”
“No,” said the mother, “we're not folk for that;
Meet at the fair and that, and there an end.
Rake out the fire and put out the cat,
These fairs are sinful, tempting folk to spend.
Of course she spoke polite and like a friend,
Of course she had to do, and so I let her,
But now it 's done and past, so I forget her.”
“I don't see why forget her. Why forget her?
She treat us kind. She weren't like everyone.
I never saw a woman I liked better,
And he 's not easy pleased, my father's son.
So I'll go round some night when work is done.”
“Now, Jim, my dear, trust mother, there 's a dear.”
“Well, so I do, but sometimes you're so queer.”
She blinked at him out of her withered eyes
Below her lashless eyelids red and bleared.
Her months of sacrifice had won the prize,
Her Jim had come to what she always feared.
And yet she doubted, so she shook and peered
And begged her God not let a woman take
The lovely son whom she had starved to make.
Doubting, she stood the dishes in the rack,
“We'll ask her in some evening, then,” she said.
“How nice her hair looked in the bit of black.”
And still she peered from eyes all dim and red
To note at once if Jimmy drooped his head,
Or if his ears blushed when he heard her praised,
And Jimmy blushed and hung his head and gazed.
“This is the end,” she thought. “This is the end.
I'll have to sew again for Mr. Jones,
Do hems when I can hardly see to mend,
And have the old ache in my marrow-bones.
And when his wife 's in child-bed, when she groans,
She'll send for me until the pains have ceased,
And give me leavings at the christening feast.
“And sit aslant to eye me as I eat,
‘You're only wanted here, ma'am, for to-day,
Just for the christ'ning party, for the treat,
Don't ever think I mean to let you stay;
Two 's company, three 's none, that 's what I say.’”
Life can be bitter to the very bone
When one is poor, and woman, and alone.
“Jimmy,” she said, still doubting, “Come, my dear,
Let 's have our ‘Binger’ 'fore we go to bed,”
And then “The parson's dog,” she cackled clear,
“Lep over stile,” she sang, nodding her head.
“His name was little Binger.” “Jim,” she said,
“Binger, now, chorus” … Jimmy kicked the hob,
The sacrament of song died in a sob.
Jimmy went out into the night to think
Under the moon so steady in the blue.
The woman's beauty ran in him like drink,
The
For all the street is hurdled into rows
Of pens of heifers blinking at the sun,
And Lemster sheep which pant and seem to doze,
And stalls of hardbake and galanty shows,
And cheapjacks smashing crocks, and trumpets blowing,
And the loud organ of the horses going.
There you can buy blue ribbons for your girl
Or take her in a swing-boat tossing high,
Or hold her fast when all the horses whirl
Round to the steam pipe whanging at the sky,
Or stand her cockshies at the cocoa-shy,
Or buy her brooches with her name in red,
Or Queen Victoria done in gingerbread.
Then there are rifle shots at tossing balls,
“And if you hit you get a good cigar.”
And strength-whackers for lads to lamm' with mauls,
And Cheshire cheeses on a greasy spar.
The country folk flock in from near and far,
Women and men, like blow-flies to the roast,
All love the fair; but Anna loved it most.
Anna was all agog to see the fair;
She made Ern promise to be there to meet her,
To arm her round to all the pleasures there,
And buy her ribbons for her neck, and treat her,
So that no woman at the fair should beat her
In having pleasure at a man's expense.
She planned to meet him at the chapel fence.
So Ernie went; and Jimmy took his mother,
Dressed in her finest with a Monmouth shawl,
And there was such a crowd she thought she'd smother,
And O, she loved a pep'mint above all.
Clash go the crockeries where the cheapjacks bawl,
Baa go the sheep, thud goes the waxwork's drum,
And Ernie cursed for Anna hadn't come.
He hunted for her up and down the place,
Raging and snapping like a working brew.
“If you're with someone else I'll smash his face,
And when I've done for him I'll go for you.”
He bought no fairings as he'd vowed to do
For his poor little children back at home
Stuck at the glass “to see till father come.”
Not finding her, he went into an inn,
Busy with ringing till and scratching matches.
Where thirsty drovers mingled stout with gin
And three or four Welsh herds were singing catches
The swing-doors clattered, letting in in snatches
The noises of the fair, now low, now loud.
Ern called for beer and glowered at the crowd.
While he was glowering at his drinking there
In came the gipsy Bessie, hawking toys;
A bold-eyed strapping harlot with black hair,
One of the tribe which camped at Shepherd's Bois.
She lured him out of inn into the noise
Of the steam-organ where the horses spun,
And so the end of all things was begun.
Newness in lust, always the old in love.
“Put up your toys,” he said, “and come along,
We'll have a turn of swing-boats up above,
And see the murder when they strike the gong.”
“Don't 'ee,” she giggled. “My, but ain't you strong.
And where 's your proper girl? You don't know me.”
“I do.” “You don't.” “Why, then, I will,” said he.
Anna was late because the cart which drove her
Called for her late (the horse had broke a trace),
She was all dressed and scented for her lover,
Her bright blue blouse had imitation lace,
The paint was red as roses on her face,
She hummed a song, because she thought to see
How envious all the other girls would be.
When she arrived and found her Ernie gone,
Her bitter heart thought, “This is how it is.
Keeping me waiting while the sports are on:
Promising faithful, too, and then to miss.
O, Ernie, won't I give it you for this.”
And looking up she saw a couple cling,
Ern with his arm round Bessie in the swing.
Ern caught her eye and spat, and cut her dead,
Bessie laughed hardly, in the gipsy way.
Anna, though blind with fury, tossed her head,
Biting her lips until the red was grey,
For bitter moments given, bitter pay,
The time for payment comes, early or late,
No earthly debtor but accounts to Fate.
She turned aside, telling with bitter oaths
What Ern should suffer if he turned agen,
And there was Jimmy stripping off his clothes
Within a little ring of farming men.
“Now, Jimmy, put the old tup into pen.”
His mother, watching, thought her heart would curdle,
To see Jim drag the old ram to the hurdle.
Then the ram butted and the game began,
Till Jimmy's muscles cracked and the ram grunted.
The good old wrestling game of Ram and Man,
At which none knows the hunter from the hunted.
“Come and see Jimmy have his belly bunted.”
“Good tup. Good Jim. Good Jimmy. Sick him, Rover,
By dang, but Jimmy's got him fairly over.”
Then there was clap of hands and Jimmy grinned
And took five silver shillings from his backers,
And said th' old tup had put him out of wind
Or else he'd take all comers at the Whackers.
And some made rude remarks of rams and knackers,
And mother shook to get her son alone,
So's to be sure he hadn't broke a bone.
None but the lucky man deserves the fair,
For lucky men have money and success,
Things that a whore is very glad to share,
Or dip, at least, a finger in the mess.
Anne, with her raddled cheeks and Sunday dress,
Smiled upon Jimmy, seeing him succeed,
As though to say, “You are a man, indeed.”
All the great things of life are swiftly done,
Creation, death, and love the double gate.
However much we dawdle in the sun
We have to hurry at the touch of Fate;
When Life knocks at the door no one can wait,
When Death makes his arrest we have to go.
And so with Love, and Jimmy found it so.
Love, the sharp spear, went pricking to the bone.
In that one look, desire and bitter aching,
Longing to have that woman all alone
For her dear beauty's sake all else forsaking;
And sudden agony that set him shaking
Lest she, whose beauty made his heart's blood cruddle,
Should be another man's to kiss and cuddle.
She was beside him when he left the ring,
Her soft dress brushed against him as he passed her:
He thought her penny scent a sweeter thing
Than precious ointment out of alabaster;
Love, the mild servant, makes a drunken master.
She smiled, half sadly, out of thoughtful eyes,
And all the strong young man was easy prize.
She spoke, to take him, seeing him a sheep,
“How beautiful you wrastled with the ram,
It made me all go tremble just to peep,
I am that fond of wrastling, that I am.
Why, here's your mother, too. Good-evening, ma'am.
I was just telling Jim how well he done,
How proud you must be of so fine a son.”
Old mother blinked, while Jimmy hardly knew
Whether he knew the woman there or not;
But well he knew, if not, he wanted to,
Joy of her beauty ran in him so hot,
Old trembling mother by him was forgot,
While Anna searched the mother's face, to know
Whether she took her for a whore or no.
The woman's maxim, “Win the woman first,”
Made her be gracious to the withered thing.
“This being in crowds do give one such a thirst,
I wonder if they've tea going at ‘The King’?
My throat's that dry my very tongue do cling,
Perhaps you'd take my arm, we'd wander up
(If you'd agree) and try and get a cup.
“Come, ma'am, a cup of tea would do you good;
There's nothing like a nice hot cup of tea
After the crowd and all the time you've stood;
And ‘The King’ 's strict, it isn't like ‘The Key.’
Now, take my arm, my dear, and lean on me.”
And Jimmy's mother, being nearly blind,
Took Anna's arm, and only thought her kind.
So off they set, with Anna talking to her,
How nice the tea would be after the crowd,
And mother thinking half the time she knew her,
And Jimmy's heart's blood ticking quick and loud,
And Death beside him knitting at his shroud,
And all the High Street babbling with the fair,
And white October clouds in the blue air.
So tea was made and down they sat to drink;
O the pale beauty sitting at the board!
There is more death in women than we think,
There is much danger in the soul adored,
The white hands bring the poison and the cord;
Death has a lodge in lips as red as cherries,
Death has a mansion in the yew-tree berries.
They sat there talking after tea was done,
And Jimmy blushed at Anna's sparkling looks,
And Anna flattered mother on her son,
Catching both fishes on her subtle hooks.
With twilight, tea and talk in ingle-nooks,
And music coming up from the dim street,
Mother had never known a fair so sweet.
Now cow-bells clink, for milking time is come,
The drovers stack the hurdles into carts,
New masters drive the straying cattle home,
Many a young calf from his mother parts,
Hogs straggle back to sty by fits and starts;
The farmers take a last glass at the mns,
And now the frolic of the fair begins.
All of the side shows of the fair are lighted,
Flares and bright lights, and brassy cymbals clanging,
“Beginning now” and “Everyone 's invited,”
Shatter the pauses of the organ's whanging,
The Oldest Show on Earth and the Last Hanging,
“The Murder in the Red Barn,” with real blood,
The rifles crack, the Sally shy-sticks thud.
Anna walked slowly homewards with her prey,
Holding old tottering mother's weight upon her,
And pouring in sweet poison on the way
Of “Such a pleasure, ma'am, and such an honour,”
And “One 's so safe with such a son to con her
Through all the noises and through all the press,
Boys daredn't squirt tormenters on her dress.”
At mother's door they stop to say “Good-night.”
And mother must go in to set the table.
Anna pretended that she felt a fright
To go alone through all the merry babel:
“My friends are waiting at ‘The Cain and Abel,’
Just down the other side of Market Square,
It 'd be a mercy if you'd set me there.”
So Jimmy came, while mother went inside;
Anna has got her victim in her clutch.
Jimmy, all blushing, glad to be her guide,
Thrilled by her scent, and trembling at her touch.
She was all white and dark, and said not much;
She sighed, to hint that pleasure's grave was dug,
And smiled within to see him such a mug.
They passed the doctor's house among the trees,
She sighed so deep that Jimmy asked her why.
“I'm too unhappy upon nights like these,
When everyone has happiness but I!”
“Then, aren't you happy?” She appeared to cry,
Blinked with her eyes, and turned away her head:
“Not much; but some men understand,” she said.
Her voice caught lightly on a broken note,
Jimmy half-dared but dared not touch her hand,
Yet all his blood went pumping in his throat
Beside the beauty he could understand,
And Death stopped knitting at the muffling band.
“The shroud is done,” he muttered, “toe to chin.”
He snapped the ends, and tucked his needles in.
Jimmy, half stammering, choked, “Has any man—”
He stopped, she shook her head to answer “No.”
“Then tell me.” “No. P'raps some day, if I can,
It hurts to talk of some things ever so.
But you're so different. There, come, we must go.
None but unhappy women know how good
It is to meet a soul who 's understood.”
“No. Wait a moment. May I call you Anna?”
“Perhaps. There must be nearness 'twixt us two.”
Love in her face hung out his bloody banner,
And all love's clanging trumpets shocked and blew.
“When we got up to-day we never knew.”
“I'm sure I didn't think, nor you did.” “Never.”
“And now this friendship's come to us for ever.”
“Now, Anna, take my arm, dear.” “Not to-night,
That must come later when we know our minds,
We must agree to keep this evening white,
We'll eat the fruit to-night and save the rinds.”
And all the folk whose shadows darked the blinds,
And all the dancers whirling in the fair,
Were wretched worms to Jim and Anna there.
“How wonderful life is,” said Anna, lowly.
“But it begins again with you for friend.”
In the dim lamplight Jimmy thought her holy,
A lovely fragile thing for him to tend,
Grace beyond measure, beauty without end.
“Anna,” he said; “Good-night. This is the door.
I never knew what people meant before.”
“Good-night, my friend. Good-bye.” “But, O my sweet,
The night 's quite early yet, don't say good-bye,
Come just another short turn down the street,
The whole life's bubbling up for you and I.
Somehow I feel to-morrow we may die.
Come just as far as to the blacksmith's light.”
But “No,” said Anna; “Not to-night. Good-night.”
All the tides triumph when the white moon fills.
Down in the race the toppling waters shout,
The breakers shake the bases of the hills,
There is a thundering where the streams go out,
And the wise shipman puts his ship about
Seeing the gathering of those waters wan,
But what when love makes high tide in a man?
Jimmy walked home with all his mind on fire,
One lovely face for ever set in flame.
He shivered as he went, like tautened wire,
Surge after surge of shuddering in him came
And then swept out repeating one sweet name.
“Anna, O Anna,” to the evening star.
Anna was sipping whiskey in the bar.
So back to home and mother Jimmy wandered,
Thinking of Plaister's End and Anna's lips.
He ate no supper worth the name, but pondered
On Plaister's End hedge, scarlet with ripe hips,
And of the lovely moon there in eclipse,
And how she must be shining in the house
Behind the hedge of those old dog-rose boughs.
Old mother cleared away. The clock struck eight.
“Why, boy, you've left your bacon, lawks a me,
So that's what comes of having tea so late,
Another time you'll go without your tea.
Your father liked his cup, too, didn't he,
Always ‘another cup’ he used to say,
He never went without on any day.
“How nice the lady was and how she talked,
I've never had a nicer fair, not ever.”
“She said she'd like to see us if we walked
To Plaister's End, beyond by Watersever.
Nice-looking woman, too, and that, and clever;
We might go round one evening, p'raps, we two;
Or I might go, if it 's too far for you.”
“No,” said the mother, “we're not folk for that;
Meet at the fair and that, and there an end.
Rake out the fire and put out the cat,
These fairs are sinful, tempting folk to spend.
Of course she spoke polite and like a friend,
Of course she had to do, and so I let her,
But now it 's done and past, so I forget her.”
“I don't see why forget her. Why forget her?
She treat us kind. She weren't like everyone.
I never saw a woman I liked better,
And he 's not easy pleased, my father's son.
So I'll go round some night when work is done.”
“Now, Jim, my dear, trust mother, there 's a dear.”
“Well, so I do, but sometimes you're so queer.”
She blinked at him out of her withered eyes
Below her lashless eyelids red and bleared.
Her months of sacrifice had won the prize,
Her Jim had come to what she always feared.
And yet she doubted, so she shook and peered
And begged her God not let a woman take
The lovely son whom she had starved to make.
Doubting, she stood the dishes in the rack,
“We'll ask her in some evening, then,” she said.
“How nice her hair looked in the bit of black.”
And still she peered from eyes all dim and red
To note at once if Jimmy drooped his head,
Or if his ears blushed when he heard her praised,
And Jimmy blushed and hung his head and gazed.
“This is the end,” she thought. “This is the end.
I'll have to sew again for Mr. Jones,
Do hems when I can hardly see to mend,
And have the old ache in my marrow-bones.
And when his wife 's in child-bed, when she groans,
She'll send for me until the pains have ceased,
And give me leavings at the christening feast.
“And sit aslant to eye me as I eat,
‘You're only wanted here, ma'am, for to-day,
Just for the christ'ning party, for the treat,
Don't ever think I mean to let you stay;
Two 's company, three 's none, that 's what I say.’”
Life can be bitter to the very bone
When one is poor, and woman, and alone.
“Jimmy,” she said, still doubting, “Come, my dear,
Let 's have our ‘Binger’ 'fore we go to bed,”
And then “The parson's dog,” she cackled clear,
“Lep over stile,” she sang, nodding her head.
“His name was little Binger.” “Jim,” she said,
“Binger, now, chorus” … Jimmy kicked the hob,
The sacrament of song died in a sob.
Jimmy went out into the night to think
Under the moon so steady in the blue.
The woman's beauty ran in him like drink,
The
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