Of Human Bondage (112 page)

  It was late in the evening when Philip arrived at
Ferne. It was Mrs. Athelny's native village, and she had been
accustomed from her childhood to pick in the hop-field to which
with her husband and her children she still went every year. Like
many Kentish folk her family had gone out regularly, glad to earn a
little money, but especially regarding the annual outing, looked
forward to for months, as the best of holidays. The work was not
hard, it was done in common, in the open air, and for the children
it was a long, delightful picnic; here the young men met the
maidens; in the long evenings when work was over they wandered
about the lanes, making love; and the hopping season was generally
followed by weddings. They went out in carts with bedding, pots and
pans, chairs and tables; and Ferne while the hopping lasted was
deserted. They were very exclusive and would have resented the
intrusion of foreigners, as they called the people who came from
London; they looked down upon them and feared them too; they were a
rough lot, and the respectable country folk did not want to mix
with them. In the old days the hoppers slept in barns, but ten
years ago a row of huts had been erected at the side of a meadow;
and the Athelnys, like many others, had the same hut every
year.

  Athelny met Philip at the station in a cart he had
borrowed from the public-house at which he had got a room for
Philip. It was a quarter of a mile from the hop-field. They left
his bag there and walked over to the meadow in which were the huts.
They were nothing more than a long, low shed, divided into little
rooms about twelve feet square. In front of each was a fire of
sticks, round which a family was grouped, eagerly watching the
cooking of supper. The sea-air and the sun had browned already the
faces of Athelny's children. Mrs. Athelny seemed a different woman
in her sun-bonnet: you felt that the long years in the city had
made no real difference to her; she was the country woman born and
bred, and you could see how much at home she found herself in the
country. She was frying bacon and at the same time keeping an eye
on the younger children, but she had a hearty handshake and a jolly
smile for Philip. Athelny was enthusiastic over the delights of a
rural existence.

  "We're starved for sun and light in the cities we
live in. It isn't life, it's a long imprisonment. Let us sell all
we have, Betty, and take a farm in the country."

  "I can see you in the country," she answered with
good-humoured scorn. "Why, the first rainy day we had in the winter
you'd be crying for London." She turned to Philip. "Athelny's
always like this when we come down here. Country, I like that! Why,
he don't know a swede from a mangel-wurzel."

  "Daddy was lazy today," remarked Jane, with the
frankness which characterized her, "he didn't fill one bin."

  "I'm getting into practice, child, and tomorrow I
shall fill more bins than all of you put together."

  "Come and eat your supper, children," said Mrs.
Athelny. "Where's Sally?"

  "Here I am, mother."

  She stepped out of their little hut, and the flames
of the wood fire leaped up and cast sharp colour upon her face. Of
late Philip had only seen her in the trim frocks she had taken to
since she was at the dressmaker's, and there was something very
charming in the print dress she wore now, loose and easy to work
in; the sleeves were tucked up and showed her strong, round arms.
She too had a sun-bonnet.

  "You look like a milkmaid in a fairy story," said
Philip, as he shook hands with her.

  "She's the belle of the hop-fields," said Athelny.
"My word, if the Squire's son sees you he'll make you an offer of
marriage before you can say Jack Robinson."

  "The Squire hasn't got a son, father," said
Sally.

  She looked about for a place to sit down in, and
Philip made room for her beside him. She looked wonderful in the
night lit by wood fires. She was like some rural goddess, and you
thought of those fresh, strong girls whom old Herrick had praised
in exquisite numbers. The supper was simple, bread and butter,
crisp bacon, tea for the children, and beer for Mr. and Mrs.
Athelny and Philip. Athelny, eating hungrily, praised loudly all he
ate. He flung words of scorn at Lucullus and piled invectives upon
Brillat-Savarin.

  "There's one thing one can say for you, Athelny,"
said his wife, "you do enjoy your food and no mistake!"

  "Cooked by your hand, my Betty," he said, stretching
out an eloquent forefinger.

  Philip felt himself very comfortable. He looked
happily at the line of fires, with people grouped about them, and
the colour of the flames against the night; at the end of the
meadow was a line of great elms, and above the starry sky. The
children talked and laughed, and Athelny, a child among them, made
them roar by his tricks and fancies.

  "They think a rare lot of Athelny down here," said
his wife. "Why, Mrs. Bridges said to me, I don't know what we
should do without Mr. Athelny now, she said. He's always up to
something, he's more like a schoolboy than the father of a
family."

  Sally sat in silence, but she attended to Philip's
wants in a thoughtful fashion that charmed him. It was pleasant to
have her beside him, and now and then he glanced at her sunburned,
healthy face. Once he caught her eyes, and she smiled quietly. When
supper was over Jane and a small brother were sent down to a brook
that ran at the bottom of the meadow to fetch a pail of water for
washing up.

  "You children, show your Uncle Philip where we
sleep, and then you must be thinking of going to bed."

  Small hands seized Philip, and he was dragged
towards the hut. He went in and struck a match. There was no
furniture in it; and beside a tin box, in which clothes were kept,
there was nothing but the beds; there were three of them, one
against each wall. Athelny followed Philip in and showed them
proudly.

  "That's the stuff to sleep on," he cried. "None of
your spring-mattresses and swansdown. I never sleep so soundly
anywhere as here. YOU will sleep between sheets. My dear fellow, I
pity you from the bottom of my soul."

  The beds consisted of a thick layer of hopvine, on
the top of which was a coating of straw, and this was covered with
a blanket. After a day in the open air, with the aromatic scent of
the hops all round them, the happy pickers slept like tops. By nine
o'clock all was quiet in the meadow and everyone in bed but one or
two men who still lingered in the public-house and would not come
back till it was closed at ten. Athelny walked there with Philip.
But before he went Mrs. Athelny said to him:

  "We breakfast about a quarter to six, but I daresay
you won't want to get up as early as that. You see, we have to set
to work at six."

  "Of course he must get up early," cried Athelny,
"and he must work like the rest of us. He's got to earn his board.
No work, no dinner, my lad."

  "The children go down to bathe before breakfast, and
they can give you a call on their way back. They pass The Jolly
Sailor."

  "If they'll wake me I'll come and bathe with them,"
said Philip.

  Jane and Harold and Edward shouted with delight at
the prospect, and next morning Philip was awakened out of a sound
sleep by their bursting into his room. The boys jumped on his bed,
and he had to chase them out with his slippers. He put on a coat
and a pair of trousers and went down. The day had only just broken,
and there was a nip in the air; but the sky was cloudless, and the
sun was shining yellow. Sally, holding Connie's hand, was standing
in the middle of the road, with a towel and a bathing-dress over
her arm. He saw now that her sun-bonnet was of the colour of
lavender, and against it her face, red and brown, was like an
apple. She greeted him with her slow, sweet smile, and he noticed
suddenly that her teeth were small and regular and very white. He
wondered why they had never caught his attention before.

  "I was for letting you sleep on," she said, "but
they would go up and wake you. I said you didn't really want to
come."

  "Oh, yes, I did."

  They walked down the road and then cut across the
marshes. That way it was under a mile to the sea. The water looked
cold and gray, and Philip shivered at the sight of it; but the
others tore off their clothes and ran in shouting. Sally did
everything a little slowly, and she did not come into the water
till all the rest were splashing round Philip. Swimming was his
only accomplishment; he felt at home in the water; and soon he had
them all imitating him as he played at being a porpoise, and a
drowning man, and a fat lady afraid of wetting her hair. The bathe
was uproarious, and it was necessary for Sally to be very severe to
induce them all to come out.

  "You're as bad as any of them," she said to Philip,
in her grave, maternal way, which was at once comic and touching.
"They're not anything like so naughty when you're not here."

  They walked back, Sally with her bright hair
streaming over one shoulder and her sun-bonnet in her hand, but
when they got to the huts Mrs. Athelny had already started for the
hop-garden. Athleny, in a pair of the oldest trousers anyone had
ever worn, his jacket buttoned up to show he had no shirt on, and
in a wide-brimmed soft hat, was frying kippers over a fire of
sticks. He was delighted with himself: he looked every inch a
brigand. As soon as he saw the party he began to shout the witches'
chorus from Macbeth over the odorous kippers.

  "You mustn't dawdle over your breakfast or mother
will be angry," he said, when they came up.

  And in a few minutes, Harold and Jane with pieces of
bread and butter in their hands, they sauntered through the meadow
into the hop-field. They were the last to leave. A hop-garden was
one of the sights connected with Philip's boyhood and the
oast-houses to him the most typical feature of the Kentish scene.
It was with no sense of strangeness, but as though he were at home,
that Philip followed Sally through the long lines of the hops. The
sun was bright now and cast a sharp shadow. Philip feasted his eyes
on the richness of the green leaves. The hops were yellowing, and
to him they had the beauty and the passion which poets in Sicily
have found in the purple grape. As they walked along Philip felt
himself overwhelmed by the rich luxuriance. A sweet scent arose
from the fat Kentish soil, and the fitful September breeze was
heavy with the goodly perfume of the hops. Athelstan felt the
exhilaration instinctively, for he lifted up his voice and sang; it
was the cracked voice of the boy of fifteen, and Sally turned
round.

  "You be quiet, Athelstan, or we shall have a
thunderstorm."

  In a moment they heard the hum of voices, and in a
moment more came upon the pickers. They were all hard at work,
talking and laughing as they picked. They sat on chairs, on stools,
on boxes, with their baskets by their sides, and some stood by the
bin throwing the hops they picked straight into it. There were a
lot of children about and a good many babies, some in makeshift
cradles, some tucked up in a rug on the soft brown dry earth. The
children picked a little and played a great deal. The women worked
busily, they had been pickers from childhood, and they could pick
twice as fast as foreigners from London. They boasted about the
number of bushels they had picked in a day, but they complained you
could not make money now as in former times: then they paid you a
shilling for five bushels, but now the rate was eight and even nine
bushels to the shilling. In the old days a good picker could earn
enough in the season to keep her for the rest of the year, but now
there was nothing in it; you got a holiday for nothing, and that
was about all. Mrs. Hill had bought herself a pianner out of what
she made picking, so she said, but she was very near, one wouldn't
like to be near like that, and most people thought it was only what
she said, if the truth was known perhaps it would be found that she
had put a bit of money from the savings bank towards it.

  The hoppers were divided into bin companies of ten
pickers, not counting children, and Athelny loudly boasted of the
day when he would have a company consisting entirely of his own
family. Each company had a bin-man, whose duty it was to supply it
with strings of hops at their bins (the bin was a large sack on a
wooden frame, about seven feet high, and long rows of them were
placed between the rows of hops;) and it was to this position that
Athelny aspired when his family was old enough to form a company.
Meanwhile he worked rather by encouraging others than by exertions
of his own. He sauntered up to Mrs. Athelny, who had been busy for
half an hour and had already emptied a basket into the bin, and
with his cigarette between his lips began to pick. He asserted that
he was going to pick more than anyone that day, but mother; of
course no one could pick so much as mother; that reminded him of
the trials which Aphrodite put upon the curious Psyche, and he
began to tell his children the story of her love for the unseen
bridegroom. He told it very well. It seemed to Philip, listening
with a smile on his lips, that the old tale fitted in with the
scene. The sky was very blue now, and he thought it could not be
more lovely even in Greece. The children with their fair hair and
rosy cheeks, strong, healthy, and vivacious; the delicate form of
the hops; the challenging emerald of the leaves, like a blare of
trumpets; the magic of the green alley, narrowing to a point as you
looked down the row, with the pickers in their sun-bonnets: perhaps
there was more of the Greek spirit there than you could find in the
books of professors or in museums. He was thankful for the beauty
of England. He thought of the winding white roads and the
hedgerows, the green meadows with their elm-trees, the delicate
line of the hills and the copses that crowned them, the flatness of
the marshes, and the melancholy of the North Sea. He was very glad
that he felt its loveliness. But presently Athelny grew restless
and announced that he would go and ask how Robert Kemp's mother
was. He knew everyone in the garden and called them all by their
Christian names; he knew their family histories and all that had
happened to them from birth. With harmless vanity he played the
fine gentleman among them, and there was a touch of condescension
in his familiarity. Philip would not go with him.