The Flyer

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Copyright Stuart Harrison 2012

Published by Stuart Harrison

Cover design by Damonza

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The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

CHAPTER 1

NORTHAMPTONSHIRE, ENGLAND. 1901

A swirling cloud of fat black flies rose like a veil. Sally Wright squatted down, her dirty brown knees showing below the hem of her skirt. She poked at the bloody mess with a stick. ‘What is it?’

The animal had been torn apart, skin and fur violently separated from the flesh. The blood on the ground was still tacky.

‘A hare, looks like,’ William said. ‘Come on or they’ll find us.’

Sally poked at the corpse again, reluctant to abandon it without a proper examination, before she got up and followed.

They made a hiding place in a hollow of flattened wheat. A small, roofless cave that smelt of the dust and the sun scorched wheat. William peered across a half-cut field that shimmered in the heat haze. He could hear the others from beyond the hedgerow, where the ground sloped to a brook at the edge of the woods.

‘They’ll never find us,’ he said, though his triumph was tainted by the suspicion that they had been forgotten. He imagined the others splashing in the brook, where the water ran silvery and clear over the pebbled bed. He sat down again. Sally watched him, her freckled face smudged with dirt, twisting her straw coloured hair in her fingers.

‘Do you remember yer mam, then?’ she asked.

‘A bit.’

‘My mam says she never came to the village much. I saw her once though when me and Jess was looking for mushrooms. Jess said she thought she were better’n the rest of us ‘cause she talked like the lady from the manor.’

‘Your Jess dun’t know anything!’ William replied hotly.

‘I know, Will,’ Sally said quickly. ‘I didn’t say I thought yer mam were stuck up. It were just Jess. I thought she were nice. I didn’t mean to make you angry at me.’

‘It’s alright,’ he said relenting.

‘Do you think she’s watching us now from heaven?’

William tried to imagine his mam in heaven. Reverend Yates said that’s where she had gone after she died, but when William asked his dad what it was like there his dad confessed he didn’t know, ‘cept that nobody was unhappy and no-one was rich or poor. In the church there was a big window made of stained glass, with a picture of Jesus on the cross and the angels looking down on him. William wondered if his mam was an angel like them. He wished Sally hadn’t asked about her because it made him feel sad. He wished she hadn’t died.

‘I’m going to lie down for a bit,’ he said without answering Sally’s question. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

Sally plucked an ear of wheat and tickled her chin with the cat’s whiskers. ‘Shall we go and find the others?’

‘It’s too late now. They’ll be starting again soon anyway.’

She peered over the top of the wheat, at the adults lying about under the shade of the trees after having their dinner. She sighed and lay down beside William. ‘I s’pose you’re right.’

It was hot. The ground was baked hard from the long summer. As if from a distance they heard the occasional stamp of a heavy horse’s hoof and the ringing note of metal buckles on a harness, the muffled voices of the adults. Before long they both fell asleep.

*****

William woke to the sound of a storm. He’d been dreaming of his mam, though her face was hazy. She’d died four years ago when he was only six, and now he could only really remember her voice. She used to read to him from her books. He’d liked the sound of her voice. None of the women in the village talked a bit like her.

The storm thrashed the wheat into a frenzy. He opened his eyes. The sky was blue, not a cloud in sight. Sally stirred.

‘What’s that?’

Her voice was thick with sleep. He didn’t answer her, still trying to wake up properly himself. He was puzzled because the treetops along the hedgerows weren’t moving at all, yet as the sound grew louder the walls of their hollow began to tremble and he felt a vibration in the earth.

Suddenly William knew what it was. ‘Sal! The harvester!’

Already his voice was drowned by the noise of the blades, but Sally saw the heads of the leading horses, their blinkered eyes and their broad chests like towering walls and she scrambled like a frightened rabbit out of the way of those giant, iron shod hooves. Startled by the unexpected flash of movement, the beasts strained against their harness in panic, catching the driver unawares. He only saw a glimpse of her blue dress, and even as he stood and hauled back on the reins and shouted a warning he felt a bump under the iron rim of the wheels. It was followed by a piercing scream. People ran to see what had happened, and there were cries and confusion when they saw the wet blood vivid against the wheat.

*****

At the hospital in Northampton, John Reynolds waited anxiously for news of his son’s operation. When the surgeon came he stood up, clutching his cap in his hands.

‘Your boy is extremely fortunate, Reynolds,’ the surgeon said. ‘I managed to save the leg.’

Relief made William’s father feel giddy. ‘Thank you, sir. Can I see him now?’

‘Yes, he’s been taken back to the ward. But he won’t wake up for a little while yet.’ The surgeon looked around as if he expected to see somebody else. ‘Is the boy’s mother here?’

‘She died, sir. Six year ago now. There’s only me and Will now.’

‘I see. You’re from somewhere near Brixworth aren’t you?’

‘Scaldwell, sir.’

‘What sort of work do you do?’

‘I’m a blacksmith.’

The surgeon frowned. ‘You must understand that you shouldn’t expect your son to follow in your footsteps. He may walk with the aid of a crutch, it’s too early to say, but he’ll never be able to manage any sort of manual work. Is he good at his schoolwork?’

For a moment Reynolds was too shocked to reply. If William couldn’t work, how would he live when he was older?

‘Reynolds? Did you hear me? I asked you if your son is good with his schoolwork.’

‘Sorry, sir. Yes, he is. His mam always said he were a bright lad.’

‘If that’s true things may not be so bad. Perhaps when he’s older the boy will get a position in an office, where he won’t have to be on his feet all day.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, good luck. Doctor Easton will tell me if there are any complications. Make sure he gets as much exercise as possible, that’s the best thing.’

‘I will, thank you for everything you’ve done, sir.’

When the surgeon had gone, Reynolds went to the ward to see his son, but at the door he had to stop for a little while and compose himself. The weight of the surgeon’s prognosis had crushed his spirit. William would be a cripple for the rest of his life. He might never be able to work and marry and have a family of his own. It didn’t seem fair that it should happen to a boy who had already lost his mother, and had no brothers or sisters to look after him or make him feel less lonely.

Eventually he went inside. Will was sleeping. He was pale and thin, his hair stuck to his scalp. Tears welled in Reynolds’ eyes.

*****

That winter, a buggy with gleaming lacquered coachwork splashed with mud from the lane, was driven into the yard. Reynolds came out of the forge, wiping his hands on his apron. A man climbed down from the buggy. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat, missing his white-whiskered face and splashing onto the cloth of his coat. He regarded Reynolds with loathing. They spoke briefly, and then Reynolds led the way to the cottage.

When they came inside William looked up from the book he was reading by the window.

‘This gentleman is Mister Gardner, Will. He wants to talk to you,’ Reynolds said.

Gardner said nothing, only looked pointedly at Reynolds who, reluctantly it seemed, turned to go.

‘I’ll leave you for a bit then.’

After Reynolds had gone, Gardner looked all about the room at the simple wooden chairs and table by the fireplace, and the open door into the cramped kitchen. Eventually he turned to William and studied him intently. His eye fell to his crutch, and then he noticed the book on his lap and came closer.

‘What is this you are looking at?’

‘It’s called Kidnapped.’

‘You can read it?’

‘Yes.’

Gardner frowned. ‘Hasn’t anyone told you to address your elders as ‘sir’.’

‘No… sir’

‘That’s better. How old are you, boy?’

‘Eleven….sir.’

‘Will you read some of that page to me?’

William hesitated. He wished his dad would come back, but he had gone inside the forge. He began to read, and when he was halfway down the page Gardner stopped him with a gesture.

‘You read well for a village boy.’ He sounded faintly surprised. Even pleased.

‘My mam taught me…sir.’

Gardner’s expression changed. A look of pain mingled with anger flashed in his eyes. ‘Do you remember your mother….William?’

‘Not really, sir.’

Gardner looked disappointed. His gaze wandered, and rested on the shelves that were full of books.

‘They were my mam’s,’ William said, sensing his interest.

Gardner went over and took one of the books down. He opened the cover and stared at the page for such a long time that William thought he’d forgotten where he was. ‘Have you read very many of them?’ Gardner asked finally.

‘All of them, sir.’

Gardner returned the book to the shelf and came back to look more closely at William’s injured leg. ‘Does your leg hurt you very much?’

‘Sometimes it does, sir. Especially when I do my exercise. Dad says I have to though, to make my leg strong again.’

‘Can you walk for me now?’

William struggled to his feet, and with his crutch managed to limp across the room.

‘Do you remember your accident?’ Gardner asked when William sat down again.

‘No, sir.’ Sometimes though, he has a dream. He is falling under the horses hooves, and he can feel them thudding on the ground all around him. They say one struck him a glancing blow and crushed his thigh, and he was lucky it wasn’t his head because if it was he would’ve been killed. Then the sharp metal tines of the harvester pierce his flesh. It wasn’t really a memory though, it’s only from what he was told afterwards. But there was one thing he remembered. One night he woke up in the hospital and found a woman sitting beside him. She stroked his hair and spoke softly to him and he recognised his mam’s voice. When he told Gardner this the old man stiffened.

‘What did she say to you?’

‘I can’t remember. Dad said it must have been a nurse.’

‘Do you think he’s right?’

William shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

Gardner didn’t stay much longer. After he said goodbye he went outside and spoke to William’s dad again, before he climbed back into his buggy and drove off down the lane.

That night when they were eating their supper, William asked who Mister Gardner was.

‘He’s your granddad, Will. Your mam’s dad.’

This news surprised William, because until then he hadn’t known he had a grandfather.

‘When me and her first met we lived in a place called Birmingham,’ Reynolds said. ‘We never told you about any of this ‘cause you were too young. Your mam was rich, you see. Least her family was. I worked in a factory then. A printers it were. I looked after the machines and mended them when something broke. I was always good with my hands. I met your mam at a meeting.’

‘What sort of meeting?’

‘It were about politics. Your mam was a socialist.’

William wondered what a socialist was, but he didn’t want to interrupt. He wanted to hear about his mam

‘I were in the union, and that’s how we got to know each other. After a bit we started walking out together, only she couldn’t tell anybody about me.’

‘Why not?’ William wanted to know.

‘Because I were poor. People wouldn’t have liked it. Especially her family. But her dad found out in the end and he told her she couldn’t see me anymore. Your mam had to decide if she wanted us to be together or if she would do what her dad wanted. She decided to stay with me, and that’s why we had to move away and we came to live here.’

Reynolds got up from the table and cleared away their supper things, and then he sat by the fire and lit his pipe.

‘Why did my granddad come today?’ William asked. He’d been thinking over everything his dad had said, trying to work out what it meant.

‘I wrote him a letter to tell him what happened to you.’

‘Did you write to him when mam were sick too?’

‘Yes,’ Reynolds answered heavily.

‘Did he come then?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why are you asking these things, Will? Did he say something to you about your mam?’

‘He wanted to know if I remembered her. I think he wanted me to.’

Reynolds smiled sadly. ‘I ‘spect you remind him of her. You take after your mam, you know.’

They didn’t talk about Gardner’s visit again for a week, though William could tell it was on his dad’s mind. A week later a letter came. William guessed who it was from because his dad never got letters otherwise.

‘Your granddad has said he’ll pay for you to go to school at Oundle,’ Reynolds announced at supper.

‘Where’s Oundle?’

‘It’s a town not too far away. There’s a train from Brixworth.’

‘But what about the school in the village?’ William wanted to know.

‘This is a different sort of school. It’s much bigger than the one in the village. The boys live there. They eat their meals and sleep there and everything, and they go home in the holidays. You’ll learn things you wouldn’t ever learn in the village, and when you’re grown you might even go to university, and then one day you can work in business or in a bank or even be a doctor.’

‘Then won’t I learn to be a blacksmith like you?’ William asked. He’d always assumed this is what he would do when he was older. He could already sharpen tools and keep the furnace hot without being reminded.

‘It’s better for you to learn at a proper school, Will. It’s what your mam would’ve wanted for you. She always said you were clever.’

‘But I don’t want to live there,’ William protested. ‘I won’t know anybody.’

‘You’ll soon make friends.’