A simple tale of love, loss and life.
Inspired by an old family photograph.
This is one of many Carte de Visites I inherited. It was taken in Ludlow Shropshire about the mid 1860's
Edwin had always enjoyed the hustle and bustle of his beloved Ludlow town particularly on market day. There was a time when he relished being in the thick of it, in the melee as it were, but now he was content watching, from his chair, covered by his blanket, that smelled of her – still.
From his seat in the window he can see the best part of Mill Street, lined with grand mansion houses and a wide roadway that is currently rammed full of carts, people and animals of all shapes and sizes. On their way to market, if his memory serves him correctly. Yes, Thursday – market day. He looks up at the clear blue sky. Sunny today. Good for sales he thinks.
Shoes ‘was’ his business. Yes indeed, a Journeyman Shoemaker – to the notables of the town, no less! It was shoes that had fed and watered nine children, it was shoes that had put a roof over their heads and it was shoes and her that had kept him in Ludlow.
In fact, it was shoes that had taken him to her.
Edwin is still engrossed in the comings and goings outside. “Old Ma Powell’s ‘at seen better days”. He chuckles to himself, talking to the empty room. “It used to be as red as Tom Tongues apples, cause I remember tellin’ her so!”
He’d quite fancied a bit of Esther Powell back in the day. She being so comely and like.
That was until he met her.
Forty-Three years ago. Summer 1844. Another sunny day as it happens. He was delivering – by hand, of course, for his most notable and profitable customer, some brown leather riding boots he’d repaired. He had been busy re-checking his workmanship (he was without doubt a perfectionist) whilst waiting for Annie Fletcher, the cook, to open the door to his polite knock. He always knocked politely at Annie Fletcher’s kitchen door, because, it was often rewarded with a slice of her famous Fidget Pie. But, that day the door wasn’t opened by Annie. As Edwin looked up from his boots he was greeted by a smiling, red haired, blue eyed beauty. Looking back, he was reported to have said to anyone who would listen, he hadn’t once looked at her shoes. And Edwin noticed everyone’s shoes.
“There’s that young Will Bowen dropping all his gloves. They’ll be no good for sellin’ “. Edwin tutts. “And his clogs need repairin’, they’ve split down that right side again”. He shouts, again to nobody in particular. The clock chimes.
“Young Watson’s late. Reckon he’s bin conuddlin’ with that Gregory girl again at the back of the castle. Judging by that grin”. Edwin chuckles to himself.
He remembers smiling like that after a walk round the castle with her. Sat on that stone, looking across his beloved Shropshire Hills. Purple heather in her hair. She had the most beautiful curly, auburn hair and a working woman’s hands. Edwin hadn’t minded them. Showed she wasn’t afraid of a bit of hard work, and life could be hard. Edwin knew that.
He had crafted her first pair of shoes not long after that first walk. It had been a labour of love. He had made many a pair since. Leaving his secret mark, just for her. She always looked for it and smiled. It was never spoken of. A secret between them.
Edwin misses the smell of his workshop, out back. He misses the smell of the purple heather on her too, he pulls the blanket up to his nose and breathes in her scent to remind him.
Suddenly, jolted from his reverie by a commotion going on outside, Edwin has to stretch forward to see what was going on, nearly toppling off his chair. He remembers to be careful, not wanting to fall off again and having to wait for young Fanny to answer his shouts for help. He remembers her scolding him as she helped him up and righted his chair, but all the while smiling with her round blue eyes.
Her blue eyes.
Back to the clatter in the street. Edwin can make out the booming voice of John Baynham above the hubbub of the market. He watches as John stumbles and pushes his way through the throngs. He’s been in Bull Ring Tavern again, thinks Edwin, on the ale. There’ll be no clogs sold on his stall today. Edwin’s thoughts go to John’s wife Maggie and her 12 or was it 13, children? Edwin couldn’t quite recall. But he knew there would be no money for food this week. John was still shouting and causing mayhem in the busy thoroughfare when a whistle blew, people and animals part and several of the Borough Police make an appearance, led by the towering figure of Sergeant Tait. An officer not to be messed with, unluckily for John Baynham.
‘This could be interestin’ muses Edwin, leaning as far forward in his chair as he dares, so he could get a good view of the ensuing fight. John got a few well aimed punches in before:-
“They’s carting him off again, still teks four of ‘em” Edwin shouts. Feeling quite invigorated by all the goings on outside.
In all his years in Ludlow Edwin had never been in The Bull Ring Tavern. He was a God-fearing, hard-working, family man. He and his wife and various children attending church every Sunday. Edwin was proud that he had only missed church twice since he was married; once for the birth of their youngest Sarah and once for the death of their eldest daughter and her child, another blue-eyed girl named Fanny. Sarah died too a few days later. Just two years old. God rest their souls.
Edwin sniffs and wipes his eyes on his blanket. The Parish Church of St Laurence bells strike twelve. Edwin knows a thing or two about 'them' bells. Cast by Rudhall of Gloucester in 1732, with the largest weighing 17cwt, they reckon. Such beautiful melodic peels. He calms as he listens, as the bells always had calmed him through the ups and down of his long life.
They were married in that same Parish Church 18th May 1845. She wore purple heather in her hair. With the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows bathing her in light. It was the happiest day of Edwin’s life. They walked home afterwards over the cobbles of the marketplace with the air full of sheep and wool. The old woman sat on the wall with her basket of purple heather picked from the Stiperstone’s. She would be long gone now too….
Loud knocking on the windowpane startles Edwin from his reverie. Looking up he sees three pairs of solemn blue eyes peering at him over the sill. He smiles.
“Me clogs broke Grampee!”.
A muffled voice drifts through the thin glass and the offending article is thrust into view, clutched by a very small, very dirty hand. This is quickly followed by squeals of laughter and much scuffling. Disappearing from Edwin’s view, for a few moments the noise of the market rises once again, then suddenly the door flies open, hitting the wall with a crash, dislodging several pieces of plaster in the process and three small bodies tumble into the room.
“What’s all this racket?” Edwin shouts, trying and failing to sound annoyed.
“Grampee!” exclaims the bigger, but not older of the three, clutching the aforementioned clog and thrusting it towards Edwin.
“It’s bust!”
“Now who might this belong to?” asks Edwin, as he pretends to closely examine the dirty and split article.
A small body disentangles herself from her sibling on the floor and starts to clamber onto Edwin’s lap. He notices the one grubby bare foot as he helps her up.
“Storwy Grampee!”, it’s an order not a request, demands the little body, as she wraps herself in his blanket, snuggling in.
“Oh yes Grampee, please” the two boys shout in unison. “The one with the bootiful lady and the magic shoes, Grampee.”
And sitting crossed legged on the floor their smeared and dirty faces look up expectantly at Edwin. The broken clog dropped and now forgotten.
Edwin sighs and smiles. Then sitting back contentedly, begins;-
"Once upon a time there was a beautiful lady. She had big round blue eyes and red curly hair, tied up with a sprig of purple heather and her name was Ella………."
I hope you enjoyed this short story. Caroline
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