Great Britain -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction; Short stories, English; West Riding of Yorkshire (England) -- Fiction
After this fashion they came, on a May afternoon, to the Ladyshaws Wood,
that belongs to the township of Portsannet under the headland; and from
the height several of them saw, for the first time in their lives, the
sea. The warden of Portsannet and his bailiff grow the oaks of the
Ladyshaws wide and spreading, for tough, crooked pieces for the knees
and ribs of ships; and in the higher wood the columns of the pines are
crowded together to make the taller masts. Two score of them, oaks and
pines, had been marked to come down, and the placid bailiff, red-faced,
and smoking very strong tobacco, had first taken the Pillers round the
woods, and then shown them their accommodation, a small cluster of barns
and a penthouse that had once been a smithy. They made a fire that
night on the disused forge-hearth; and as they sat about it they told
one another how fair and settled the air was, and how grandly the
Ladyshaws were golding, and spoke of the sea and ships, and of the
sea-worm that bores the oak, and of bark and tanning and markets and
prices. Soft clouds lay low to the earth; scents and odours, now from
the pine woods, now from the hawthorn hedges, and again the whiff of
Portsannet and the sea, drifted in tracts on the mild air; and if now
and then a man winked at his neighbour and said something about a
pheasant or an egg, it was no such great matter after all. They sought
their blankets early; the retriever bitch and the two terriers stretched
themselves across the thresholds of the sheds; and the whole company
slept long before moonrise.
* * * * *
High in the dark laithe the four women lay on the top of a half-cut
stack; and Jessie Wheeler had avoided the corner immediately under the
great square hole that yawned in the floor of the loft overhead.
Instead, she had spread her blanket near a small vent-hole that had been
made by the leaving out of a wall-stone. Against this aperture she could
barely distinguish the shape of her arm as the tips of her fingers
touched the floor only a couple of feet above her. The women had taken
off only their upper garments; and the niche where they lay smelt of
stale hay, and the trusses crackled and whispered with each of their
movements.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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