Violet Neville, the third daughter in a family of eight who lived on the other side of the green. Violet, seventeen years old and very pretty, was away in service in Devizes for most of the year, so Eddie’s meetings with her were few and far between. At present, however, she was back home in Flaxdown for her annual summer holiday, and she and Eddie met as often as they could.
Glancing at the clock, Abbie saw that it was ten minutes to eight. She was eager for her father to return, eager for his news.
Taking up his hat, Eddie moved to the door. ‘I must go or I’ll be late,’ he said. In another moment he was gone.
Abbie sat motionless for a minute two, then got back to the task before her. She had just finished writing a letter to Lizzie and was now completing one to Iris. Her two younger sisters were also living away from home. Lizzie was fifteen and had been in service for two years. Having spent her first, petty, year in Trowbridge, she was now fairly happily settled as housemaid with a family in Radstock, some dozen miles away. Iris, fourteen, was still with her first employers, closer to home, in Frome. Both girls had only recently returned to their work after being at home for their annual summer holidays.
Abbie finished the letter – she had written to Iris much as she had written to Lizzie – and put it in an envelope. Now she prepared to begin one to Beatie.
Beatie had turned twenty-three that past March and, because of her wish to remain near Tom Greening, was still with the Callardines in Lullington.
The past six years of Beatie’s relationship with Tom had not been all happiness and there had been a couple of occasions when she had feared that it would end. Now, though, any unhappiness she had known seemed to be in the past, for in June of this year, 1868, she and Tom had become engaged to be married. Whatever their past reservations, Tom’s parents had either seen them as invalid, or had been won over by Beatie, for after Tom had agreed to wait for a time before marrying, his parents had at last given the couple their blessing. The wedding would take place late in October, Beatie remaining at her place in Lullington until a week or so before it, when she would return to Flaxdown to prepare for the big day and spend a last holiday with her family.
Taking up her pen, Abbie wrote:
Flaxdown
Friday, 7 August 1868
My dear Beatie,
Thank you for yours of the 5th. It’s wonderful that everything is so well with you and Tom, and I’m not in the least surprised that Mr and Mrs Greening have been ‘pleasantness itself’ to you, as you put it – though I don’t know what you’ve got to be nervous about, I’m sure. I know there have been times when you feared that things might not work out, but they have, and those doubtful times are now all in the past. You’re both going to be very happy, I’m sure of it. I can believe you when you say that the time seems to be moving so slowly. But it will pass, and October will soon be here, and then all at once you’ll find you’ve got a million things to do and not enough time to do them in.
It’s well over a week now since Lizzie and Iris went back to their places. It was lovely to have them both home, and so nice that their holidays coincided so they could be together again for a while. The time they were here went by so fast; before we knew it they were both off again. Still, I hope it won’t be long before they’re back once more, at least on one or other of their free Sunday afternoons.
Father is in good health, you’ll be glad to hear, and has got over his twinges. It’s so nice when he can get work close by and is able to live at home all week. At present, working only a couple of miles away on the house in Corsley Heath, he’s back home every evening well before half past six – and without being so awfully tired from having to travel a long distance. He’s able to spend a bit of time on the allotment too, making the most of his
Glancing at the clock, Abbie saw that it was ten minutes to eight. She was eager for her father to return, eager for his news.
Taking up his hat, Eddie moved to the door. ‘I must go or I’ll be late,’ he said. In another moment he was gone.
Abbie sat motionless for a minute two, then got back to the task before her. She had just finished writing a letter to Lizzie and was now completing one to Iris. Her two younger sisters were also living away from home. Lizzie was fifteen and had been in service for two years. Having spent her first, petty, year in Trowbridge, she was now fairly happily settled as housemaid with a family in Radstock, some dozen miles away. Iris, fourteen, was still with her first employers, closer to home, in Frome. Both girls had only recently returned to their work after being at home for their annual summer holidays.
Abbie finished the letter – she had written to Iris much as she had written to Lizzie – and put it in an envelope. Now she prepared to begin one to Beatie.
Beatie had turned twenty-three that past March and, because of her wish to remain near Tom Greening, was still with the Callardines in Lullington.
The past six years of Beatie’s relationship with Tom had not been all happiness and there had been a couple of occasions when she had feared that it would end. Now, though, any unhappiness she had known seemed to be in the past, for in June of this year, 1868, she and Tom had become engaged to be married. Whatever their past reservations, Tom’s parents had either seen them as invalid, or had been won over by Beatie, for after Tom had agreed to wait for a time before marrying, his parents had at last given the couple their blessing. The wedding would take place late in October, Beatie remaining at her place in Lullington until a week or so before it, when she would return to Flaxdown to prepare for the big day and spend a last holiday with her family.
Taking up her pen, Abbie wrote:
Flaxdown
Friday, 7 August 1868
My dear Beatie,
Thank you for yours of the 5th. It’s wonderful that everything is so well with you and Tom, and I’m not in the least surprised that Mr and Mrs Greening have been ‘pleasantness itself’ to you, as you put it – though I don’t know what you’ve got to be nervous about, I’m sure. I know there have been times when you feared that things might not work out, but they have, and those doubtful times are now all in the past. You’re both going to be very happy, I’m sure of it. I can believe you when you say that the time seems to be moving so slowly. But it will pass, and October will soon be here, and then all at once you’ll find you’ve got a million things to do and not enough time to do them in.
It’s well over a week now since Lizzie and Iris went back to their places. It was lovely to have them both home, and so nice that their holidays coincided so they could be together again for a while. The time they were here went by so fast; before we knew it they were both off again. Still, I hope it won’t be long before they’re back once more, at least on one or other of their free Sunday afternoons.
Father is in good health, you’ll be glad to hear, and has got over his twinges. It’s so nice when he can get work close by and is able to live at home all week. At present, working only a couple of miles away on the house in Corsley Heath, he’s back home every evening well before half past six – and without being so awfully tired from having to travel a long distance. He’s able to spend a bit of time on the allotment too, making the most of his
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