Fifteen

On the Road Again

Life had become peaceful on that old army camp. One day me and our Alfie finished our long walk from school to the camp to find that there was more family pulled on and in huts: me dad’s brother Alfie and his family, Jim and May, so now our children well-outnumbered the others and we had a few more to walk to school with, for word had spread that we had found a place to stop that was out of arm’s reach of the policemen. So it came as no surprise one day to find we had even more Travellers on site. This time it was John and Carrie Ayres and their family.

The families got on really well and we had even more company at school. We were overcrowded in our little spot now as we sat on the floor. One day a mush from the school board walked into the room and we overheard a lot of talk between him and the teacher about our being Traveller children. Days later, we were given hooks for our coats and pencils to draw with and the old caretaker brought in desks and chairs for us to sit on.

Much to the disgust of our teacher, the Traveller children came out of their little corner.

♦

As Christmas drew near me dad grew more and more restless. We carried on as we normally would – cutting holly for me mam to make wreaths and gathering mistletoe to sell in little bunches. There was a cooker in the huts, but the Traveller women decided to cook Christmas dinner outside as normal, saying that it wouldn’t taste the same cooked inside the old hut.

That year we had a lovely Christmas. We hung our socks outside so as not to be missed by old Father Christmas, who might not think to look for us inside that Nissen hut. It really was a grand time for us, but as much as me dad enjoyed his time with the rest of us he had made up his mind that it was time to be moving on.

Me mam insisted that the squatters’ hut was scrubbed clean before we left it: if she had to give it up, then she would do so in style and leave it shining and gleaming clean – not that she didn’t already keep it spotless. She was sad that we were leaving, but me dad was determined to get back on the road.

“Hold your head up, my Vie. You know I stuck it as long as I could,” me dad told her.

“I know, Len, but me children was getting educated and it was good to be in one place for a bit.”

“My Vie, you know our two have never learned a thing in that school except how to be cheeky,” me dad said. “The first day we shifted up here it was bedlam.”

With our horses hitched up we were ready for the off – no more school, just open roads ahead of us. We were travelling on our own and so exchanged many long farewells and promises to meet up again soon with John and Jim and their families as we pulled away.

“You’re happy as a pig in a poke, ain’t you?” me mam asked me dad with a hint of a sulk. We lot kept our thoughts about that to ourselves, trying to spare her feelings. We felt free for the first time in months even though we knew she would put us back into school wherever we shifted to next.

We travelled around for weeks, selling our wares and calling in the villages we passed. We were heading slowly towards the Prince Lane. Come the spring, Ticker would have her foal and me dad decided that the lane would be the best place to take her. It also meant he could take his turn looking after me granddad and the old granny.

One afternoon we pulled into a quiet little lane near Bath and lit the fire ready for the cold evening. We hoped to stay there for a few days before moving on to the Prince Lane, but no sooner had we settled in than a policeman approached us on his pushbike. He greeted me mam and dad friendly enough and stood by the fire talking to them, while unbeknownst to him four pairs of yocks* were glued to his pushbike where he had dropped it by the bank.

≡ Eyes.

“I could ride that pushbike,” said our Alfie.

“So could I,” Robert piped up, little Jess nodding his agreement.

I glared at them both. “What about me?”

“You’re only a gal, our Maggie, and that’s a man’s bike,” Alfie told me.

Still bickering quietly, we crept up to the pushbike and wheeled it up the road without being spotted. My, it was a big bike. We could hardly hold it upright, it was so heavy – but that didn’t put off our Alfie. He was too small to reach the ground from the seat, so he lodged his feet under the cross bar as Robert, Jess and I held the bike up and gave it a push down the road. That bike must’ve had a mind of its own, for as Alfie fell the pushbike followed after him.

The crash and Alfie’s hollering (he swore he’d kill us if we’d made him fall on purpose) brought me parents and the policeman running towards us. The policeman checked over his bike while me dad yelled at us for stealing and mucking about. Luckily for us, the policeman was a nice man, for he turned to me dad with a smile.

“Kids will be kids,” he said.

“Mine knows better,” replied me dad. “I’m sorry, sir. You been so good as to give us a few days to stop here and look what my lot have done!”

Me dad was right. We did know better than to interfere with a policeman’s runner. I don’t know what had come over us – we’d be for it now and worst of all we’d never even got to have a ride! As we children hid behind the wagon the policeman took his leave. We knew we had done a big wrong and we were lucky that our mam stopped Dad from laying into us. Instead, we were sent to bed without any tea – for me mam had been making a broth that we’d been looking forward to – and we were so hungry that we almost wished she’d never stopped me dad from going mad at us.

It was a lesson we never forgot. For the next few days we did every job we were asked to do and more without a squeak of complaint.

♦

Spring that year already looked to be a warm one and the day we pulled out of that lane the sky was clear and bright. It was only a few weeks now until Ticker would have her new foal and she was fat as a pig. Me dad was hoping for a filly for breeding, but if it was a colt he knew he would sell it well at the horse fairs. He wanted to get to the Prince Lane as soon as possible, for there are Romani customs for when a mare foals down that we always obeyed.

Ticker had to be taken well out of sight of any women and children and be in a place where plenty of blackthorn grows. The foal would be born in a bag (or membrane), which would later be rolled up and placed in the blackthorn bush as a good luck charm for the mare and foal. The Prince Lane was full of blackthorn hedges and had a bend in the lane just out of sight of the wagons, where many foals had been born over the years.

Knowing we had Ticker’s newborn to look forward to softened the dread we felt as we got nearer to the old granny, but if we’d known then what was to come we would not have been so hopeful.