Accompanied by Mrs Makepiece I continued my exploration of Lewes. This time I ventured over the bridge into the village of Cliffe again. It was much noisier than my last visit and we stopped and looked along the river meadow and watched the boats that bustled to and fro. The tide was in spate and gulls screamed overhead. Mrs Makepiece discerned nothing of my memories of Becca dying in this very same river as she pointed out the little wherry’s ferrying people and goods from the trading ships that had ventured upstream from Newhaven. It was all very busy with lots of shouting and calling from boat to shore and back again. There were a number of buildings that seemed to be storage places for goods that came upriver by ship. We saw grain being unloaded as well as coal and building materials. On the other side of the river wood was being loaded onto a big boat which looked very near ready to depart. The captain was in deep discussion with a uniformed official.
I asked Mrs Makepiece what was likely to be going on and she said the chap in the uniform was probably a preventative man who oversaw what came in and out so that the proper taxes could be paid and checked with what had come in at the port downstream. ‘Are there smugglers here then?’ I asked in all innocence. She snorted, saying, ‘Smugglers don’t come in daylight and they don’t come into the port, unless they are rescuing their own. They be a bit secretive like and land their goods on the beaches or if they are shipping things out they have coves with nearby caves where goods are stashed and guarded until the time and tide be right.’
‘I thought they only brought goods in?’
‘Mostly they do, nowadays, but it wasn’t long ago that they smuggled wool from the farms direct to the Frenchies and onwards. Southern wool is highly valued in Holland and such places so the smugglers make a profit both ways. Fact is Esther, smugglers deal in whatever is wanted or in short supply and they are not too bothered with the likes of law-abiding people. It don’t pay to get in their way or talk too loudly and there’s many a preventative man who has come to realise that, and turned a blind eye, otherwise he might find he hasn’t got an eye with which to see any more!’
We hurried onwards over the hump bridge and following that gruesome warning I ventured no more questions about smugglers.
Cliffe village was a poor place; buildings were piled on top of each other with the highway running with mud and other foul-smelling slurry. The people were poorly clad and we saw scrawny urchins with misshapen limbs and open sores on their faces and skeletal bodies. It was a dirty street with very little to recommend it other than a few workmanlike buildings but even these couldn’t match those of nearby Lewes. This place seemed all about work, hard labouring work. I shut my ears to the noise for it was overwhelming. Men, women and a few older children were scurrying about purposefully but for very little reward judging from their lack of decent clothing. We picked our way a few steps towards what seemed to be an open-fronted warehouse where men were naked to the waist heaving sacks of corn. There was much spillage and women and children darted in amongst the working men, scrabbling for the spoils. A man stood on a pile of sacks in the centre of the warehouse holding a lethal looking whip with a very long cord. I didn’t see him hit anyone but he made full use of its threat, urging the men to greater endeavour. The corn was being loaded onto drays with two big horses to pull each one. As one pulled out of the yard, another took its place. I was quite disconcerted to see armed guards accompany each vehicle and remembered Wilf’s tales of want and lawbreaking.
I watched the overseer scowl at a group of urchins as they urged each other further and further into the melee before he cracked his whip over their heads. They squealed and fled but while his attention was on them another group poked at a sack with a sharp blade. It spilled and then there was uproar as a horde of women and children charged into the centre grabbing dishfuls of the precious grain.
I couldn’t bear to watch such scenes of desperation so we didn’t tarry, instead turning and making our way back over the bridge. I was thankful to get away from such a dispiriting place.
Mrs Makepiece laughed at my shivers of dislike. ‘’Ee girl, you’ve come a long way since you turned up on my doorstep as a waif and stray. Think yourself lucky you were directed to me rather than to some goodbody down t’Cliffe.’
We walked in silence as I gave thanks to the truth in her words.