TALES FROM THE TENT

Rosy was a city lass and didn’t know a single thing about the countryside. Her mother hated it. But Daddy lost his job as a shoemaker and was forced to move into the old dilapidated farm his uncle had left him. Into a month, and already Mother was nagging: she didn’t like the awful place, not one bit. Poor Daddy tried his best. He rebuilt the old dyke, fixed the cottage roof, bought some cows and sheep and even acquired a cat to chase away the mice that lived beneath the floorboards of their little house.

‘I hate this place,’ protested Mother, over and over again, ‘I need to go home.’

‘Why can’t she try harder?’ he thought, as he went outside to see what his seven-years-old daughter was doing.

Rosy didn’t mind the new life, in fact she was settling in fine. When she saw her father she ran to him breathless and grabbed his hand, saying, ‘Look, Daddy, over there by the hole in the hedge—a huge rabbit, see it?’

‘That’s not a rabbit, my dear, that’s called a hare, and I must say I’m surprised it has come near, usually they stay upon the hillside. They’re afraid of humans, you see.’

Wondering what was taking her family’s attention the mother went over. The moment she saw the hare a piercing scream came from her, ‘That’s a hare! Don’t look into its eyes or it will entice you away, Rosy.’ Saying that, she grabbed the little girl’s arm and marched her into the house. Her husband followed, shaking his head in disbelief at the senseless reaction from his wife to a harmless animal. ‘What is wrong with you, woman? Do you have to be so awful just because of our predicament? You know if I could afford to we’d be living in the city. Oh, I’m off to fix the far side fence, don’t make my tea until I come back.’

Rosy didn’t hear her parents arguing, because lately that was all they did. No, she was staring out the window watching the big brown hare. As young as she was, she recognised there was something wrong with the animal. ‘Mum, I think the bunny is hurt, look.’ But she didn’t look: instead she pulled her child away from the window and closed the curtains. Then, with Rosy sulking in her room and her husband gone out, she recalled her old Granny’s stories of witches, crows, fairies and magic brown hares. ‘They possess a mystical power, and if parents are not careful they will lose their babies to the magical hare who will take them away for the Devil.’ Yes, it may have been a long time ago, but she never forgot the terrifying tales. So often as a child she would wake in sodden bedclothes, because of those fearsome visions stirring in her little head.

However, while deep in her own troubled thoughts, she failed to notice that her daughter had sneaked from the house. Imagine the panic spreading in her when she discovered she was gone. ‘Rosy, Rosy, come here this minute!’ she called, running from the house. She ran from one end of the garden to the other, but not a single sign of her precious child could she see. She called out to her husband, but he too was nowhere to be seen. Tears filled her eyes, as the heart in her chest beat faster than it had ever done. ‘My baby has been stolen by the dark forces. I knew it was a mistake to come here, I hate this place.’

Drying her eyes, she noticed a tiny hole in the hedge. ‘My baby, I must find my baby!’ She swiftly dropped onto her knees and pushed her body through the tiny opening. She searched everywhere—behind trees, in bushes, under boulders; she even, in desperation, rammed her arms inside rabbit-burrows. Poor soul, the more she called and searched, the louder her heart beat, bringing all her Granny said about the dark world closer. Then, as she glanced far off toward the horizon a tiny spark of hope appeared: Rosy’s navy blue dress, she saw it disappear under a gorse bush. Quickly she got to the place and was on her knees staring into the thick undergrowth. There was her little girl, and at her side, breathing heavily, was the hare! ‘Rosy, my love, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

The young mother froze. Her Granny told her that hares sometimes pretended to be hurt just to gain the trust of their prey. ‘Don’t go near that creature, come home this instant!’

She pulled at Rosy’s sleeve, but her child refused to abandon the injured animal and broke free, diving further into the bushes. Then the child saw why the hare needed her help. ‘Look, Mummy, come in here and see.’

She leaned down and there, tangled up in ferocious barbed wire, lay the whimpering body of a baby hare!

‘Stay with it, dear, I’ll go home and get Daddy’s cutters.’ She felt an absolute fool for putting herself into a state of blind panic over a childhood story. When she returned she hardly noticed the mother hare had gone. Soon the tiny bundle was suckling hungrily on spoonfuls of warmed milk and within two weeks it was back outside munching on moist grass.

After that the couple put all worries behind them and felt as if they had always lived in the countryside. Little Rosy was born for the wild open spaces and grew strong and healthy. And according to my Daddy she spent many happy days playing up on the high hills surrounded by big brown hares with cleft top lips and long pointed ears.

I left my baby lying there, a-lying there, a-lying there,

I left my baby lying there, and someone stole my baby-o.

Talking about babies made me think on my father’s words back at the berries, when he disclosed I would never have any, and although I’d put this out of my mind at the time I won’t say it didn’t come into my head now and again. Especially when those blasted hormones took the contents of my brain and scrambled them up like fluffy eggs. I just had to speak to Mammy and see if they were both in agreement about the road my future was to travel. Later that night, as we took our last private stroll of the day, I asked her. This was our conversation.

‘He said I’m the one to look out for the baith of ye when you’re too old to see to yourselves.’

‘But what if the brain goes or the legs, or, oh, I don’t know, Mammy, but he said that it was final. Although I cannae see a problem, because it would make life easier for me. I couldn’t be bothered by arguing with men and cooking for a dozen weans and a’ that kind o’ stuff, but I would like the choice.’

‘Listen to me, pet, and keep stushie on this, because it’s between me and you, right?’

‘Now, how do you think Daddy’s lungs are coping with all the spray-painting, given as the bugger never wears a mask? You know as well as anybody how the coughing fits come on him during the winter, and the doctor sees mair of him than us. Daddy will not last, Jessie, he knows that. It’s me he’s thinking of.’

‘Why, mother, you’re fitter than a young wife wi’ a back loaded wi’ the siller herrin’.’

‘He doesn’t want to leave me on my own, Jessie. When he told you that about being the “carer”, he really meant being my companion after he’s gone, now that’s the truth.’

‘Maybe aye, and maybe no, but one thing I’m certain of, my bonny wee lassie, is, if a laddie takes yer fancy and he’s made o’ the right stuff, then go for him. I’ll see to myself.’

‘Listen to me, now, Mother dear, because I make this solemn promise; whether I marry or not, even if I have a dozen weans, I’ll be there with your last breath.’

It was as if a mountain had been lifted off my young shoulders. Honest, reader, if you’re young like I was and have problems, and if you have a mother, then share them with her. What a great tonic.