Free Regret to Inform You... by Derek Jarrett Page B

haberdashery, smiled and called out, ‘You’re doing well, Racer. We’re all proud of you.’ He wondered how Miss Rushton’s mother, who also lived above the shop, was faring as she had not been well of late. Abraham waved back, running between the towering, yet still bare elms around the green and sprinted the final hundred yards to his house at the church end of West Lane.
    He had drawn off a bucket of water before setting out for work and fixed it to a wooden contraption which he had often used. In the seclusion of an outside shed he stripped. Then taking one of the ropes fixed to the bucket he pulled it slowly so the water ran over his fair hair and down his well-muscled body. Refreshed, he dried and prepared himself for the long-awaited farm party. He knew his parents would not be in for a couple of hours; he had always been grateful for the way they had supported him in schoolwork at which he excelled and his sport. Now, no one was prouder of his achievements on the athletics track.
    Abraham had a younger brother, James, who worked with their father and although there were only four of them in the immediate family, the web of relations spread to several in the village. Boney Jones and Willy Johnson were his first cousins, as well as close friends. His grandfather had told Abraham when he was a small boy the story of Jeremiah Richards, from whom all the family were descended. His story went that this man had served as a private in the young Colonel Arthur Wellesley’s army in South India well over a century earlier, returned to England and finding his wife had disappeared just walked until he came to a village where there was some work. That was Rusfield and from his marriage to a robust village lady, a large family had descended. Abraham promised himself that one day he would try to find out more about his ancestors.
    Albert Jones had been delighted when he successfully bargained with his boss at the brewery that by working an extra Saturday afternoon he could store up a free half-day for a later occasion. At first Albert had thought the future afternoon off could be for watching a cricket match in Canchester, but when Racer mentioned the farm party he had gained permission to use it for this Wednesday afternoon. Leaving Bifields at one o’clock, he had caught the quarter to two train from Branton and by alternating between a fast walk and a long-striding trot had got home in well under an hour.
    Albert and his family lived in Wood Lane, a short distance from the pond on the way to Spinney Farm. He did not enjoy the work at the brewery, but was grateful for it; almost the sole income for the family of seven. His feelings towards the brewery had taken an upward turn when his mother told him that the brewery boss had promised that some thought would be given towards compensation for his disabled father, but still no letter had arrived. His mother earned little more than a pittance with her straw-plaiting and irregular help at Spinney Farm. She was more than willing to work all hours of day or night, but little work was available. Then there were Albert’s four young siblings to support: George, Henrietta, William and Florence.
    The back door was open as his father had slipped down to the reading room to do a little tidying. His family admired him for always doing his best in domestic and voluntary village work in spite of the pain that still emanated from his arm stump. As he entered the cottage, Albert ducked; with his height of over six feet he had long grown accustomed to the low lintels and ceilings in the cottage. He, William and George used one room upstairs, his sisters sharing with his parents. Albert was liked by all for his ever-happy nature; he thought of himself as fortunate when he heard of so many sad life stories, but he harboured various ambitions. Maybe, when his younger siblings were old enough to go to work, he might follow the older lads who had set off to Canada. They