tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82070384627273128282024-03-28T09:20:22.658+00:00Mr John ThorntonThis is the blog of Mr John Thornton, where I will be detailing aspects of my life both pre and post the events in North and South.Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-56336796348951794852013-04-16T00:07:00.001+01:002013-04-16T00:07:48.563+01:00North and South (1975) finally comes to DVD.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_rCL6VA5D0P0CBZIOWwl5lJQsUsETmyfm9pBE34_a9Fp5WeKMCVc8zMCeiUSPqHWSv9uYJE80tOTmw3SWjVEz397eEctb3zm4GF6O306OMkoA85iN67u6mD_dGfQlqasRQzatrgRzScq/s1600/n2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_rCL6VA5D0P0CBZIOWwl5lJQsUsETmyfm9pBE34_a9Fp5WeKMCVc8zMCeiUSPqHWSv9uYJE80tOTmw3SWjVEz397eEctb3zm4GF6O306OMkoA85iN67u6mD_dGfQlqasRQzatrgRzScq/s320/n2.gif" width="211" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The BBC's 1975 version of North and South, staring <span style="background-color: white; color: #2f2f2f; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Starring Patrick Stewart and Rosalie Shanks, will be released on DVD this July! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2f2f2f; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.acornmediauk.com/north-and-south-2343.html#" target="_blank">From the website:</a></span></span><br />
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Based on the novel of the same name by Elizabeth Gaskell.</div>
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Margaret Hale, 19, has her life turned upside down when her father, the pastor, leaves the Church of England and settles with his wife and daughter in the Black Country. A textile-producing region, it is engaged in cotton-manufacturing and is smack in the middle of the industrial revolution where masters and workers clash in the first organized strikes.</div>
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Margaret finds the bustling, smoky town of Milton harsh and strange and she is upset by the poverty all around and by her meetings with a Mr Thornton (Patrick Stewart). From the outset, Margaret and Thornton are at odds with each other: she sees him as coarse and unfeeling; he sees her as haughty. But he is attracted to her beauty and self-assurance and she begins to admire how he has lifted himself out of poverty.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXgChA_v0ZQHMyOmtu_hZkzfKN7Dx56K_rr7jJmK_h7OpCEftDrfkr8DkbBUMueTiAuUh6MgJqMqhyUSSoy7TX8V20SQ_Ve_-1v3ml9_nk4xS3ZLKckvvyUyMIepbkYomyJz7wSDeYpZTf/s1600/n1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXgChA_v0ZQHMyOmtu_hZkzfKN7Dx56K_rr7jJmK_h7OpCEftDrfkr8DkbBUMueTiAuUh6MgJqMqhyUSSoy7TX8V20SQ_Ve_-1v3ml9_nk4xS3ZLKckvvyUyMIepbkYomyJz7wSDeYpZTf/s320/n1.gif" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Starring Patrick Stewart and Rosalie Shanks</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dramatised by David Turner</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Produced by Martin Lisemore</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Directed by Rodney Bennett</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think as well as comparing Mr Thornton's, I'm most looking forward to seeing Tim Piggot-Smith as Margaret' brother, Frederick. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.acornmediauk.com/north-and-south-2343.html#" target="_blank">You can preorder now</a> for £17.99. On news on a Region 1 (USA) dvd release yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">More images from the production at the <a href="http://www.acornmediauk.com/north-and-south-2343.html#" target="_blank">website </a></span></div>
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Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-28333652728480434172012-03-16T00:08:00.000+00:002012-03-16T00:08:48.829+00:00Who Else Could Play John Thornton?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdhcIqf0nQeX5dqkaLua_dvgpefiINYUgJaM-03Xi7j2OS8Ex9ycrhVGrP_zqnknsDftonGThhm2JZbGzkK6EoLUf1A12xdSo2Wr1QcVWzxEw6sveGO05F5xU2fvkd0dEO6lJApDa8sdI/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdhcIqf0nQeX5dqkaLua_dvgpefiINYUgJaM-03Xi7j2OS8Ex9ycrhVGrP_zqnknsDftonGThhm2JZbGzkK6EoLUf1A12xdSo2Wr1QcVWzxEw6sveGO05F5xU2fvkd0dEO6lJApDa8sdI/s640/9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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When it comes to Mr Darcy, we have plenty of performances to compare and contrast but Mr Thornton only has one actor's rendition available for your viewing pleasure. In this whimsical piece, I wonder who else might be suited to the role, and what each of them might bring to the character. <b><br /></b><br />
<br />
<b>Patrick Stewart</b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patrick Stewart as John Thornton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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While he has already
played Thornton in the 1975 mini-series, I do not know of anyone who
remembers this version.</div>
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However, I think he
would he great. He should play Thornton just like he played Jean Luc
Picard, a tough and strong leader who is fair but brooks no fools.
Occasionally Picard let his emotional side out, falling in love and
he could play that side of Thornton, especially the heartbroken
aspects, with a typical British stiff upper lip masking his deeper
misery.
</div>
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Tastes have changed since the 70's however and while I'm certain that he could play
Thornton very well, I'm not sure how well the script and production values would match up
to modern sensibilities.</div>
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<b>John Simm</b></div>
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John Simm can play
anything and be believable, from the insane Master on Dr Who, to time
travelling Sam Tyler in Life on Mars, to driven Cal MaCaffery in State
of Play.
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My only reservation
would be that his roles don't usually require an air of authority, which
is an integral part of Thornton's character. </div>
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<b>Robert Downey Jr</b></div>
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There is no doubt that
Downey excels at playing Tony Stark-esk roles, the flippant playboy
type.
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I honestly wouldn't
care of he turned Thornton into Stark, it's RDJ for God's sake!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Seriously though, if
you haven't seen his performance in Chaplin, do so; it really does
show that he's more than just a pretty face and charming personality.
This guy has some serious acting chops and now that he's clean and
sober, I think he could really do Thornton justice. Plus he's already mastered the British accent to play Chaplin. I wonder what his northern accent would be like?</div>
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<b>Colin Firth</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxOFcfETxj11nN1Dy61fZtI2g5o5ji27SEO_EJsh5zzXHLBGKPNFwtLwfWEK4N1NE6rFmxmmDGbDYHuqLKED0SRDcE0dbtRQq3vZQv5DLPOvA4pR__ZScMf3SjBw7Mbq8wwL69M5aa2F9/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxOFcfETxj11nN1Dy61fZtI2g5o5ji27SEO_EJsh5zzXHLBGKPNFwtLwfWEK4N1NE6rFmxmmDGbDYHuqLKED0SRDcE0dbtRQq3vZQv5DLPOvA4pR__ZScMf3SjBw7Mbq8wwL69M5aa2F9/s1600/3.jpg" /></a>Thornton has often been
compared to Darcy so why not have Darcy playing Thornton?
</div>
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While both characters
are stern however, Thornton doesn't have the same learning curve to
go through that Darcy does. Thornton's character essentially doesn't
change, other than he learns to follow his heart and broaden his ideas. Even when it comes
to his workers, Thornton is always the best of the mill Masters and
his later attempts to help are merely a logical extension of his good
business sense.
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Firth could pull
Thornton off, though his version would likely be more dour than stern
and more angry than heartbroken.</div>
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<b>Nathan Fillion</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2E26Don14xocea8Ins8-DCyGzrHOk_rbGkY4uVF0S6NF6xkLe9y7vVPySAbTRpkhEbWyeRmOS8XKNCTMT3CQW1i6a-mZBjF19AYbChYkI8rzek5OnHASss8M-9upZ13bMGUlK4Qvp3gqe/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2E26Don14xocea8Ins8-DCyGzrHOk_rbGkY4uVF0S6NF6xkLe9y7vVPySAbTRpkhEbWyeRmOS8XKNCTMT3CQW1i6a-mZBjF19AYbChYkI8rzek5OnHASss8M-9upZ13bMGUlK4Qvp3gqe/s200/4.jpg" width="200" /></a>Nathan would bring a
refreshingly flippant air to Thornton!</div>
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When Margaret found him
beating up Stephens, he wouldn't order her out, he'd ask if she liked
what she saw and throw her a wink. His Thornton would be a wordsmith,
cracking jokes and puns and not afraid of telling Margaret how he
felt about her “up tight” airs and graces. Underneath that
superficial charm though, would beat a heart of solid gold and he
would solve all of Milton's problems with a MacGyver-esk plan that
involved unearthing the capitalist conspiracy to keep the proletariat
in their place.
</div>
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<b>David Tennant</b></div>
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Well he'd get in his
TARIS, fly back to the start of the industrial revolution, correct the
social problems before they started and take Margaret off on an
adventure throughout the universe!
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
OK, assuming he isn't
playing Thornton as the 10<sup>th</sup> Doctor, Tannant has proven
that he can play emotional roles, not only during Doctor Who but also
in such drama's as Single Father. He could play Thornton's stoic
heartbreak with relative ease.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Having said that, I
don't think stern comes easily to him. His face is friendly and his
nature more suited to comedy than to 'hard' characters. Even when
threatening to wipe out entire species as the 10th Doctor, he just didn't seem
than menacing.
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Tennant's Thornton
would be a more emotional and vulnerable character, and whether ot
not that would work would depend largely on your own tastes.</div>
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<b>Benedict Cumberbatch</b></div>
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There is no doubt that
Benedict has the acting chops to play Thornton but I'm just not sure
he could be believable as a rough and ready mill master. Benedict is
upper class though and through, but it would be interesting to see him
a little rough around the edges and hear him try to do a northern
accent.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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Perhaps someone more
familiar with his body of work can tell us if he's attempted any such
roles in the past?
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Justin Beiber!</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Imagine it - Thornton:
The Early Years!
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Okay, seriously, I
don't know much about Bieber, but I did see his stint on CSI and he
wasn't a bad actor at all (though I did hear unpleasant things about
his manners on set).
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Could he pull off a 16
year old boy who is dragged from school to support his family? Well
hasn't Bieber been his families sole earner for years now? He
certainly has some experience there that he can draw on, I'm sure.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Would it be a success?
Well Bieber Fever would probably ensure that.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Would it be any good?
You decide!
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFT4XPgHt73rMygCzl2xxxV_Tkckq0abJvkQrm5UaownXroNRqiHOW5FsWUpIbi6wVnPTDrKjoERtNcgCNDoXAX46WVkvNxU4felpTbIP6M56-Q5ho1KJPNz1Y9I9YaXvF_yBJbIFE8tjW/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFT4XPgHt73rMygCzl2xxxV_Tkckq0abJvkQrm5UaownXroNRqiHOW5FsWUpIbi6wVnPTDrKjoERtNcgCNDoXAX46WVkvNxU4felpTbIP6M56-Q5ho1KJPNz1Y9I9YaXvF_yBJbIFE8tjW/s200/8.jpg" width="139" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Thomas Dekker </b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b> </b>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Honestly though, if
we're talking the early years I'd like to see Thomas Dekker give it a
try. I remember him playing a 14 year old faith healer on House a few
years ago and even at that age, he could believably portray strength, charisma
and vulnerability. He's wasted on the Secret Circle.<br />
<br />
Give this guy a
real challenge, like a young John Thornton!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Christopher
Eccleston</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGyPeW26d_c6ZP9tOX8KAqh7kE9DbdiZ2pwUOyz7WZPZl9jcUTR4Ur9S-yqvwdNeksFKcKT8wNUuQo9by0upq7VANtzw9DZTNQ5VgngsYHRhin6l2PNc13ueyYQTH__zKeAkQxk4Fatr9/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGyPeW26d_c6ZP9tOX8KAqh7kE9DbdiZ2pwUOyz7WZPZl9jcUTR4Ur9S-yqvwdNeksFKcKT8wNUuQo9by0upq7VANtzw9DZTNQ5VgngsYHRhin6l2PNc13ueyYQTH__zKeAkQxk4Fatr9/s1600/9.jpg" /></a>An often sadly
overlooked English actor (sometimes by his own choice, I think)
Eccleston has the talent to give Thornton both the gravitas he
needs and the vulnerability we observe when he is rejected.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I believe he would
portray Thornton as more 'working class boy made good' than 'middle
class boy who had a tough start'. His accent and mannerisms would
probably be less refined but there is no doubt in my mind that he
could breath life into Thornton and make us love him.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Plus, no disrespect to either
Mr Eccleston or Mr Armitage, Thornton in the book is described as
unremarkable and it is his personality we are supposed to be
attracted to. Mr Armitage had both looks and the acting chops but Mr
Eccleston would (sadly) have to win us over with only his
performance, just as Thornton in the book won Margaret.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>So who would you
like to see play Thornton and what do you think they would they bring
to the role? </b><br />
<br />
<br />
Please click here to follow the chain <a href="http://thearmitageeffect.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">back to Fedoralady</a> or <a href="http://iwanttobeapinup.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">forward to Agzy</a><br />
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</div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-67531518686118699202012-03-14T23:55:00.000+00:002012-03-14T23:55:55.820+00:00What I Love About John<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ajZJwBEsEE6e6JaJcW8_38XmZBJ3xx8xbe4V1BmPVnKYSmQVX2PpAKIXh97_A08KneBDQodoeeFD2RDp9cn35D6n1p0UrPboOr-1vZNkOvp6cfQr82-DRkq124KDEmzzXOIHqGLPgiSU/s1600/NandSPromo38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ajZJwBEsEE6e6JaJcW8_38XmZBJ3xx8xbe4V1BmPVnKYSmQVX2PpAKIXh97_A08KneBDQodoeeFD2RDp9cn35D6n1p0UrPboOr-1vZNkOvp6cfQr82-DRkq124KDEmzzXOIHqGLPgiSU/s640/NandSPromo38.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicMntQJ4C0GNcawgB_LCt582eqkIheAuL9jNC9nXvBvaYiZG1lb04F3SdEvSuw33md-ahvSxhxGgApkzuTMMZLb8LWiAcyrrDJh8xcVIC1iNHjSCkLIjvGQUfAuNahw5dqwF0MsTcGgewn/s1600/ns2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicMntQJ4C0GNcawgB_LCt582eqkIheAuL9jNC9nXvBvaYiZG1lb04F3SdEvSuw33md-ahvSxhxGgApkzuTMMZLb8LWiAcyrrDJh8xcVIC1iNHjSCkLIjvGQUfAuNahw5dqwF0MsTcGgewn/s1600/ns2.jpg" /></a>It's safe to say that I
was not impressed with John the first time I met him. I thought him
rather rough and uncouth. In truth, I had never had any exposure to the manufacturing
classes before and I was content not to think of him at all. When I did, I thought him the type of man who puts profit before people, who worships cold, hard cash and who has little appreciation for things like compassion or charity.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fortunately for me, I was unable to ignore John since his association with my father regularly brought us into the same company, and slowly I began
to see the man behind the manufacturer. I realised that I had been horribly unfair and prejudiced against him.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8OOhK8ikjoXX-rNcx-zymb_RkdM6c8pYVU2-va9NY_JW0W4xh1bUsQh2DB12YwotXCQEZRDVFk1GfTX-DhwgoBcdQsrVT1Eumq-li-E2Jb9jWHKHwjOEpMcw03Nizim5Vj6APtIdQu-T_/s1600/jt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8OOhK8ikjoXX-rNcx-zymb_RkdM6c8pYVU2-va9NY_JW0W4xh1bUsQh2DB12YwotXCQEZRDVFk1GfTX-DhwgoBcdQsrVT1Eumq-li-E2Jb9jWHKHwjOEpMcw03Nizim5Vj6APtIdQu-T_/s200/jt.jpg" width="198" /></a>I came to see that he was not arrogant but rather, was proud of
his achievements (and rightly so).
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He did his
best for his mill and his workers, even when he didn't know how best
to help them.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I came to see that he was a man who was open to
new ideas and ways of thinking, he was progressive and welcomed change.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Falling for him was a gradual process and it wasn't until he had seen me with Frederick and then caught me in a lie, that I realised just how very much I wanted him to think well of me. That's when I began to realise that my feelings for him had changed.<br />
<br />
I had been so cruel and callous towards him for so long, especially when I rejected his proposal of marriage, that I assumed that he would no longer share my feelings and I thought that I was destined to be alone. <br />
<br />
I sometimes wonder if Mr Bell knew more about my feelings then he let on. Did he have any idea that his gift to me would not only offer me security, but bring me to the man I loved? He was a shrewd man and he knew Thornton rather better than I did at the time, so I think it likley that he knew exactly what he was doing. I only hope that wherever he is now, he can see us and how very happy we are together.<br />
<br />
Margaret X </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-73610402679358596232012-03-12T22:07:00.000+00:002012-03-13T00:08:26.530+00:00What I Love About Margaret<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68ihq2jUcvZzpKa7_Idvvwsm1OXpoKsGtnytd8gNhXf4Sk2RnDkeEnjXTTkmClbU_cihxlcmnkqHvuk6GcIWMTC2coy_FoyAQw5sQlF8gXFi0zg73Ek_G0q3OsnbZaCyn7YO8MR2ATnZq/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68ihq2jUcvZzpKa7_Idvvwsm1OXpoKsGtnytd8gNhXf4Sk2RnDkeEnjXTTkmClbU_cihxlcmnkqHvuk6GcIWMTC2coy_FoyAQw5sQlF8gXFi0zg73Ek_G0q3OsnbZaCyn7YO8MR2ATnZq/s640/15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1uwo0S5lqgRu1ck3fgAQfdewncLMM6JtQKZG2wb0h-9xH_92czSv6xNiYIQlO-_OeUzK4kK6BzL8aar5jOPjf_nMHEjKuaQejwMgv12yrA939W1cmBDnKAkj6RvRB2yVvvnpmjcDmbsc/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1uwo0S5lqgRu1ck3fgAQfdewncLMM6JtQKZG2wb0h-9xH_92czSv6xNiYIQlO-_OeUzK4kK6BzL8aar5jOPjf_nMHEjKuaQejwMgv12yrA939W1cmBDnKAkj6RvRB2yVvvnpmjcDmbsc/s200/12.jpg" width="200" /></a>The first time I saw
Margaret I thought that she had a frank dignity about her. Her dress and shawl were
simple but she wore them with the same poise as the queen, when she wears her regalia. She was a
creature unlike any other I had encountered before and I was
captivated by her.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihkZFFtHuiRubDu9uFUaw-oX6eBjbYhNdY_eXnPzauNIoSDMCcyWOrTkmPbZsK8gHlN8UQLGMFLGdpPSldooetsA5Rzu1KYQQDggjpChlER-ue8aRwmYECSuMuUdTN1s7BYsG-530MFzbK/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihkZFFtHuiRubDu9uFUaw-oX6eBjbYhNdY_eXnPzauNIoSDMCcyWOrTkmPbZsK8gHlN8UQLGMFLGdpPSldooetsA5Rzu1KYQQDggjpChlER-ue8aRwmYECSuMuUdTN1s7BYsG-530MFzbK/s200/14.jpg" width="170" /></a>I worried that I did
not make any such favourable impression; more a rough hewn, taciturn
manufacturer.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My opinion of her grew
as different facets of her personality were shown to me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
First I saw her softer side and playfulness as she
allowed her father to use her fingers as sugar tongues.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUluPsT0gS6cLnYJcUqrS0r7QHPHbUc_b-j90DVeX-m8O0_WEb77ffIPCArVdUmGYqpodZjB7ZnFwYxGnIhl6q2yFhXUjopmv2JgDbrIMRoWVvH2iXTNtIwo6bIoI9S9IfqwJ7y3nCCR2/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUluPsT0gS6cLnYJcUqrS0r7QHPHbUc_b-j90DVeX-m8O0_WEb77ffIPCArVdUmGYqpodZjB7ZnFwYxGnIhl6q2yFhXUjopmv2JgDbrIMRoWVvH2iXTNtIwo6bIoI9S9IfqwJ7y3nCCR2/s200/11.jpg" width="200" /></a>Next I saw her compassion as she
continued to help the strikers. I also witnessed her courage to continue helping those in need, despite
scorn from others in our society.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Finally I saw her bravery as she
stepped between me and the rioters, risking her life to save mine. The fact that she was indifferent to me at that time only made the gesture even more profound, for who risks danger for one they do not like?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's impossible to pick one single reason for why I love her but it's safe to say that the moment we first touched, as she handed me a cup and saucer, was the moment that I knew my heart belonged to her.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdhcIqf0nQeX5dqkaLua_dvgpefiINYUgJaM-03Xi7j2OS8Ex9ycrhVGrP_zqnknsDftonGThhm2JZbGzkK6EoLUf1A12xdSo2Wr1QcVWzxEw6sveGO05F5xU2fvkd0dEO6lJApDa8sdI/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdhcIqf0nQeX5dqkaLua_dvgpefiINYUgJaM-03Xi7j2OS8Ex9ycrhVGrP_zqnknsDftonGThhm2JZbGzkK6EoLUf1A12xdSo2Wr1QcVWzxEw6sveGO05F5xU2fvkd0dEO6lJApDa8sdI/s320/9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Follow the chain <a href="http://cerridewnspeaks.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">forward to JoAnn</a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
You may also be interested in <a href="http://thearmitageeffect.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Fedoralady</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-22775777659411772732012-02-21T00:09:00.001+00:002012-02-22T22:17:50.363+00:00Who else could play John Thornton?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADjCrMpWI2XS5ioX77YFwkBEJ8sDX-doR3PQkygCIPFyAn61Cwp-6ycWnh1EKHX9ZWte4U8OqD4IpeEFrnsePdjorXyqt5bQJ5VQ87UPDnSN3pzS109sVUk2Fn-XJWFebWaalcBYYviOG/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADjCrMpWI2XS5ioX77YFwkBEJ8sDX-doR3PQkygCIPFyAn61Cwp-6ycWnh1EKHX9ZWte4U8OqD4IpeEFrnsePdjorXyqt5bQJ5VQ87UPDnSN3pzS109sVUk2Fn-XJWFebWaalcBYYviOG/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard Armitage as John Thornton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We all know what a good job Mr Richard Armitage did of portraying me, John Thornton, on film.<br />
<br />
You may or may not know that there is also a 1975 version of North & South with Patrick Stewart playing John Thornton but this clip (see below) of Margaret and Mr Hale is all that is available.<br />
<br />
Miss Winchester has often expressed a desire to view that mini-series so that she might compare performances (I believe she is also a closet trekkie, though I'm not quite sure what that means).<br />
<br />
Out of curiosity, I was wondering if there is anyone else whom
you think capable of playing Mr John Thornton, if only for the chance to
compare and contrast how different actors handle the role.<br />
<br />
Please comment with your suggestions. Suggestions will then be put to you in the form of a poll during the Fanstravaganza in March.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxgN-MEgq3L3UyLrxI19Yxur3_HU4WfrFSaLz7FjqWcVk6WDaRcahLzrnaWoRKMhX9bLTl92ggjsShjKVXt4w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-39638180677931261892012-02-11T12:10:00.000+00:002012-02-11T12:10:00.130+00:00A Celebration of North & South!<br />
<a href="http://melaniesmusings.net/announcing-a-north-and-south-celebration" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Feb 13-24" src="http://melaniesmusings.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/blog12.png" /></a>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Next week <a href="http://melaniesmusings.net/announcing-a-north-and-south-celebration/" target="_blank">Melanie</a> is starting a two week celebration of North and South, the story of my and Margaret's meeting.<br />
<br />
Please stop by her blog, <a href="http://melaniesmusings.net/" target="_blank">Melanie's Musings</a>, and share your love for Gaskell's classic novel, the BBC adaptation or simply to drool over Mr Richard Armitage, who did a very fine job portraying me! <br />
<br />
She will have lots of guest blogs and giveaways so mark it in your diaries, February 13th to the 24th!Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-41449667958254457942012-01-03T02:58:00.000+00:002013-04-16T01:18:51.974+01:00A Family Is Not Complete Without A Dog<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95Lh8FKPYWuTfKcHQ_ITKFTTBnQvx9f5QXliWn9Gr4u__PAvLTAvg5FVsJ-glmJqQFcWobLgNQWfJQ7WXDwTSgEdHpXH2nhNk7h0NmQuFsm_xE4exnYTM3yaNk0Cmhu_fsDXCDxhTL9hA/s1600/bill2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95Lh8FKPYWuTfKcHQ_ITKFTTBnQvx9f5QXliWn9Gr4u__PAvLTAvg5FVsJ-glmJqQFcWobLgNQWfJQ7WXDwTSgEdHpXH2nhNk7h0NmQuFsm_xE4exnYTM3yaNk0Cmhu_fsDXCDxhTL9hA/s320/bill2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A drawing Margaret made of Bill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
At least that's what Margaret says. She never had any pets as she was growing up, so I blame Bill for this change of heart.<br />
<br />
Who is Bill? Bill was our first dog, a large, black bitch (yes, that's right, Bill was female) that Margaret found while walking the hills around our house one afternoon. It was hard to say what breed she was but she seemed to have some wolfhound in her.<br />
<br />
Margaret didn't consult me over the dog and I was rather surprised to get home one evening and find her sitting in my chair! Bessy and Margaret lover her though and while I grumbled for a while, I would never have made them get rid of her.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7xT2SRfQtoBCrXhJvXL1JzXQOWI8zojph3whp7EUVD9uLa06QgA-puHKUzJwoQoSBJSpbcVT-3qNOz4g7Qv_t8k1Brvmm-Dc5k9wNwvNkNjaPN8m9OeYgKqRcwPewrchH6M3105RvZEf/s1600/bill1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7xT2SRfQtoBCrXhJvXL1JzXQOWI8zojph3whp7EUVD9uLa06QgA-puHKUzJwoQoSBJSpbcVT-3qNOz4g7Qv_t8k1Brvmm-Dc5k9wNwvNkNjaPN8m9OeYgKqRcwPewrchH6M3105RvZEf/s320/bill1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only photograph we have of Bill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As it turned out, that was a wise decision because Bill was as loyal a pet as it was possible to have. Rarely was Margaret seen without the huge black beast trailing in her wake, and I was pleased to note that the dog had a protective streak when it came to Margaret. Whilst I love how independent she is, I would be a fool not to worry about her when she visits some of the less salubrious areas of Milton, or wanders for hours over the hills around our home. Knowing that she had a protector, and a large one who could appear quite frightening at times, was something of a comfort to me.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately Bill was a member of our little family for less than thee years and despite many things that I disliked about her (not least her name) I will always cherish the memory of that dog since I owe her everything, and no, I am not being melodramatic. Following a horrific fire at our Milton mill, Bill gave her life to save Margaret's. Her remains were never discovered among the ashes so we could not even bury her, but her memory lives on with us.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRw3JGF7UlNhnDBPbLf_U_ZLg9PdRd4_RJQsyMsyhPgQ6dGGDFeJfSr65lGSHsuHJmTcSmiARgTngh0zL1CyYY3-v3N3dV5ACdZXR7wEZPDADfW2heoKn2Kea3mQ5A56CYb9zzEUeFPz4/s1600/Rosie+and+scone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRw3JGF7UlNhnDBPbLf_U_ZLg9PdRd4_RJQsyMsyhPgQ6dGGDFeJfSr65lGSHsuHJmTcSmiARgTngh0zL1CyYY3-v3N3dV5ACdZXR7wEZPDADfW2heoKn2Kea3mQ5A56CYb9zzEUeFPz4/s320/Rosie+and+scone.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scone (behind) and Rosie (front)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We have had a dog ever since. Our current dog is Rosie, an English Toy Terrier. They are a small breed, standing at about twelve inches at the shoulder. Black and tan in colouring, they are a loyal and brave breed. Perhaps I should have bought Margaret a larger dog but I was a little tired of the entire hearth being taken up with dog!<br />
<br />
Due to circumstances, we also have Fanny and my nephew, Malcolm, staying with us for the foreseeable future and he had a second puppy from Rosie's litter. His dog, Scone, is slightly smaller than Rosie, since Malcolm chose the runt of the litter but he is a lovely dog and rarely have I seen a bond such as exists between Malcolm and his dog. Scone has done wonders in bringing the shy little boy out of his shell.<br />
<br />
I still do not have much time for pets in general, I believe them to be an unnecessary distraction. However, after seeing what little Scone had done to help bring Malcolm out of his shell and indeed, Bill's sacrifice for Margaret, I wound not be without a dog. Besides, family life seems to be one big distraction, so the dogs fit right in.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2F6I33DrDyILgx3vogXFvSSmmcFGhuWARIHiKAvoKYPbLkuaw7xobRvRpfgXN2Mv3I6svGnDmZZBVcz5FLc1_GGsFw05etAFrOMOthiI-FujUSi3iNfXiN6IpYSyTdH66h-AESkRBvcsl/s1600/bill_Inkify_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2F6I33DrDyILgx3vogXFvSSmmcFGhuWARIHiKAvoKYPbLkuaw7xobRvRpfgXN2Mv3I6svGnDmZZBVcz5FLc1_GGsFw05etAFrOMOthiI-FujUSi3iNfXiN6IpYSyTdH66h-AESkRBvcsl/s320/bill_Inkify_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaret's ink sketch of Bill, may she rest in peace. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Northern Light is available from<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a><br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats </a><br />
<a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">Miss Winchester's website</a>
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<br />Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-38201810757225866432011-12-23T18:38:00.000+00:002012-06-06T01:16:56.467+01:00A Merry Little Christmas (Complete)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpAui0FtClxxov6bnmHSOUQQMEF-EEjsz2slYkBvXKR6F6QjYaSzpFpzg10sf6gDOi8bA_ya6DITwuqyY4E_gyyedH1_0OuluT-pMZ8kHOpuRGs8lZyVRwysccZ6ERal01F1ZeBc5iXFe/s1600/christmas+story+complete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpAui0FtClxxov6bnmHSOUQQMEF-EEjsz2slYkBvXKR6F6QjYaSzpFpzg10sf6gDOi8bA_ya6DITwuqyY4E_gyyedH1_0OuluT-pMZ8kHOpuRGs8lZyVRwysccZ6ERal01F1ZeBc5iXFe/s640/christmas+story+complete.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
</div>
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>A Merry Little
Christmas</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A short story designed to be a companion to Northern Light, the sequel to North and South </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">although it can also be read as a stand-alone story.<b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Chapter One</b></span></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Given how lavish Victorian dinner parties and balls are, you are
probably thinking that my and Margaret's first Christmas was a lavish
affair with a nine course dinner and weeks of parties leading up to
the big day. However on this occasion, you would be wrong.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We had not long been married then, only a few months, and it had been
difficult for us to spend much time alone. I was still struggling to
get the mill back up to full capacity and living with servants meant
that time on our own was a precious commodity.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I was surprised when Mother announced her intention to spend
Christmas with Fanny and Watson, since I know she does not take much
pleasure in their company. I questioned her decision but she was
adamant; she had already arranged everything and was to leave us on
Christmas Eve and return the day after Boxing Day.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
When I told Margaret that evening as we lay together in bed, she
raised her head off my chest and smiled at me.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Imagine, two whole days alone,” she sounded wistful.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“There will still be the servants,” I reminded her.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Only if we want them,” she bit her lip to stifle the cheeky grin
that wanted to escape. “We could send them home to their families
for the holiday and then we would have this whole house to
ourselves.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“And what will we eat?” I asked.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I can cook us something. I don't promise fine fare but it will be
edible and tasty. Besides, man cannot live on bread alone!” She
said that last line so innocently that if I had not known her well, I
might have thought she was talking about spending the day in church.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Thankfully I did know her well by then and rarely have I heard such a
tempting idea. I quickly found myself agreeing.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Dixon was the hardest since she viewed Margaret as family and enjoyed
taking care of her, so Margaret made the arrangements for Dixon to
spend four days with her sister and all but ordered her to go. The
other staff were much easier to convince to take a day off,
especially since I assured them that they would still be paid.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
As we awoke on Christmas morning, we heard something that I have
never heard before; perfect silence. The Mill was empty, none of the
usual hustle and bustle was happening inside the house and even the
street traffic seemed to have disappeared.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We lay there for a while, not talking of anything special, just
enjoying the peace and quiet.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We had better get ready soon if you don't want to miss the morning
service,” I reminded her.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret looked up at me, her eyes shining with tears.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I...” She sat up so that her back was to me, looked down at her
hands and began picking an imaginary speck of dirt from under her
nails.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“What is it?” I asked, sitting up and putting my hands on her
shoulders.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I have always attended my father's service and since we came to
Milton, gone to church with him,” she said, her voice so soft that
I almost had to strain to hear her.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I moved my hands from her shoulders to around her waist and pulled
her back against my chest, holding her there.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“God knows that you love him,” I assured her. “I do not think
He will mind you missing one service because it is painful.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Do you think so?” she asked.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I know so,” I assured her. “Besides, God knows what is in your
heart and it does not matter if you pray to him in a church or in a
shed, he will still hear you.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“You're right, of course.” I could feel her visibly relax. “Thank
you.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I kissed her shoulder.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Now, why don't you go and wash up and I will play the
hunter-gatherer and see what we have in the kitchen!” I teased.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She nodded and slipped from the bed to pull her robe on.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“And Margaret?”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She paused on her way to the bathroom and turned to me.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Would you leave your hair loose today?”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She smiled and nodded, making a grand show of swishing her raven
locks around her head as she resumed her course to the bathroom.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret's hair is as beautiful as she is and I love seeing it loose.
Indeed it is so thick and full, hanging at least half way down her
back, that I often wonder where it all hides once Dixon has put it up
for her.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
By the time Margaret found me in the kitchen I had rekindled the
fires in our bedroom and the kitchen and lit a fresh one in the back
parlour. I was just melting some butter into a pan on the stove when
Margaret came in, clean and washed but still in her night clothes, as
was I.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Have you looked outside?” she asked. “It's beautiful.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
There had been a fresh snowfall overnight and she was right; although
I'd only glanced outside, it did indeed look beautiful.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Not as beautiful as you,” I told her.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She blushed.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Well, let's just hope that the snow keeps any callers away. With
us both in this shocking state of undress, I should hate to think
what might happen.” I teased.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We will no doubt become the talk of Milton once again,” she
smiled and came to stand beside me. “You didn't tell me that you
could cook?” she chided me.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I can't, not really but we had a few midnight raids on the kitchen
at boarding school,” I smiled.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“A mis-spent youth,” she teased. “And the fires?”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We kept our own rooms and had a rota for which of us would clear
and light the fire every day.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret slipped her arms around my waist and peered around me.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“So what are we having?”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“OEufs a la Jean avec du jambon.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret began laughing.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“That's a very grand way of saying ham omelette!”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I smiled at her teasing and poured the beaten eggs into the pan.
While I prepared the food, Margaret got the plates and cutlery out
and set two places at the kitchen table. I served the food and we
chatted, giggling like schoolchildren at the oddness of the
situation.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
It's very strange how, although we own the house, we can still feel
like intruders in certain parts of it!
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
With breakfast over we headed to the parlour. The room had been
decorated for Christmas with lots of ivy garlands, paper chains, a
mistletoe ball hanging in the centre of the room and in one corner, a
pine tree which has been decorated with hand made ornaments, lots of
holly berries, paper flowers and red and white sugar canes.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Around the candelabra on the mantelpiece snow-tipped holly leaves and
pine cones had been placed and the cinnamon and vanilla pod bunch
which lay there was giving the room a slightly sweet and festive
scent.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We placed some cushions in front of the fire and sat down there to
exchange gifts. Margaret had brought me a gold watch, inscribed on
the back with “<i>To John, your loving wife, Margaret.</i>”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“It's beautiful,” I told her, leaning over and claiming a kiss.
Every day now I would be wearing a token of Margaret's love for me
and that feeling was worth more than any gift on its own.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I had bought Margaret a ruby and diamond eternity ring (ruby is her
birthstone) and had the inside of the band inscribed, “<i>With love
J</i>”. I didn't have as much space as there was on the watch so I
had to be brief.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret seemed pleased with it though and made me place it on the
ring finger of her right hand for her.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Is it the right size?” I asked, worried that I had done
something wrong.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“It's perfect,” she smiled.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She leaned over and kissed me but this was not a kiss of thanks, it
was a soft kiss of desire.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; page-break-before: always; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<b>Chapter Two</b></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I would have been happy to lie in front of that fire forever but it
seemed that Margaret had a better idea.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
As I rose to build the fire up again, she pulled her robe on and
handed me mine. I raised a quizzical eyebrow.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We're getting dressed,” she said.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We are?” I may have sounded a little petulant.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We are.” She got to her feet and headed for the door. I
followed, curious as to what she had in mind.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Once in our bedroom she told me to dress in old clothes that I
wouldn't mind getting wet, then took me out into the back garden. It
wasn't much of a garden at the mill house but blanketed with fresh
snow, it looked beautiful.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We proceeded to build a snowman. Despite the many layers I wore, I
soon grew cold. My hands and feet turned numb, my nose turned bright
red and I don't believe I have ever been so cold in my life. I
enjoyed every single second of it; laughing and playing, stealing the
occasional kiss and creating a snowman that had rather a lopsided
coal smile and spindly twigs for arms since we could find nothing
larger. It would not be winning any prizes for beauty, that was
certain.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
After that, a snowball fight ensued and after knocking Margaret off
her feet and into the soft snow, I claimed my prize as victor; a
kiss. I would have claimed more but it was even too cold for me!</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We returned to the house; Margaret warmed some mulled wine that Cook
had left for us while I went to build up the fire in our bedroom. I
stripped out of my cold, wet clothes, dried off and pulled my
dressing gown on. I then laid the eiderdown from our bed on the floor
in front of the fire and sat down to wait for my Margaret.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She kept me waiting quite a long time but when she returned she had a
tray laden with food and drink and I rushed up to help her.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Get changed,” I told her. “You'll catch your death if you stay
in those wet clothes for much longer.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret handed the tray over to me and headed to her dressing room.
I placed the tray down on the closest table and followed her through.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“John!” she cried, shocked that I had entered.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Well since you have no lady's maid, I thought that you might want
my assistance,” I smiled.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret laughed at my impropriety and I reached out to take her
hand.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Margaret, you're freezing!” I admonished, grabbing up her
dressing gown. “Come and stand by the fire.” My firm grip on her
hand let her know that I wasn't fooling and she allowed me to lead
her back to our bedroom.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Her skin was icy cold and I rubbed each area of skin that I uncovered
to warm it. Margaret stood placidly and allowed my ministrations. I
dried her carefully, not wanting her to suffer chapped skin and once
she was dried and at least a little warmed, I held her robe out for
her, which had been laying by the fire and was nice and warm.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret stepped willingly into the garment and wrapped it around her
as she leaned back against me.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“You do take care of me,” she said softly.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I try,” I sounded a little tart. Truth be told I was angry at
myself for not realising how cold she had become.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I'm fine, darling. I spent many hours in the snow in Helstone and
have been much more chilled than this.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She turned in the circle of my arms and reached up to kiss me.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Now, are we going to let this food go to waste?” she asked.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I shook my head, 'no' and we sat down on the eiderdown with the tray
beside us while I examined the treats she had brought up.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
There was a large plate of sandwiches, a bowl of sugar plums, another
of fudge and a third of sugared almonds. There were also two slices
of the Christmas pudding that Cook had left us; a carafe of mulled
wine and a jug of milk.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I'm afraid the wine will be cool by now,” she apologised as she
poured two glasses.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“It will still taste good,” I assured her.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We spent the rest of the evening by the fire, venturing downstairs
only once for a pot of tea and some supper. When the daylight faded
we lit only two candles, rather enjoying the romantic atmosphere that
the firelight gave us. We talked a lot, swapping stories from our
pasts that we had not yet shared, reminiscing about our favourite
Christmases past and just enjoying one another's company.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
When it came time to sleep, rather than retiring to bed we doubled
the large eiderdown over so it acted as a top cover and bottom sheet,
then fetched our pillows from the bed and went to sleep in front of
the fireplace.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<b>Chapter Three</b></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
The next morning I believe we both felt that we'd had our share of
being idle and although we took our time in rousing ourselves, we
decided to actually get dressed and take a turn around the town.
Margaret cooked breakfast this morning, bacon, eggs and fried bread
(to hide the fact that it was now a little stale) which we ate at the
kitchen table again. Then we decided to take a stroll to the Mitre
Hotel for afternoon tea.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We're going to be far too early,” Margaret said as she wrapped
her scarf around her neck and pulled her winter coat on.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Then we had best make it a slow walk.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We headed to the park first, taking our time and enjoying the scenery
around us. While many people had returned to work today, most of the
shops seemed closed, clearly taking advantage of an extra day off.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Everyone we passed, even those who seemed to be working, had a ready
smile and a warm “Good morning” for us.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
At we neared the top of the hill in the park, Margaret noted that the
park and indeed the whole town, looked magical under its fresh
covering of snow. Many of the mill chimneys were active again since
many businesses don't recognise Boxing Day as a holiday but today the
smoke only added to the festive look of the town.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
There were a few people milling around in the park. Some children
were making snowmen, as we had yesterday and another group were
having a snowball fight. The adults seemed to be enjoying the view of
the town for none of them seemed in a rush to get to their
destinations and most kept glancing back over the town.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret began rubbing her gloved hands together so I looked around
to make sure that we were unobserved, then pulled Margaret behind a
large tree nearby. Opening my coat, I placed her hands around me so
that the heat from my back could warm her hands. My chest would have
done just as well but this way I also got to embrace her.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We stole a few kisses while hidden back there but when Margaret's
hands had warmed sufficiently, we continued on our way.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Though we had missed the morning service, we stopped in at the local
church so that Margaret could say her prayers.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I offered my own silent prayer, thanking Him for my good fortune of
late and, feeling the Christmas spirit myself, slipped a generous
amount into the pauper's box on our way out.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
With that done we continued to the hotel, pausing to look in some of
the shop windows we passed since it seemed that many had gone out of
their way to make their windows look festive. Many shops had
miniature, hand made nativity scenes on display and it was
interesting to see how each one differed from its neighbour. Paper
chains and ivy garlands were draped around most windows and wreaths
adorned almost every door we passed.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We stopped in at the bakers, one of the few open shops, and bought
some fresh bread. The baker greeted us with a hearty smile and threw
in two free gingerbread men that had been iced to look like snowmen.
We thanked him and continued on our way.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I still find it hard to believe that there was a time when people
didn't celebrate Christmas,” Margaret said as we walked. “This is
all so lovely that I don't understand why anyone would want to miss
it.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Perhaps they didn't know what they were missing,” I reasoned.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“If that's true, it really would be a shame,” she said,
tightening her grip on my arm and resting her head briefly on my
shoulder.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Those passing us who might usually look upon such a public display of
affection with distaste, today only smiled at us, perhaps
understanding the need to show love at this time of year.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
As we entered the town square it seemed that we had interrupted a
snowball fight among some of the local children and as one hit me
square in the chest, the boy who had thrown it paused in fright for a
moment. Then obviously deciding that discretion was the better part
of valour, he turned tail and ran, his friends hot on his heels.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I was angry and about to shout after them (what if they had hit
Margaret instead of me!) when Margaret's laugher caught my attention.
It seems that she found both my predicament and my annoyance amusing.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“They're only having fun,” she said as she brushed the snow from
my coat.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“You call that fun?” I asked. “They could hurt someone.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Yes, well you thought it was rather fun yesterday, if I recall
correctly.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She had me there, but I wasn't giving in that easily.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“You started that,” I reminded her. “And besides, we were in
the safety of our garden, not hurling missiles at random strangers in
the street.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret smiled indulgently then reached up and kissed me softly,
causing the last of my anger to evaporate.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Come on,” she said, slipping her arm through mine again. “I
don't know about you but I'm ready for a nice pot of hot tea.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We continued to the hotel which was not far from the square and
arrived just in time for afternoon tea. They seated us by a window
and we enjoyed watching the world pass us by as the people outside
laughed, joked and enjoyed the snow and festive season.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I wish we could do this every year,” she said. “I've loved
these two days on our own.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“And I, love.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
We both knew that we would not be this lucky every year but a part of
me hoped that we could recreate this feeling of solitude some time
soon. We had not even had the luxury of a honeymoon after our wedding
and now that I knew what time alone with Margaret could be like, I
was more sorry than ever for that fact.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
The mill would be running as normal in another few months so I began
to wonder about the possibility of us taking a late honeymoon,
perhaps visiting Margaret's brother. It was too soon to voice such
ideas to Margaret in case I could not be spared from the mill but I
was determined to do my best and secure us a holiday in the coming
year. Preferably sooner rather than later.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
When the tea, sandwiches and cakes were finished, we paid the bill
and set about reapplying all the layers of clothing that we had
removed when we entered. Bundled up once more, we headed out onto the
street.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
The snow was falling again, large fluffy white flakes drifting gently
to the ground. Margaret put her hand out in front of her, palm up and
watched as the flakes landed there and melted.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Let's hail a cab,” I suggested. Snow is very pretty to watch but
I didn't much fancy the idea of walking all the way home in it. “I
find that I am somewhat eager to curl up in front of a nice, warm
fire with you once again.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret put her hand down and nodded her agreement. I hailed the
first passing cab and after telling the driver our address, we
climbed into the carriage. Thankfully it was enclosed and we were
somewhat sheltered from the biting cold.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Though most surely shocking to anyone who might have seen, I couldn't
resist Margaret any longer and removed my hat before I leaned over
and kissed her. She responded with equal ardour and by the time the
cab slowed to a stop, we were both slightly breathless and her lips
were quite red and swollen.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
After I had paid the driver, we headed inside and although all I
wanted to do was have my way with Margaret, I knew that the fires
needed tending first.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I had built them up this morning so none had died out but the range
in the kitchen was on its last legs. I stoked up the rear parlour
fire also in case we spent any time in that room, then I headed up to
our bedroom to find that Margaret had already taken care of the fire
in there.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She was lying under the eiderdown by the fire and as far as I could
tell, not wearing a single stitch of clothing. She had taken her hair
out of its bun so it lay fanned out around her head and I paused for
a moment to admire her.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Come and join me,” she pleaded.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
'How is a man meant to resist a request like that,' I asked myself?
The answer was simple; 'he isn't.' </div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; page-break-before: always; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<b>Chapter Four</b></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
A little later that afternoon we ventured down to the kitchen once
more for some more of Cook's excellent Christmas pudding with brandy
cream and mulled wine, which we took into the rear parlour and sat on
the window seat to watch the snow falling.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“If it keeps on at this rate, Milton might be snowed in by
tomorrow,” I mused, wondering if the mill would be affected. The
hands were all within walking distance so they should be able to come
to work but would the trains and canal boats be running? We could
probably survive on our reserves for a week or so if the worst came
to the worst and we were cut off. If it went on any longer though, I
would begin to receive fines as some orders would become overdue.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We're supposed to be on holiday,” Margaret reminded me.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Sorry,” I said a little sheepishly. Margaret smiled indulgently.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“If you want to worry about something, worry about all this rich
food going straight to my hips,” she said, unapologetically popping
another forkfull of pudding into her mouth.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We walked half way across Milton this morning in four inches of
snow,” I reassured her. “I think it's safe to say that we have
already worked the pudding off. Besides, you would have eaten much
more if we had accepted Fanny's Christmas invitation; Mother told me
that she was planning on serving a twelve course luncheon on
Christmas Day.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Twelve courses! Your mother will be fit to be tied when she gets
home,” Margaret said, knowing how much my Mother dislikes
extravagance and detests waste.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“She knew what she was letting herself in for,” I reassured her,
though we both realised that we owed Mother a large debt of gratitude
for giving us this time alone.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I finished my pudding and brandy cream and placed my plate to one
side.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Good,” Margaret said, spearing a piece of her pudding onto her
fork. “Now you can help me.” She grinned as she aimed the fork at
my lips.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I took the offered morsel and quickly swallowed.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I see; so you want me to become rotund so that you can keep your
girlish figure?”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Exactly.” Margaret laughed. “And while we're on the subject of
rotund, I'll be expecting you to have all the babies.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She was so guileless that for a second I might have believed she
meant it.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Oh you will, will you?” I tried hard to suppress my smile but I
wasn't as successful as she.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Yes.” She fed me another piece of pudding.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“That might make running the mill rather awkward,” I reasoned
once I'd swallowed.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“You'll manage,” she smiled. “You always do.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Between us we finished her pudding and as the daylight faded, left
the window and pulled the heavy curtains closed to keep the heat in.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I spied the piano in the corner.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Do you know any carols?” I asked.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I used to know a few but it's been a long time.” I could tell
from her tone that she was reluctant. I've heard her play though and
perhaps she isn't a virtuoso but to my ear her playing is lovely.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Please?”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I could see her wavering.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“If I'm carrying the babies for you, I think the least you can do
is sing me a song.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She laughed at my reasoning and finally nodded her agreement. She
made her way over to the piano, sat down and lifted the lid. Her long
hair fell over her shoulder and she brushed it behind her ear, out of
her face.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I can't see what I'm doing,” she said.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Realising that the firelight wouldn't reach over there, I lit two oil
lamps and a five arm candelabra. I placed the oil lamps on top on the
piano and the candelabra on a table to the side so that she could see
the keys. It still wasn't much light; when we had a dinner party this
room would be ablaze with candles but this was sufficient for our
needs.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret began playing Silent Night.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I hadn't thought it possible to love her any more than I already did
but the voice that accompanied her playing was so soft and exquisite.
I have heard her humming to herself before but nothing like this. It
revealed a vulnerability that few people were privileged enough to
see. I moved around the piano so that I could look at her while she
played and her hesitant expression reminded me of our reunion, when,
although she thought that I no longer cared for her (because fool
that I am, that is what I had told her) she had still offered to loan
me money for the mill.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She looked up at me and I smiled reassuringly.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“That was lovely,” I said when she had finished.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“It was a favourite of my father's,” she confessed.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I considered asking for another but she still looked reluctant so
instead I sat beside her on the piano stool.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“So, come on then, teach me the basics.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
She smiled and tried for a while but it quickly became clear that I
had no musical talent. Instead she suggested that I read to her.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Before Mother left for Fanny's home, we had been reading nightly from
A Christmas Carol. We were nearing the end now and she had once told
me how much she enjoyed the ending, so with the candles, lamps and a
fresh pot of tea, we retired to our bedroom. We settled on the floor
by the fire once more, my back against one of the chairs and Margaret
lying across the eiderdown, her head resting on my lap.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
With one hand I lazily played with her hair while my other held the
book. Every now and again I would glance down at her to see if she
was still enjoying herself and often caught her smiling, especially
as the book drew to a close. Margaret did so love a happy ending.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I put the book down when we were finished and Margaret sat up.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Thank you,” she said, leaning forward and kissing me.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“My pleasure.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Just then we heard the clock downstairs chime eight o'clock and
shared a look. We both knew that tomorrow morning we would be back to
reality; the mill would reopen, the servants would return and Mother
would come home. Our solitude was coming to an end.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“We shouldn't be too late to bed,” Margaret said somewhat sadly.
“We will both have busy days tomorrow.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I nodded and sighed, then an idea occurred to me.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“I think that perhaps we should have a very early night,” I said.
“In fact I think we should retire to bed within the half hour.”
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Margaret caught my meaning and smiled.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Why don't you go down and get us each a small brandy while I put
the eiderdown back on the bed.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“What a very good idea, Mrs Thornton.” I kissed her then headed
down to get our drinks.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I was still awake as the clock chimed ten o'clock but I could tell
from Margaret's deep breathing that she was fast asleep. Her head was
resting on my shoulder and her breath lightly tickled my chest with
each exhalation
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I was still unwilling to sleep for the next thing I would know was
the hustle and bustle of daily life.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I imagined what Margaret would say if she knew why I was still awake
and smiled as I heard her voice in my head. And she was right.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
Yes, tomorrow we would be back to reality and to the daily routine
but no matter what the future held for us, we would always have the
memories of the last two days to help see us through.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I kissed the top of Margaret's head.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“Goodnight, my love. Sweet dreams.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.</div>
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
The End</div>
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
***<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Northern Light is available in paperback and ebook formats. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a> | <a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a> | <a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats</a> | <a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">Miss Winchester's website</a><br />
<br />
©
Catherine Winchester 2011. All rights reserved.
<br />
<br />
. </div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-17866965329519168002011-12-23T02:20:00.000+00:002011-12-23T18:44:53.866+00:00A Merry Little Christmas, Part Four<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZcaS6JFbG5F8JqlHpBCdbS7L4ShEArV6Ym68LH3pf8B7tqe25bAISqSdEM8g7cwEq7OnlldX4hOyl_iyYDYP3f3bzL_DenOTVkMwbTvtpMyO_9NqLsxOX4twV2iRblZGox3ErewI_hEq/s1600/christmas+story4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZcaS6JFbG5F8JqlHpBCdbS7L4ShEArV6Ym68LH3pf8B7tqe25bAISqSdEM8g7cwEq7OnlldX4hOyl_iyYDYP3f3bzL_DenOTVkMwbTvtpMyO_9NqLsxOX4twV2iRblZGox3ErewI_hEq/s1600/christmas+story4.jpg" /></a></div>
Previous Chapters: <a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/11/merry-little-christmas-part-one.html" target="_blank">Part one</a> | <a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/12/merry-little-christmas-part-two.html" target="_blank">Part two</a> | <a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/12/merry-little-christmas-part-three.html" target="_blank">Part three</a><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<b> </b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
A little later that
afternoon we ventured down to the kitchen once more for some more of
Cook's excellent Christmas pudding with brandy cream and mulled wine,
which we took into the rear parlour and sat on the window seat to
watch the snow falling.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“If it keeps on at
this rate, Milton might be snowed in by tomorrow,” I mused,
wondering if the mill would be affected. The hands were all within
walking distance so they should be able to come to work but would the
trains and canal boats be running? We could probably survive on our
reserves for a week or so if the worst came to the worst and we were
cut off. If it went on any longer though, I would begin to receive
fines as some orders would become overdue.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We're supposed to
be on holiday,” Margaret reminded me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Sorry,” I said a
little sheepishly. Margaret smiled indulgently.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjQU1R054pLGp8QsucR_TMAdTiCav4pFOcWNk5JJpTQK0yI2eM5_be-LNYviA6VnMAPuMnWiCcwW34Qvv1bLABeL0CmARfWcIlnIsmeU8v7ykRcRrfG80QevRb5GCyZ1n7FRNLuu-rb_r/s1600/story+pudding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjQU1R054pLGp8QsucR_TMAdTiCav4pFOcWNk5JJpTQK0yI2eM5_be-LNYviA6VnMAPuMnWiCcwW34Qvv1bLABeL0CmARfWcIlnIsmeU8v7ykRcRrfG80QevRb5GCyZ1n7FRNLuu-rb_r/s1600/story+pudding.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“If you want to
worry about something, worry about all this rich food going straight
to my hips,” she said, unapologetically popping another forkfull of
pudding into her mouth.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We walked half way
across Milton this morning in four inches of snow,” I reassured
her. “I think it's safe to say that we have already worked the
pudding off. Besides, you would have eaten much more if we had
accepted Fanny's Christmas invitation; Mother told me that she was
planning on serving a twelve course luncheon on Christmas Day.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Twelve courses!
Your mother will be fit to be tied when she gets home,” Margaret
said, knowing how much my Mother dislikes extravagance and detests
waste.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“She knew what she
was letting herself in for,” I reassured her, though we both
realised that we owed Mother a large debt of gratitude for giving us
this time alone.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I finished my pudding
and brandy cream and placed my plate to one side.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Good,” Margaret
said, spearing a piece of her pudding onto her fork. “Now you can
help me.” She grinned as she aimed the fork at my lips.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I took the offered
morsel and quickly swallowed.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I see; so you want
me to become rotund so that you can keep your girlish figure?”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Exactly.”
Margaret laughed. “And while we're on the subject of rotund, I'll
be expecting you to have all the babies.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She was so guileless
that for a second I might have believed she meant it.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Oh you will, will
you?” I tried hard to suppress my smile but I wasn't as successful
as she.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Yes.” She fed me
another piece of pudding.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“That might make
running the mill rather awkward,” I reasoned once I'd swallowed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“You'll manage,”
she smiled. “You always do.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Between us we
finished her pudding and as the daylight faded, left the window and
pulled the heavy curtains closed to keep the heat in.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I spied the piano in
the corner.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Do you know any
carols?” I asked.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I used to know a
few but it's been a long time.” I could tell from her tone that she
was reluctant. I've heard her play though and perhaps she isn't a
virtuoso but to my ear her playing is lovely.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Please?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I could see her
wavering.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“If I'm carrying
the babies for you, I think the least you can do is sing me a song.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She laughed at my
reasoning and finally nodded her agreement. She made her way over to
the piano, sat down and lifted the lid. Her long hair fell over her
shoulder and she brushed it behind her ear, out of her face.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I can't see what
I'm doing,” she said.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Realising that the
firelight wouldn't reach over there, I lit two oil lamps and a five
arm candelabra. I placed the oil lamps on top on the piano and the
candelabra on a table to the side so that she could see the keys. It
still wasn't much light; when we had a dinner party this room would
be ablaze with candles but this was sufficient for our needs.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret began
playing Silent Night.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcm8etXG-zi0gH7SVaI2vQmp_efFMQ4R1lgSru6uvthNF9mOVcMsgO7REX4MOZFhaRjv8Om_o5B9h79q6SsOoieYvlwFB3Ep-6vqBO4h-iCk5ik9TL6USMti-2n0loL1gqE-A6xgIffXc/s1600/story+piano.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcm8etXG-zi0gH7SVaI2vQmp_efFMQ4R1lgSru6uvthNF9mOVcMsgO7REX4MOZFhaRjv8Om_o5B9h79q6SsOoieYvlwFB3Ep-6vqBO4h-iCk5ik9TL6USMti-2n0loL1gqE-A6xgIffXc/s200/story+piano.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I hadn't thought it
possible to love her any more than I already did but the voice that
accompanied her playing was so soft and exquisite. I have heard her
humming to herself before but nothing like this. It revealed a
vulnerability that few people were privileged enough to see. I moved
around the piano so that I could look at her while she played and her
hesitant expression reminded me of our reunion, when, although she
thought that I no longer cared for her (because fool that I am, that
is what I had told her) she had still offered to loan me money for
the mill.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She looked up at me
and I smiled reassuringly.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“That was lovely,”
I said when she had finished.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“It was a favourite
of my father's,” she confessed.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I considered asking
for another but she still looked reluctant so instead I sat beside
her on the piano stool.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“So, come on then,
teach me the basics.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She smiled and tried
for a while but it quickly became clear that I had no musical talent.
Instead she suggested that I read to her.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Before Mother left
for Fanny's home, we had been reading nightly from A Christmas Carol.
We were nearing the end now and she had once told me how much she
enjoyed the ending, so with the candles, lamps and a fresh pot of
tea, we retired to our bedroom. We settled on the floor by the fire
once more, my back against one of the chairs and Margaret lying
across the eiderdown, her head resting on my lap.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
With one hand I
lazily played with her hair while my other held the book. Every now
and again I would glance down at her to see if she was still enjoying
herself and often caught her smiling, especially as the book drew to
a close. Margaret did so love a happy ending.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I put the book down
when we were finished and Margaret sat up.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Thank you,” she
said, leaning forward and kissing me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“My pleasure.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Just then we heard
the clock downstairs chime eight o'clock and shared a look. We both
knew that tomorrow morning we would be back to reality; the mill
would reopen, the servants would return and Mother would come home.
Our solitude was coming to an end.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We shouldn't be
too late to bed,” Margaret said somewhat sadly. “We will both
have busy days tomorrow.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I nodded and sighed,
then an idea occurred to me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I think that
perhaps we should have a very early night,” I said. “In fact I
think we should retire to bed within the half hour.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret caught my
meaning and smiled.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Why don't you go
down and get us each a small brandy while I put the eiderdown back on
the bed.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“What a very good
idea, Mrs Thornton.” I kissed her then headed down to get our
drinks.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I was still awake as
the clock chimed ten o'clock but I could tell from Margaret's deep
breathing that she was fast asleep. Her head was resting on my
shoulder and her breath lightly tickled my chest with each exhalation
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I was still unwilling
to sleep for the next thing I would know was the hustle and bustle of
daily life.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I imagined what
Margaret would say if she knew why I was still awake and smiled as I
heard her voice in my head. And she was right.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Yes, tomorrow we
would be back to reality and to the daily routine but no matter what
the future held for us, we would always have the memories of the last
two days to help see us through.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I kissed the top of
Margaret's head.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Goodnight, my
love. Sweet dreams.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I closed my eyes and
drifted off to sleep.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
The End</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I hope you have enjoyed this story and I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of you for sharing this story with me and to wish you all a very merry Christmas. </div>
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©
Catherine Winchester 2011. All rights reserved.
</div>
</div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-4132671763982843002011-12-15T09:57:00.001+00:002011-12-15T09:57:53.500+00:00A Merry Little Christmas, Part three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4mBMmYaKVmuS938Uac9W8g9xKtal7fkXIMRP-d2ExYNcqGqtezl7CMKHq9xleVjtrCCJBXoQ2abfi-HGAbnMJuzBQDEQLob-HmGeYKoHrdYFHczziHmUuN-gKbzuf9ZZVlplJI0CQJs2/s1600/christmas+story3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4mBMmYaKVmuS938Uac9W8g9xKtal7fkXIMRP-d2ExYNcqGqtezl7CMKHq9xleVjtrCCJBXoQ2abfi-HGAbnMJuzBQDEQLob-HmGeYKoHrdYFHczziHmUuN-gKbzuf9ZZVlplJI0CQJs2/s1600/christmas+story3.jpg" /></a></div>
Previous chapters: <a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/11/merry-little-christmas-part-one.html" target="_blank">Part one</a> | <a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/12/merry-little-christmas-part-two.html" target="_blank">Part two.</a><br />
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The next morning I
believe we both felt that we'd had our share of being idle and
although we took our time in rousing ourselves, we decided to
actually get dressed and take a turn around the town. Margaret cooked
breakfast this morning, bacon, eggs and fried bread (to hide the fact
that it was now a little stale) which we ate at the kitchen table
again. Then we decided to take a stroll to the Mitre Hotel for
afternoon tea.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We're going to be
far too early,” Margaret said as she wrapped her scarf around her
neck and pulled her winter coat on.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Then we had best
make it a slow walk.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We headed to the park
first, taking our time and enjoying the scenery around us. While many
people had returned to work today, most of the shops seemed closed,
clearly taking advantage of an extra day off.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Everyone we passed,
even those who seemed to be working, had a ready smile and a warm
“Good morning” for us.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
At we neared the top
of the hill in the park, Margaret noted that the park and indeed the
whole town, looked magical under its fresh covering of snow. Many of
the mill chimneys were active again since many businesses don't
recognise Boxing Day as a holiday but today the smoke only added to
the festive look of the town.
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiiaTuT2VjsVJE3Dc9pWFu85SvMlLEFuavwxF9a6nIo0BW5wUzJ6rQ1iwcSfyErO4xi9XsCo-NLJEIpc_-hDeixYK-UyiWEdnicRkWe322pSyP1oHunsFq-5laKvmb6wzRcG15Fph7zAPA/s1600/christmas+park2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiiaTuT2VjsVJE3Dc9pWFu85SvMlLEFuavwxF9a6nIo0BW5wUzJ6rQ1iwcSfyErO4xi9XsCo-NLJEIpc_-hDeixYK-UyiWEdnicRkWe322pSyP1oHunsFq-5laKvmb6wzRcG15Fph7zAPA/s320/christmas+park2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
There were a few
people milling around in the park. Some children were making snowmen,
as we had yesterday and another group were having a snowball fight.
The adults seemed to be enjoying the view of the town for none of
them seemed in a rush to get to their destinations and most kept
glancing back over the town.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret began
rubbing her gloved hands together so I looked around to make sure
that we were unobserved, then pulled Margaret behind a large tree
nearby. Opening my coat, I placed her hands around me so that the
heat from my back could warm her hands. My chest would have done just
as well but this way I also got to embrace her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We stole a few kisses
while hidden back there but when Margaret's hands had warmed
sufficiently, we continued on our way.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Though we had missed
the morning service, we stopped in at the local church so that
Margaret could say her prayers.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I offered my own
silent prayer, thanking Him for my good fortune of late and, feeling
the Christmas spirit myself, slipped a generous amount into the
pauper's box on our way out.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With that done we
continued to the hotel, pausing to look in some of the shop windows
we passed since it seemed that many had gone out of their way to make
their windows look festive. Many shops had miniature, hand made
nativity scenes on display and it was interesting to see how each one
differed from its neighbour. Paper chains and ivy garlands were
draped around most windows and wreaths adorned almost every door we
passed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We stopped in at the
bakers, one of the few open shops, and bought some fresh bread. The
baker greeted us with a hearty smile and threw in two free
gingerbread men that had been iced to look like snowmen. We thanked
him and continued on our way.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I still find it
hard to believe that there was a time when people didn't celebrate
Christmas,” Margaret said as we walked. “This is all so lovely
that I don't understand why anyone would want to miss it.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Perhaps they
didn't know what they were missing,” I reasoned.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“If that's true, it
really would be a shame,” she said, tightening her grip on my arm
and resting her head briefly on my shoulder.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Those passing us who
might usually look upon such a public display of affection with
distaste, today only smiled at us, perhaps understanding the need to
show love at this time of year.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
As we entered the
town square it seemed that we had interrupted a snowball fight among
some of the local children and as one hit me square in the chest, the
boy who had thrown it paused in fright for a moment. Then obviously
deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, he turned
tail and ran, his friends hot on his heels.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I was angry and about
to shout after them (what if they had hit Margaret instead of me!)
when Margaret's laugher caught my attention. It seems that she found
both my predicament and my annoyance amusing.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“They're only
having fun,” she said as she brushed the snow from my coat.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“You call that
fun?” I asked. “They could hurt someone.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Yes, well you
thought it was rather fun yesterday, if I recall correctly.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She had me there, but
I wasn't giving in that easily.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“You started that,”
I reminded her. “And besides, we were in the safety of our garden,
not hurling missiles at random strangers in the street.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret smiled
indulgently then reached up and kissed me softly, causing the last of
my anger to evaporate.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Come on,” she
said, slipping her arm through mine again. “I don't know about you
but I'm ready for a nice pot of hot tea.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We continued to the
hotel which was not far from the square and arrived just in time for
afternoon tea. They seated us by a window and we enjoyed watching the
world pass us by as the people outside laughed, joked and enjoyed the
snow and festive season.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I wish we could do
this every year,” she said. “I've loved these two days on our
own.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“And I, love.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We both knew that we
would not be this lucky every year but a part of me hoped that we
could recreate this feeling of solitude some time soon. We had not
even had the luxury of a honeymoon after our wedding and now that I
knew what time alone with Margaret could be like, I was more sorry
than ever for that fact.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The mill would be
running as normal in another few months so I began to wonder about
the possibility of us taking a late honeymoon, perhaps visiting
Margaret's brother. It was too soon to voice such ideas to Margaret
in case I could not be spared from the mill but I was determined to
do my best and secure us a holiday in the coming year. Preferably
sooner rather than later.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
When the tea,
sandwiches and cakes were finished, we paid the bill and set about
reapplying all the layers of clothing that we had removed when we
entered. Bundled up once more, we headed out onto the street.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The snow was falling
again, large fluffy white flakes drifting gently to the ground.
Margaret put her hand out in front of her, palm up and watched as the
flakes landed there and melted.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Let's hail a cab,”
I suggested. Snow is very pretty to watch but I didn't much fancy the
idea of walking all the way home in it. “I find that I am somewhat
eager to curl up in front of a nice, warm fire with you once again.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkBvac_M5JYg1y0INctrv8KIu1afYksNgjtpvSFYvv_l0xDL4DV392Mbe7mS53ZTf4uU2ZHvj3MQ1sjwk5bmUoUdN1fOKNj-ApFeG8ZIJ9PZ-gI1jhshc49IsPoLq3wfauzys-i6mMuuO/s1600/story+carriage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkBvac_M5JYg1y0INctrv8KIu1afYksNgjtpvSFYvv_l0xDL4DV392Mbe7mS53ZTf4uU2ZHvj3MQ1sjwk5bmUoUdN1fOKNj-ApFeG8ZIJ9PZ-gI1jhshc49IsPoLq3wfauzys-i6mMuuO/s320/story+carriage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Margaret put her hand
down and nodded her agreement. I hailed the first passing cab and
after telling the driver our address, we climbed into the carriage.
Thankfully it was enclosed and we were somewhat sheltered from the
biting cold.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Though most surely
shocking to anyone who might have seen, I couldn't resist Margaret
any longer and removed my hat before I leaned over and kissed her.
She responded with equal ardour and by the time the cab slowed to a
stop, we were both slightly breathless and her lips were quite red
and swollen.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
After I had paid the
driver, we headed inside and although all I wanted to do was have my
way with Margaret, I knew that the fires needed tending first.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I had built them up
this morning so none had died out but the range in the kitchen was on
its last legs. I stoked up the rear parlour fire also in case we
spent any time in that room, then I headed up to our bedroom to find
that Margaret had already taken care of the fire in there.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She was lying under
the eiderdown by the fire and as far as I could tell, not wearing a
single stitch of clothing. She had taken her hair out of its bun so
it lay fanned out around her head and I paused for a moment to admire
her.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Come and join me,”
she pleaded.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
'How is a man meant
to resist a request like that,' I asked myself? The answer was
simple; 'he isn't.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<br />
To be continued...<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
©
Catherine Winchester 2011. All rights reserved. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-71820179500939164722011-12-14T10:25:00.000+00:002011-12-14T10:25:28.881+00:00Elizabeth Thornton<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTf4jQDoVur0OYLwp96OaR07bghhUqVVKJSrCNxU8hNgBQJW72dnhc8tfzkkCeQDlw7QC_a3h5PgHGVilNm9NqaRJqlfcAj4oJR8w4lviHCmWsE-5CH6bruuvMLC1etVg_GX97l8lF4tp/s1600/john+and+bessy+sketch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTf4jQDoVur0OYLwp96OaR07bghhUqVVKJSrCNxU8hNgBQJW72dnhc8tfzkkCeQDlw7QC_a3h5PgHGVilNm9NqaRJqlfcAj4oJR8w4lviHCmWsE-5CH6bruuvMLC1etVg_GX97l8lF4tp/s320/john+and+bessy+sketch.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaret's charcoal sketch of me and Bessy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b><span style="font-size: large;">My Darling Daughter</span></b></u></div>
<br />
When I discovered
that Margaret was with child, I was ecstatic; we both where. My
happiness was soon overshadowed however when in the latter months
Margaret began to have problems. First her fingers began to swell to
the extent that she had to remove her wedding ring (using lots of
butter butter) because it was becoming painful. She also suffered a
few nosebleeds and headaches but she insisted that she was fine.
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I believed her, until
she collapsed one day.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Doctor Donaldson said
that she was in danger of developing a condition known as eclampsia
and that if her condition got any worse, she may begin to have fits
that often proved fatal. He advised complete bed rest, no worry and a
bland diet until the child was born.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTMskOw_ropMk337V7VP56_RrhYjX8pAoxZt4R6a5Lh9VbJE98YivYIzA8CGQbj6ti8zn852Hb3IeRgf7XzvNQOSouaZOf3NQv_odrY5-pt1itzSEe_nKuf4yDKsjJ_xsaZ1yt4_zD3kE1/s1600/bessy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTMskOw_ropMk337V7VP56_RrhYjX8pAoxZt4R6a5Lh9VbJE98YivYIzA8CGQbj6ti8zn852Hb3IeRgf7XzvNQOSouaZOf3NQv_odrY5-pt1itzSEe_nKuf4yDKsjJ_xsaZ1yt4_zD3kE1/s320/bessy.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
Needless to say,
Margaret was not happy about this; she does not like being idle. I
perhaps did not help matters by not informing her of the true danger
that she was in since I did not what to worry her and I will admit
now that in my desire to protect her, what I actually ended up doing
was isolating her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
Thankfully Bessy
arrived a few weeks early, for had Margaret been forced to endure my
restrictions for much longer, she might well have killed me!</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Due to her condition,
Doctor Donaldson opted to deliver the baby with forceps, putting
Margaret to sleep with chloroform so that she did not exert herself
too much and by some miracle, our baby was born healthy and her
mother quickly recovered from her ordeal.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I wasn't allowed to
be in the room so I paced outside the door. Mother and Dixon stayed
with her and both ladies were kind enough to come and see me regularly and let me know how Margaret was doing.
When I heard that first cry, propriety be damned, I went in. Dixon
was washing the baby while Mother sat by Margaret, waiting for her to
awaken. I managed a quick cuddle with the baby and a brief word with
Margaret when she awoke, before I was ushered out once more while
Margaret fed the baby.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VgUdamwRGKMl93Xp41BgmQdtMNEOaluDMUTuIerMZAiSl50W8gzqzNxuARrZsdmDgfFXMLV3OYehBbGCUhKFfi_BuRteYmpBvNVyNLGbRXyezXBaynifQxkcJ9Gv_kdvR_KV65JjSJUw/s1600/margaret+and+bessy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VgUdamwRGKMl93Xp41BgmQdtMNEOaluDMUTuIerMZAiSl50W8gzqzNxuARrZsdmDgfFXMLV3OYehBbGCUhKFfi_BuRteYmpBvNVyNLGbRXyezXBaynifQxkcJ9Gv_kdvR_KV65JjSJUw/s320/margaret+and+bessy2.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaret with Bessy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I felt so strange, so
tired from worry (not to mention having been awake all night) and overwhelmed with emotion that I was almost numb. Firstly I felt relief
beyond imagination. Since Doctor Donaldson had told me that Margaret
would recover quickly not that the baby had been born. I also felt so
proud, both of my child and my wife. My baby was so perfect, so
beautiful and my Margaret had made her for me. Finally, I also felt
overwhelmed for I feared that in some way I would fail my girls, and
I could not bear that idea.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
When I returned to
the room, Margaret was seated by the fire holding our baby while
Dixon changed the sheets. I went and kneeled down beside her chair.
Margaret suggested Elizabeth as a name, Bessy for short and knowing
how much her friend Bessy had meant to her when she first moved up to
Milton, how could i refuse?
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Unfortunately I have
no pictures of me with Bessy when she was just a baby but Margaret
did manage a quick sketch.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Needless to say,
after the birth Margaret was raring to get back to normal, although
she did take it easier than usual, she still crept out of the house
on the forth day to buy a perambulator!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQ7z6OZM0HcymwPzL-gw3Zr4qn0OYVZs7vfFnzt6eSpe7NpG69o0rxE_15JEs30kxRdSjOAHBznlXucgN1yduMntiEryDgtGBb_rh0TZ64fbj4Xp8azkmpDTH7mDtDCXjmXJubt3FHBqS/s1600/john+and+bessy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQ7z6OZM0HcymwPzL-gw3Zr4qn0OYVZs7vfFnzt6eSpe7NpG69o0rxE_15JEs30kxRdSjOAHBznlXucgN1yduMntiEryDgtGBb_rh0TZ64fbj4Xp8azkmpDTH7mDtDCXjmXJubt3FHBqS/s320/john+and+bessy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with Bessy, age 3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Bessy continues to be
the prettiest and brightest little girl of my acquaintance (though I
confess, I maybe bias) and Margaret continues to surprise me with her
love and strength.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Northern Light is available in paperback and ebook versions <br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a><br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats </a><br />
<a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">Miss Winchester's website</a><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-66549027021614031202011-12-12T11:50:00.000+00:002011-12-12T11:57:14.069+00:00A Victorian Christmas, Part Three<title></title><style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Christmas Dinner & Festive Foods
</b></u></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSFKUPZnl8yy_-m-sn20fDWWDylvHbTu1tOjjWIakQEJb2FrEIE7_DrbNM_p6hfoUxzySSxQ7QYKPUbVPAvf36DHxJT7iKMl4h0aLeaGxJJZDCPdJjAHufcQ6JwXiZOOxlNBCC8lxWr6QC/s1600/Christmas+table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSFKUPZnl8yy_-m-sn20fDWWDylvHbTu1tOjjWIakQEJb2FrEIE7_DrbNM_p6hfoUxzySSxQ7QYKPUbVPAvf36DHxJT7iKMl4h0aLeaGxJJZDCPdJjAHufcQ6JwXiZOOxlNBCC8lxWr6QC/s640/Christmas+table.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
There are a lot of
foods and drinks consumed at Christmas time that are not usually seen
for the rest of the year.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Mulled wine is
popular, which is red wine mixed with a variety of spices and served
warm. Very good for taking the chill off once you come in from the
cold. The recipes vary greatly and while Cook will not tell me exactly
what she uses, I can taste that there is cinnamon, orange and a touch
of cloves in our mulled wine. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt4zo9HaWhbEbnkuBFzd2eqMclZ96at8nuJ-0WLA9PQ-J9tsZORbxJkw_hPcL1U_-Kxiuq9-eJQkHsKFeMQUXJIjWRUBvi-Wg6n1oIQpsUF0eoM2twVpuuDarDZ9OosgTZsCX4lSYSYxOP/s1600/christmas+mince+pies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt4zo9HaWhbEbnkuBFzd2eqMclZ96at8nuJ-0WLA9PQ-J9tsZORbxJkw_hPcL1U_-Kxiuq9-eJQkHsKFeMQUXJIjWRUBvi-Wg6n1oIQpsUF0eoM2twVpuuDarDZ9OosgTZsCX4lSYSYxOP/s320/christmas+mince+pies.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mince pies being prepared</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Minced pies are
popular also. At one time they were filled with minced beef but it
has become popular in recent years to fill them with a sweet fruit
mixture instead.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Sugar plums are also
served at Christmas time which are exactly as they sound, plums
coated in sugar crystals.They can also be hung from the tree using ribbon and when the candles are lit, the sugar crystals will glisten in the candle light.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyVAGJYzn03j0BpE-usimoU3ILAvIW-ctBA8li7rUaZ5ml1svv2aV_t5QwPsCV3_GsT1xf0snKShauk7vlSznQIzqrtDVLVBLBO6tVTk553WEd7OH8uw8DTbo7f8jelMDfZrjtIlWu-k1/s1600/christmas+sugar+plums.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyVAGJYzn03j0BpE-usimoU3ILAvIW-ctBA8li7rUaZ5ml1svv2aV_t5QwPsCV3_GsT1xf0snKShauk7vlSznQIzqrtDVLVBLBO6tVTk553WEd7OH8uw8DTbo7f8jelMDfZrjtIlWu-k1/s400/christmas+sugar+plums.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar Plums. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The main Christmas meal is
usually eaten at lunch time, after we have attended church. The meat
is usually beef or goose. Although some people are beginning to serve
turkey, we usually opt for beef. Accompanying the meat are potatoes
roasted in goose fat, roast parsnips and carrots, red cabbage and other similar
delights
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXrHXcn3Y2Uemvk0cWomYdrZczsZT0C1Y0YhvBxxeIUan5lqjFge1A4kaSkBxxdRn6AZyLp4S8sg0AsIYBwhUmpLYSPiwlr8C45sAreZoCRCrrq5X8MJAwNWCu1c-O8ZbV561mMUDGgk7/s1600/Christmas+pudding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXrHXcn3Y2Uemvk0cWomYdrZczsZT0C1Y0YhvBxxeIUan5lqjFge1A4kaSkBxxdRn6AZyLp4S8sg0AsIYBwhUmpLYSPiwlr8C45sAreZoCRCrrq5X8MJAwNWCu1c-O8ZbV561mMUDGgk7/s320/Christmas+pudding.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas fruit pudding</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
For dessert we have
the traditional Christmas fruit pudding served with brandy cream.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Unlike many families
we do not usually have a starter or cheese board at this meal simply
because we usually find two courses to be elegant sufficiency.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
In the afternoon we
usually play parlour games or have a reading and then in the evening
we have a cold dinner consisting of cheese, pate and cold meats
served with bread. For those who still
have room dessert is biscuits, fruit and plum pie and the whole meal is accompanied by a glass or two of cooks excellent mulled wine to
wash it all down with.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
After this, well fed
and content many are ready to sleep despite the early hour so we have
taken to serving coffee and cream after the desert. The taste of coffee takes a little
getting used to but it does perk the spirits up.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Still, we are none of
us quite so lively so we usually opt for less demanding
entertainment. Fanny and Margaret will often grace us with a tune or
two on the piano and Bessy and Alex will then sing some of our
favourite carols. Alex is not yet old enough to carry a tune well but
his enjoyment and eager face, not to mention Bessy's fine singing
voice, more than make up for that.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Our staff celebrate
their Christmas on boxing day so they leave us a range of cold foods
to consume that day. Margaret insists that they are as much a family as we are
and that none of them should work so that they can celebrate
together, however we have not yet been able to stop Dixon from seeing
to our breakfast and getting the children up and ready. So that we
are not a burden on their day off, and to stop Dixon from fussing
over us, we often choose to visit mother and Mr Whitaker, the
Maitlands or the Townsends in the afternoon and evening, driving
ourselves into town in Margaret's little gig. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/12/victorian-christmas-part-one.html" target="_blank">Christmas, Part One: Decorations</a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/11/victorian-christmas-part-two.html" target="_blank">Christmas, Part Two: Activities</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Northern Light is available in paperback and ebook formats. </u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a> | <a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a> | <a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats</a> | <a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">Miss Winchester's website</a></div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-32608345418539882282011-12-10T00:14:00.001+00:002011-12-10T00:18:13.089+00:00Another Christmas Post?<div style="text-align: center;">
You must be sick of Christmas related posts by now by now but this one is simple. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Margaret and I would like to take this </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">opportunity to wish all our </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">friends, followers and visitors </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">a Very Happy Christmas!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gJnWPMq4LtummqpVI-7a4qRmvj_wOjHFw8uEe_eQAc_P3rddvaPpa9BADQlPQwXCrpnkSIYpSoccNsb04o_fOxhL6HkMoooQzxz4LN7E1zWJGZ7ieghXBOfmxP8qK9Ic_jtt-FTxux68/s1600/christmas+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gJnWPMq4LtummqpVI-7a4qRmvj_wOjHFw8uEe_eQAc_P3rddvaPpa9BADQlPQwXCrpnkSIYpSoccNsb04o_fOxhL6HkMoooQzxz4LN7E1zWJGZ7ieghXBOfmxP8qK9Ic_jtt-FTxux68/s400/christmas+card.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-983816776167010062011-12-08T10:24:00.000+00:002011-12-14T11:00:40.424+00:00A Merry Little Christmas, Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwQbwv0q36noDZn3-nX9aZgoKLhokgAPdrozqo_GNFylmkKGYmnctyXFj7hOKoOTCV-qgnhX0HeUP0TxW8n73gOHWKjWVxrRNyWsdlifR9-ilJ4txLfv_cQ_P_5YA0QG6ZgWFCDyQc8kR/s1600/christmas+story2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwQbwv0q36noDZn3-nX9aZgoKLhokgAPdrozqo_GNFylmkKGYmnctyXFj7hOKoOTCV-qgnhX0HeUP0TxW8n73gOHWKjWVxrRNyWsdlifR9-ilJ4txLfv_cQ_P_5YA0QG6ZgWFCDyQc8kR/s1600/christmas+story2.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/12/victorian-christmas-part-one.html" target="_blank">Click here to read part one.</a><br />
<br />
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<b></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I would have been
happy to lie in front of that fire forever but it seemed that
Margaret had a better idea.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
As I rose to build
the fire up again, she pulled her robe on and handed me mine. I
raised a quizzical eyebrow.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We're getting
dressed,” she said.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We are?” I may
have sounded a little petulant.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We are.” She got
to her feet and headed for the door. I followed, curious as to what
she had in mind.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Once in our bedroom
she told me to dress in old clothes that I wouldn't mind getting wet,
then took me out into the back garden. It wasn't much of a garden at
the mill house but blanketed with fresh snow, it looked beautiful.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Ki2oOQo0-j4Zt_RpzWcR_SGzMSKBXG8VDqnNsaEkuaq7f1RQfJtR9W-G1uzEZHV2dhYSV__nlOzEo3bAgqiyiS7nB8wHsKhIocIOkAbKyj-Yt5SLpZyClSx6KqYTGUz0WxnwKhuZK2Hy/s1600/christmas+snowman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Ki2oOQo0-j4Zt_RpzWcR_SGzMSKBXG8VDqnNsaEkuaq7f1RQfJtR9W-G1uzEZHV2dhYSV__nlOzEo3bAgqiyiS7nB8wHsKhIocIOkAbKyj-Yt5SLpZyClSx6KqYTGUz0WxnwKhuZK2Hy/s200/christmas+snowman.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We proceeded to build
a snowman. Despite the many layers I wore, I soon grew cold. My hands
and feet turned numb, my nose turned bright red and I don't believe I
have ever been so cold in my life. I enjoyed every single second of
it; laughing and playing, stealing the occasional kiss and creating a
snowman that had rather a lopsided coal smile and spindly twigs for
arms since we could find nothing larger. It would not be winning any
prizes for beauty, that was certain.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
After that, a
snowball fight ensued and after knocking Margaret off her feet and
into the soft snow, I claimed my prize as victor; a kiss. I would
have claimed more but it was even too cold for me!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We returned to the
house; Margaret warmed some mulled wine that Cook had left for us
while I went to build up the fire in our bedroom. I stripped out of
my cold, wet clothes, dried off and pulled my dressing gown on. I
then laid the eiderdown from our bed on the floor in front of the
fire and sat down to wait for my Margaret.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She kept me waiting
quite a long time but when she returned she had a tray laden with
food and drink and I rushed up to help her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Get changed,” I
told her. “You'll catch your death if you stay in those wet clothes
for much longer.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret handed the
tray over to me and headed to her dressing room. I placed the tray
down on the closest table and followed her through.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“John!” she
cried, shocked that I had entered.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Well since you
have no lady's maid, I thought that you might want my assistance,”
I smiled.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret laughed at
my impropriety and I reached out to take her hand.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Margaret, you're
freezing!” I admonished, grabbing up her dressing gown. “Come and
stand by the fire.” My firm grip on her hand let her know that I
wasn't fooling and she allowed me to lead her back to our bedroom.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Her skin was icy cold
and I rubbed each area of skin that I uncovered to warm it. Margaret
stood placidly and allowed my ministrations. I dried her carefully,
not wanting her to suffer chapped skin and once she was dried and at
least a little warmed, I held her robe out for her, which had been
laying by the fire and was nice and warm.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret stepped
willingly into the garment and wrapped it around her as she leaned
back against me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“You do take care
of me,” she said softly.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I try,” I
sounded a little tart. Truth be told I was angry at myself for not
realising how cold she had become.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I'm fine, darling.
I spent many hours in the snow in Helstone and have been much more
chilled than this.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She turned in the
circle of my arms and reached up to kiss me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Now, are we going
to let this food go to waste?” she asked.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I shook my head, 'no'
and we sat down on the eiderdown with the tray beside us while I
examined the treats she had brought up.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
There was a large
plate of sandwiches, a bowl of sugar plums, another of fudge and a
third of sugared almonds. There were also two slices of the Christmas
pudding that Cook had left us; a carafe of mulled wine and a jug of
milk.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZbw9P99MolY39MBta7CEvNv98d8Nb0Him-eKh91Vah80p7Lht3vjVP97wPhIB6hJiUdFI81k-WOusPUnwuY7in0JMQKDq-VmR-Nn9AfBJ2zBeKsHCAXYS7MTbftLWumQPUdn9mXkWENw/s1600/story+mulled+wine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZbw9P99MolY39MBta7CEvNv98d8Nb0Him-eKh91Vah80p7Lht3vjVP97wPhIB6hJiUdFI81k-WOusPUnwuY7in0JMQKDq-VmR-Nn9AfBJ2zBeKsHCAXYS7MTbftLWumQPUdn9mXkWENw/s320/story+mulled+wine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
“I'm afraid the
wine will be cool by now,” she apologised as she poured two
glasses.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“It will still
taste good,” I assured her.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We spent the rest of
the evening by the fire, venturing downstairs only once for a pot of
tea and some supper. When the daylight faded we lit only two candles,
rather enjoying the romantic atmosphere that the firelight gave us.
We talked a lot, swapping stories from our pasts that we had not yet
shared, reminiscing about our favourite Christmases past and just
enjoying one another's company.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
When it came time to
sleep, rather than retiring to bed we doubled the large eiderdown
over so it acted as a top cover and bottom sheet, then fetched our
pillows from the bed and went to sleep in front of the fireplace.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
To be continued...<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
©
Catherine Winchester 2011. All rights reserved.
</div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-45636732064862628152011-12-05T16:05:00.000+00:002011-12-14T10:59:38.937+00:00A Victorian Christmas, Part Two<title></title><style type="text/css">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; page-break-before: always; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; page-break-before: always; text-align: center;">
<u><b>Festive Activities</b></u></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Carolling is a
popular pastime come Christmas, with both events for the whole
town put on in the town or school hall and smaller groups of people
who go door to door, entertaining each household for a while. It is
common to give a gift of money to these groups which is usually saved
in the village fund to help pay for social events throughout the year.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp3WbhsQBI9ry3EHrRqppbmWhxD0_HOkkTkt3LgJyyGHVOtQT5eyTxKw2Cn0nedkhRg_163NwHbNx3vytJmVEOhiGWVEsePsZUKrCPbhfZNfQdpWxtQ19gKVNPSE7iI6zEiSyTV5JBAkyT/s1600/christmas+nativity+scene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp3WbhsQBI9ry3EHrRqppbmWhxD0_HOkkTkt3LgJyyGHVOtQT5eyTxKw2Cn0nedkhRg_163NwHbNx3vytJmVEOhiGWVEsePsZUKrCPbhfZNfQdpWxtQ19gKVNPSE7iI6zEiSyTV5JBAkyT/s320/christmas+nativity+scene.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Children's nativity scene</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The school children
usually make a nativity scene which is displayed in the village
square. They use <i><span style="font-style: normal;">papier mache,
scraps of wood, donated clothes and anything else they can beg,
borrow or steal to fashion the stable scene and participants. Again
there is a donation box by the display and the money that is
collected goes to help the poor of Milton, many of whom cannot afford
decent food, let alone a Christmas celebration. </span></i>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">Entertainment
in the home is usually in the form of readings. Popular book to read
aloud from at Christmas are Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol and
Hanz Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen but there are many other
books that families can enjoy while sitting together. </span></i>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Parlour games are
also very popular at this time of year.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
One of the more merry
games played at Christmas is the laughter game. Each person takes it
in turns to say “ha” and the first person to actually laugh is
out. It may sound easy but try it; keeping a straight face is harder
than it sounds in such a merry environment. Bessy is usually the
winner of this game while Margaret and surprisingly, mother, are
usually among the first to laugh.
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvk53TB85ES4YdjvjMCCQ6aSiJdqa7uzd-l3EW1x4GvxTKgHl9cem6vma2SrQJvatmf1FOjAdk2fIOVUJ64_mwj_fkPOipT7TIfAPKI8wRV0tort_G1G338c8LO-j6EfjuAdmpE0fhyj-r/s1600/christmas+sculptor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvk53TB85ES4YdjvjMCCQ6aSiJdqa7uzd-l3EW1x4GvxTKgHl9cem6vma2SrQJvatmf1FOjAdk2fIOVUJ64_mwj_fkPOipT7TIfAPKI8wRV0tort_G1G338c8LO-j6EfjuAdmpE0fhyj-r/s320/christmas+sculptor.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A gentleman who has been "sculptured"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Charades is a game
where one player tries to act out a name, place, object, book title,
event or verse of prose without speaking. You can allow each player
to chose what to act out or have some cards prepared beforehand. With
a little forethought great fun can be had. For example, instead of a
horse, which is relatively easy to act out, opt for camel instead and
see the fun people have trying to act like a horse but with a
humpback!
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The sculptor is
another favourite. One person positions each guests into ridiculous
poses and then without touching them again, attempts to make then
laugh or move. Bessy is particularly fond of blowing in
peoples ears to make them laugh.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<br />
<a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/12/victorian-christmas-part-one.html" target="_blank">Christmas, Part One: Decorations</a><br />
<b>Next</b>: <a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/12/victorian-christmas-part-three.html" target="_blank">Christmas, Part Three: Christmas Dinner and Festive Foods</a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Northern Light is available in paperback and ebook formats. </u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a> | <a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a> | <a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats</a> | <a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">Miss Winchester's website</a></div>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<br /></div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-54880966184594288692011-12-02T02:19:00.000+00:002011-12-02T11:18:45.970+00:00A Victorian Christmas, Part One<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0_bYo5hjuKzic_5ixzdZ2EJ_lp19-UPkRhQboHcqrZZMcFJUe5W2IYmiXq9u1ZRlCU-4WVkkVRSfjRCn3HJCyPTzJY8eOtyaR_RcQQDygPjr8yDUY3IBaabHRnBStiidvkYtJNTTVoN9/s1600/christmas+wreath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0_bYo5hjuKzic_5ixzdZ2EJ_lp19-UPkRhQboHcqrZZMcFJUe5W2IYmiXq9u1ZRlCU-4WVkkVRSfjRCn3HJCyPTzJY8eOtyaR_RcQQDygPjr8yDUY3IBaabHRnBStiidvkYtJNTTVoN9/s320/christmas+wreath.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Dixon's Christmas wreaths</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Decorations </b></u></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The house is a hive
of activity at the moment as it seems that everyone has been infected
with the Christmas spirit.
</div>
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I don't mean to sound
like Scrooge, but when after a quick visit to the play room results
in the seat of my morning coat being covered in glitter for the rest
of the day (and no one even having the courtesy to tell me) you might
be inclined to be a tad grumpy also.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
This lunch time I
went into the play room to find that Dixon was busy fashioning holly,
ivy, pine cones, apples, holly berries and red ribbon into wreaths
using wire. Jenny was busy sewing ivy garlands from ivy leaves and
strips of material. My daughter, Bessy was having great fun covering snowflake
shaped biscuits with glitter and her brother, Alex, instead of making a paper
chain with strips of coloured paper as he was supposed to, was trying to get
his hands on his sisters glitter (leading to the earlier predicament
I described). </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCuuV_Uo5fIyaXD2GbfTuURLr1Kv4BPzl4IfrYv1pFmFGjjWpkmHRbFu-JCsL81qGasY4PMsQEKLvL7BY6nC9yAU-mwWa-z8ZokklETwu-mMnGI0LM2XP1Ed0IBxDYOOOkpnH9FbOVsVY/s1600/christmas+holly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCuuV_Uo5fIyaXD2GbfTuURLr1Kv4BPzl4IfrYv1pFmFGjjWpkmHRbFu-JCsL81qGasY4PMsQEKLvL7BY6nC9yAU-mwWa-z8ZokklETwu-mMnGI0LM2XP1Ed0IBxDYOOOkpnH9FbOVsVY/s320/christmas+holly.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holly, painted with glue then dusted with sugar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I confess though,
when I have not been made a laughing stock, I do actually enjoy
Christmas time. There is something so heart warming and comforting
about that time of year, with families all gathered together inside
by a warm fire while the winter weather rages outside.Not to mention the very fond memories I have of my first Christmas as a married man.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret has
suggested that I share with you some of our Christmas customs and
traditions so over the next few weeks, I will share some the
many things that make a Victorian Christmas special.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
First if all, the
decorations. Margaret has explained to me how these are made but
please forgive any inaccuracies.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
The wreaths that
Dixon is making will be placed on the doors of the house and servants
quarters as a welcoming sign.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The ivy garlands that
Jenny is making (by hand sewing ivy leaves onto material) will often also have some holly berries or mistletoe
attached and can be strewn wherever you would like around the room.
We usually place some on the tree, some draped over the mantelpiece
and some pinned over door frames or wrapped around the banister on
the stairs.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The biscuits that
Bessy is endeavouring to cover in glitter will be tied with ribbon
and hung from the pine tree once it is erected.
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPZXX9F7Wo-guPDtngNukRpPUagHhIyXD8yxad7HqnITSvFx61-FsbNhjrVpsJcy-LhEj5lmNm6NuC8r88J8VtXlpisqS4rWljFPabMDO8A36Cs-y1Yui21Yfm_Ri0IQ_7xl4yNM2cQgS/s1600/christmas+paper+flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPZXX9F7Wo-guPDtngNukRpPUagHhIyXD8yxad7HqnITSvFx61-FsbNhjrVpsJcy-LhEj5lmNm6NuC8r88J8VtXlpisqS4rWljFPabMDO8A36Cs-y1Yui21Yfm_Ri0IQ_7xl4yNM2cQgS/s320/christmas+paper+flowers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaret's paper flowers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I fear that unless
glitter looses it's appeal for Alex, we will not have any paper
chains this year but if we are lucky enough to have some, they will
be pinned to the ceiling, left to hand in large loops, or draped
around the tree.
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Other decorations for
the tree will include paper roses, which Margaret and Dixon usually
make from red, silver or white paper. Pine cones, usually painted
gold, silver or just the tips painted white to look like snow and
tied on with ribbon.<br />
Another tradition is cornucopia cones (decorated paper cones) filled
with sweets such as sugared almonds and hung from the tree branches using ribbon.
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZp6UizoMOb84KE85Dl-I4s3OFeyx9HyBC3svBNlDvFkynl0zkJu0o2M3gw9BeJK9xPp-wMiibgp2UU0K7nJGzv9ZIJA6ww_MHZtIx9mPH5YcB0wBFdGAC8Ad3KG4ihXnehYN1w7SQymyK/s1600/christmas+mistletow+ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZp6UizoMOb84KE85Dl-I4s3OFeyx9HyBC3svBNlDvFkynl0zkJu0o2M3gw9BeJK9xPp-wMiibgp2UU0K7nJGzv9ZIJA6ww_MHZtIx9mPH5YcB0wBFdGAC8Ad3KG4ihXnehYN1w7SQymyK/s200/christmas+mistletow+ball.jpg" width="160" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mistletoe ball</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
My personal favourite
decoration however, has to be the mistletoe ball, which Dixon makes
every year. It is an odd Christmas tradition in that it has made it's
way from the servants quarters into the rooms of the middle and upper
classes, whereas usually fashions work the other way around. However,
given that a gentleman can claim a kiss from a woman who passes
beneath the mistletoe, I can hardly claim surprise that the upper
classes have welcomed the decoration.<br />
It is made very much like the wreath but much less greenery, with two wreaths fastened together at the top, from which a sprig of mistletoe is hung using ribbon.<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDd3UHOucT5JNsQ_mJWmIj7qXHaGAHGxISYz7hyphenhyphenIFWhUIGDktd7d2vn1dNP1GXjBMbai8vybrZcYNZUhGY9hPYlJafo1_H09IxRLZzfZcpZiqe7QsZ-fA7cOvBhQx2aeCa3KZmr19t6BN/s1600/christmas+wrapping+paper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDd3UHOucT5JNsQ_mJWmIj7qXHaGAHGxISYz7hyphenhyphenIFWhUIGDktd7d2vn1dNP1GXjBMbai8vybrZcYNZUhGY9hPYlJafo1_H09IxRLZzfZcpZiqe7QsZ-fA7cOvBhQx2aeCa3KZmr19t6BN/s400/christmas+wrapping+paper.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dixon's wrapping paper</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Dixon usually finds
the time to make some marbled wrapping paper for us all by dropping
various dies into a thin layer of water, then briefly laying a sheet of white
paper on top before removing it and leaving it to dry.</div>
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</div>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Cook gets in on the
act by making some sweet red and white or green and white striped sugar canes which are then decorated with ribbons and lade and hung from the
tree. She also ties cinnamon sticks and some vanilla pods
together using ribbon and places these on the mantelpiece of each room to make them smell festive. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Even the candelabra do not escape the festivities. Using berries and thin leaves, Dixon fashions small circles which sit atop the candelabra, at the base of the candles.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr23DTvhOL6p1EEYr-H4QBeOOrGU2wHvIxQX8z-MfXW7sExiHteNfm2cer_G_75J8eeAC7sSQtF-iApv2uBedFUbXCUBwapHf2eV8BmbRpzZVt6IGDRcy5WAfQ352sWa-xqT2HyGT5dmYi/s1600/christmas+candle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr23DTvhOL6p1EEYr-H4QBeOOrGU2wHvIxQX8z-MfXW7sExiHteNfm2cer_G_75J8eeAC7sSQtF-iApv2uBedFUbXCUBwapHf2eV8BmbRpzZVt6IGDRcy5WAfQ352sWa-xqT2HyGT5dmYi/s1600/christmas+candle.jpg" /></a></div>
Another common practice is to affix small candles to the tree. However a nasty accident, involving Fanny losing a good three inches of hair when she was a girl, means that we have not had candles on our tree since. Given how curious Alex is and how mischievous Bessy can be, I believe that is the most sensible course of action. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Next, Christmas Part Two: Activities <u><br /></u></div>
***<br />
<u>Northern Light is available in paperback and ebook formats. </u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a> | <a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a> | <a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">All ebook formats</a> | <a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">Miss Winchester's website</a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<br /></div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-5992432705581052672011-12-01T01:09:00.000+00:002011-12-14T11:01:32.459+00:00A Merry Little Christmas, Part One<div style="text-align: center;">
With Ms. Winchesters help I have detailed the events of Margaret's and my first Christmas together. The resulting story will be serialised and a new part posted here every Thursday between now and Christmas. This story can be read as a companion piece to Northern Light or as a stand alone story set after our wedding. I do hope that you enjoy it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Given how lavish
Victorian dinner parties and balls are, you are probably thinking
that my and Margaret's first Christmas was a lavish affair with a
nine course dinner and weeks of parties leading up to the big day.
However on this occasion, you would be wrong.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We had not long been
married then, only a few months, and it had been difficult for us to
spend much time alone. I was still struggling to get the mill back up
to full capacity and living with servants meant that time on our own
was a precious commodity.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I was surprised when
Mother announced her intention to spend Christmas with Fanny and
Watson, since I know she does not take much pleasure in their
company. I questioned her decision but she was adamant; she had
already arranged everything and was to leave us on Christmas Eve and
return the day after Boxing Day.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
When I told Margaret
that evening as we lay together in bed, she raised her head off my
chest and smiled at me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Imagine, two whole
days alone,” she sounded wistful.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“There will still
be the servants,” I reminded her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Only if we want
them,” she bit her lip to stifle the cheeky grin that wanted to
escape. “We could send them home to their families for the holiday
and then we would have this whole house to ourselves.”<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“And what will we
eat?” I asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I can cook us
something. I don't promise fine fare but it will be edible and tasty.
Besides, man cannot live on bread alone!” She said that last line
so innocently that if I had not known her well, I might have thought
she was talking about spending the day in church.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Thankfully I did know
her well by then and rarely have I heard such a tempting idea. I
quickly found myself agreeing.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Dixon was the hardest
since she viewed Margaret as family and enjoyed taking care of her,
so Margaret made the arrangements for Dixon to spend four days with
her sister and all but ordered her to go. The other staff were much
easier to convince to take a day off, especially since I assured them
that they would still be paid.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
As we awoke on
Christmas morning, we heard something that I have never heard before;
perfect silence. The Mill was empty, none of the usual hustle and
bustle was happening inside the house and even the street traffic
seemed to have disappeared.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We lay there for a
while, not talking of anything special, just enjoying the peace and
quiet.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We had better get
ready soon if you don't want to miss the morning service,” I
reminded her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret looked up at
me, her eyes shining with tears.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I...” She sat up
so that her back was to me, looked down at her hands and began
picking an imaginary speck of dirt from under her nails.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“What is it?” I
asked, sitting up and putting my hands on her shoulders.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I have always
attended my father's service and since we came to Milton, gone to
church with him,” she said, her voice so soft that I almost had to
strain to hear her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I moved my hands from
her shoulders to around her waist and pulled her back against my
chest, holding her there.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“God knows that you
love him,” I assured her. “I do not think He will mind you
missing one service because it is painful.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Do you think so?”
she asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I know so,” I
assured her. “Besides, God knows what is in your heart and it does
not matter if you pray to him in a church or in a shed, he will still
hear you.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“You're right, of
course.” I could feel her visibly relax. “Thank you.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I kissed her
shoulder.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Now, why don't you
go and wash up and I will play the hunter-gatherer and see what we
have in the kitchen!” I teased.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She nodded and
slipped from the bed to pull her robe on.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“And Margaret?”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She paused on her way
to the bathroom and turned to me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Would you leave
your hair loose today?”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She smiled and
nodded, making a grand show of swishing her raven locks around her
head as she resumed her course to the bathroom.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret's hair is as
beautiful as she is and I love seeing it loose. Indeed it is so thick
and full, hanging at least half way down her back, that I often
wonder where it all hides once Dixon has put it up for her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDR__4l1moH0iVUP-iDJJpAJGUHD7pVFK5sKuc7HFPHnlx8XLXIgG4mnUGxfGjWY89pBALhHeUzGuIkVx4BPCQ8_lt4jO7iokk2XeDn8CW0cOsTMRI7trtoPNNoXDECJrJgWNLhMSTM9kQ/s1600/Story+kitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDR__4l1moH0iVUP-iDJJpAJGUHD7pVFK5sKuc7HFPHnlx8XLXIgG4mnUGxfGjWY89pBALhHeUzGuIkVx4BPCQ8_lt4jO7iokk2XeDn8CW0cOsTMRI7trtoPNNoXDECJrJgWNLhMSTM9kQ/s320/Story+kitchen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
By the time Margaret
found me in the kitchen I had rekindled the fires in our bedroom and
the kitchen and lit a fresh one in the back parlour. I was just
melting some butter into a pan on the stove when Margaret came in,
clean and washed but still in her night clothes, as was I.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Have you looked
outside?” she asked. “It's beautiful.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
There had been a
fresh snowfall overnight and she was right; although I'd only glanced
outside, it did indeed look beautiful.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Not as beautiful
as you,” I told her.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She blushed.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Well, let's just
hope that the snow keeps any callers away. With us both in this
shocking state of undress, I should hate to think what might happen.”
I teased.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We will no doubt
become the talk of Milton once again,” she smiled and came to stand
beside me. “You didn't tell me that you could cook?” she chided
me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“I can't, not
really but we had a few midnight raids on the kitchen at boarding
school,” I smiled.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“A mis-spent
youth,” she teased. “And the fires?”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“We kept our own
rooms and had a rota for which of us would clear and light the fire
every day.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret slipped her
arms around my waist and peered around me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“So what are we
having?”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“OEufs a la Jean
avec du jambon.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret began
laughing.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“That's a very
grand way of saying ham omelette!”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I smiled at her
teasing and poured the beaten eggs into the pan. While I prepared the
food, Margaret got the plates and cutlery out and set two places at
the kitchen table. I served the food and we chatted, giggling like
schoolchildren at the oddness of the situation.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
It's very strange
how, although we own the house, we can still feel like intruders in
certain parts of it!
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
With breakfast over
we headed to the parlour. The room had been decorated for Christmas
with lots of ivy garlands, paper chains, a mistletoe ball hanging in
the centre of the room and in one corner, a pine tree which has been
decorated with hand made ornaments, lots of holly berries, paper
flowers and red and white sugar canes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzBJRE9DV23ocNHr6Si8oAK_k5784Mh2hv1go05sN7OmbACqUNFZwJRstCEEiaQedVYpAmafHqEmg33plJ4VzktMRr1_05GnEzol21sxTuWsTwK_x7BiT4fDFTjXtor5Y8KW2fR24fLJP/s1600/story+mantlpiece.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzBJRE9DV23ocNHr6Si8oAK_k5784Mh2hv1go05sN7OmbACqUNFZwJRstCEEiaQedVYpAmafHqEmg33plJ4VzktMRr1_05GnEzol21sxTuWsTwK_x7BiT4fDFTjXtor5Y8KW2fR24fLJP/s320/story+mantlpiece.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Around the candelabra
on the mantelpiece snow-tipped holly leaves and pine cones had been
placed and the cinnamon and vanilla pod bunch which lay there was
giving the room a slightly sweet and festive scent.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We placed some
cushions in front of the fire and sat down there to exchange gifts.
Margaret had bought me a gold watch, inscribed on the back with “<i>To
John, your loving wife, Margaret.</i>”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“It's beautiful,”
I told her, leaning over and claiming a kiss. Every day now I would
be wearing a token of Margaret's love for me and that feeling was
worth more than any gift on its own.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I had bought Margaret
a ruby and diamond eternity ring (ruby is her birthstone) and had the
inside of the band inscribed, “<i>With love J</i>”. I didn't have
as much space as there was on the watch so I had to be brief.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Margaret seemed
pleased with it though and made me place it on the ring finger of her
right hand for her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Is it the right
size?” I asked, worried that I had done something wrong.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“It's perfect,”
she smiled.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She leaned over and
kissed me but this was not a kiss of thanks, it was a soft kiss of
desire.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/12/merry-little-christmas-part-two.html" target="_blank">To be continued...</a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
©
Catherine Winchester 2011. All rights reserved. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<br /></div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-21502333667810473042011-11-22T00:39:00.001+00:002011-11-28T13:07:23.208+00:00The Early Years, Part Two<title></title><style type="text/css">
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<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/11/early-years-part-one.html" target="_blank"></a><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbIX_nnW5YCH4O8wUlPfYH0N-qPvIyYKK1DGBUpSK2eQeJxFxLB-KytTYS7cOoGp2DUzSWi5BDvjv4SxjC1-uYJNb-h8sJyIw3CXtsLOWmVhxbGW7HrjXn3Z7hsNWWCdHSU1oVJiZvHlUi/s1600/drapers+shop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbIX_nnW5YCH4O8wUlPfYH0N-qPvIyYKK1DGBUpSK2eQeJxFxLB-KytTYS7cOoGp2DUzSWi5BDvjv4SxjC1-uYJNb-h8sJyIw3CXtsLOWmVhxbGW7HrjXn3Z7hsNWWCdHSU1oVJiZvHlUi/s400/drapers+shop.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr Maitland's drapers shop where I worked</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>A New Beginning </b></u></span></div>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
My the time mother and I
arrived back in Milton, she had filled me in on the situation.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
My grandfather had
made his money investing in new businesses and his son had continued
in his fathers footsteps however, where my grandfather had done his
homework before making an investment, it appeared that my father
had not always been so diligent. He became involved with a man named
Harrow and they started a business together, buying land and prospecting for oil in America. Harrow
was a charismatic man who easily convinced people to trust
but he also had another side that we had not been aware of.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
It seemed that from
day one the business had been little more than a scam, simply an
excuse to get more and more money out of my father with the promise of big returns when they finally struck black gold. When my fathers
money finally began to dry up, Harrow convinced him to take out a bank
loan, assuring him that they were just weeks away from hitting the
big time; then he fled, leaving my father to clean up the mess.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Mother swears that my
father didn't know what was actually going on, that he idolised
Harrow and had simply fallen victim to a conman. I cannot say for certain if it was negligence or wilful ignorance but either way, we were now destitute and he had taken the easy way out.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Unfortunately we
didn't have many assets since our house had been rented and many of my fathers other investments hadn't been fruitful. Everything we did own was
sold to payoff his loan and other debts but even then it didn't quite cover
everything. I could hardly believe that we were homeless. Why hadn't
my father bought our house? He could certainly have afforded to.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Our carriages
disappeared, my mothers jewellery was sold as were most of her
dresses. Somehow she managed to keep my fathers pocket watch, which
she gave to me, but that was almost the only thing we took into
our new life. By the time she came to collect me, this was a fait
accompli and she had already found our new home in a small country
town where living was cheaper than in Milton.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
In those days it was
common for widows to rent out rooms in their house to travelling
businessmen. It was cheaper than a hotel and included two meals a day
and it was an easy and acceptable way for a woman on her own to make
a little money. This is how Mrs Dunmore kept herself following her
husbands death. Most of Mr Dunmore's assets had gone to their sons
but his will stated that his wife be allowed to stay in the house
until her death. I believe her sons would have taken care of her but
she was a proud woman who did not want to be a burden to them. Mother
approached her and on the understanding that we would take two rooms
for five years, she gave us a very reasonable rate.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Mother shared with
Fanny while I had the smaller bedroom to myself. I had no time to
adjust to my new situation and after one night in my new home, I began pounding the pavements looking for work.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Mr Maitland was a
draper from Milton, though he had expanded his business and now had
shops in three other towns, including the one we had moved to. I
approached the manager of the shop about a job but as with every other shop I had
tried, he told me that he would get in touch if anything came up. I
left our address, continued looking and thought little more of it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Two days later I was
surprised when my mother came into my room to say that there was a
gentleman here to see me and I went downstairs to see Mr Maitland,
waiting in Mrs Dunmore's sitting room. Knowing his
connection with Milton, I was sure that he had come for money that my father owed him. Instead he tested my education and
intelligence, then made certain that I could perform sums in my head before he offered me a job
at fifteen shillings a week. I accepted.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Mr Maitland only came
into the shop one day a week but every week me made certain that I was
handling the job and when he felt I was ready, he increased my
responsibilities there. I learned a lot about business and goods
while working there and I believe that it is safe to say that I owe
much of my business prowess to Mr Maitland and his drapers shop.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
During this time my
mother and I managed to put three shillings aside each week so that we might
eventually pay back the rest of my fathers creditors and when we had
saved enough, we returned to Milton. I was twenty one.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Mother and I visited
each businessman who was still owed money personally and settled my
fathers debts. Most were surprised to see us, some initially angry,
remembering the money still owed to them.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Mr Maitland offered
me employment in his Milton shop but I felt that I had learned all that
I could from the business and I was ready for more and so Maitland
recommended me to Mr Peters, the manager of Marlborough Mill. I
became his cashier which involved me in all aspects of the business,
from the machinery and its cost of repair to the raw cotton and it's
price fluctuations.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLTQyrZotmL071PPpvIqkS8SKVXbWX3L-JYPQ-Reml2XfiJLhfe6UCa5z-OK4v0jtgU6a-6AXeDYDgGRm_8sK5rntu96C1NH4__QR7zRl5SE8KW4pK7Ilq5IJyL9WP9weXJiRbeVMtWul/s1600/marlborough+mill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLTQyrZotmL071PPpvIqkS8SKVXbWX3L-JYPQ-Reml2XfiJLhfe6UCa5z-OK4v0jtgU6a-6AXeDYDgGRm_8sK5rntu96C1NH4__QR7zRl5SE8KW4pK7Ilq5IJyL9WP9weXJiRbeVMtWul/s320/marlborough+mill.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marlborough Mill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Mr Peters had no
sons and so he began to groom me to take over from him when he died. I
worked with him for five years until he passed away, at which point I
had saved enough to be able to buy the machinery from his heirs and
took over the lease of Marlborough Mill.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Fanny was twelve when
we moved into the house at Marlborough Mill and she thankfully has
few memories of the poverty we lived in when she was young. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
To this day I have mixed feelings about my father. I remember the man that I loved as a child but it is hard to reconcile that image with the man who left us alone in this harsh world. Sometimes I look at Bessy and Alexander and wonder how he could have done it, for there is no force on earth that could take me from my children. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I often I wonder
how my mother coped with so little money, how she managed to keep us
clothed, fed and Fanny educated on my tiny wage but somehow she did and for that I will
always be grateful to her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
At times I had
wondered at the wisdom of my mother wishing me to repay debts that
were not my own but I see now that she was right. In paying back a
debt that was (only in the loosest sense) morally mine, I showed
myself to be an honourable man and more importantly, a man completely
unlike my father. That gesture generated a lot of good will for me
and my family and without it, I do not believe that the bank would
have agreed to lend me the money necessary to buy new machinery for
the mill in later years.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Life has been tough
for me at times but it built my character and my only regret is that
my mother lost her smile. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I am happy to report though, that in recent years though, she has begun to
rediscover the happiness she knew when I was a boy, helped in no small part by my wife and child and of course, her new husband.
Sometimes I see her trying to chide Bessy for wrongdoing but much
like when I was a boy, I can see that it is taking all her
will to suppress her smile.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/11/early-years-part-one.html" target="_blank">Part
One: From Boy to Man </a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Northern Light is available in paperback and ebook formats. <br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a> <br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats </a><br />
<a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">Miss Winchester's website</a>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
</div>
<br />
<br />Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com126tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-4912537417190671242011-11-21T19:51:00.001+00:002011-11-24T02:10:12.141+00:00The Early Years, Part One<title></title><style type="text/css">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>From Boy to Man </b></u></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPGbSCCKyuj3bpXLGY7RXhqBmSNzJF5vVsfyxx3ahv9LUKCs0TAs1cJGrzK0J_gETke2UdlW0urwF1kc9ZeXjq9nFXyZ6wfo4zH6yDRN7zTbKDbiVMktRblnGxUNK1rtEAHwKrjY-foZ1/s1600/school2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPGbSCCKyuj3bpXLGY7RXhqBmSNzJF5vVsfyxx3ahv9LUKCs0TAs1cJGrzK0J_gETke2UdlW0urwF1kc9ZeXjq9nFXyZ6wfo4zH6yDRN7zTbKDbiVMktRblnGxUNK1rtEAHwKrjY-foZ1/s320/school2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rugby School Chapel (left) and Fives Court (right)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I loved both my
parents but it would be fair to say that I have always had more in
common with my mother than my father. Those who know her today find
it hard to remember my mother as the happy woman that she
once was but I still remember it well.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I would not go so far
as to call her carefree, but while of a slightly stern disposition,
she was generally happy and many times when chastising me, I
would often catch her trying her best to stifle a smile at my
antics.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
My father was the
carefree one, always with a ready smile, a shilling for me and my
friends and I don't believe he could have disciplined me had his life
depended on it. Mother made him try on occasion but he was just no good at it! Indeed he sometimes
found himself on the receiving end of my mothers sharp tongue but he
took it with equanimity, behaved himself for a few days then quickly
resumed his previous behaviour.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The main bone of
contention between my parents was always money. My mother's parents
were middle class but just barely, they looked after every penny and
had passed that habit onto her.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
My father came from
new money and after a lifetime of poverty, his parents spent like it was going out of fashion. He did the same and
had the nice house, the big carriages, the best clothes and newest
fashions. I don't believe that my mother was at all aware of our
financial situation, for while she chastised him for his
overindulgences, she always accepted them in the end and never made
him return his purchases.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I didn't
see much of our parents, I spent most of my days with my governess studying and I usually ate dinner with her, except when my father was
out and I was allowed to dine with my mother. As I got older,
father spent more and more time at his club and sometimes I would
eat with mother up to four times a week.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7NHtf58ftrnmQZ4p2KAaBtdRex2stOnrBM1vPrBWsQiIOfJxw-jU_rJGBiJ7difWOD7ZmrP0dlXqcF6_xIzDpj9UDjSIpLi2m9SXnI2ARHiSLA97bZpZbSwE17GaOs5XJw0WyQnMJFq3/s1600/school.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7NHtf58ftrnmQZ4p2KAaBtdRex2stOnrBM1vPrBWsQiIOfJxw-jU_rJGBiJ7difWOD7ZmrP0dlXqcF6_xIzDpj9UDjSIpLi2m9SXnI2ARHiSLA97bZpZbSwE17GaOs5XJw0WyQnMJFq3/s320/school.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Quad, north east corner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
That all ended when I
turned 10 and was sent away to Rugby School; it was something of a shock to my system to say
the least. I had been led to believe that school was a thrilling
experience but to me it seemed to be a form of slavery in which the
older, bigger boys forced the younger ones to do their bidding under threat of physical violence. I was
away from home for the first time in my life, I didn't know a single
other person there, I shared a dormitory with five other boys so
never had any time to myself and I spent much of my first year
feeling utterly miserable. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I hated it and
received many beatings from my supposed betters before I learned how
to fit in. It took two years before that truly happened, and even
then I believe I was only accepted because at just twelve years of
age, I had turned on a boy two years my senior and bested him in a fight. I was no longer given menial jobs by the other boys;
indeed many seemed proud of me and I quickly made a lot of new
friends. Thankfully I never had reason to defend myself again while I
was there.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Once I had been
accepted and had much more free time to spend on my studies, I began
to enjoy the experience. I quickly became a favourite of two of the
Masters but since I had already proven my willingness to defend
myself, it did not make me a target of ridicule as it might once have. I did well in most subjects and although I enjoyed learning, I would not say that I excelled as a student.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqE7AKyaa50ZfadvTOK7gYHxe1upB2uX3LGWewfMyV_UiDUtJa8nZDegDHuqQLsD9lXfDMs4mv5vxgfOhSn1ZyIUhxDIrwUqiz7bXFx1Uqz-NYp5zO09CexRXRKvZB6UhXc8kWbfmCrBOm/s1600/school3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqE7AKyaa50ZfadvTOK7gYHxe1upB2uX3LGWewfMyV_UiDUtJa8nZDegDHuqQLsD9lXfDMs4mv5vxgfOhSn1ZyIUhxDIrwUqiz7bXFx1Uqz-NYp5zO09CexRXRKvZB6UhXc8kWbfmCrBOm/s400/school3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">School entrance from Rugby High Street</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I returned home three
times a year and mother always came to the school to collect me. She
would stand by the gate smiling, ready with a brief hug and kiss
before we began the journey home. We wrote a lot while I was at
school but it is fair to say that I didn't know my family in great
detail for those years I was away. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I returned home in the summer of my forth year to find that I had a new sister. I knew that she was expected, of course but it still felt to most strange that one visit home it was just me and my parents and the next I suddenly had a sister. Fanny was a sweet baby and I enjoyed playing with her but by the time I returned home again the next time, she seemed to have forgotten me and cried when I picked her up. upon each visit my parents felt more like strangers and only my mother took the time to write to me during term time. I began to feel more at home in school than with my family and it was a real wrench when I had to leave.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
When I was told to
report to my house masters office one day, I was not unduly worried. I had
never been called out of class before but I was on good terms with my
house master and I knew that I had not broken any rules.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I realised that something was
seriously wrong the moment I saw my mother, for her usual smile was nowhere
to be seen. We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity
until my house master came around his desk and put his hand on my
shoulder.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Pack your things,
boy, you're going home.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Why?” I asked,
still unable to take my eyes off my mother.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
“Your father is
dead,” he answered. “You're the man of the house now.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I don't think he
meant to be harsh; he probably though it was best to get the news
over with quickly.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I didn't feel
anything. Mother nodded for me to do as the master had said and I
turned and headed for my dormitory.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I didn't know then
that I would never see that room or my friends there again. I didn't
know that we had lost everything. I didn't know that my life was
about to change forever. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Next: Part Two, A New Beginning<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*** </div>
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a><br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats </a><br />
<a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">Miss Winchester's website</a>
</div>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-22598602530956023122011-11-20T13:03:00.001+00:002013-04-16T01:14:37.679+01:00The Village, Part Three<title></title><style type="text/css">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWhUgVXLgmxHmmKVy1kut1twIuG7o5Zy57lFuTndSydu_LF3JL4utzDMb0LEzkvCos1M5qS3HxqedoYz4lJ4wDrExMmfxxTXlUXvRw2Te9uRC4813o3nHJAj4OJpUgtxftB8S74pn337Wk/s1600/mill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWhUgVXLgmxHmmKVy1kut1twIuG7o5Zy57lFuTndSydu_LF3JL4utzDMb0LEzkvCos1M5qS3HxqedoYz4lJ4wDrExMmfxxTXlUXvRw2Te9uRC4813o3nHJAj4OJpUgtxftB8S74pn337Wk/s320/mill.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thornton Mill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/11/village-part-one.html" target="_blank">Part One: Making Plans</a><br />
<a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/11/village-part-two.html" target="_blank">Part Two: Our Home</a></div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Building A Community</u></b></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
From start to finish,
it took 9 years for us to complete the model village. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Originally just called the village, it took it;s name from the mill (Thornton's) and became Thornton Village. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The mill was of course, the heart of the village, it's whole reason for being. It was completed almost two months before the first stage of housing. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The first houses were
small and functional, as our priority was to get the village operating
and decent conditions for our workers to live in. As more housing was
built, we began to add some grander houses, for those in management
positions who could afford it. In the centre of the village we left
space for the community buildings, such as the school, the hospital,
the church and Sunday school, so that they could be built as the need
for them arose. The purpose built school was completed in between
phases three and four.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHwxc0_8vAlJJ7hve-a3310l788cWwJlPiVjKaXAKIKysAYnxxZXZut9jKGNCEg-NjXT5RXX9TFIBAjl_ctLRfznOOfQX9eIZTMdVHdli4wXpqgML1_B6Q-NkAzCsCJpFoL59sCHpeopn/s1600/village+houses2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHwxc0_8vAlJJ7hve-a3310l788cWwJlPiVjKaXAKIKysAYnxxZXZut9jKGNCEg-NjXT5RXX9TFIBAjl_ctLRfznOOfQX9eIZTMdVHdli4wXpqgML1_B6Q-NkAzCsCJpFoL59sCHpeopn/s200/village+houses2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first housing phase is completed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Each house had a small yard at the rear with it's own outdoor lavatory. Sanitation in towns was and remains a real problem, which we wanted to do our best to solve. I believe we were at least partly successful, as serious illness was greatly reduced in the village, compared to the slums of Milton. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The dining hall was
technically in the mill grounds but just at the entrance, so it was
accessible to everyone, not just workers. A
bowl of porridge and milk was one pence, a helping of meat and potato
pie was two pence, and a pot of tea was a penny. Meals were available
to take home should villagers wish to.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDetsGP0CBc7bGL0XHzBRFvV0xD4EnpLjVPnbpnOLNMF5ITY6N0gLtWvDJRwgBOFaW32aKCcPvl3g5YHklw2S3G_-QUs8-gXLplSa6Cb2fUWBvxVVgDV8-oIfd5ETVdQwulLjgxSfFedzc/s1600/dining+hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDetsGP0CBc7bGL0XHzBRFvV0xD4EnpLjVPnbpnOLNMF5ITY6N0gLtWvDJRwgBOFaW32aKCcPvl3g5YHklw2S3G_-QUs8-gXLplSa6Cb2fUWBvxVVgDV8-oIfd5ETVdQwulLjgxSfFedzc/s200/dining+hall.jpg" width="161" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Dining Hall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
It could seat up to 800 at one time and as the mill grew to employ more than this, lunch times were staggered, to allow everyone the opportunity to use the dining hall. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
As well as subsidising the food, we also bought far more coal than was necessary to power the mill's steam engine, and we sold the excess onto our workers at cost price, enabling them to keep their houses warm during even the coldest of months of the year. Once a week the mill's horse would pull the coal cart around the village, filling up peoples coal bins for the week ahead. Obviously coal could be purchased at other times, but the workers would have to carry it home themselves. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
One of the greatest hazards in a mill is fire and the new mill was built with this in mind. Recesses for buckets of water and sand were placed throughout the building, exits and staircases were wide to enable workers to exit quickly and fire drills were held once a year. The fire bell and drills had been the idea of Nicholas Higgins and while thankfully we have never had such an emergency at the new mill, we were hit by disaster a few years ago at a mill we still owned in Milton (a long story and one I am not inclined to relive, since my dearest Margaret was involved and still suffers the after effects to this day). </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDBSe-4HAs15hzV11asGrb31by2iFWlt2EUBiyfze05kDQJpYkhuWMWyxO_MDy23QfEbc9AJYVj9hXEaG23w80Q1AxqyLTqNvc4Es2WTXk98reZNLG4hpUOLDX0cuBqutTjJYn9bfsSl3-/s1600/village+school.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDBSe-4HAs15hzV11asGrb31by2iFWlt2EUBiyfze05kDQJpYkhuWMWyxO_MDy23QfEbc9AJYVj9hXEaG23w80Q1AxqyLTqNvc4Es2WTXk98reZNLG4hpUOLDX0cuBqutTjJYn9bfsSl3-/s640/village+school.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The School</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Until the purpose
built school was ready, the teacher worked out of the main room in
the community hall. The elder children, up to twelve years of age, were
taught by Miss Tate while, the younger children were kept entertained
in the smaller side rooms and looked after by some of the village
women, who were unable to work or who had small children themselves.
</div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Initially most of the
children went to work in the mill once they reached 9 years of age
but once the school was built and we had the means, the brightest
were allowed to continue their schooling until age sixteen, and the
brightest of those then admitted to the technical school, where they
might learn a profession. As our workers lives improved and they were
no longer as reliant on their children earning a wage, we upped the
working age from nine to twelve.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Miss Tate (later Mrs
Sumner) became headmistress of the school an her husband ran the
technical school.
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi94VgYPULNhX2Thf_jEBJ4QwhHRXX5KfrdozqYX-IHuGzZJa6RtimOgbOd5PzeF4eXVMqDYi9utm7XH2p5Xruihpf7aLEBmAiRiQq0m3BpMQjwUhjZBngUYz23vhDQOChWGaad5ymtEv-W/s1600/village+houses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi94VgYPULNhX2Thf_jEBJ4QwhHRXX5KfrdozqYX-IHuGzZJa6RtimOgbOd5PzeF4eXVMqDYi9utm7XH2p5Xruihpf7aLEBmAiRiQq0m3BpMQjwUhjZBngUYz23vhDQOChWGaad5ymtEv-W/s200/village+houses.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria Street</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The parents paid a
few pence a week to send their children to school, most of this money
going in wages to the mothers, who were employed there. The teachers
salaries were funded in full by us.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Not every villager sent their children to school in the beginning but since children were not allowed to work until they were nine, for many the school was a cheap and easy way to have their children cared for and out of mischief while they worked. The children were given half a pint of milk every morning to aid their growth and they were fed from the dining hall. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
One day a week a
doctor took over the small we rooms in the hall and treated our workers for a
small donation, while we covered the cost of their medicine. The first
doctor we worked with took a shone to Margaret and things did not
work out well. The next doctor however, Dr Albert Townsend, proved to
be a godsend. He treated our patients for free in return for us
donating money to his free clinic in Milton. The clinic was his
passion and first love but even today, he is on the board at the hospital
and continues to be actively involved in our workers welfare. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
It was Margaret's idea to document the building of the village in photographs, a tradition that has continued over the years. Some more pictures of our village are below. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtz9cKESQf9P_LVnZW4MkOdER1io4xWI6r53ASfB0X2qs_6hgotXpG6vPw7B8DBkUC1LwVyp2hoLo6lLqVWbYan2C_Liy-LG63Q76NGpQlsTr5Agms5LQRAnBjkUbjRXZe-J-Z3ZVNzzca/s1600/village+houses8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtz9cKESQf9P_LVnZW4MkOdER1io4xWI6r53ASfB0X2qs_6hgotXpG6vPw7B8DBkUC1LwVyp2hoLo6lLqVWbYan2C_Liy-LG63Q76NGpQlsTr5Agms5LQRAnBjkUbjRXZe-J-Z3ZVNzzca/s640/village+houses8.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking out over the Darkshire hills</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiofX1yDGQe07taY5XGfC2SnTwEQUqAfIb93BQhUSQuSNVjTShRXZWp9pVHEvWrqUdmIB6FjDkxl26LRqDvpgpgZ19NemD0wxY7t5Z-YMu1BSDJLOCOy8UwW9lS5FaVrEf8Nb8o-3ZNBgF0/s1600/village+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiofX1yDGQe07taY5XGfC2SnTwEQUqAfIb93BQhUSQuSNVjTShRXZWp9pVHEvWrqUdmIB6FjDkxl26LRqDvpgpgZ19NemD0wxY7t5Z-YMu1BSDJLOCOy8UwW9lS5FaVrEf8Nb8o-3ZNBgF0/s640/village+house.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the larger houses, occupied by Mr and Mrs Sumner </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wojErbCJZMh9pMm3_7erYhfJqA5Pd7XATYE0K0Pu2LGDK_YhyphenhyphenjpfU488wQea8AsTTDPF3W3F4OWnwAp78XJo7dRXAGxm4Go6CMFg65ZpKF2Bt4zm2YHZhIFAAMjCLXwmpEelQK1Ka1h2/s1600/village+houses3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wojErbCJZMh9pMm3_7erYhfJqA5Pd7XATYE0K0Pu2LGDK_YhyphenhyphenjpfU488wQea8AsTTDPF3W3F4OWnwAp78XJo7dRXAGxm4Go6CMFg65ZpKF2Bt4zm2YHZhIFAAMjCLXwmpEelQK1Ka1h2/s640/village+houses3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The larger overlookers house on the right</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijU8K0uIln_7XfSkEkhyphenhyphengEXDvVj54uj9rzdof7smd5STubM6pMZDKO0nTCrwVF0Ada8idSRJd1JbWjiSBInvO1avg96I8MWtPYQqDkBYC7U9JyxbRp_F8as3Ks42wlyBpq1-OAZdSUEd1X/s1600/village+houses6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijU8K0uIln_7XfSkEkhyphenhyphengEXDvVj54uj9rzdof7smd5STubM6pMZDKO0nTCrwVF0Ada8idSRJd1JbWjiSBInvO1avg96I8MWtPYQqDkBYC7U9JyxbRp_F8as3Ks42wlyBpq1-OAZdSUEd1X/s640/village+houses6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary Road</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTz7g7rZgYLbSjkwEXnJybta8iERGuVf1DH6zV8cnrsd6UCi4_KpoZchEpQNfMIV1WiB85y-nBUzsHm9BuGowEnb0HLlRKz3-uPQSJjDTsyKdHOQnpTkDaiwtfrrGegrlmhDKkEErWrmx/s1600/village+houses5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="521" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTz7g7rZgYLbSjkwEXnJybta8iERGuVf1DH6zV8cnrsd6UCi4_KpoZchEpQNfMIV1WiB85y-nBUzsHm9BuGowEnb0HLlRKz3-uPQSJjDTsyKdHOQnpTkDaiwtfrrGegrlmhDKkEErWrmx/s640/village+houses5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the smaller houses</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zewSykA0yrkHEg7mJB30H2h_81POXNiKxSVJPQkWSSmyUpzYM8KAID6klGR7X9V6g36G4fWrHl5u-THnsFyVBxq2pUTQLYQziQ0C5zguQRj6Ji5skttDbLJzboXtYaMBOm43pvBpO1EM/s1600/village+houses4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zewSykA0yrkHEg7mJB30H2h_81POXNiKxSVJPQkWSSmyUpzYM8KAID6klGR7X9V6g36G4fWrHl5u-THnsFyVBxq2pUTQLYQziQ0C5zguQRj6Ji5skttDbLJzboXtYaMBOm43pvBpO1EM/s640/village+houses4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking along Albert Terrace</td></tr>
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<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">[All pictures are of Saltaire, the model village in Lancashire built by Sit Titus Salt]</span></div>
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<br /></div>
Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-25284984593249327602011-11-19T04:05:00.001+00:002013-04-16T01:06:55.560+01:00The Village, Part Two<title></title><style type="text/css">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://mrjthornton.blogspot.com/2011/11/village-part-one.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;">Part One: Making Plans </span></a><u><b><br /></b></u></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b> Our Home </b></u></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwlRHrt3qIPQ386nMeqSEgGAUG3V_9oD1CqxEyNbS3ss6f4eAUJ8_L-EoBG-kaNbWFG-WUn6f5HJ33hOyytTnG3d4rViGNJdnRBKb5XqmlOj_ZS6QFH37yDQ8IOIK_1cZCme8EaFH_Yu_q/s1600/rose+cottage+before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwlRHrt3qIPQ386nMeqSEgGAUG3V_9oD1CqxEyNbS3ss6f4eAUJ8_L-EoBG-kaNbWFG-WUn6f5HJ33hOyytTnG3d4rViGNJdnRBKb5XqmlOj_ZS6QFH37yDQ8IOIK_1cZCme8EaFH_Yu_q/s400/rose+cottage+before.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rose Cottage, pre-renovations</td></tr>
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The land for the village was former farmland that had laid fallow for many generations. We were informed when we signed the deeds that the ruins of the old house remained but I was unable to see them from the site of the mill. </div>
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I didn't give it much thought to be perfectly honest, since I assumed it was just rubble. During this time Margaret was with child and having suffering from serious health problems related to her condition. I was worried to say the least, and so after inspecting the building work one day, I decide to take a walk before I headed back to Milton. Walking has always been something that helps me handle whatever pressures I am facing and I had been walking for perhaps ten minutes when I topped a small rise and saw that the most wonderful ruin stood before me. Whoever had lived here before had not only been farmers, clearly they must have been landowners to have built such a lovely home. </div>
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With my interest
piqued I made my way down to the house and began to explore. The roof
was long since gone as was much of the timber but the walls were
almost completely in tact and it was easy to see the home that this
had once been, despite it's current dilapidated state.
</div>
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I began to picture
Margaret and I in a house like this and I knew exactly how much she
would love this place.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
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I had to leave
though; I had a mill to run and a sick wife to care for but on the way home, my mind
kept drifting back to the house. Back in Milton I had far too much on
my mind to consider the ruin any further but after our daughter was
born, my mind drifted back to the fireplaces I had seen there and the
beautiful stone work. I imagined Bessy playing in the cleaned up
garden, Margaret and I watching her from the rear parlour window.</div>
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So finally I
approached Mr Anderson again and asked him to look at the ruin and
see if it could be restored. The news was good; while it would need a
new roof, new wood work and timber, the basic structure was sound and
could be made good for a quite reasonable sum. I didn't want to
syphon funds off from the village project but since I no longer had to pay
rent on the Marlborough Mill (Mr Bell had left it to Margaret in his will) I had amassed a tidy sum in my own bank
account over the past two years, which would cover the renovations.
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFKX3XQYMF8srrJkOru8-tC_etQNNtAQyiI_EaYRPE5RZITF4vCK6-Rcsv7fp4VRHaF2vAwDFiCDeQ5W35kqqo4C-nMR86HElsHeezQQR5SmXGI2QuMQftuLaebjU0dP1piQv-eDskNqw2/s1600/Rose+cottage+after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFKX3XQYMF8srrJkOru8-tC_etQNNtAQyiI_EaYRPE5RZITF4vCK6-Rcsv7fp4VRHaF2vAwDFiCDeQ5W35kqqo4C-nMR86HElsHeezQQR5SmXGI2QuMQftuLaebjU0dP1piQv-eDskNqw2/s640/Rose+cottage+after.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rear view of Rose Cottage, post renovation. The stable block (with the lower roof) is visible to the left of the main house</td></tr>
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All that remained was
to show the house to Margaret and get her approval, although I was
sure that she would agree with me. She loved it also and I have never
seen her so happy as she was that day.
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Above the door we
found an old wooden sign declaring it to be Rose Cottage. Although it
no longer looked like a cottage, it was far too grand for that, some
parts of the house seemed older than others so it seemed as though
the house had been improved upon and made larger over the years. I do
not know if the old owners kept the name of Rose Cottage or if the
sign was simply never removed from the original structure but either way, it would now be Rose Cottage again, home of
the Thornton family</div>
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</div>
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Mr Anderson had
already begun making preparations to restore the property and it was
finished just before the first phase of housing. By this stage the
workers were walking from Milton to the mill every morning and Margaret didn't
want to move into the house before their housing was also ready, so we used
those weeks to decorate the rooms.
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Mother took control
of the public rooms, such as the front parlour and dining room, as
well as the servants rooms, while Margaret took care of the family
rooms, the rear sitting room, the study cum library, our bedroom and
the nursery.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3H0JcF6OufK9vGTpYm5OwDXI7jBzQ88PFi4V-Ze1nhKFVsWUhGhGODwkwSVsnjdAgWAZvGiS9bIdEPnBELJc-FohJmKtiCOxwfM19PTl0VYwhA2ekiv2d_3hPfUTBJy8-DqO5MDnJFI0p/s1600/master+bedroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3H0JcF6OufK9vGTpYm5OwDXI7jBzQ88PFi4V-Ze1nhKFVsWUhGhGODwkwSVsnjdAgWAZvGiS9bIdEPnBELJc-FohJmKtiCOxwfM19PTl0VYwhA2ekiv2d_3hPfUTBJy8-DqO5MDnJFI0p/s640/master+bedroom.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The master bedroom, our fireplace is to the right, outside of the frame</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJW5-s77CVAFKghqNE08ahfBaKElAF9NBKLRbt1UbRB0rEg74m-OLpaAPtXRGEAJrLXcvHGapucJUOO0CXdCoHyAuVRt0ZCwha-MsG9NRFtDMTZP2vTppaVX1UxGFayzWWVrWyH6y6kOuN/s1600/Margarets+Dressing+Room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJW5-s77CVAFKghqNE08ahfBaKElAF9NBKLRbt1UbRB0rEg74m-OLpaAPtXRGEAJrLXcvHGapucJUOO0CXdCoHyAuVRt0ZCwha-MsG9NRFtDMTZP2vTppaVX1UxGFayzWWVrWyH6y6kOuN/s200/Margarets+Dressing+Room.jpg" width="165" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaret's dressing room</td></tr>
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Though I love my
mother dearly and understand exactly why the public rooms had to be
so grand and austere, I much preferred Margaret's more comfortable
and less showy rooms. I think if she's being honest, Mother does too.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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We moved in as soon
as the workers houses were finished but with it's history and
weather-beaten look, Rose Cottage already felt like a home long before we moved
a stick of furniture in.
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljUPX-MCylGIRoOUrZv7Jj3SPxzE88pzapRqxOGZSp7J13LQerVneF4dsiW3xcs9Oouu8GOCNaSJf7VfOfuED2VfApwiIZqiumTwslHvbcjoohyYc5mhMucz4-famILmoTfN_i18Jl7zM/s1600/dining+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljUPX-MCylGIRoOUrZv7Jj3SPxzE88pzapRqxOGZSp7J13LQerVneF4dsiW3xcs9Oouu8GOCNaSJf7VfOfuED2VfApwiIZqiumTwslHvbcjoohyYc5mhMucz4-famILmoTfN_i18Jl7zM/s320/dining+room.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining room</td></tr>
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We had already hired
a gardener who was living above the stables, and he had worked hard to
tame the wilderness that was a large walled garden at the
rear. Somehow he succeeded without making it look too barren. Once
he had cleared the wilderness in the back of the house he did the same at the front and dug a circular gravel driveway, which leads back to the main gate and branched off in front of the house, leading around to the stable block
(the slightly smaller building you can see in the photograph, to the
left of the main house).
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Living in Milton we
had not needed horses since we could walk everywhere or hire a cab, out here though, we knew that we would need out own transportation.
We kept four horses in total, a pony for the gig
(which could hold two people) and was used by Margaret or Mother, two horses to pull our carriage (which
could hold six passengers, two drivers and luggage if necessary) and
a large shire horse, who actually pulled the mill's cart, although he was
stabled overnight at the house with the others horses.</div>
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Below are a few more photographs of our home.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xrZdM_m91I3WIFSUbtDCu0CSezFz-JnWKRxa4p55_c7PSFVflHBYIAIw6O8m6FRXGi91FfdzYKJGbDEk6J5OO2_PASEl1_cdPA19nzNrOX7HRNpusFO62lCFbcynKnBNmx1G4m8ibkHx/s1600/darwing+room+frontparlour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xrZdM_m91I3WIFSUbtDCu0CSezFz-JnWKRxa4p55_c7PSFVflHBYIAIw6O8m6FRXGi91FfdzYKJGbDEk6J5OO2_PASEl1_cdPA19nzNrOX7HRNpusFO62lCFbcynKnBNmx1G4m8ibkHx/s640/darwing+room+frontparlour.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Formal front Parlour or drawing room. The portrait above the fireplace is of my father.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-cG-DguWA2sqPI5Dzza_h6KmpiynBj_YbxzpShnWph9bcf233AFG_CSdPR8QadQtKb_3oyielT-wIjdXNJ1_DTa5ZxCbtRnJE8WT8NWE9B4QE1qlIfyq345oewYGaKXc-Fo67xwfiygD/s1600/library+study.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-cG-DguWA2sqPI5Dzza_h6KmpiynBj_YbxzpShnWph9bcf233AFG_CSdPR8QadQtKb_3oyielT-wIjdXNJ1_DTa5ZxCbtRnJE8WT8NWE9B4QE1qlIfyq345oewYGaKXc-Fo67xwfiygD/s640/library+study.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The library or study</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-FusFJB15f8uEno2IiKQwm652xiNIZ1oxE-dvISXlM2Fc2P9x1jBg0KD-uTiQwv_Foi9ij0Cyyoeimg2sLRfbunBbJnGDUDRslgw2MS0LDOVVnzPGydN5RMrtEaDu9MlE9zx9BbEBq5b/s1600/back+parlour+at+christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-FusFJB15f8uEno2IiKQwm652xiNIZ1oxE-dvISXlM2Fc2P9x1jBg0KD-uTiQwv_Foi9ij0Cyyoeimg2sLRfbunBbJnGDUDRslgw2MS0LDOVVnzPGydN5RMrtEaDu9MlE9zx9BbEBq5b/s640/back+parlour+at+christmas.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The back parlour or sitting room decorated up for Christmas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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We have made many
wonderful memories in this house and I sincerely hope that you will share them
with us by purchasing a copy of Northern Light.<br />
<br />
John Thornton<br />
Next: Building a community<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a><br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats </a><br />
<a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">Miss Winchester's website</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">[The ruin pictured on this post is Nymans House and the renovated house is Up Cerne Manor House]</span>
</div>
Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-71842111829827064772011-11-18T18:54:00.001+00:002013-04-16T01:00:57.736+01:00The Village, Part One<title></title><style type="text/css">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Architects sketch of the Village </td></tr>
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<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Making Plans </b></u></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">It's
a rather large leap to go from cotton mill Master to model village*
owner and it might surprise you to know that the seed of the idea
actually came from Margaret's brother, Fred.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We were walking back from the opera one evening, Dolores and I walking a few paces behind Margaret and her brother, when he made an off hand remark about the strikes in Milton and wasn't it a shame that we couldn't move the mill to Helstone, where the practices of the other mills wouldn't affect us. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
She said nothing to me at the time but the comment obviously germinated an idea. It wasn't until the trip home when she broached the subject with me. I came up on deck to find her leaning over the railings looking rather sad. I thought that perhaps she was missing her brother already, or even dreading returning to Milton. After Spain's sunny skies and dry heat, the Milton climate would come as a shock even to me.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
To my immense relief,
she assured me, that she was simply in thought and explained what
Fred had said.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
When Mr Bell died he left Margaret not only his property portfolio and bank accounts, he also had a number of speculations that Margaret benefited from. As many failed as made money, but some paid off spectacularly and besides letting it pile up in our bank account, we were at a loss for what to do with the money. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Of course it was a
long way from having some assets and a large bank balance to being
able to afford to build a whole village, but without knowing the
costs involved, we had to do our best to not to get too deeply
involved in the plan in case we did not have the funds to do it.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
As soon as we arrived back in England we set about getting a complete valuation of Mr Bell's portfolio from our bank manager, Mr Latimer, and hiring a firm of architects to accurately plan and cost the development. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
It took a while for the architects, Anderson & Sons, to complete the proposal and we had to reign our ideas in a time or two (I believe Margaret would have given each worker their own mansion given the opportunity) but we knew that the price we were eventually given was as accurate as possible and we had accounted for as many possibilities as was humanly possible. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Initially we were
upset because even if we had liquidated all of our assets and
sold Marlborough Mill, we still could not afford it. Mr Anderson then
went on to explain that the whole project would take six years,
start to finish, which sparked an idea in me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I did not say
anything to Margaret at the time lest I get her hopes up only to dash
them again, but alone in my office I began to work out some figures.
<br />
<br />
I knew that we could rethink our plans, build a smaller mill, employ fewer people and therefore need less housing in the village but we wanted to make a real difference in peoples lives and the more we could employ and house in our village, the better. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6I3n2efVYFxe9a9iOXAZASojicl5rDd_tI1XUkvVthN7DZX_fssaQmTGgWzEK_q8hexqQuHQRXFbzvGcF7-h3bHD82GcNFnkyiWVUAzQoijeqq9JCPmL1IjVOo7Ba9pChH1h9CEFpzmWX/s1600/mill+drawing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6I3n2efVYFxe9a9iOXAZASojicl5rDd_tI1XUkvVthN7DZX_fssaQmTGgWzEK_q8hexqQuHQRXFbzvGcF7-h3bHD82GcNFnkyiWVUAzQoijeqq9JCPmL1IjVOo7Ba9pChH1h9CEFpzmWX/s400/mill+drawing.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The architects drawing of the mill</td></tr>
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<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We could afford to
build the new mill outright and perhaps half of the village so I
wondered; if the Mill could begin operation at less than full capacity, it would begin to pay for itself. We could then move only our existing workers over to the new village and start operation
immediately. I worked out that with the profits of not only the mill, but also the income from the
housing, we could afford the whole project, providing that we did not
move too quickly.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
I spoke to Mr
Anderson and we devised a way that the housing could be built in
stages. The first stage would house the existing mill employees and I
could move our existing equipment over without incurring too much
overhead.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNwadWNdRKVLj-b851cULut0HxLfa0ynBpFh72AirGJgV59byQkB-jdR3fqNOM95qsJ4DDGycs_jIyDF9k_2XoHF48G4A7WZKxCZDRDtnHJNk_oXWiGaj0WXuRBsw_jqHh6iTk5ucA83Rc/s1600/villagemap2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNwadWNdRKVLj-b851cULut0HxLfa0ynBpFh72AirGJgV59byQkB-jdR3fqNOM95qsJ4DDGycs_jIyDF9k_2XoHF48G4A7WZKxCZDRDtnHJNk_oXWiGaj0WXuRBsw_jqHh6iTk5ucA83Rc/s640/villagemap2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The darkened area shows the first phase of building</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
Then in stage two, we would double
the housing and the machinery at the mill, doubling our
workforce. Each stage was managed and timed to give us a little
leeway to build up a cushion of cash again before proceeding with the
next stage. Another positive of doing it this was was that if had there been any problems with our expansion plans, such as the markets taking another down turn, building work could even be halted or delayed for a while.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Of course that meant
that some facilities would not be available to the workers
immediately, such as a hospital, shops, a church and a purpose built
school, but we managed to find ways around those issues.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
For the hospital, we
were not so very far out of Milton that they could not seek help
there, besides, most doctors and hospitals charged for their services
and as such, our workers were used to seeing to their own needs in all
but the most severe of circumstances.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3B0qYBS2kjzv7D-lF2ZkN1pXTQpRpnwgSfdeb2HG_06_psGYeTzHWqwR-s6c8UYAXF5qHq7c2X7NC-oDQWwwDGDAS04aQ28GvaW-71RaWUTShJmowOf-HjTN_pibrpOl2pyYZu1_HGvn/s1600/town+hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3B0qYBS2kjzv7D-lF2ZkN1pXTQpRpnwgSfdeb2HG_06_psGYeTzHWqwR-s6c8UYAXF5qHq7c2X7NC-oDQWwwDGDAS04aQ28GvaW-71RaWUTShJmowOf-HjTN_pibrpOl2pyYZu1_HGvn/s320/town+hall.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first Town Hall, which had many functions in the village</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
As for the school and
church, we built a small community hall that could be used as a
school during the week and, after seeking permission from his bishop,
one of the reverends with whom Mr Hale had been friendly agreed
that he or his Rector would conduct two services on a Sunday and one
on a Wednesday evening in the community hall.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
We then forged
agreements with local shopkeepers that they would visit the village
with a cart of wares regularly. The grocer and butcher came daily, while the cobblers visited only once a week.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
In time all these
facilities would be on hand in the village, our eventual population
being in the region of five thousand, but with only three hundred
workers and perhaps a total of five hundred total population, it just
wasn't feasible in the beginning.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
The architects had
already found us a suitable plot of land that the railway line
already intersected, saving us the cost of building an extension to
the line and meaning that we only had to build an extension to the
canal, which despite the popularity of railways is still how most raw
cotton is transported out of Liverpool.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
Needless to say
Margaret was ecstatic with this plan and shortly afterwards, we broke
ground on the site.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0.4cm;">
<b>Next: </b>Our new home,
Rose Cottage<br />
<br />
To find out more about our village, please avail yourselves of a copy of <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#%21/pages/Northern-Light/153050751455049?sk=info" target="_blank">Northern Light</a>, available in paperback and ebooks formats on-</div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Amazon UK </a></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats </a></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
And you can visit Miss Winchester's website <a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">here.</a>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">[*The model village described in Northern Light and in this post is based heavily on Saltaire village, build by Sir Titus Salt for the employees of his woollen mill. I could not find any information on how the village was built so I had to use my imagination on that score. All pictures, sketches and plans of the the village are actual images of Saltaire]</span></div>
Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-31359716725274177892011-11-18T03:47:00.001+00:002013-04-16T00:44:54.991+01:00The Wedding<title></title><style type="text/css">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaret's Wedding Gown<br />
Larger pic under the cut </td></tr>
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<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
An Exerpt from <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#%21/pages/Northern-Light/153050751455049?sk=info" target="_blank">Northern Light</a> by Miss Winchester. This has been requested many times, so here it is. I do hope that you enjoy it. Personally I have very fond memories of this day,very fond indeed, and I am more than happy to relive it with you good people.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“<span style="font-size: small;">Who cares what they think.” He wrapped his arms
around her waist and pulled her to him. “Soon you will be mine and
the rest of the world can go hang for all I care.”</span></i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Once at the church, Margaret told Edith and the Captain
that she needed to see the Reverend and excused herself to go and
find John. She slipped into the side chamber, where the bridegrooms
had often waited when her father had conducted weddings, and found
John sitting with his head in his hands.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You're not having second thoughts, I hope,” she
teased.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He looked up in surprise and a warm smile spread over
his features as he drank her image in.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRImxPwXwN7FVqQi-U9ihhxdPDC4HG2tzXwJ8A33d2LovxUzGrZi2AywWOj_TToQu1EYBCquAEmC9TgiCzjjR_WgIfjgCnMetP0mOwhXIU-_rLvb33K3UmDE6O2NGGf_CLifBZuHg3a7xH/s1600/Margarets+wedding+dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRImxPwXwN7FVqQi-U9ihhxdPDC4HG2tzXwJ8A33d2LovxUzGrZi2AywWOj_TToQu1EYBCquAEmC9TgiCzjjR_WgIfjgCnMetP0mOwhXIU-_rLvb33K3UmDE6O2NGGf_CLifBZuHg3a7xH/s400/Margarets+wedding+dress.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
“<span style="font-size: small;">You look...” He couldn't find the words. Her dress was a cream shade in a simple style with a fitted bodice, pinched waist and full skirt. Her veil, which was pushed back at the moment, was a delicate cream lace, held in place by a dozen tiny flowers on the crown of her head. She looked to him like an angel with a floral halo.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Thank you.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Margaret also couldn't help but admire him. He cut a very fine figure indeed in his morning suit and Margaret felt a fluttering in her stomach as she observed him.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride
before the wedding?” he asked as he came over to her.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I don't believe in superstitions like that,” she
said firmly. “And I needed to see you before the ceremony.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Oh?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I just... I wanted to say that if my father could have been here, he would have been so happy, John. You were his favourite pupil and I know he thought very highly of you. I only hope that wherever he is now, that he can see us and know how happy we are together.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">John smiled and kissed her lips very gently, as though
he was afraid he would spoil her beauty if he were too rough.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Words can't do justice to how I feel about you,” he
told her, his voice husky with desire. “I thank the Lord every day
for my good fortune and I hope to spend the rest of my life showing
you how much I love you.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Margaret reached a hand up and cupped his cheek.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">And I love you, my darling. I thank the Lord every
day that you gave me a second chance.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I would have given you a thousand chances,” he
assured her.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Margaret felt the sting of tears and tried to blink them
back.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Oh dear. You must not make me cry,” she chided him,
smiling through her tears. “What will people think?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Who cares what they think.” He wrapped his arms
around her waist and pulled her to him. “Soon you will be mine and
the rest of the world can go hang for all I care.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">That is a little drastic, but I confess, I do share
your sentiments.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">A knock came at the door and they separated as John called for them to come in. Margaret dabbed at her eyes to dry her remaining tears.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Oh, here you are,” Father Byron said to Margaret.
“Mrs. Shaw is looking for you.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I'm sure she is.” Margaret smiled. “Are we ready
to start?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Whenever you two are. Would you like a few more
minutes?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">John and Margaret looked at each other. “No,” they
said in unison and smiled.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Right, then let's get the proceedings under way,
shall we?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The church was one of Milton's smaller ones, chosen
because they did not want a grand ceremony. As it was, their guests
filled most of the pews without the church being too cramped.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As Margaret entered the church on Captain Lennox's arm,
she saw Nicholas and the other workers she was friendly with seated
towards the rear of the church. She smiled warmly at them, glad that
they had decided to attend when they might easily have felt out of
place.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As she neared the altar, John turned to look at her, his
expression warm and welcoming. He stepped towards her to take her
from the Captain then escorted her the rest of the way himself.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The service flew by and later Margaret would be left with few memories other than the look on John's face as he placed her ring on her finger. Before she knew it, John was lifting her veil and they were signing the register. She grinned, for while her over excited mind was currently unable to remember saying 'I do', this was a sure sign that they were now man and wife.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">While she thought no one was looking, she kissed him
quickly on the cheek and he smiled warmly at her impudence. She was
Mrs. John Thornton now and as soon as they were alone she intended to
give in to all the urges that had been plaguing her for the past four
weeks, morals be damned.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They walked back down the isle, arm in arm, and Margaret
glanced up at her husband and wondered what she had done to be this
lucky.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As they left the church, the guests threw rice and the
couple were inundated with well wishes.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">John had closed the mill today in honour of their wedding and although some workers from the mill had attended the church, they weren't invited to the wedding breakfast. Margaret understood that they couldn't attend, though she was sorry for it and took the time before they left the church to thank them all personally for coming.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The breakfast was relatively easy since Mrs. Shaw now
seemed to have accepted the inevitable and rather than pointing out
the inadequacy of the north, she chose to pout in silence instead.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Margaret didn't care. They ate their food, listened to the speeches and as soon as was acceptable, saw their guests off and headed up to John's bed chamber. </span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Margaret closed the door behind them, leaned back
against it and let out a long sigh, seeming to deflate with it.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Surely you are not unhappy?” John asked as he
untied his cravat.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I believe relieved is the word,” she smiled at him.
“We are finally man and wife. We have endured the gossip and scorn
and are free to be alone together without inviting censure.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She pushed away from the door and walked up to him,
wrapping her arms around his neck.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">So, Mr. Thornton, kiss me as I know you have longed
to ever since that day in London.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">John smirked and lowered his lips to hers. He started off gently, kissing her softly and with the reverence he felt she deserved. He was unable to keep that up for long though and as her lips parted beneath his, he deepened the kiss.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Margaret whimpered as she felt his passion and desire
and found those same emotions reflected within herself. When he
pulled away she felt slightly light-headed, as though she had
forgotten to breathe.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">My,” she whispered.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">John cupped her cheek with his hand but his smile slowly faded.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">John? What is it?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Margaret, we have never spoken about what happens
between a man and wife. Usually a bride's mother would explain
everything before the wedding but...” He didn't know how to finish
that sentence without reminding her of the loss.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Margaret smiled reassuringly, though it was tinged with
sadness.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">While I may look innocent, and indeed I am sure that
I am naive in many aspects of marital relations, I am aware of the...
mechanics.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You are?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Indeed. A combination of reading and helping with a
few births has given me a fairly clear understanding of the theory.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You were present at births?” he sounded surprised.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Only two. Helstone was rather remote and it wasn't uncommon for us to be snowed in on occasion over the winter. As the vicar's wife my mother was often called upon to help with medical matters during these times and as as I grew older I would assist her.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Somehow I can't see your mother acting as a midwife,”
John admitted.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">In all honesty she mainly held their hands, Dixon was
the one who did most of the work.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">But you are comfortable with what we are about to
do?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I find I am eager, though I confess I am also
slightly apprehensive.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">John leaned down and kissed her softly.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You have nothing to fear from me, my love. I will be as gentle as I can be and take things slowly. You can ask me any questions you wish and I will answer them as honestly as I am able.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I....” Margaret bit her lip. “I have heard it
said that it is painful.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">The first time can be, but I will do everything I can
to make it as pleasurable as possible.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I'm sure. I trust you implicitly, my darling.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I want to see you,” John said as he smiled and
reached behind her for the buttons on her dress.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Margaret blushed and dipped her head but she made no move to stop him. Though she had little idea of what to do, instinct served her well and desiring to touch his flesh, she slipped her hands beneath his jacket and tugged his shirt loose so that she could run her hands over the planes of his back.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
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<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Available on Amazon UK</a><br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats </a><br />
And you can visit Miss Winchester's inter-site <a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">here.</a>Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-60992613162731505632011-11-16T21:58:00.001+00:002013-04-16T00:42:27.617+01:00Telling Mother!An excerpt from Miss Winchester's biography of us, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#%21/pages/Northern-Light/153050751455049?sk=info" target="_blank">Northern Light</a>, detailing how Mother took the news of mine and Margaret's engagement.<br />
<br />
<b>Beware, spoilers for Northern Light below the jump!</b><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<b>Excerpt from Chapter Two</b><br />
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<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Hannah Thornton was darning one of John's shirts when he came in. She closed her eyes in relief as she heard the front door close and his familiar footfalls making their way towards her.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He was home safe.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She didn't look up as he came in, needing a minute to prepare herself for the despair she would surely see in his eyes, for not only did he have to give up his precious mill, he had to go begging to the woman he loved, asking to be released from his tenancy. </span> </div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">To her surprise he leaned over the back of her chair and kissed her cheek.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Mother.” His tone was warm rather than broken and, surprised, she turned to him. He looked relaxed, even happy.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">John?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We are saved, Mother,” he said, taking the seat opposite her. He smiled to himself, his eyes focused on nothing. “We are saved,” he repeated softly.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">John!” His unusual behaviour was disconcerting and she spoke more sharply that she might have wished. “Stop this nonsense and tell me what has happened.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He looked up at her. “She loves me, Mother, and she wishes to invest some of her fortune in the mill.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Thornton was quite speechless for a moment as many thoughts occurred to her simultaneously. Finally she began to sort them into some kind of order.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">She has told you her feelings?” she asked. She hardly needed to ask who he was talking about.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">She has. If only I had not led her to believe that I no longer cared for her, we may have found each other a great deal sooner.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Thornton frowned. “And the mill?” she prompted.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">She came to me, offering me some eighteen thousand pounds to invest on her behalf.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She inhaled sharply and swallowed before continuing.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">She has that much to spare?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Aye.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This was quite an unexpected turn of events and she really didn't know how to feel about it. On the one hand she still disliked Miss Hale greatly for the pain she had caused her son and Mrs. Thornton still felt her to be a proud and disapproving young woman.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And yet she had both accepted her son and offered him a chance to restart the mill. Given the great sum of money involved, it surely showed the high regard in which Miss Hale now held her son.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Or perhaps she wasn't doing this for her son, perhaps this was for the hands, like Higgins. Then again, why would she agree to marry John if she did not care for him?</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">And you have asked her to marry you?” She needed that point confirmed before she could order her thoughts any further.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I have, and she has said yes.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps, she thought, it was Miss Hale's pride that finally allowed her to say yes. Now that she was of means, she may well feel as though she had more power than the last time he had asked for her hand in marriage. There would surely be gossip but it was her son who would be branded the fortune hunter this time.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Yes, she was certain that Miss Hale had always harboured feelings for her son. Her pride and the airs and graces she gave herself must have prevented her from acting on those feelings previously. Imagine, a lady accepting the hand and fortune of a Milton manufacturer! Now though, she was rescuing him, she was his saviour, how much better that must be for her inflated opinion of herself.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She put her sewing aside and reached out to take his hand.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Are you certain this is what you want, John? There will be talk; people will say you are only marrying her because of her inheritance, they will belittle your hard work and undermine your good reputation.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">John sat forward and looked into her eyes.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">As things stand, Mother, I have no need of my good reputation.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">That is hardly the point, we both know you will be great again one day.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps.” He leaned back in the chair. Mrs. Thornton would almost describe him as lounging. “But since when have we cared what others say? Even if I could find a way to get the mill running again, it would be a hollow victory without her at my side.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">And what of her indiscretions? She has ignited the gossip of the town twice already with her forward ways, and only one of those incidents involved you.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">The other gentleman was her brother. There was no impropriety on Margaret's part,” John assured her.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Then why didn't she tell us that?” Mrs. Thornton accused.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">She was protecting him. I don't know most of the details but he is on the run and only returned to this country because their mother was dying.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">So her brother is a criminal!” she sounded shocked.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Only in name. She has told me of his supposed crime and I can't say I would have acted any differently given the circumstances.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">So you are determined, then?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I am.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Thornton swallowed down her feelings and picked up her sewing again.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">So where is Miss Hale?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">She's staying at a hotel overnight. Tomorrow she will try and find more permanent accommodation until we are married.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">She is here? In Milton?”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">She chose to return with me.” He laughed, which Mrs. Thornton found very disconcerting. “I am sorry for laughing, Mother, but rest assured, I am not laughing at you. I know how you feel about Miss Hale but right now I feel as giddy as a school boy. I only hope that you will give her a chance, so that you might come to understand what it is that I love about her.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I will give her a chance, John. She makes you happy and I only want what you want.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Thank you, Mother. You will not regret it.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Thornton could not agree, yet she couldn't not voice her opinion so she gave no reply.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0.4cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.4cm;">
***</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsztLLtI8UzFNyHkNBHE3-ovUCHKunJLRyMzhILLZkUjfa9KRkVvrb-N9te-s_JT281jPIt0uEpH9oy1QesnYDsuYfx9p6SsEUm-QrdKH8Xv1fwgNtBMo-rQ1_mBlaSSYTt4-mecl04Wo-/s1600/n+and+s+amazon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsztLLtI8UzFNyHkNBHE3-ovUCHKunJLRyMzhILLZkUjfa9KRkVvrb-N9te-s_JT281jPIt0uEpH9oy1QesnYDsuYfx9p6SsEUm-QrdKH8Xv1fwgNtBMo-rQ1_mBlaSSYTt4-mecl04Wo-/s200/n+and+s+amazon.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Available on Amazon UK </a><br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats </a><br />
And you can visit Miss Winchester's inter-site <a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">here.</a><br />
***<br />
I confess that I was concerned about Mother reaction; she can be stubborn at times and she is not quick to change her mind once you have lost her good opinion but I was pleased that she was willing to give Margaret a chance.<br />
I also had every faith in Margaret and her ability to change Mothers mind. Was she successful? Well, that would be telling.Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8207038462727312828.post-50122069423902481782011-11-16T19:35:00.001+00:002013-04-16T00:41:12.916+01:00Northern Light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For those who are interested in what happened to me and Margaret's after our marriage, Catherine Winchester has very kindly chronicled our lives and published our story for you all to enjoy.<br />
<br />
I will be publishing details of certain events every week on this website.<br />
<br />
With the
threat of another strike, a series of bad mill accidents, a lethal fire
and failed speculation, life in Milton is not easy for anyone and it
won't be long before the mill masters and their workers clash once more,
with devastating consequences.<br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"> <br /> Getting married and starting a family is difficult enough at the best of times but for John and Margaret, married life will present unique challenges and despite the reforms they are making, even they will not escape Milton's troubles unscathed.</span><br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/okb0Vh%20" target="_blank">Available on Amazon UK </a><br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/o4AApp%20" target="_blank">Amazon US </a><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/mOJRKV" target="_blank">And all ebook formats </a><br />
And you can visit Miss Winchester's spider-site <a href="http://www.cswinchester.net/" target="_blank">here.</a><br />
<br />Mr. J. Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12290155482330325910noreply@blogger.com2