It had never come to mention, mid the stories and the poems, with the beets and the Vagabond who wandered wearing gumboots into legend….What did Beatrice say to Godfrey when they parted long ago, in the middle of the road, now known as “Mulgrew Bend”
I was a young girl then, said Beatrice. He was the odd lad I had always known. I could hear the rumble of a train quite far off, heard my mother lurking by the hedge. (She had a cough) Heard his boots scuff in the gravel, he had paused and filled his hat, with ripe gooseberries as a parting gift for me.
On the bridge oer the creek, that runs through Sonsie Farm I sat with Godfrey. I was just a farm girl from a damp Welsh valley. He was an adventurer so full of poetry. On his own fresh pathway of dreams and written word. He did not care- that his Ma had kicked him out and the mess his sister Alice had made of his hair. “It will grow back”, he assured me.
“I will return to, someday and will write you until I do”. One reason besides beets that Ma is so irate, yes I stopped out with The Fish Ladies Daughter until quite late. Oh we made the most lovely butter tarts together. But they took so long to cool once they were baked. I will not moralize I told him. It’s all okay, I do not blame Clementine for leading you astray.
You were born a pad-foot antithesis of the beets you dislike so. ..they are rooted deeply you are not, it is in your destiny to wander, I told him as he turned to go. His sister Alice could be heard, being loud and very rude, I took the last gooseberry, it was tart and I tried not to cry as I chewed..he was gone with that one backward wave, and to this day Worzel, well I still love Gooseberries, do you?