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  Admonition

  Chris Throsby

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  Admonition

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Copyright © Chris Throsby (2019)

  Acknowledgement

  WilliamThe Admonition

  JabezA Hard Road Travelled

  Part Two

  ElizabethBetween a Rock and a Soft Place

  WilliamLies

  ElizabethForgotten

  JabezA Meeting of Minds

  WilliamChance Meetings

  Part Three

  ElizabethAll in a Name

  JabezThe Salt Road

  ElizabethMy Hero?

  JabezManchester

  ElizabethCold Comfort

  JabezArrest

  Part Four

  HenryArticles of Faith

  JabezPlanning and Preparation

  HenryA Foregone Conclusion

  ElizabethA Dish Served Cold

  HenryLooking to the Future

  ElizabethA Fate Deserved

  HenryIgnorance, Neglect and Contempt

  Part Five

  AdmonitionSurvival

  MaryDescent into Hell

  AdmonitionHammocks

  MaryThe Bay of Biscay

  AdmonitionSydney Cove

  Part Six

  HenryParting Gifts

  AdmonitionA Taste of Freedom

  MaryEllis

  AdmonitionFrom Beyond the Grave

  MaryBack at the Factory

  AdmonitionFreedom

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chris Throsby was born in Chatham, Kent, and lived in the Medway Towns until 1990 when the relocation of his Civil Service job led him into moving to Winsford, Cheshire, where he still lives today. Redundancy in 1998 provided Chris with the opportunity to return to education and in 2004, he was awarded a 1st Class Honours Degree in English Literature and American Studies.

  In 1990, only months prior to moving to Cheshire, Chris was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, which, despite its progressive nature, hasn’t prevented him completing his first full-length novel, Admonition.

  About the Book

  Born in the late 1700s, Admonition’s mother has already made her believe her name carries a curse. When her home – along with most of her family – is swallowed by a sink hole, she is taken in by neighbours who provide her with a loving home.

  She is only 13 when things start to change. By the time she reaches 15, the curse is confirmed, when she is forced to leave by the sexual advances of the man who had initially taken her – a confirmation that is repeated many times in her life.

  Finding a home with Jabez, the landlord of The Boar’s Head, she becomes embroiled in salt smuggling that leads ultimately to transportation and a new life in Australia where she finally finds true love and freedom.

  As Admonition says at the end of her story,

  ‘Now, I wish there was a way I could tell her what’s taken me a lifetime, not to mention a journey to the other side of the world, to learn: we can be unlucky, unfortunate, even oppressed by our circumstances or by those around us, but we are never affected by curses and certainly not by our name – unless of course we choose to believe it.’

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to Lesley my wife, who has supported me through every stage as Admonition took shape and has been there for me in life no matter what. Also to my son Sam, who pressed me to write in the first place and didn’t stop until I sought publication. I love you both.

  Copyright © Chris Throsby (2019)

  The right of Chris Throsby to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781528933346 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781528967433 (ePub e-book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2019)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  Acknowledgement

  I would like to thank my sister, Judy Halliday, for her support, encouragement and critique of early drafts and for being strong enough to say “I don’t like that bit”, a rare and valued quality.

  My long-suffering friends Christine Brookes and Sheila Wigley, both unstinting in their support, interest and encouragement, who still asked how the book was going at a time that was well beyond the call of duty.

  Michelle Roberts, whose first question when she walked in the house seemed always “How’s the book going?”, and proofed all my biblical references.

  Debbie Bootz, who kindly provided me with ‘Lolly Hamlet’ in name and stature, though definitely not in character!

  And finally, Amanda, Amy, Dad and Carole, and anyone else I’ve forgotten.

  I hope you all enjoy Admonition and think it’s worth the wait!

  Thank you.

  Now all these things happened unto them for ensamples: and they are written for our admonition,

  upon whom the ends of the world are come

  1 Corinthians 10:11

  Part One

  William

  The Admonition

  Payday always went one of two ways.

  On the good days, Dad came straight home from work, gave Mum his money, told her about his day and usually collected his conjugal reward when they thought we were asleep. But with all of us sleeping in one room, we were used to hearing Mum’s quiet murmurs of encouragement and the muffled sounds as they tried to smother their conclusion.

  But on the bad days, diverted by the call of the Boar’s Head, Dad left Mum hoping the little money she’d managed to siphon away would feed us until next payday. The Boar was the nearest pub, and according to Mum it was only there because it lay between the salt pans and our village. She said it sold bad ale, drunk only by men made thirsty by salt and heat.

  The truth is the ale isn’t too bad, but the Boar’s reputation is not for its ale, but as a place to trade salt without questions or tax. The Excise knows what goes on there but they’ve never caught anyone – Dad told me their local man is well paid by the Boar’s landlord, Jabez Payne, not to watch too closely.

  Anyway, on the bad days we’d go to bed early to keep out of the firing line when Dad got home. It was always the same. Mum wouldn’t have minded if he just had a couple, because she knows salt panning is hot, thirsty work, but he’d come home roaring drunk and broke. Bed was different as well; Dad’s slow repetitive movement as he lay on top of Mum seemed endless. He’d hold her hard and when, with a low grunt he finally finished, he’d roll off her, fall asleep in moments and then begin the snoring that would disturb our sleep until morning.

  On those nights, the only sound louder was Mum’s silence. She couldn’t refuse him her body. She knew what would happen if she tried to do that, but she could deny him her presence. Unmoving and making no sound, she’d lie there waiting for him to finish, desperately hoping he’d remember his promise; sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. Only once had she tried to pull away, but he’d grabbed her even more fiercely and all of us heard as she couldn’t stop herself from crying out.

  It was because of a night like this my l
ittle sister was born; certainly that’s what Mum spat at Dad when she found herself pregnant for the seventh time. Mum had lost one before I came along, but when the one after Sally was stillborn, she told Dad she didn’t want any more. Dad agreed. The truth was he’d never been that interested in us – at least not until we were old enough to work. But on that night, drunk, he’d forgotten what they had agreed.

  It was always Mum who named us, and she guaranteed no interference by giving me, their first–born, my father’s name, William, and as a second name that of my grandfather, John. When my brother came along, she sealed matters by calling him John William. Any faint interest Dad had in us ended there; his heir would make sure his name would go on and just in case something happened to me, a suitable replacement waited in the wings. From then on, he didn’t ask, just waited for an announcement from Mum.

  Sometimes it took weeks for Mum to decide on a name. She said she needed time to get to know us and to find a name that suited. But I believe she first wanted to see if we survived. Experience had taught her it was just a little harder to say goodbye to a person with a name than to a nameless baby. It was never easy for her I know, but anything that eased the pain, even a little…

  As I said, Dad never asked. He just waited for a decision. He didn’t usually comment either – a grunt meaning he’d heard was all she got. So when my baby sister was born, it was a surprise that Mum named her almost immediately. It surprised my father even more when she announced,

  “Your baby’s name shall be Admonition.”

  She sounded like Reverend Grace who terrified us on a Sunday with tales of Hell and Damnation. She watched for his reaction and when she was sure there would be no argument, nothing more than a sharp turn of his head, she spoke to us. She knew none of us had ever heard of the name, so before any of us could ask, she explained.

  “Your sister’s name has a meaning. Admonition means ‘a right telling off’, so every time your father sees her or hears her name, that’s what he’ll be getting – a right telling off.”

  We were all too young to understand ‘rebuke’; that would have confused us even more, but we’d all had a right telling off at some time or other and because we’d all heard Mum’s cry and so believed we knew the reason, none of us asked why Dad was getting his admonition. As she spoke to us, Mum remained looking fixedly into Dad’s eyes until, finally, he looked away. Soon after, unable to endure the silence that followed Mum’s announcement, he left for the Boar’s Head. That night he came home late but I believe sober, because he went to bed quietly and shortly after all we could hear was the rhythmic breathing that meant he was asleep.

  While I can’t say he never again came home drunk, I can say that Mum bore no more children – Admonition made sure he never again forgot their agreement.

  Why I woke early that morning, I don’t know. It may have been Dad’s snoring – he’d come home drunk again – or perhaps just the bite of the cold morning air. Whatever the reason, I’d got up whilst the others slept, and still comfortable in the only world I knew, walked down the gennel to the privy.

  The houses in the gennel were all single rooms made cheaply from clinker left by the salt pan fires. Dark grey and separated by less than a brick’s width, they stood in two parallel rows, rows so close together, there was barely room for a horse to draw a cart between them, but because they ran from east to west, they saw little sun and always seemed to be in gloom. However our house wasn’t in the gennel, nor was it made from clinker, instead, made from oak but still just a single room, it stood beyond the gennel and sideways to it, facing south across the fields towards the sun and the salt pans.

  On any bright and dry morning, Mum cooked our breakfast outside, so as I returned from the privy, I hoped to catch the tell–tale smell that would tell me our porridge was almost ready. But that morning, as I walked back up the gennel, a loud and unfamiliar noise sent me hurrying to the end. There, I was just in time to witness my home disappearing into the ground, taking with it my family, my home and my life as I knew it. Looking back, it seems the last fragments of my childhood slipped away that morning along with everything else.

  For a moment I was transfixed, then, knee–jerked forward, I was drawn towards the chasm that had swallowed my home. Blinded by dust, I stumbled over the rubble that had escaped the chasm’s draw. Fortunately, though I may not have thought so then, I was halted by a familiar voice.

  “Wait!” A hand grabbed me. “They’re all gone Will, and the ground’s still slipping. If you go any closer, you’ll go the same way.”

  It was Tom Rider who worked alongside me and Dad who had pierced my shock. I have to admit that just at that moment slipping away with the rest of my family seemed like the best thing I could do. But it was then from behind me I heard,

  “Will?”

  It was such a small voice.

  “Adie,” I cried, reaching for her, “You’re safe.”

  Standing there in her dirty and torn nightgown, my little sister appeared unhurt. Amazed that she was still alive, I asked her,

  “But how did you escape?”

  “Don’t know,” she mumbled, “… was asleep… then I was here.”

  “I saw what happened,” Tom said. “I called for your dad; state he was in last night, I thought he might need a little persuading. He’d just appeared, looking as bad as I knew he should, when there was a fearful tearing sound. We both looked around and saw that a great split had appeared down the front of your home. I couldn’t believe my eyes, still can’t really, ’cos then the whole house began to move and juddered slowly forward, it also started to sink.”

  Stunned by what he’d witnessed, Tom clearly needed to tell his tale.

  "Your dad swore and reached for the door. It wouldn’t move. It was already too far out of square, but the window had popped, so squeezing through the hole it left he vanished in the dust. All this time the house was moving and sinking, still making that awful tearing sound whilst the hole left by the window was twisting and getting smaller. Then part of the roof collapsed, some of it falling towards me, but most falling into the house which was slowly becoming shrouded in thick dust and I thought your dad was lost along with the rest of your family.

  But suddenly the shroud parted and like a popped cork your sister flew out from what remained of the window. Your dad had pushed her through and as I pulled her quickly away from the house, he poked his head out and seeing she was safe, disappeared again. That was the last time I saw him, because moments later a chasm appeared in front of your house and swallowed it whole. It happened so quickly no one else stood a chance."

  Without thinking I said,

  “So Dad died saving Adie?”

  As soon as I spoke, Adie’s face changed and for the second time that morning, I wished the ground would swallow me as well. A dark cloud crossed her already leaking eyes and I knew that, thanks to me, the burden of guilt she already shouldered was now almost more than she could bear.

  “Why?” she said. “Why did he save me?”

  Wishing I could take back what I said, I tried to find words to console her.

  “I suppose because he must have found you first.”

  I couldn’t hide the desperation in my voice.

  “That can’t be true.” She looked lost. “You know Sally and Ann share the bed nearest to the window.”

  I knew she was right; I didn’t know what else to say.

  But then Tom spoke again.

  “Your dad died trying to save the rest of your family, not you; remember after he’d saved you, he went back.”

  He managed a sympathetic smile. Well almost.

  Adie looked at him and seemed to accept what he said. She didn’t stop crying or look any less bewildered, but I was sure the cloud I’d caused had lifted just a little, and though I could tell there was something more he hadn’t said, I was grateful to Tom for that.

  Jabez

  A Hard Road Travelled

  I’ve never touched hard liquor. Hard
to believe I know, me being a pub landlord. So let me explain.

  All who met her said Mum was a beauty, but the bruises, cuts and burns – a hot poker his weapon of choice – left her broken, and barely five years with him left her unrecognisable from the bride he’d married.

  They had been married for seven years when my mother died and she hadn’t been well since giving birth to my sister. But I think the death of Ruth, barely three months after she was born, was too much for Mum to bear. As for me, I’d long since learnt that crying only provoked my father and although I always tried to hide my tears, when Mum told me Ruth had died, I couldn’t help myself. I’d loved my little sister since Mum first sat me down and showed me how to hold her. Then, when she was about six weeks old, Mum trusted me enough to leave Ruth with me whilst she did other things and I would sit happily for as long as Mum let me, mesmerised by the way, rarely blinking, Ruth stared into my eyes. Mum said she already knew me, but wouldn’t believe me and said she was too young, when I told her Ruth had smiled at me; but I knew she had, and so when her death came suddenly, I was overwhelmed.