The next story from my 'Whispered Tales' collection is now published. It is the second of six stories overall and travels back hundreds of years to the English Civil War and a love story between soldier Ralph and his wife, Sarah.
The Soldier
During the English Civil War, the men of Altrincham fought for the Parliamentarian Sir George Booth. Their duties included relieving the soldiers besieging a local town of Royalist persuasion. One of these men was Ralph Miller, a recently married man whose fervour for the Parliamentarian cause was bolstered by the meagre payment he received to fight on Sir George’s behalf. Ralph was desperate for the money as his wife Sarah was with child.
The siege was brutal. The people confined inside the town were starving. Ralph was not without mercy and he prayed for a swift resolution. They might have opposing opinions about the King, but watching the town’s people suffering brought him no pleasure. The only light in this darkness was his close proximity to Sarah and their home. He was able to make a weekly visit to her in the forest close by their dwelling. He did not dare to venture inside their cottage for fear of being mistaken for a deserter so their meetings took place in the protective embrace of the trees.
Every week Sarah waited in the forest, by the brook. She lived for the precious few hours snatched from the misery of war and was always at their meeting point when Ralph arrived so that they could make the most of every minute of his stolen time. Those few hours were filled with joy and hope but they were always over too quickly. Ralph would place his hand softly on Sarah’s belly and pray that the family would be fully reunited soon. Reluctantly, he would head back to his camp, and Sarah would make her way home, both with the vow to return the following week still fresh on their lips.
Sarah was true to her word. She was at the brook in good time and made herself comfortable for the wait. Sometimes Ralph was held up for quite some time, but more often than not he was there within the hour. Suddenly, the chime of the church bell interrupted her thoughts. How long had she been waiting? The realisation that Ralph was very, very late triggered an explosion of fear in her stomach. She staggered to her feet, clutching her burgeoning belly, and began to pace. Ralph rarely arrived from the same direction; he always varied his route to avoid detection. Not knowing which way to search, Sarah could only spin about frantically, hunting this way and that for any sign of her husband. The sky had darkened and the forest had come to life with the twitching and chattering of the creatures of the night before Sarah finally accepted the horrifying reality that Ralph was not coming.
The next morning she set out for the army camp. She had barely completed two miles of her journey when she came across a ragged pair of soldiers slowly making their way in the direction Sarah had come from. She addressed them at once, firing questions about Ralph at their broken faces. The men looked pained and were infuriatingly quiet for a moment before one of them recounted the fate of their fellow men. A skirmish had taken place between Booth’s men and a Royalist group, sent to defend the stricken town. The King’s men were stronger and had the advantage of surprise. It had been bloody and, the fleeing soldiers added sadly, there were few survivors. Ralph was gone.
Sarah heard their words but could not register them. The men must be mistaken; in the intensity of battle, how could they be sure of Ralph’s fate? But they were sure and would not be moved from their recount. She watched them go before beginning the lonely journey home. She never made it to the cottage. She walked to the brook, where she had spent precious, happy times with Ralph, and threw herself into its deceptively deep and powerful waters. Her body was carried far away until it snagged on an overgrown branch and sank to the bottom.
Months later, a thin, limping figure appeared at the door of the couple’s cottage. The door swung open easily but Ralph found no sign of his wife nor any sign of his first born child. The cottage was deserted and looked as though it had been for quite some time. Distraught, Ralph visited each dwelling in the vicinity in turn, knocking frantically and crying ‘Have you seen my Sarah and the babe?’ At every door he repeated the same question but no one could offer him any resolution.
Do you live nearby? Listen closely; even now, those who live in houses erected around the couple’s meeting place will tell of the loud, clear knocking they hear sometimes and the faint, tortured cry that accompanies it; ‘Have you seen my Sarah and the babe?’ as Ralph continues to search eternity for his lost family.
Comments