Part 1 (1/2)

Mee Bourne)

INTRODUCTION

Bettesworth, the old labouring th found earden and entertained me with his talk, never knew that he had been made the subject of a book To knoould have pleased hiical in the reflection that he had to wear through his last weary months without the consolation of the little fame he had justly earned; and yet it would have been ahad not fitted hier that self-consciousness would send hi about the parish, and make him intolerable to his familiars and useless to any e to hinorance of it, and sought by leaving him in obscurity to preserve him from ruin

Obscure and unsuspicious he continued his work, and his pleasant garrulity went on in its accustomed way Queer anecdotes came from him as plentifully as ever, and shrewd observations Noould be of his harvesting in Sussex that he told; now, of an adventure with a troubleso; and again he would gossip of his garden, or of his neighbours, or of the old village life, or would discuss some scrap of news picked up at the public-house And as this went onto the first book or writing a second on the sament or other of Bettesworth's conversation took my fancy and was jotted down in my note-book But almost until the end no definite purpose informed me what to preserve and what to leave The notes were made, for the most part, under the influence of whiression seee was telling heavily upon Bettesworth, and sy unawares into my careless memoranda of his talk I do not knohen I first noticed this: it probably dawned upon me very slowly; but that it did dawn is certain, and in that perception I had the first crude vision of the present voluht not airouping the materials as it pleasedthe notes in their proper order, and leaving thee as it were the co-operation of Nature herself,at the dictation of events the process of Bettesworth's decay

To this idea, formed a year or so before Bettesworth's death, I have now tried to give shape Unfortunately, the scribe's as not well done Things that should have been written down prove to have been overlooked; and although in the first few chapters I have gone back to a inally intended, and have preserved the chronological order all through, the hoped-for sense of progression is too often wanting It existed in my mind, in the memories which the notes called up for me, rather than in Bettesworth's recorded conversations Much explanatory comment, therefore, which I should have preferred to oive continuity to the narrative

Bettesworth is spoken of throughout the book as an old ed more by wear and tear than by years When he died, a nepheho arranged the funeral caused the age of seventy-three to be eration The nephew's mother assured me at the time that Bettesworth could have been noht to an opinion; and yet probably he was a little older than she supposed It is true that sixty-six is also the age one gets for hiiven in one chapter of this book; but then there is another chapter which, if it is correct, would ainst these estimates a definite statement is to be placed On the second of October, 1901, Bettesworth told me that it was his birthday, and that he was sixty-four; according to which, at his death, nearly four years later, he ht And this, I ae; at any rate I cannot believe that he was younger

At the same time, it must be allowed that his own evidence was not quite to be trusted Afor him, will not make the most of his years to an employer, and I soer than he was But it is quite possible that he was not hie I have it from his sister-in-law that both his parents died while he was still a child, and that he, with his brothers and sisters, was taken, destitute, to the workhouse Thence, I suppose, he was rescued by that uncle, who kept a travelling van; and the man who carried the boy to fairs and racecourses, and thrashed hiely that at last he ran away to becoh-boy, was not a person likely to instruct hie

The point, however, is of no real i old: thin, grey-eyed, quiet, with bent shoulders and patient though determined expression of face--such is the Bettesworth whose last years are recorded in these chapters; and it does not much matter that we should know exactly how many years it took to reduce him to this state

MEMOIRS OF A SURREY LABOURER

I

_Decearden being too hard frozen for Bettesworth to continue thisthere yesterday, I found hi to do in a more sheltered corner, where the fork would enter the soil With snow threatening to come and stop all outdoor work, it was not well that he should stand idle too soon

”Oh dear!” he said one day, ”we don't want no snow! We had enough o'

that tinters ago That was a fair scorcher, that was--There! I couldn't tell anybody hoe _did_ git through Still, we _got_ through, somehow But there was some about here as was purty near starved That poor woman as died over here t'other day”

Here he broke off, to tell of a labourer's ho had died in giving birth to twins, one of as also dead Including the other twin, there were seven children living Bettesworth talked of the husband, too; but presently working round again to the bad winter of 1889-1890, he proceeded:

”I _knows_ they” (this woive her two or three half-bushels o' taters I can't bear to see 'eive away bushels o' taters that winter, 'cause theit at 'eit 'e hard tiging was still possible, and left him The day proved sunny on the whole, with a soft winter sunshi+ne, di close down to the earth, and now and then by large drifts of foggy cloud passing over from the north By mid-day the roads were sticky, where the sunshi+ne had thawed the surface, but in shady places the ground was still hard Here and there was ice, and odd corners re of snohich had fallen two nights previously

Towards sunset I went to see what Bettesworth had done He had done very little, and, loith the yellow sunset; the soft direy in the south-east; in the west, veiling the sunset, lay a bank of clouds, crimson shaded to lilac I turned to enjoy this as I cliarden to find Bettesworth, where he was busy at his yesterday's task

”Well, Bettesworth, how are you getting on?”

”Oh, _cold_, sir”

Overhead, one or tisps of sht they showed aainst the soft blue, but fro forer clouds which had all day been crossing olanced up at them, and remarked that I feared the snoas not far off now

Bettesworth straightened up from his work