Hilda III: a sister’s frustration

Well I continue to work on my new WIP Hilda. Her story hasn’t been progressing as quickly as it did last week, but that is because I have had to pause for a little research.

 So here is the third scene of Hilda

1910

The pig sties across the back lane way were a noisy place. At least they were noisy every time the pigs saw Hilda or her dad coming. Her dad usually fed them of a morning before he left for work, and usually it was Hilda who carried the heavy swill buckets across to them in the afternoon. They would all squeal loudly demanding to be the first to be fed. Once she had emptied out the buckets into their troughs they usually settled down to a contented grunting as they saw what she had brought them.

Then as they ate she would take a shovel into each sty and scrape the pig mess out of the corner they had done it. Then a bucket or two of water to wash each floor down and another of fresh in their water trough and she was done for the evening.

Hilda loved pigs, she never understood why people called them “dirty”. Yes they liked to roll in mud in the hotter weather, if they were given the chance, but well looked after animals were clean and very personable.

If she had time she would spend a moment with each of the older animals scratching backs and behind ears. The pigs loved it and so did she. She did not spend much time with the younger animals, just enough to keep them familiar with her. No more than that, one of those animals would end up as the hams and bacon in their larder and the rest would go to market to meet a similar fate elsewhere. No it didn’t do to get sentimental about the younger animals.

On this particular evening Dolly had come across to help. Dolly wanted Hilda to come down along the river. Dolly had her mind set on blackberry pie and wanted to see if the berries in the brambles down near the river were far off ripening and their mum wouldn’t let her go down near the river on her own.

The pigs finished, Hilda set the buckets where they could collect them on the way back.

Hilda followed her lanky sister over a stile and into the field beyond. A short walk along the public footpath would bring them to the river. Dolly slowed taking Hilda’s hand, ‘Was Dad cross with you too?’

‘No, he told me I should like it or lump it.’

Dolly screeched, ‘I shan’t go in to service whatever they want!’

‘What would you do?’

A moment of doubt on her sister’s ten year old face, ‘Work in a shop.’

‘There’s only one shop in the village and Ginnie works there. They won’t need another girl.’

‘Stratford, I shall work in Stratford.’ A smile of triumph, her solution found, but then a tear, ‘It’s not fair Hilda. You want to go to high school. You could be a teacher not a poxy servant!’

‘Dolly!’

‘I’m sorry, it’s just, it’s just,’, her sister struggled for the words, ‘not fair!’

Hilda held back the tears this time, it did feel so unfair, but what could she do? Reaching out for her sister’s hand she said, ‘Let’s have a look for these berries.’

Now a piccie of the day