That chair

Sit anywhere, I’ll make you a brew.

Charlie should be home soon. If he aint he’ll miss his dinner.

That chair you’re sitting on is the same chair Charlie used to sit on when were was a courtin’. Were me dad’s chair you see, a wedding gift to us. “A man needs a chair to run the house from,” dad said.

That’s also the same chair Sally Dever sat crying on every night after the Fuggle went down.

You’ve not heard that tale? Tragic it was. A sudden storm broke out, no-one could do a thing. Twelve good men lost, including Sally’s husband. Left her with two younguns, one just a month old, t’other little more than a year.

The whole village was in mourning, you’ll understand, but Sally was so low all she could do for days and nights on end was sit in that chair a weepin’ and a wailin’.

The kiddies. I had to look after the kiddies, aye, and Sally too. Mind you, Betty down the street helped with breastfeedin’ the youngest.

The vicar called round every day to check up on her, cycled all the way from Morlands he did, but he couldn’t get one sensible, coherent sound out of her. She said nothing to me, neither. As for her kids, she didn’t even notice they were there, even when the baby was screaming full volume.

Then one day, about a week after the Fuggle went down, she just took off. Got up from the chair, walked out of town and was never seen again. Left her kids behind her. Some say she started a new life somewhere, but I doubt she’s had such a happy ending.

What happened to them? Well, they’re still here. Me and Charlie call them ours now, well it was us as brought them up. My lovely Emma and Herbert. I’d never have chosen Herbert as a name, it’s the one thing Sally left for him and he‘s no richer for it in my opinion.

Well, we couldn’t have kids of our own see, we’d been trying for years. Some say it’s the trying for kids is the best part, but I’m not so sure. I love my Emma and my Herbert, but it’d have been nice to have, you know, born them.

Some say that Sally was weak, breaking down and running off like that, but who knows how they’d cope. What would I be like if Charlie never came home? I think about it, especially on nights like these when the boat’s late and the sea’s stormy. Maybe I’d cope, like Betsy did and like Irene did, but maybe I’d be like Sally. Maybe I’d just sit in that chair crying too.