Bitter Sweet Lives: Journeys of the Fortune Seekers-Power and Authority - book 2, #1

Copyright 2018 by Glennis Browne

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copy right owner.

This is a work of fiction Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to any actual person living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The author and publisher have made every effort to contact copyright holders for any material used in this book. Any persons or organisations who have been overlooked please contact the publisher.

Any people depicted in the cover are used or provided by cover artist with permission for illustrative purposes only.

Date of publication October 2018 by BrownePublications

This book is a rewrite of an earlier novel written by the author.

To order copies of this book, contact author and publicist Glennis Browne

By email: glentrev@gmail.com

A Special Acknowledgement to Australia’s first Peoples

THE AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGES and respect the indigenous peoples of Australia, who are mentioned in the story. Some descriptions regarding certain Aboriginal traditions during the colonisation of the country, are not the author’s opinions; being bigoted observations made by some pioneers and settlers during that era that are not acceptable in 2018

About the Author

GLENNIS BROWNE IS THE author of two novels, with the third underway. All are historical novels.

Writing as Annie Browne, she is the author of Bitter Sweet Lives and Power and Authority which have been published around the world.

Her interest for many years has been researching her own family history which has uncovered incredible incidents. By writing these stories as fiction she brings alive the characters life stories; highlighting what might have actually happened.

Answering those ‘why’ questions we all may ask.

Other interests include caravanning around Australia, kayaking and arts and crafts.

Glennis lives in Noosa with her husband and puppy; close to where her two sons and grandchildren live.

You can find out more about Glennis’ books at her website www.glennisbrowne.wordpress.com

Reviews

Reviewed by Eric Hoffer Staff at The US Review of Books

I KNOW MY ADVERSARY. This is a spiritual battle between good and evil.

Dan and Charlotte, both questioners of established Christian doctrine circa the 1800s, seek to leave behind their renegade reputations in Wales and England by escaping into what they hope is their promised land of Australia. But the stability allowing for their navel-watching philosophy is overwhelmed by the need to simply survive in the Social Darwinist world of the Australian gold rush. Through this adventure, they discover answers to theological and cosmic questions. For readers, tales of heroic ancestors might be a familiar yarn, but this book takes the reader into the 18th-century world of Australia, where survival was the first order of the day."

Pacific Book Review

BOOK ONE OF AN INTENDED series, Glennis Browne's The Fortune Seekers: Dan and Charlotte traverses time in a thought-provoking saga, which delivers a tale of pioneering life which includes the elements of wanderlust, adventure, drama and romance; all steeped in a well plotted and vividly re-imagined history.

Author Browne brings the mid1800's back to life, within this exploration of the erstwhile era of the Australian Gold Rush. The narrative poses the multi-faceted hardships people faced during that time in realistic detail. She explores the spiritual, mental and physical stresses encountered through her well-drawn characters and setting.

The story follows the lives of characters Dan Matthews and Charlotte Merton’s from Great Britain; each are living a life mired in confusion from the restricting confines of religious and social ideologies prevalent during life at that time.

Both characters find themselves on individual journeys to escape the confusion in their lives, leading to self-discovery as they give in to the wanderlust gene that drives them to seek out more fulfilled lives.

Felt like I was watching those old Western movies

This book is not only a historical novel but also a history by itself and everyone who has roots from the British side must read this book. The book is very nicely written, has black & white photographs to embolden the story, and make you feel like you were traveling with them. I also learned a little piece of history, e.g. why it has anything to do with the word 'bastards' and I am grateful to the writer for clearing that as well. While reading this book, I couldn't help but felt like I was watching those old Western movies when people were moving around and living a life of gypsies. It is definitely a very good book, easy but interesting reading and the highly recommended. The book is quite long though, so, prepare yourself for a long and enjoyable ride. I am not sure if it was based on true story but I genuinely felt that way.

5つ星のうち4.0

I DID enjoy the book and am looking forward to the next installment. -The Journeys of he Fortune Seekers.

投稿者Glennis Browne2016年10月3日

A review from New Zealand - after purchase from author

Hi. I read your book and as other reviews have stated, I found the first 100 pages rather hard going. However, once Dave and Dan left home, and the story had some substance, I began to thoroughly enjoy it. It was well written.

I DID enjoy the book and am looking forward to the next installment. Keep up the good work. I give it 4 out of 5 stars.

Glenda Blagdon

5つ星のうち5.0

I was in my element reading this novel

投稿者Tate2016年11月3日 -

で購入

I love historical novels. I was in my element reading this one. Amazing the struggles and hardships these courageous people worked through. I highly recommend this well written novel. I am looking forward to the next one.

5つ星のうち4.0

This book is very nicely written

投稿者Tim I gurung. 年8月29日 -

This book is not only a historical novel but also a history by itself and everyone who has roots from the British side must read this book. The book is very nicely written, has black & white photographs to embolden the story, and make you feel like you were traveling with them. I also learned a little piece of history, e.g. why it has anything to do with the word 'bastards' and I am grateful to the writer for clearing that as well. While reading this book, I couldn't help but felt like I was watching those old Western movies when people were moving around and living a life of gypsies. It is definitely a very good book, easy but interesting reading and the highly recommended. The book is quite long though, so, prepare yourself for a long and enjoyable ride. I am not sure if it was based on true story but I genuinely felt that way.,

5つ星のうち3.0

A good insight into the struggles and difficulties faced by pioneering ...

投稿者. 年9月20日

A delightful story based on family history. A good insight into the struggles and difficulties faced by pioneering families.

Nicole O’Connor (New Zealand) This story explores the hardships and unyielding religious attitudes of people living in the mid-1800s. It takes the reader on a journey from the Welsh countryside to early Australia where the characters must forge a fresh start while living in rudimentary conditions. They have little on hand other than hard work, determination and the ability to survive. It deals with their mental hurdles as they endeavour to live good lives while being responsible parents. They have little to look forward to other than a rare visit to distant family. A subliminal parallel between modern life and early settlers unfolds causing the reader to consider their comparative blessing. 

John Nuyten (Australia) - Browne enlightens us of the struggle to break out in a time of conformity. Questioning when questions were scarcely asked. Great Story.

A.G. (Germany) - I have to admit, I shed a tear at one point...

Rusty and Sharon Jones (Australia) - Loved your story. Love the characters and the historical background—loving to hate Charlotte's cousin! Looking forward to your next book.

Sonia May (Australia) - I met you at the Noosa Marina markets a couple of months ago and purchased your book. I’ve just finished reading it and loved it!!! Looking forward to the next one.

Amazon Review (2018) - Wow! Well done to the author. Each time I put the book down, I couldn't wait to get back to it. I was captivated nearly all the way through. I'm really looking forward to Part 2. Will her husband come back to spoil her happiness? I wonder! Definitely a 5/5

Deb Goddard (Australia) - Loved the book, the story line was based on fact but interwoven into a fictional novel. This could be any family's history which made it all the more entertaining.

Dedication

To my dear Dad

The story is a fictional exploration of my Dad’s family, bringing alive aspects of his ancestor’s lives. The story birthed after hearing stories passed on by Dad’s siblings, or that I found researching our family genealogical history.

In my mind, I can see Dad stretched out on a lounger, reading my story. Perhaps he is wondering about many aspects, especially my conclusions leading to his great grandparents’ marriage.

I love you Dad and wish you were here to read your families historic story.

Thank-you

I HAVE MANY TO THANK for assisting me producing this self-published e book

Cover artwork – Ingrid Gane

Author portrait – Kathja Hirt and Diane Arnold

First writing coach - Jeanne Boland

Second writing coach – Jo Kadleck

Self-publishing advocate - Jack Kregas -author

Biblical Guidance - John Nuyten

Family and friends  - thank you for consistently encouraging me to write this historical story.

Chapters

Naivety

Am I going mad?

Don’t go there

Overcoming Demons

Why Didn’t I Notice?

Dan’s Issues

Was I Stupid or Innocent?

Dave Tells His Story

Dan’s Version

Charlotte’ Fall

Dreams and a Graveyard

The Dilemma

Sailors Stories

Our Family’s Plight

Welsh Millenniums

Waiting

Powerless

Immigration

Welsh Departure

When Children Leave Home

Charlotte’s Voyage

Living Rough

Unexpected Experiences

The Border Crossing

The Unknown Sailor

Charlotte’s Temptation

Opportunities

Old Sydney Town

Indiscretions Revealed

The Pub Experience

The Good-time Girl

What I Witnessed

Woman’s Business

Dan’s Mysterious Disappearance

A time Traveller Provides Answers

Parramatta

Settling in

Drugged and Drunk

Charlotte’s Family’s Shocking News

Press-Ganged

When Joe Takes Control

I Won’t be Manipulated

What is Next after Jumping Ship?

Charlotte’s Miracle

Can I Do It?

The Journey Homeward

Is Charlotte my Fortune?

Reminiscing

Dan’s Commitment

Preview of Book 2 of this series

Book Conclusion

Reunion or Disappointment

Preview of Book Two of this series

Book Conclusion

Chapter One

Naivety

Charlotte

Clavering, Essex, England

1857

It’s a pleasant day as I walk to my place of work. Turning my head to one side I over-hear two or three young men who are across the street from me.

They are speaking loud enough for me to hear their comments. 'See that gorgeous piece of skirt'! 

I turn away, blushing as the unshaven, brawny Essex lad who has made the comment has flattered my ego. His friends turn in my direction, ogling me while I daintily glide along the cobbled street. My new leather pumps noiselessly step forward, as if I am floating on air.

They have stopped at the corner and I must pass the three louts; I ignore them. Their dishevelled appearance and loud-mouthed comments speak clearly of their class; ruffians who should be in the slum areas, not hanging about on a Clavering main street.

Now ahead of them, I am aware that the fragrance of lavender water dabbed on my wrists and neck might reach them. The scent smells fresh and youthful to me. What it conveys to them I hesitate to contemplate.

I must increase my pace as they are closer now being careful on the uneven road; trying not to embarrass myself by tripping in front of them. That would be total embarrassment. Grabbing my skirt, I step onto the uneven road, glancing behind.

They are catching up. I snigger, seeing out of the corner of my eye that they are poking at each other like silly kids. I lift my skirt again and hasten my pace, determined to keep ahead.

'Quite the looker that one,' smirks the first lad with be-draggled hair. His Essex accent is rough, clothes are shabby; he’s not in the least refined.

'You haven't a chance, man. She's not from the scrubs like you,' the second says, with a sly smile. 

'Watch-out Bud, or I'll get you where it hurts,' the first lout sneers; jerking at the braces of his high waist britches which appear to be too short.

'Get me alone with that lassie, and I'll show her a good time, aye I will.' His dungarees are corduroy, the fabric faded and worn thin. On his head, he wears a tartan tam o' shanty, as many Scottish young men might if they have any association with the Scottish military regiments.

I turn away, keeping my distance. Still they follow.

'A good time eh? I could give her a riot of a time!' taunts the first, 'Why would she choose you, Mackenzie? English lassies aren't into pipes and jigs and one or two flings.'

'You haven't seen me jig with a lassie yet, aye 'that be 'da truth.' 

'I don't ever want to see you at it, believe me!'

The three cronies are level now, swaggering along demonstratively trying to attract my attention. Their eyes are leering and gawking as I glide along. I avert my eyes, considering their taunts to be rude.

I'm not sure if I'm comfortable on the street now and am quite pleased when I reach the millinery boutique’s door. With a hard push of my gloved hand, it opens and closes behind me with a thud. I am safe.

I beckon my friend Becky; urging her to join me at the window. We hide behind the nets, peering through the lace.

'What's happening Charlotte?' Her tone is hushed, hand to her throat. ’What are we looking at?’

I point to the lads loitering on the pavement.

'Shush! See those louts out there. They followed me, making rude comments. I was quite embarrassed.’

The young men standing in a circle, are swapping opinions. Becky and I can overhear their conversation. I'm aware I am blushing.

'That floozy was very pleasant to the eye. She walks in such a boldly flirtatious way.'

'A snob, for sure. What do you reckon - eighteen or nineteen?’

'Whatever!  She'd be fun,' the faded corduroy one surmises.

'She will be for some lucky bugger.'

'Probably a first-class dandy,' High Waist Britches suggests. 'She wouldn't choose any of us.'

'That's for sure. Nor have nothing to do with sailors or miners.'

‘That’s a certainty. She’s a bit posh for that.’

‘Let’s go and find a not so cultured flossy. How about the pubs, where the good time Sheila’s hang out?' 

'That's more like it, the pubs will be open in a couple of hours.'

I drag Becky away from the window. 'Those loonies followed me the length of the High Street.'

'How dreadful,' Becky grins, having enjoyed the episode. 'Do you know what a good time Sheila is? You haven't heard that term before, have you?' 

'Not before today.' 

We peek through the curtains, watching the high jinks as the young men like roosters in a hen run, strut down the Roman roadway, taking turns leaping; kicking their boots together, as if celebrating a successful conquest.

Becky grabs my hand. 'How grouse,' she mutters, shoving me from the window, and leading me past the counter.

The sales assistant greets us with a cheerful smile, 'Good morning Charlotte and Becky. A bit late today Charlotte?'

I give her a cheeky look.

'I was delayed by some goofs and couldn't escape.’

The prim spinster flings her hands to her lips, gasping, 'How terrible Charlotte!'

Becky and I feign amusement. The day is beginning well. We slip behind the brocade curtain dividing the millinery factory from the sales department, smirking.

Chapter Two

AM I GOING MAD?

Dan

1853

South Wales

The Welsh Revival . . .

Was it the cause of my problems?

I blink against the sunlight, slapping my face to wake up, somewhat bewildered. How is it possible to be lying on my back across a rocky ledge, with an arm dangling over a cliff; and a leg stretched out on an acute angle?

This is weird!

From where I lie, the view extends to the horizon many miles out to sea. Below, the turbulent Atlantic Ocean rushes towards the Goodrich Peninsular. On the eastern side, the Pembrokeshire valleys are being thrashed by the prevailing wind speeding across the hills. Eastward; steep pastures create zig zag patterns, bending this way and that across the rolling green grassed valleys of the Welsh county. The fishing town, and ferry port of Fishguard, is being plummeted by the winds. To the east is the village of Nevern.

How did I reach this rocky extrusion? Perhaps I over-balanced then fell, landing on the out crop. But why? Why have I come here?

It seems, I negotiated the high cliffs. Ended up on this ledge which protrudes like a jetty above the swirling ocean where waves crash against jagged rocks lining the beach. I see now there isn’t an obvious way off the cliff.

Touching my fore-head I realise my body hurts, especially the top of my head. Dried blood is congealed on my chin – perhaps the result of falling head-first on the rocky surface? Beads of perspiration sliding into my eyes make me blink. I attempt to lift my leg into a natural position. It responds. Fortunately, it is not broken.

Have I been unconscious for long? By the position of the sun, it could be an hour or longer?

My scratched fingers touch my aching jaw; possibly bruised by the fall. There is rough prickly stubble on my chin; it seems my face didn’t feel the blade last night by the feel of the prickly growth. 

I remember; I didn't shave last night. Too tired.

The recollection brings relief as memories are returning. 

High above, gulls and terns soaring in the wind are squawking. The loudness and persistence, disturbing. There is something strange, or surreal, about the screeching that is playing in my head.

Is it a sea bird or something else?

Am I hearing voices?

It’s weird. Something or someone is demanding my attention. Perhaps it’s a ghost or spirit?

No, it can't be; as I don't believe in ghostly existences. Something is playing with my sanity as confused, muddled thoughts are racing through my head.

'Daniel!' 

I’m startled hearing my name; and warily I comb the cliffs and rocks looking for the person attempting to attract my attention. No one is in view.

'Daniel. . . Daniel Mathews. . .'  

There it is again. 'Where are you? Who are you?' I ask.

It ignores the question. 'Take your life into your own hands and experience freedom.'

Freedom?

This voice in my head has found my biggest weakness - the problem of freedom.

I know one thing; this isn't the freedom I'm after.

'You misunderstand freedom. To be free, step off the ledge towards me.' 

'Towards what?’ I ask, looking about. I can't see anything except the thrashing, crashing ocean below.  

Crazy thoughts are tormenting me, challenging my sanity. God no, I shouldn’t be considering stepping off the cliff; it won’t solve my problems. Even so, the thought is there; dropping over the ledge may be the way to end the struggle. 

'No, no. That is not the way.' Thankfully my mind is still thinking rationally. Or is it?

The entity laughs, enjoying my bewilderment. It chortles. Somehow it is aware of my temptation to jump.

'Leave me alone,' I scream into the blustery wind. The thumping of my heart drums within my chest. 

Cowering backwards against the cliff, I create a shield from the terrifying entity. I can't see it, only hear it. Is it a ghost after all?

For in my Welsh homeland, there are myths and legends involving paranormal activity. Stories of ghosts haunting castles, dragons; strange happenings in country cottages and pubs send shivers down my spine. 

'Don't be scared. For once, take your life into your own hands. I will lead you.'

Who said that?

Somehow a physical hand reaches for my own, extending from the clouds above me. I am shaking; frightened, with my back against the cliff as I’m feeling alarmed; so I hide my hands behind my back so I won’t be pulled to the edge. 

Nothing about this is normal. This is as unbelievable as my father’s Calvinist beliefs.

For centuries Welsh families have believed in the reality of the Christian God. A hundred years ago after a revival spread over the land, Calvinist beliefs were accepted, but this church excludes ghostly experiences, instead I was taught to follow the teaching of salvation for some, and eternal damnation in hell for the unchosen.

Of late, as I have grown older, I have struggled with many of their philosophies, many of which I can’t accept.

Suddenly a cold chilling sensation freezes me. The blustering wind whistles; in the storm the eerie voice persists.

Should I step towards the ocean and disobey my instincts? And obey the forces driving me to the tip. . ., to the edge . . ., of sanity.

'I can't make such a decision!' I scream.

The ghostly entity urges again, 'Take control. Make up your mind. Grow up! Be a man.' 

'I want true freedom, not death,' I mouth, unwilling to challenge the spirit. 'I want to be a man, but . . .’

'Real men face life and death daily. As to die is without sting, for those who believe. You also can become free.'  

Free? I'm unsure what to believe as there is something familiar about the words.

'All it takes is a leap of faith. Just one small step . . .' 

With arms outstretched I swing towards the clouds, it’s all I can do is drive the words away.

The evil spirit persists, laughing like a lunatic. 'Give up fighting. I can't be driven away. I'm all around you and inside you; you are not your own.'

I cover my ears, trying to prevent the words from being heard.

'For I have chosen you, so you are mine,' it says,

The words are from Calvinism; the major reason for my dilemma. How can this demon spirit know this? 

I stand my ground, shouting. 'Leave me alone!'

The voice changes, taking on a new persona; becoming a feminine voice.

'Daniel, you were pre-chosen before the creation of time.' 

The voice sounds like my grandmother who is now deceased. This is impossible. A ghost? No; I don't believe in the ghosts of ancestors returning.

'Lying demon . . . I'm not yours. I don't trust you. I don't recognise you!' 

It laughs an awful mocking laugh.

My tortured mind races. I must seek help . . ., but from whom?

Squeezing my eyes shut I concentrate; I know who I must address. ‘God, hear me; help me as I want to live.' 

Nothing happens.

The terror continues while cold air chills my face, stabbing like icicles as the angel of death attempts to scare me into submission.

'Trust me with your life - I am the way, jump from the cliff!'

Defiantly I scream into the blustering wind. 'Leave me alone! I'll never worship the devil!'

For my allegiance is decided.

Something around me changes. It's unexplainable, but real.

Overhead I see a fiery light flash as a battle begins in the heavens as turbulent clouds cover the sky, developing before my eyes into an angry storm.

Icy wind encircles my body while I cling desperately to the cliff, pushing, pulling, determinedly trying to hold onto the jagged rocks.

My fingers are white and stiff. I daren't move but I must, or I’ll freeze and fall to the rocks below like shattered glass crystals. 

‘God, help me,’ I plead.

Forceful wind gusts spread sleet showers. I dodge this way and that, until realising nothing is touching me; deciding this is in my mind its not a physical happening, after all.

Loosening my grip on the rock, I place my head in my hands to quieten the thunderous bellowing I attempt to escape the barrage.  It penetrates nonetheless.

Actual waves are crashing heavily upon the jagged coastline. Bitterly cold waters of the Bristol Channel are reaching up, drenching me. Salt is stinging my eyes.

Are the ghosts of the north winds intentionally attempting to drive me over the edge?

No, I know my adversary.

This is a spiritual battle between good and evil.

Each attack can be faced head on. I’ve discovered the power of courage and I prepare to fight. I am unprepared for what happens next.

A voice says, 'you choose your destiny.' 

This statement doesn't ring true.  

Murmuring words under my breath I say, 'Calvinists preach that only God chooses.'

The adversary's tone changes, I feel its anger before I sense the presence of another person.

In imitation of my mother it says, 'Follow me Dan, as Mothers don't forsake their children. Allow me to hold you in my heart as you are mine,' it soothingly coaxes.

I am not deceived. 'You are not my mother! Leave me, as my mother would not harm me.’

The presence dissipates into thin air. A vacuum replaces the turmoil. It is nothing like I've experienced before; as silence replaces the dark moments of temptation.

I bask in the quietness, feeling relieved as the pleasant respite quietens my heart, easing the anxiety.

On the ledge with my eyes closed, I drink in the peaceful moment.

Until a clap in the heavens startles me. ‘By God, what is that?’

I hear screaming; it has to be me, as a tremendous crashing of thunder-claps echoes rapidly around the hills. Startled I open my eyes, scared now the silence has been broken. The sky flashes as streaks of forked lightning hurtle from the booming clouds; attacking and missing me by inches.

Are they real or imagined? I can’t figure it out as thunder claps, reverberate around me. Good god, this is definitely real, as I am witnessing a raging battle.

Ear piercing drum rolls transform the heavens into an orchestral chaos. Grey-black clouds thunder across the sky in rapid succession.  

Who will win the battle; the evil one? Or the Lord of the Heavens? 

The Village Walkers

Below, in the valley, two elderly women on their midday walk are observing Dan. They are startled, witnessing him on the dangerous ledge, aware a fall to the rocks would lead to certain death. 

They call. 'Dan, Dan!' 

The words are blown away by the wind.

One old woman suggests, ‘Let’s wave our head-scarfs to get his attention.’

Dan doesn’t see the signal.

'You will topple and fall,' they shout in unison again, frantically waving. 

'Step back from the edge.’

One of the village women shouts to the other, ‘Dan’s swaying body could topple off the cliff at any moment.’

'Oh no!’

‘Oh sweet Lord, look; His arms are raised above his head; he will over balance standing like that,' one cries to the other.

'Sit down Dan, as the wind is too strong!'

They turn to each other; only able to observe; powerless to do more. 

‘We can do one thing.'

The other replies, 'pray.'

'Please Lord, stop him from jumping and give him your peace.' 

Within the valley, the grey-black clouds seem to be evaporating, and are revealing the late morning sun overhead. The women are relieved watching Dan moving to a safer position.  

'Thank you, Lord, as he's returning to his senses at last.'

'Let’s give thanks for God’s mercy; for ending the storm in his life.’

'Set free at last,' they agree.

They turn away, wrapping their headscarf’s around their hair buns, knowing the danger is over.

‘There is no need to remain as Daniel Mathews is safe. the one who lives across the street from Dan’s family, says.

Even so, as they continue their late-morning walk, they are concerned about what they had witnessed.

Chapter Three

Don’t go there

Charlotte

Miss Brownly, the senior milliner greets us as we enter the millinery work room. 'Morning Miss Charlotte and Miss Becky. Ready for another day designing our summer collection?'

I laugh at the joke. To design and construct bonnets is my ambition, but I’m not qualified to design yet. My job constructing bonnets includes applying glue to the linings, then pasting it on the outer fabric from inside. The best part is stitching the ribbon, then the nets and bows, before sewing on the labels.

After a bonnet is competed, Becky and I try it on, discovering in front of the sales assistant, the best angle it should be worn; believing we are giving her ideas to share with the ladies who shop at the emporium.

'I can dream of designing beautiful bonnets, can't I?'

‘Of course,’ Becky says, while putting an apron over her dress.

Unfortunately, the milliners discourage outlandish designs, backing off when I ask them to construct a bonnet from my pictures. Often, I am told my designs are unworkable. 

'You have outlandish ideas Charlotte.' 

'Surely ladies will buy the flowery designs I have created?'

'I wouldn't think so. Not even for a sunhat!'

'I'd wear it as a sunhat,' Rosie, another apprentice, says. 

'As would I,' says Becky, encouraging me. 'I like your taste in clothes Charlotte. One day you will be a real lady.' 

'I hope so,' I murmur, having begun the day sweeping wasted fabrics into the rag bag. There is much to learn, and I intend to complete my apprenticeship, and eventually make my name designing millinery. For fortunes can be made by top label designers. 

Miss Brownly stands behind me, eying my costume. 'You are dressed all flash today.’

I smile, pleased with the compliment.

‘But, you're showing your ankles. Tut-tut Charlotte.'

'I like to be tastefully dressed and keep in style,' I say, lifting my nose high; practising sounding posh. 

'That is evident. You are certainly in style this May.' 

'Thank you. I love the fashion this season. Jackets have elegant clips and felt buttons. Feel how soft my new suede leather boots are.'

Miss Brownly isn’t easily impressed and says, 'It is provocative displaying your ankles.’ She gives me a steely glare. In my opinion she is rather old fashioned.

'I'm not intending to be provocative,' I coyly chime, fully aware the swing of my garments turns the eyes of the lads of the town. Doing so makes life interesting. That is all there is to it.

Of late when I step out, my parents Charles and Lydia restrict my walks. My mother justifies this explaining, 'We are endeavouring to ensure that your chastity and purity is intact for marriage.' 

I have no untoward motives and object to her insinuations. But my mother is insistent, which is why Joe now chaperones me. Apart from walking alone to the local millinery boutique, my social life is restricted by constant chaperoning.  

Mother has shared other details she believes I need to understand. 'Charlotte dear, you have lived a sheltered, pious life, which may have left you unprepared for the temptations of adulthood.' 

'I am not tempted by anything Mother, except chocolate delicacies from the delicatessen.' 

She ignores my flippancy. 'How a young woman dresses speaks about her intentions.’

'I don't agree,' I object. 'It's fashionable to display ankles. What I wear shouldn't speak of the type of person I am.'

My mother is persistent. 'First impressions affect a young woman's life in ways she cannot imagine.' 

'Fiddle sticks.'

'Society inflicts gossip and cruel labels upon those who bend the rules, even on those who are ignorant of them.'

I ignore the advice considering it irrelevant. I have good values and righteous ambitions for my life. I don't believe I am guilty of ignorance of society’s standards; having been brought up as a church-going child under the teaching of Christianity.  

My skirt length remains as this season’s fashion prescribes. I am eighteen, and old enough to make my own decisions.  

My Cousin Joe

During our childhood Joe and I; who are first cousins living next door to each other, ran between each other’s homes. My childhood consisted of boyish activities, rather than girlish interests as I followed Joe, taking part in his adventurous life; running about the streets with his two older brothers, climbing trees, chasing rabbits, fishing in the creeks, and blowing eggs.

Now, as a woman, I no longer have an interest in these masculine interests; instead I spend time studying outfits, hair styles and etiquette.

Of late Joe and I ramble the Clavering pathways or wander through the town, window shopping. My mother doesn’t object as I have a family member as my companion.  

‘I'm fortunate Joe,' I explain one day while we are walking the hillside pathways..

'In what way Lottie?' he asks, turning to me.

'That Ma and Pa believe you are the best escort for me.'

'I wonder why that is?' He says, poking me the way he did when we were children.

'Because you protect me.'

'From what?'

'Whatever they believe I need protecting from.'

'Perhaps it’s other men with untoward objectives?'

'Don't be silly Joe. Anyway, going walking on Sunday afternoons is the highlight of my week.'

'Imagine if they made you walk with a spinster? How would that be?' Joe asks.

'Like Miss Brownly, it wouldn’t be the least enjoyable. It’s delightful going out and about with you.'

‘I agree,' Joe says.

When Uncle Joseph was widowed (his wife died having a baby), my mother opened our home to Joe’s family; preparing meals, doing their washing and cleaning until they managed for themselves. Even now, Joe and his father still have their evening meal with us.

Joe and our fathers all work as general labourers in one of the Clavering warehouses; sometimes working at builders’ yards, or occasionally making deliveries with horse and cart; our fathers are aware of their responsibilities in providing for their families.

Joe has grown tall of late. Whatever he wears hangs well on his slim, strong body. I think he is dashing, with his thick fair hair. When we go walking he dresses smartly, being a self-assured nineteen-year-old. His modern moustache suits him, adding to his swanky look.

Recently while we wandered the pathways, heading towards the parks, I took pleasure in observing Joe as he absentmindedly twisted his moustache, creating a curly point at both ends which is a quirky modern style.

Joe is stylish. I like that. But, it isn't only his looks and taste in clothing I appreciate, but his direct manner; he’s full of self-confidence; that speaks to me of emotional strength. Joe like me, knows what he wants in life.

That day I danced along the cobbles swinging my hips trying to