More Tales of the Ridings | Page 5

an' write a two-three letters when I've a mind to; and what caps all is that I'm paid for doin' on it. There's a lass here that said shoo'd write this here letter for me; but I'd noan have her mellin' on t' job, though shoo were a bonny lass an' all----"
"What mak o' lass is yon?" interrupted Annie. "If he's bin takkin' up wi' one o' them French lasses, he'll get a bit o' my mind when he cooms back. He've allus bin fearful fain o' t' lasses, has Jim, an' I've telled him more nor once I'd have no more on't. An' them Frenchies is nasty good-for-nowts, I'll warrant. They want a few o' their toppins pulled."
Here she paused, and the rest of her wrath was vented on the clothes in the tub. Her mother continued to read aloud:
"Mind you let me know if Leeds beats Barnsla i' t' Midland Section next Setterday. It'll be a long while afore I clap eyes on a paper aat here, an' I've putten a bit o' brass on Leeds winnin' t' game. An' tell my father he mun tak my linnit daan to t' Spotted Duck for t' next singin' competition. He's a tidy singer is Bobby, if he's nobbut properly looked efter. Tha mun mesh up a bit o' white o' egg wi' his linseed; there's nowt like white o' egg for makkin' linnets sing----"
Once again Annie broke in upon the perusal of the letter. "Eh! but t' lad's fair daft. All he thinks on is fooitball an' linnit matches. White o' egg for linnits, is it! I'd have him know that eggs cost brass nah-a-days. Why don't he 'tend to his feightin' an' get a stripe like Sarah Worsnop's lad ower t' way?"
"Whisht a bit!" exclaimed her mother, "while I've gotten to t' end o' t' letter. Eh! but he do write bad; t' words is fair tum'lin' ower one anuther."
"I was in a bit o' a mullock," Private James Akroyd's letter went on, "t' last time we were i' t' trenches; 'twern't mich to tell abaat, but 'twere hot while it lasted. There's lads says I'm baan to get a V.C. But don't thou hark tul 'em; V.C.'s are noan for t' likes o' me.
"Jim."
"Is that all?" asked Annie, as her mother folded up the letter. "Don't he want to know how mony teeth aar Jimmy's gotten, or owt abaat t' pot-dogs I bowt i' t' markit."
"Nay, that's all," replied her mother, "without there's summat else i' t' helmet." As she spoke she searched the helmet, and soon produced another letter. It also was addressed to "Mrs Annie Akroyd," but in a woman's hand. She opened the envelope and proceeded to read it aloud.
"Dear Mrs Akroyd,--You will have received a telegram from the War Office telling you of your husband's death----"
As she heard the dreadful tidings, Annie turned deadly pale for a moment; then the blood rushed streaming back, till face and neck were crimson.
"It's a lee," she shouted, "a wicked lee. I ain't gotten no tillygram, an' he said he were well an' enjoyin' a rest-cure."
Then she snatched the letter from her mother's trembling hands and, with swimming eyes, read it to herself. It had been written by the hospital nurse, and continued as follows:--
"He was terribly wounded when he was brought here, but I cannot tell you how splendid he was. All his thoughts were of you and your little boy, and he would write to you himself, though I wanted him to give me the pencil and paper. He said that if he didn't write himself, you would know that something was wrong with him.
"The Colonel came here specially to see him, and he told me that he should certainly recommend him for the V.C. Your husband was a brave man and did brave things; he gave his life to save another's. He was wounded with shrapnel in the head and spine as he was crossing No Man's Land. The officer to whom he was attached as orderly had been hit in one of the shell-holes, and your husband crawled out of his trench in full view of the enemy's line, and brought him back. It was on the return journey that he received his wounds. The officer is safe, and will recover.
"Great as your sorrow must be, I hope you will be cheered by the thought that your husband laid down his life for you and me and all of us. If the V.C. is granted, you will have to go to Buckingham Palace to receive it, and I am sure the King would like you to take your little boy with you.
"Yours in truest sympathy,
"Nurse Goodwin."
When Annie had finished the letter she let it fall, and, staggering to a seat, flung her hands,