THE POACHER

A story of the hardships faced by countrymen during the 19th century which I'm glad to say has a happy ending. The Dee is a river flowing past the ancient (Roman) city of Chester.

 THE POACHER  

 

In the moonlight, Jake Bithell watched silently across the Dee's glistening loop.  Despite the cold of a frosty night, he sweated, breathing into his hand to stop the steam of his breath rising into the moonlight to indicate his hiding place.  Beside him lay  Lad; faithful, silent Lad whose touch on his knee even in these fraught moments indicated that this was more than a simple working relationship.  It was love.  Silence was essential.  There were gamekeepers about and Jake was a poacher.  Lad was a true poacher's dog. 

 

Stealthily, he edged out of the wood in order to reach the banking behind and down which he could traverse toward the river where he knew salmon were to be found at this time of year.  Only this very morning he had found that he was to become a father. A father!  His life turned upside down in an instant.  Tears of joy mingled with those of consternation, trepidation and sheer frustration.  He was thirty-six, his lass twenty-four, and they lived in a hovel without a penny to call their own.  What hope did he have to offer to his offspring?  He'd been an under gamekeeper to the old Lord right up to the time he died.  You could look him in the eye and be treated like a man - tell him if you wanted him away from the breeding stock and he'd just go and respect you for doing your job.   Not so with the son and heir though.  Once he had crossed him, just the once, and got the sack for his impudence.  Not just the sack either - the swine had got him blacklisted.

 

The girl was up at dawn.  Sickness or no, there were mushrooms and berries to be gathered, though God knows what's to be done when winter sets in, she thought, when trees and fields are bare.  She looked up and Jake was suddenly beside her.  He had the silent approach of the gamekeeper, even though now turned poacher.  They walked together into the hovel.  ' We'll eat well tonight, Lass,' was his only comment, though from the way his arm went round her shoulders, his feeling for her was eloquently expressed.  Silently, but with wagging tail, Lad, the other great love in his life followed them in.  Lass, Lad, a splendid salmon, the fruits of the earth and field, and a warm bed were his.  Today wasn't too bad after all.  Perhaps his child wouldn't enter too harsh a world.

 

He rose with the sun at its winter zenith.  The frost hadn't cleared as yet, and wouldn't, he reckoned.  It was damp and tonight would be hoarfrost.  Such frosts, thick and white on the ground and the scrub left tracks. Tonight was a night to be indoors.  These were the nights when the keepers would follow such tracks and then break down a door without compunction.  For that reason, the salmon and other poached victuals were in a secret store well away from the hovel and even the bones and remnants were buried where no-one would ever find them.  Such subterfuge was not his way but was forced upon him by circumstance.

 

Jake and his wife, Corrie, though to him always just  'Lass' would sit in on these nights and indulge in the luxury of hope.  It was a real love match and the feeling between them was so strong that a stranger could almost feel it as they passed by.  They sat in flickering light cast by a fire of logs in the clay hearth.  Sometimes if they could afford the luxury of flour, they would twist paste made with flour, water and even egg on a very good day and bake them over the glowing embers.  On even better days, they might even experience together the wonder of seasoned lard in which to dip the toasted delicacy.  Tonight they had the luxury of strips of salmon baked in the same way.

 

Sometimes, weather was against him, his old friends on the game keeping staff at the hall would drop by.  They knew he poached.  They knew he must in order to survive, and warned him to watch out for Edwards, the new head keeper.  He knew too and he was definitely not a friend.  In fact he had sworn to get him. 

 

'Watch out' they always warned as they described him in the crudest of terms,

 

These were the men he had worked with and they knew why he was on hard times. Friends indeed, when they were patrolling the end of the estate close to which he lived, they never passed by without calling, and there was always a bundle left with a pair of rabbits or pigeons or a hare left on the table. 

 

They always left with the warning, 'Watch out for Edwards.'  Sometimes, if they knew, they would tell him of Edwards' planned movements, though this was done with caution as not one of them trusted him and knew he was aware of the retained contacts with Jake, which made him even more vindictive.

 

One night, after the frost, a dark night with only a sliver of moon emerging from time to time between banks of cloud, Jake ventured out again to set a few snares.  The night was warm for the time of year but he was clad as usual in cords and an old tweed jacket, battered boots and a pair of gaiters.  Lad as ever was at his heel and the two were as silent as the light breeze that brought up to them the scent of the river.  Slowly and carefully, they made their way to the most prolific warren knowing that they would be sure of a haul provided that the traps were not discovered, always a risk at the time of collection.

 

Edwards lurked in a nearby copse with a feeling of elation.  Something good would happen tonight, he felt it in his bones.  Reluctantly at his side, crouched Jack Daniel, the local constable.  He knew the situation and the intended victim and wanted none of it.  Jake Bithell is a decent lad and it's Edwards' type and that reprobate at the hall that has created this situation.  Neither was he confident out at night with Edwards.  He might have known the Caernarfon Estate whence he came, but here there were dangerous bog pits and ledges which were not to be trifled with on a night like this.

 

Slowly and with infinite care, Jake went round the warren placing his traps.  Inexorably, he moved toward that set by Edwards.  Jack Daniels desired no part of this but there was no way out of it.  Alone he could have turned a blind eye; with Edwards present, he had no choice.  He considered a cough but it would be too obvious or a noisy lunge in Jake's direction that would give the game away while the quarry still had time to run for it.  His nerve failed him and he waited, immobile, for the worst.

 

Lad sniffed the air.  Man, his sensitive nostrils said.  He nudged his master silently in the way he had been taught and Jake froze.  No sight or sound reached his senses but he was aware of the tension in the dog, rigid beside him.  He was a cool man, so from a position of cover and in calm silence, he considered his options.  Twice he had been caught; on the first occasion, a birching had left his back with the texture of a skinned rabbit.  On the next, he had been birched and locked up for a week.  Only the decency of the constable had left him the company of his dog in the cell and made sure that Corrie was fed.  Without that, she wouldn't have had even the bread and water that her man had been afforded.

 

He moved, and there was a rustle and a snapping twig.  Edwards' ears pricked.

 

'He's moving to the right, we'll get him when he moves a little further, he gloated.  You stay behind me.  I want this one for myself.'

 

Daniels was thankful for a small mercy.  Leaping in the dark on unknown ground was not to his liking and he didn't want to be the one to make this capture anyway.  There was another sound and Edwards thought to himself, 'He's losing his touch.'

 

A slight rustle came from straight ahead and then a slightly louder one, still nearer.  He's walking right into my trap thought Edwards and inched forward, eyes straining into the scrub ahead.  'Right into my lap,' he sneered silently.  Daniels was non-plussed.  It can't be Jake he thought, too noisy.  The sound veered to the right.  Edwards followed each sound.  Another step to the right and another.  He turned slightly and edged further towards it now facing in a different direction from his original brought a temptation to resist.  Now he yelled and leapt forward, disappearing into the night.

 

There was a "Splatt," a strangled cry, then silence sufficient to enable a chuckle to carry from the direction in which he had leapt.  From somewhere just to the right of, and below the constable came noises and language better left undescribed, as from the pit in front of him emerged a figure, of indeterminate shape and evil stench.  He'd been tricked, lined up on and drawn into a cow's watering pit.  Even aided on his way by a slight clip on the heel from the constable, it was rumoured in the taverns round that part of Chester.  

 

No-one was ever able to pin it on Jake and the indignity suffered by Edwards ensured that he wasn't talking about it., What hard luck it was then, that with dawn breaking, his slimy, smelly figure, having crawled out of a foul mud-hole used extensively by both ends of cattle was seen by Meg Cadwallader, the village gossip who was driving her geese to the early market.

 

'Good mornin' Mr. Edwards,' she said with a smirk.

 

'No it bloody well isn’t,’ he replied.

 

That night the Bithells celebrated with a brace of pheasants and enjoyed the luxury of a bottle of home brewed elderberry wine. 

 

'Well love, said Jake, reflectively, time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.'

 

A year had passed.  Edwards had gone, unable to take the ridicule.  Jake had found himself to be a popular man among the 'keepers and the local populace and had become a close friend of Daniels, the constable, who was now Godfather to his splendid new son.  Before the Christening, the two had sat in the local hostelry, discussing names.

 

'Of all names, Jake, why did you choose Edward?' Daniels asked, having half hoped he'd have chosen Daniel.

 

Jake, now re-instated as a 'keeper on the recommendations of many local people who knew him well, thought deeply and breathed a wry chuckle.

 

'It's good to have a son whose very name brings a smile to your lips,' he said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the moonlight, Jake Bithell watched silently across the Dee's glistening loop.  Despite the cold of a frosty night, he sweated, breathing into his hand to stop the steam of his breath rising into the moonlight to indicate his hiding place.  Beside him lay  Lad; faithful, silent Lad whose touch on his knee even in these fraught moments indicated that this was more than a simple working relationship.  It was love.  Silence was essential.  There were gamekeepers about and Jake was a poacher.  Lad was a true poacher's dog. 

 

Stealthily, he edged out of the wood in order to reach the banking behind and down which he could traverse toward the river where he knew salmon were to be found at this time of year.  Only this very morning he had found that he was to become a father. A father!  His life turned upside down in an instant.  Tears of joy mingled with those of consternation, trepidation and sheer frustration.  He was thirty-six, his lass twenty-four, and they lived in a hovel without a penny to call their own.  What hope did he have to offer to his offspring?  He'd been an under gamekeeper to the old Lord right up to the time he died.  You could look him in the eye and be treated like a man - tell him if you wanted him away from the breeding stock and he'd just go and respect you for doing your job.   Not so with the son and heir though.  Once he had crossed him, just the once, and got the sack for his impudence.  Not just the sack either - the swine had got him blacklisted.

 

The girl was up at dawn.  Sickness or no, there were mushrooms and berries to be gathered, though God knows what's to be done when winter sets in, she thought, when trees and fields are bare.  She looked up and Jake was suddenly beside her.  He had the silent approach of the gamekeeper, even though now turned poacher.  They walked together into the hovel.  ' We'll eat well tonight, Lass,' was his only comment, though from the way his arm went round her shoulders, his feeling for her was eloquently expressed.  Silently, but with wagging tail, Lad, the other great love in his life followed them in.  Lass, Lad, a splendid salmon, the fruits of the earth and field, and a warm bed were his.  Today wasn't too bad after all.  Perhaps his child wouldn't enter too harsh a world.

 

He rose with the sun at its winter zenith.  The frost hadn't cleared as yet, and wouldn't, he reckoned.  It was damp and tonight would be hoarfrost.  Such frosts, thick and white on the ground and the scrub left tracks. Tonight was a night to be indoors.  These were the nights when the keepers would follow such tracks and then break down a door without compunction.  For that reason, the salmon and other poached victuals were in a secret store well away from the hovel and even the bones and remnants were buried where no-one would ever find them.  Such subterfuge was not his way but was forced upon him by circumstance.

 

Jake and his wife, Corrie, though to him always just  'Lass' would sit in on these nights and indulge in the luxury of hope.  It was a real love match and the feeling between them was so strong that a stranger could almost feel it as they passed by.  They sat in flickering light cast by a fire of logs in the clay hearth.  Sometimes if they could afford the luxury of flour, they would twist paste made with flour, water and even egg on a very good day and bake them over the glowing embers.  On even better days, they might even experience together the wonder of seasoned lard in which to dip the toasted delicacy.  Tonight they had the luxury of strips of salmon baked in the same way.

 

Sometimes, weather was against him, his old friends on the game keeping staff at the hall would drop by.  They knew he poached.  They knew he must in order to survive, and warned him to watch out for Edwards, the new head keeper.  He knew too and he was definitely not a friend.  In fact he had sworn to get him. 

 

'Watch out' they always warned as they described him in the crudest of terms,

 

These were the men he had worked with and they knew why he was on hard times. Friends indeed, when they were patrolling the end of the estate close to which he lived, they never passed by without calling, and there was always a bundle left with a pair of rabbits or pigeons or a hare left on the table. 

 

They always left with the warning, 'Watch out for Edwards.'  Sometimes, if they knew, they would tell him of Edwards' planned movements, though this was done with caution as not one of them trusted him and knew he was aware of the retained contacts with Jake, which made him even more vindictive.

 

One night, after the frost, a dark night with only a sliver of moon emerging from time to time between banks of cloud, Jake ventured out again to set a few snares.  The night was warm for the time of year but he was clad as usual in cords and an old tweed jacket, battered boots and a pair of gaiters.  Lad as ever was at his heel and the two were as silent as the light breeze that brought up to them the scent of the river.  Slowly and carefully, they made their way to the most prolific warren knowing that they would be sure of a haul provided that the traps were not discovered, always a risk at the time of collection.

 

Edwards lurked in a nearby copse with a feeling of elation.  Something good would happen tonight, he felt it in his bones.  Reluctantly at his side, crouched Jack Daniel, the local constable.  He knew the situation and the intended victim and wanted none of it.  Jake Bithell is a decent lad and it's Edwards' type and that reprobate at the hall that has created this situation.  Neither was he confident out at night with Edwards.  He might have known the Caernarfon Estate whence he came, but here there were dangerous bog pits and ledges which were not to be trifled with on a night like this.

 

Slowly and with infinite care, Jake went round the warren placing his traps.  Inexorably, he moved toward that set by Edwards.  Jack Daniels desired no part of this but there was no way out of it.  Alone he could have turned a blind eye; with Edwards present, he had no choice.  He considered a cough but it would be too obvious or a noisy lunge in Jake's direction that would give the game away while the quarry still had time to run for it.  His nerve failed him and he waited, immobile, for the worst.

 

Lad sniffed the air.  Man, his sensitive nostrils said.  He nudged his master silently in the way he had been taught and Jake froze.  No sight or sound reached his senses but he was aware of the tension in the dog, rigid beside him.  He was a cool man, so from a position of cover and in calm silence, he considered his options.  Twice he had been caught; on the first occasion, a birching had left his back with the texture of a skinned rabbit.  On the next, he had been birched and locked up for a week.  Only the decency of the constable had left him the company of his dog in the cell and made sure that Corrie was fed.  Without that, she wouldn't have had even the bread and water that her man had been afforded.

 

He moved, and there was a rustle and a snapping twig.  Edwards' ears pricked.

 

'He's moving to the right, we'll get him when he moves a little further, he gloated.  You stay behind me.  I want this one for myself.'

 

Daniels was thankful for a small mercy.  Leaping in the dark on unknown ground was not to his liking and he didn't want to be the one to make this capture anyway.  There was another sound and Edwards thought to himself, 'He's losing his touch.'

 

A slight rustle came from straight ahead and then a slightly louder one, still nearer.  He's walking right into my trap thought Edwards and inched forward, eyes straining into the scrub ahead.  'Right into my lap,' he sneered silently.  Daniels was non-plussed.  It can't be Jake he thought, too noisy.  The sound veered to the right.  Edwards followed each sound.  Another step to the right and another.  He turned slightly and edged further towards it now facing in a different direction from his original brought a temptation to resist.  Now he yelled and leapt forward, disappearing into the night.

 

There was a "Splatt," a strangled cry, then silence sufficient to enable a chuckle to carry from the direction in which he had leapt.  From somewhere just to the right of, and below the constable came noises and language better left undescribed, as from the pit in front of him emerged a figure, of indeterminate shape and evil stench.  He'd been tricked, lined up on and drawn into a cow's watering pit.  Even aided on his way by a slight clip on the heel from the constable, it was rumoured in the taverns round that part of Chester.  

 

No-one was ever able to pin it on Jake and the indignity suffered by Edwards ensured that he wasn't talking about it., What hard luck it was then, that with dawn breaking, his slimy, smelly figure, having crawled out of a foul mud-hole used extensively by both ends of cattle was seen by Meg Cadwallader, the village gossip who was driving her geese to the early market.

 

'Good mornin' Mr. Edwards,' she said with a smirk.

 

'No it bloody well isn’t,’ he replied.

 

That night the Bithells celebrated with a brace of pheasants and enjoyed the luxury of a bottle of home brewed elderberry wine. 

 

'Well love, said Jake, reflectively, time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.'

 

A year had passed.  Edwards had gone, unable to take the ridicule.  Jake had found himself to be a popular man among the 'keepers and the local populace and had become a close friend of Daniels, the constable, who was now Godfather to his splendid new son.  Before the Christening, the two had sat in the local hostelry, discussing names.

 

'Of all names, Jake, why did you choose Edward?' Daniels asked, having half hoped he'd have chosen Daniel.

 

Jake, now re-instated as a 'keeper on the recommendations of many local people who knew him well, thought deeply and breathed a wry chuckle.

 

'It's good to have a son whose very name brings a smile to your lips,' he said.

 

Author's Note

OPINIONS AND CRITIQUE WELCOME

Reviews

[illprose]

The story is a bit hard to follow. Sometimes I don't know who is saying what because of the many characters introduced in such a short time and space; it's difficult for the reader to keep track without having to backtrack and reread.

Despite this, I like it's setting, how it starts off, the mood and atmosphere of the story. The idea of having Jake confront Edwards is a good one, and their brief tumult is entertaining. One of the best lines in the story is: "He'd been an under gamekeeper to the old Lord right up to the time he died." Really gives pure, authentic vibes.

A few quick observations: "Lass" sounds like the name of a dog (were you implying she was? or is it an ethnic/cultural-specific nickname that I know nothing about?). The word "steathily" in the beginning of the story is unnecessary. "Tears of joy" is a cliche.

The major problem with the story, however, is its clarity. As I said before, sometimes I wasn't sure who was speaking to who and it was also difficult figuring out where people were going. With that in mind, however, it is still worth reading, and is an interesting story on the whole.