Blackberry Bill by Ned Reardon

Author:Ned Reardon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: whimsical thriller;Kentish marshes;Dickensian atmosphere;boy hero;gypsy friend;coming-of-age
Publisher: The Conrad Press
Published: 2018-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The boy awoke in a cold sweat, breathing frantically with his thoughts, which were clouded in turmoil. Earlier he would have sworn that he was in the boy’s dormitory back at Greenporch. Now evidently he was sat bolt upright in someone else’s bed and he had an awful inkling it was Blackberry Bill’s.

Anxiously he tried to recall what had happened. He remembered fainting, no doubt due to a serious case of sunstroke. He’d also a vague recollection of the stranger seizing hold of him down on the sea wall. But then after that there was nothing. Exasperated, he tried to rack his brains but here his mind had gone completely blank.

Conscious of his facial skin, which was puffy and had peeled quite noticeably, he was also aware that his lips were chafed and a little swollen. However, apart from these relatively minor complaints, which weren’t too painful, he was feeling pretty much all right. So now he finally dropped his shoulders and tried to relax a little. Whoever this stranger was, he deduced, he clearly bore him no malice. He’d obviously taken good care of him and was hardly then the sort of person who would hurt him or God forbid even eat him.

This was indeed the potdigger’s home. Its contents had persuaded him of that for it was also cluttered with the same stuff identical to the bottles and pots he’d seen stacked up outside. Except these particular examples were sparkling clean and they’d been placed carefully on the ledges and shelves as prized ornaments.

Positioned in what seemed to be pride of place however, above the artificial fireplace, was a large silver framed black and white photograph. The image portrayed a proud faced, middle-aged gypsy woman wearing large hooped gold earrings and a plain dark scarf. Stood beside her was a young man clad in a plain white shirt, striped waistcoat and dark breeches. Both were smiling, mildly embarrassed and posing for the camera before a bowtop vardo not unlike the one he was in, in what seemed to be a cherry orchard.

He scoured the walls and shelves but there didn’t seem to be anymore photographs on display. He made a mental inventory of everything around him. On a wooden side cabinet there was neatly laid an ornate dinner service and hanging from the ceiling on bits of string were some copper pots and pans. There was an unusual looking black iron stove with a stainless steel kettle placed upon it. To the side of the cooker was a wooden tub full to the brim with potatoes and a mixture of fresh vegetables. Stacked up on top of a cupboard unit were some jars containing cereal, biscuits, sugar and tea. There was also a plentiful supply of tinned food such as rice, baked beans and garden peas.

He decided to get up out of the bed and steal a glance at the outside world. With exception of his underpants, he then

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