Admonition , livre ebook

Admonition
Chris Throsby
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-08-30
Admonition About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Part One William The Admonition Jabez A Hard Road Travelled Part Two Elizabeth Between a Rock and a Soft Place William Lies Elizabeth Forgotten Jabez A Meeting of Minds William Chance Meetings Part Three Elizabeth All in a Name Jabez The Salt Road Elizabeth My Hero? Jabez Manchester Elizabeth Cold Comfort Jabez Arrest Part Four Henry Articles of Faith Jabez Planning and Preparation Henry A Foregone Conclusion Elizabeth A Dish Served Cold Henry Looking to the Future Elizabeth A Fate Deserved Henry Ignorance, Neglect and Contempt Part Five Admonition Survival Mary Descent into Hell Admonition Hammocks Mary The Bay of Biscay Admonition Sydney Cove Part Six Henry Parting Gifts Admonition A Taste of Freedom Mary Ellis Admonition From Beyond the Grave Mary Back at the Factory Admonition Freedom Epilogue
About The Author
Chris Throsby was born in Chatham, Kent, and lived in the Medway Towns until 1990 when the relocation of his Civil Service job led him into moving to Winsford, Cheshire, where he still lives today. Redundancy in 1998 provided Chris with the opportunity to return to education and in 2004, he was awarded a 1 st -Class Honours Degree in English Literature and American Studies.
In 1990, only months prior to moving to Cheshire, Chris was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, which, despite its progressive nature, hasn’t prevented him completing his first full-length novel, Admonition .
Dedication
I dedicate this book to Lesley, my wife, who has supported me through every stage as Admonition took shape and has been there for me in life no matter what. Also to my son, Sam, who pressed me to write in the first place and didn’t stop until I sought publication. I love you both.
Copyright Information ©
Chris Throsby (2019)
The right of Chris Throsby to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528933346 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528967433 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
I would like to thank my sister, Judy Halliday, for her support, encouragement and critique of early drafts and for being strong enough to say “I don’t like that bit”, a rare and valued quality.
My long-suffering friends Christine Brookes and Sheila Wigley, both unstinting in their support, interest and encouragement, who still asked how the book was going at a time that was well beyond the call of duty.
Michelle Roberts, whose first question when she walked in the house seemed always “How’s the book going?” and proofed all my biblical references.
Debbie Bootz, who kindly provided me with ‘Lolly Hamlet’ in name and stature, though definitely not in character!
And finally, Amanda, Amy, Dad and Carole, and anyone else I’ve forgotten.
I hope you all enjoy Admonition and think it’s worth the wait!
Thank you.

Now all these things happened unto them for ensamples: and they are written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the world are come.
1 Corinthians 10:11
Part One
William

The Admonition
Payday always went one of two ways .
On the good days, Dad came straight home from work, gave Mum his money, told her about his day and usually collected his conjugal reward when they thought we were asleep. But with all of us sleeping in one room, we were used to hearing Mum’s quiet murmurs of encouragement and the muffled sounds as they tried to smother their conclusion.
But on the bad days, diverted by the call of the Boar’s Head, Dad left Mum hoping the little money she’d managed to siphon away would feed us until next payday. The Boar was the nearest pub, and according to Mum it was only there because it lay between the salt pans and our village. She said it sold bad ale, drunk only by men made thirsty by salt and heat.
The truth is the ale isn’t too bad, but the Boar’s reputation is not for its ale, but as a place to trade salt without questions or tax. The Excise knows what goes on there but they’ve never caught anyone – Dad told me their local man is well paid by the Boar’s landlord, Jabez Payne, not to watch too closely.
Anyway, on the bad days we’d go to bed early to keep out of the firing line when Dad got home. It was always the same. Mum wouldn’t have minded if he just had a couple, because she knows salt panning is hot, thirsty work, but he’d come home roaring drunk and broke. Bed was different as well; Dad’s slow repetitive movement as he lay on top of Mum seemed endless. He’d hold her hard and when, with a low grunt he finally finished, he’d roll off her, fall asleep in moments and then begin the snoring that would disturb our sleep until morning.
On those nights, the only sound louder was Mum’s silence. She couldn’t refuse him her body. She knew what would happen if she tried to do that, but she could deny him her presence. Unmoving and making no sound, she’d lie there waiting for him to finish, desperately hoping he’d remember his promise; sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. Only once had she tried to pull away, but he’d grabbed her even more fiercely and all of us heard as she couldn’t stop herself from crying out.
It was because of a night like this my little sister was born; certainly that’s what Mum spat at Dad when she found herself pregnant for the seventh time. Mum had lost one before I came along, but when the one after Sally was stillborn, she told Dad she didn’t want any more. Dad agreed. The truth was he’d never been that interested in us – at least not until we were old enough to work. But on that night, drunk, he’d forgotten what they had agreed.
It was always Mum who named us, and she guaranteed no interference by giving me, their first–born, my father’s name, William, and as a second name that of my grandfather, John. When my brother came along, she sealed matters by calling him John William. Any faint interest Dad had in us ended there; his heir would make sure his name would go on and just in case something happened to me, a suitable replacement waited in the wings. From then on, he didn’t ask, just waited for an announcement from Mum.
Sometimes it took weeks for Mum to decide on a name. She said she needed time to get to know us and to find a name that suited. But I believe she first wanted to see if we survived. Experience had taught her it was just a little harder to say goodbye to a person with a name than to a nameless baby. It was never easy for her I know, but anything that eased the pain, even a little…
As I said, Dad never asked. He just waited for a decision. He didn’t usually comment either – a grunt meaning he’d heard was all she got. So when my baby sister was born, it was a surprise that Mum named her almost immediately. It surprised my father even more when she announced,
“Your baby’s name shall be Admonition.”
She sounded like Reverend Grace who terrified us on a Sunday with tales of Hell and Damnation. She watched for his reaction and when she was sure there would be no argument, nothing more than a sharp turn of his head, she spoke to us. She knew none of us had ever heard of the name, so before any of us could ask, she explained.
“Your sister’s name has a meaning. Admonition means ‘a right telling off’, so every time your father sees her or hears her name, that’s what he’ll be getting – a right telling off.”
We were all too young to understand ‘rebuke’; that would have confused us even more, but we’d all had a right telling off at some time or other and because we’d all heard Mum’s cry and so believed we knew the reason, none of us asked why Dad was getting his admonition. As she spoke to us, Mum remained looking fixedly into Dad’s eyes until, finally, he looked away. Soon after, unable to endure the silence that followed Mum’s announcement, he left for the Boar’s Head. That night he came home late but I believe sober, because he went to bed quietly and shortly after all we could hear was the rhythmic breathing that meant he was asleep.
While I can’t say he never again came home drunk, I can say that Mum bore no more children – Admonition made sure he never again forgot their agreement.
Why I woke early that morning, I don’t know. It may have been Dad’s snoring – he’d come home drunk again – or perhaps just the bite of the cold morning air. Whatever the reason, I’d got up whilst the others slept, and still comfortable in the only world I knew, walked down the gennel to the privy.
The houses in the gennel were all single rooms made cheaply from clinker left by the salt pan fires. Dark grey and separated by less than a brick’s width, they stood in two parallel rows, rows so close together, there was barely room for a horse to draw a cart between them, but because they ran from east to west, they saw little sun and always seemed to be in gloom. However our house wasn’t in the gennel, nor was it made from clinker, instead, made from oak but still just a single room, it stood beyond the gennel and sideways to it, facing south across the fields towards the sun and the salt pans.
On any bright and dry morning, Mum cooked our breakfast outside, so as I returned from the privy, I hoped to catch the tell–tale smell that would tell me our porridge was almost ready. But that morning, as I walked back up the gennel, a loud and unfamili