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Subject: story 1.txt (1/1)
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story 1.txt
Clippity Clop, Clippity Clop!! The horse-drawn cart on its way to the local cotton mill wound its way through the cobbled streets at ten minutes to midnight on July 4th in the year 1939. A warm, balmy night with a cloudless sky and no wind or breeze to cool the muggy atmosphere.
Things in the world looked bleak, with greed and hatred spreading its dark mantle across Europe. What had this new arrival been born into?
Tons of raw cotton, fastened in sacks, resting precariously on the back of the cart.
The two massive Shire horses puffing and panting as they approached the final few hundred yards, their shiny brasses glittering in the moonlight.
Like fireflies darting from side to side, hauling even more work for the down-trodden cotton workers of the Lancashire Mill known both for the quality of the spun cotton and the horrendous conditions the workers endured.
The cart passed a row of terraced two up two down red bricked houses dated 1886, shown on a small tablet in the centre of the terrace.
The families in the houses in bed, sleeping, tossing and turning, dreaming, maybe of a better life in the future.
However, at No. 68, the time for sleeping and dreaming was held in abeyance, heralding the advent of a wonderous event shortly to occur.
What was this momentous event? The arrival of the New Messiah??.
No, not this.
Suddenly the peace of the house was shattered by the wailing and crying of a new born child, 11 pounds 13 ounces of wailing, wet and sticky writhing flesh, a small mass of new humanity, screwed up eyes shielding themselves from the light of the gas mantle on the walls of the room.
What was to be the destiny of this new arrival on planet earth?? Fame and fortune, a life of drudgery, a long life, a short life. Only that life itself would tell.
The sticky little mass was quickly separated from its mother by some blue-dressed harridan wielding a pair of scissors. wet flannel dipped in a bowl of hot water sitting on the chair by the side of the bed moved and wiped the pink thing until all traces of previous habitat had been remove.
Snip, Snip, and it was free from the bonds that had held it close to its mother for nine months, with a piece of cotton tied to finally close off the provision of life within.
It was then determined that this mass was a boy, and that it was rather heavier than the usual new presence on earth.
Wrapped in cloth, he, as we now know it to be, was placed in the arms of his mother, to be hugged, cuddled and generally covered with feelings of gratitude by his mother, having safely delivered a child whose future was, though not known at the time, to be one of great adventure, independence, a wish to be different from the masses that he would encounter in many decades to come, in places far and wide.
Just as the boy fell asleep in the loving, caring arms, the last cart of the night trundled its way past the door.
The house with the number 68 became quiet. The gas lamps were extinguished, and for a while peace and quiet covered the house, bringing it into line with its neighbours on either side.
And so started the journey through life of one more addition to the human race.
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