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Sons And Lovers
When the light was fading, and Mrs. Morel could see no more to sew, she rose and went to the door. Everywhere was the sound of excitement, the restlessness of the holiday, that at last infected her.
She went out into the side garden. Women were coming home from the wakes, the children hugging a white lamb with green legs, or a wooden horse.
Occasionally a man lurched past, almost as full as he could carry. Sometimes a good husband came along with his family, peacefully.
But usually, the women and children were alone. The stay-at-home mothers stood gossiping at the corners of the alley, as the twilight sank, folding their arms under their white aprons.
Mrs. Morel was alone, but she was used to it. Her son and her little girl slept upstairs; so, it seemed, her home was there behind her, fixed and stable. But she felt wretched with the coming child.
The world seemed a dreary place, where nothing else would happen for her-at least until William grew up. But for herself, nothing but this dreary endurance-till the children grew up.
And the children! She could not afford to have this third. She did not want it. The father was serving beer in a public house, swilling himself drunk.
She despised him and was tied to him. This coming child was too much for her.
If it were not for William and Annie, she was sick of it, the struggle with poverty and ugliness and meanness.
She went into the front garden, feeling too heavy to take herself out, yet unable to stay indoors. The heat suffocated her.
And looking ahead, the prospect of her life made her feel as if she were buried alive. The front garden was a small square with a private hedge.
Her husband was a miner. They had only been in their new home three weeks when the wakes, or fair, began. Morel, she knew, was sure to make a holiday of it.
He went off early on the Monday morning, the day of the fair.
The two children were highly excited. William, a boy of seven, fled off immediately after breakfast, to prowl round the wakes ground, leaving Annie, who was only five, to whine all morning to go also.
Mrs. Morel did her work. She scarcely knew her neighbours yet, and knew no one with whom to trust the little girl. So she promised to take her to the wakes after dinner.
William appeared at half-past twelve. He was a very active lad, fair-haired, freckled, with a touch of the Dane or Norwegian about him.
“Can I have my dinner, mother?” he cried, rushing in with his cap on. ” ‘Cause it begins at half-past one, the man says so.”
“You can have your dinner as soon as it’s done,” replied the mother.
“Isn’t it done?” he cried, his blue eyes staring at her in indignation. “Then I’m goin’ be-out it.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. It will be done in five minutes. It is only half-past twelve.”
“They’ll be beginnin’,” the boy half cried, half shouted.
“You won’t die if they do,” said the mother. “Besides, it’s only half-past twelve, so you’ve a full hour.”
The lad began hastily to lay the table, and directly the three sat down.
They were eating batter-pudding and jam, when the boy jumped off his chair and stood perfectly still.
Some distance away could be heard the first small braying of a merrygo-round, and the tooting of a horn.
His face quivered as he looked at his mother.
“I told you ! ” he said, running to the dresser for his cap.
“Take your pudding in your hand — and it’s only five past one, so you were wrong — you haven’t got your twopence,” cried the mother in a breath.
The boy came back, bitterly disappointed, for his twopence, then went off without a word.
“I want to go, I want to go,” said Annie, beginning to cry.
“Well, and you shall go, whining, vdzzening little stick!” said the mother.
And later in the afternoon she trudged up the hill under the tall hedge with her child.
The hay was gathered from the fields, and cattle were turned on to the eddish. It was warm, peaceful.
| Writer | D H Lawrence |
| Language | English |
| Pages | 420 |
| Pdf Size | 21.1 MB |
| Category | Biography |
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