Bruar's Rest

something she could give him for his kindness. Having a sick mother to care for was a heavy burden. She searched deep in her coat pocket, hoping a penny or two might have lodged in the stitching. There was a piece of paper and as she felt it a memory flashed into her mind. It seemed so long ago, but she recalled that when Father Flynn had given her a tiny piece of paper she’d put it deep in her pocket. When she unfolded it, she was astonished to find a ten shilling note. She smiled and gave it to Sam.
    ‘I can’t accept this, it is a whole week’s wage, that is.’
    ‘Well, it’s yours. Now, cheerio.’
    ‘First time a gyppo ever gave me money,’ he called to her.
    ‘I’m not a gyppo, Sam, I’m a clan tinker!’
    She thought to herself, as she sauntered down the quarry path arm and arm with Ruth, ‘Now, if I’d known I had that money, then I’d have got a ticket further south, and would never have been involved in the downfall of these gypsies.’
    Not believing what Sam told her about burning, she asked Ruth, ‘What manner of funeral will send Lucy to her rest tomorrow?’
    ‘We burn our dead,’ was the horrendous answer.
    Ruth noticed how she’d turned quite pale. ‘Don’t fret, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Listen, I’ve helped Mother Foy to bed, she ain’t got the energy to sit up the night, but she insisted you go to her when you got back. I think she’s afraid if any mention of Buckley took place, we all are.’
    Megan noticed anxious-looking faces; they’d waited for her to see what had happened, what would she do? If Mrs Newton kept her word, and after all she was a lady, then she wouldn’t reveal the truth of the murder, and all the gypsies would be gone the next day, none the wiser. She had no choice but to lie.
    A great sigh of relief spread through out the campsite when they heard her say she’d not spoken Buckley’s name. One by one they touched her shoulder, thanking her and saying, ‘You done good, girlie.’ Buckley would dig his own grave one day. With all the men he fought, sooner rather than later he’d take on one who’d whip him good.
    She knew, however, it would take a lot of disguising the truth to convince her wise old friend, who thankfully was asleep by the time she tiptoed into the wagon. Wrapping herself in a heavy wool blanket, she went outside to sit alone at the fire, and glanced around at the others who also sat in solemn silence. It was a long, cold night, and by dawn it was clear by the whiteness that lay around that the first winter’s frost had covered the ground and the wooden wagon tops.
    Lucy’s mother began sad and mournful singing as she finished preparing the pyre.
    ‘Here, girlie, pay respect.’ Megan took the black scarf from Mother Foy, who didn’t ask about Mrs Newton’s questions, and covered her head.
    The strongest of the men pulled Lucy’s wagon out of the circle. All her bits and pieces, including scarves, headwear and shoes, were intertwined with colourful dresses and undergarments. Then each article was arranged methodically across the small barrel-shaped wagon. Everyone gathered round. Lucy’s mother stooped and retrieved a burning stick from the blazing campfire. Firstly she lowered it, whispered her final farewell, and pushed the stick under the wagon, where firewood had been piled. Anna and Ruth both pushed clenched fists up toward the calm, early winter sky and said, ‘may he who stole your young life soon perish. And let his ghost wander this earth, never to find peace.’ It took several minutes but soon the whole wagon was engulfed in flames that leapt and burned into the small home. All heads stayed bowed, and holding hands they said goodbye in their own gypsy way.
    Megan remembered how Father Flynn, when burying Rory, said in melancholy tones, ‘And into God’s hands...’ but she couldn’t remember the rest, so mumbled under her breath incoherently.
    Ruth was right, the burning wasn’t such a horrible sight, in fact it seemed peaceful and proper. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes.

     
    Lucy’s distraught mother, now homeless, was taken in by a cousin. They were the first to leave. Then, one by one, the womenfolk said farewell to Mother Foy. They warned Megan to take extra care of the old woman whom they held in high esteem, as the men harnessed up the big shire horses to their wagons.
    Watching them go, she wondered if she’d they’d meet again, especially her two special friends, Ruth and Anna. They hugged