My wife and I travelled to the village to meet her parents for the first time.
Sarahs mum came out onto the porch, planting her hands on her hips as if she were the queen of the manor, and exclaimed, Oh, Adam! Why didnt you warn me? I see youve not come alone!
I pulled my wife close and declared, Meet my wife, Emily.
The matron, sporting a frilly apron and spreading her arms wide, made her way toward Emily. Well, hello there, daughter-in-law! she said, greeting her with three hearty English kisses, as is the family custom.
The air around Mrs. Margaret Robinson was thick with the scent of garlic and freshly baked bread. My mother-in-law embraced Emily so tightly I thought shed crush her, and Emilys head was buried between two well-padded cushionsher mother-in-laws bosom. After a moment, Mrs. Robinson stepped back and eyed her up and down with a critical gaze.
Adam, where did you find such a little thing? she asked pointedly.
I gave a short laugh, Where elseLondon! At the library Is Dad in?
Hes next door helping Mrs. Wilkinson with her Aga Come inside, but do take off your shoesIve just washed the floors.
From the yard, dozens of curious village children stared at us, their mouths agape.
Tommy, run over to Mrs. Atkinsons. Tell Mr. Robinson his sons arrived with his bride!
Im on it! the boy called, dashing away down the lane.
We stepped into the cottage. I helped Emily out of her stylish, discounted coat, hanging it by the stove, and then pressed her cold hands to the side of the warm range, leaning in with a grin. Youre a lifesaver! Still toasty
Immediately, the kitchen was filled with the clatter of pans and cutlery. Mugs and plates were set out with a flourish.
While my mother-in-law prepared the table, I looked around the cosy English cottage with interest. Icons hung in the front corner; the windows were dressed in white, floral curtains. Woven rag rugs lay on the floor and stools. By the hearth, a ginger tabby napped, showing us its back.
We only signed the register last week, came my voice, sounding distant in all the commotion.
I was amazed at how quickly the table was laden with food! In the centre, a shining dish of jellied beef took pride of place, with pickles and preserves beside itpickled cabbage, tomatoes, creamy milk skin lifted from a jug, a pie filled with chopped egg and spring onion.
Heavens, I was starving!
Mum, thats enough! This could feed us a week, I muttered, tearing into a thick slice of homemade bread.
My mother-in-law plonked a frosted bottle of gin on the table and, satisfied, wiped her hands on her apron. Right, thats all then!
Thats how I became acquainted with Sarahs mum.
Mother and daughter looked two peas in a poddark-haired, rosy-cheeked. Only my darling Sarah was quiet and agreeable, while Mrs. Robinson was like a summer thunderstormsudden and booming.
I suspect more than one stubborn horse had felt her reins, and more than one house fire had been doused at her command
Suddenly, the front door banged loudly.
A short man shuffled in, a plume of cold trailing after him.
Would you look at that, blimey! he exclaimed, delighted, not bothering to remove his smoke-stained, soot-streaked jacket as he embraced his daughter.
Alright, Dad! I grinned.
Wash your hands before you say hello! commanded Mrs. Robinson.
Mr. Robinson took Emilys hand, beaming. Lovely to meet you, my dear!
Father-in-law had merry blue eyes full of mischief, a meagre ginger beard, and a mop of curly copper hair to match.
Margaret, pour me some stew, would you? he grumbled, rattling the sink.
We all raised our mugs. To you, dear ones!
After Id eaten my fill, I felt some confidence return.
Mr. Robinson, why are there so many Johns in your family?
Its simple, Emily. My granddad, my father, and meweve all been blacksmiths for generations. Only Adam herehe nodded at medecided to be a turner.
Turners are needed too, Dad!
Is working a smithy hard, Mr. Robinson?
Its an art, love! My father-in-law raised one finger. You want it neat, no smoke, and good for baking pies. Dont mind that Im not much to look at! Us gingers are tough and kissed by the sun!
Jack-of-all-trades, thats him! my mother-in-law piped up.
Go on, Dad, tell us a story, were listening.
Father-in-law sighed, stroked his beard, and gave us a cheeky look.
Well, if youre keen, heres a tale! First one
One July we all went out haymakingremember Rosie, Margaret? Not so much a cow as a milk machine on stilts! We went to the meadows, everyone togetherthe women, the men, and me and Margaret.
The sun hadnt even risen over the woods, yet we were mowing away with all our might: sweep-swing, sweep-swing
It was roasting hot that day, gadflies biting left and right!
That year, I recall, wild boar had turned up in the forestall over the place!
Just as we paused for lunch, sun-baked and worn out after days of work, I hatched a plan to liven things up. Maybe the heat had fried my brain! I flung down my scythe, sprinted, and shouted, Everyone run! Wild boar!
And up a tree I went. I watched as everyone else tossed their tools and scrambled up trees too…
Haha! And what then?
They nearly battered me with their rakes! But oddly, after that, everyone worked twice as quickly.
Mrs. Robinson gave her husband a light clip round the ear. You ginger scamp!
Dad, tell us a real wild boar tale, I prompted.
Alright, then. This ones true. It was years ago, me and Margaret werent much older than you two, not even thinking of Adam yet. I used to be keen on hunting, but after this, I stopped cold.
It was the first snowfall. I told Margaret Id go shooting. She said, Go on then.
I took the shotgun into the woods, wandered for ages, found nothing. It got dark, so I made for home. All of a sudden, I heard boar close by. Creeping up, I fired, but missed. Next thing I know, a big old boar charges right at me! I ran and shimmied up a tree, barely knowing how.
I bet you were scared stiff! chided Mrs. Robinson.
Dont interrupt!… So, there I clung, half alive. I thought Id wait them out, but the old boar began rooting at the base and then bedded down beneath me, with the whole pack.
My goodness! Emily exclaimed. How did you get away?
I sat there, Emily, nearly all night, hugging that tree. Lucky it wasnt too cold, otherwise Id have frozen.
And I was back home, beside myself! At first light I rounded up the men to look for him. We hollered until we finally found him. I had to drag that fool home myself, for hed lost all sense!
Youre made of strong stuff, not water and sugar!
Oh, bother Emily, fancy a cup of tea? Got a proper blend with a drop of honey, just from our hives.
That would be lovely, thank you!
Mrs. Robinson poured us all aromatic tea.
Dad, tell them about the time you cured my sister, will you?
Father-in-law nearly choked on his tea, then burst out laughing.
One time, Margarets sister sent a telegram: Im coming to visit. We were pleased as punch, gave her the royal welcome As we sat for lunch, Tessa pipes up: My legs wont work, theyre in agony!
Whatever is it? we asked.
Dont knowshould see a doctor, but never get round to it.
Have you ever tried bee therapy? I ventured.
Where am I supposed to find bees in London? she said.
Come on, Tessa, out to the hivesIll fix you up in no time!
Old Doctor Dolittle, you are! laughed my mother-in-law.
So off we wentI told her to hitch her skirt a bitno, not too muchjust above the knee. Plonked a bee on each leg.
She thanked me at first, but half an hour later, she was cursing the air blue! Turns out she was allergic to bee stings, and her legs swelled like loavescouldnt walk at all!
I told youDoctor Dolittle
How was I to know about allergies? You didnt know either Emily, have a bit more honey, go on. Youre not allergic, are you?
No, Mr. Robinson!
Well, thank goodness for that
We finished our tea as night crept in outside; a wave of tiredness rolled over me.
Mrs. Robinson pulled the curtains tight.
Adam, where would you like to sleep?
Mum, can we have the stove bed? What do you say, Em, fancy sleeping on the stove?
Couldnt be happier!
Ill sort it right away! Your father-in-law built that with his own hands, you know, brick by brick, bragged my mother-in-law.
Mr. Robinson looked suitably proud.
And he had every reason to bethe stove would warm you, feed you, and gather the family as one.
There was a living glow in its belly, a real heart to the home!
We thanked our hosts and got up from the table. I gave my wife a boost onto the stove-bed.
From the darkness above, I caught a powerful aroma: brick cured by fire, dried herbs, sheared wool, and the crusty warmth of baked bread.
Sarah soon drifted off, but I couldnt sleep.
What on earth?
Next to me, there was something breathing heavily:
“Wheeze-wheeze, wheeze-wheeze…”
A house spirit! Surely its a house spiritI’ve read about them
I even recited an old rhyme under my breath:
Dear brownie, dear, dont bother here!
Only in the morning did I learn the truth: it wasn’t a house spirit at all, but a bowl of sourdough starter left to rise in the warmthcompletely forgotten by my mother-in-law.
Wed return to the welcoming home of Sarahs parents more than onceto hear John Robinsons stories, warm ourselves by the stove, eat fresh breadbut thats a tale for another time!
