The continuation of our journey back into time (Chapter One)

(Day 2) A continuation from the previous post, with still a lot more to come...

One may find it difficult to sleep past seven o’clock when living on a farm, especially a farm which houses more than one cockerel. Mrs Davery, a particularly short woman who has her fair share of wrinkles and whose face would be better described as a mother, rather than a lady has just woken from her slumber as an especially loud cockerel continues to waken her. Mr Davery, an old looking man, but old with wisdom rather then tiredness, unlike his wife, is awake particularly early this morning and had already consumed a private breakfast, sits solemnly in his personal study, caring for his many plants and reading his many books. Mr Davery has such a passion for horticulture that his study is positioned perfectly with the most windows, to lighten the plants, large enough, to house many of these beautiful specimens and allow them room to breathe and of course is supplied with more than enough shelves for all his pride and joy to be placed. Much research is needed for Mr Daverys hobby so a large bookcase filled with many books lies against a long wall, resting next to the closed door, for his door is more than always closed.

            Next to the wonderful study there is a kitchen. It is not a special kitchen; in fact it is slightly messy and not too big. It includes one large table for preparing many dinners, a perfectly sized fire place for cooking and some smaller surfaces around the edge of the room for placing junk apon. There are ribbons and smaller pieces of clothes hanging from the ceiling to dry and candles in various places to lighten the room at night. During the day however, there are three short windows to brighten the room. On the left hand side of the kitchen there is a wall with a large gap in the middle instead of a door. Through here and down three steps, there is a small room with a back door which is almost always open. This leads to the houses’ land. It is a fairly busy area with its stables and barns and building for the farmers. These are all placed on dirt ground due to various animals always trampling on it and men running around trying to catch the too common escaped chicken. Many hip-heighted, stone walls surround the buildings and a pebbled path surrounds the main house. At the front of the farm house is a dirt road with fields on either side and long rows of tall trees.

At the front of the house there is a porch, perfectly sized for two grown men, in here there is a wooden door with two pillars on either side. The front door enters into a hall way with a wooden staircase on the right. On the left is a room which consists of many chairs, a fireplace, a few small tables cluttered with books and a piano. This room can become unfortunately messy as it is where most time is spent on an especially wet day. Four large windows accompany this room which gives a perfect view of all the farmers hard at work on the fields and allows the residents to spy on any arriving guests. On the other side of the house is a matching sized room used for a dining room.  There is a long table in the center with many chairs to supply the family of seven and any extra guests who decide to stay. Apart from this and another four large windows the room seems surprisingly bare.

Runny around all of these rooms is the youngest Davery daughter, Beatrice. Having misplaced her favourite ribbons to tie around her long hazelnut hair, she has become quite flustered. “I cannot see them anywhere!” screeches Beatrice as her eldest sister, Phillippa, chases after her.

            “Have you looked in the basket?” Philippa questions calmly as to sooth her sister.

            “Yes,” Beatrice replies.

            “Hanging on the washing?” Philippa asks again.

            “Yes,” Beatrice repeats.

            “Well, what about in your clothes upstairs, or outside or –”

            “Yes, yes and yes!” Beatrice interrupts her sister as to tell her to be quiet. The eldest Davery sibling rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders as to give up and leaves the stubborn small girl to herself.

            “I do question myself sometimes when I try to help that girl!” Philippa informs her mother as Mrs Davery climbs down the stairs. “It seems completely pointless at most!”

            “Oh what bother has your sister got herself into this time?” Mrs Davery sighs, knowing fully well that it is Beatrice her eldest and only blonde daughter is referring to.

            “She’s lost her ribbons, again.” Moans Philippa. Her mother rolls her eyes and with that calls for her only son. “Emery!” Mother Davery waits an inpatient moment before calling again. “Emery! Oh where has that boy got to?” she turns to the thin, beautiful daughter in front of her to see her playing with her long, silky hair.

            “He must have gone to visit the moors again.” Philippa suggests, whilst attempting to plait her long locks.

            “Why must this house always be so chaotic in the mornings?” Mrs Davery thinks out loud.

            “Poor mother, it is always chaotic in his house, no matter what the time.” Her daughter laughs and with that makes her way to the kitchen.

Far from the house, through a few fields, lies some misty moors. Within them sits a dark brown haired, lanky boy, Emery. Emery, the middle child of the Davery flock at only fifteen years old, is most known for his early disappearances to visit the moors. He shares his father’s passion of horticulture, however Emery prefers to watch his wildlife, rather than to grow it and living near a lively moor leaves the muddy boy quite content.

            The sun in the sky and the shadows from a nearby rusting bridge, suggest that it be almost eight o’clock. As Emery emerges from the damp surroundings, a flash of disappointment crosses his face as he knows he must return to the house. Emery remembers from many experiences that if he returns too late, he shall be greeted with a thump across the scalp. With that in mind, the young boy rapidly increases his pace towards the farm house.

           

“Oh Emery, why do you always wonder off so?” Mrs Davery worries as her son rushes in the back door where his mother is collecting freshly dried ribbons from the ceiling.

            “Sorry Mother,” Emery pants, keeping his distance between his face and her hand.

            “Oh never mind,” she sighs, “why don’t you collect some eggs as you’re already filthy?” a hint of disapprovement sweeps across her face.

            “Yes mother, sorry” Emery says as he turns around slightly too quickly and almost falls over.

            “Oh Emery” his mother tuts, “and don’t be too long, we shall be heading for town soon.” Her son is already out the door and running for the chickens before she can finish her sentence. Shaking her head, Mrs Davery carries a basket full of colourful and sweet ribbons into the front room.

            “Ribbons are ready!” she calls whilst entering the wooden door to find three out of four of her daughters present. “Where has Emily got to? We shall be leaving for town shortly and she must look presentable.” All three remaining daughters shrug until Charlotte, the second youngest child beams “There she is!” and points behind her mother.

            “Where have you been Emily?” The stressed mother enquires. Just as the eighteen year old female – one year younger than the eldest Davery daughter – opens her mouth as to answer, her mother continues “Oh never mind, we have no time for that. We’re late as it is, I can’t have us in town past ten o'clock.”

            “Why not mother?” the freckled Charlotte with slightly longer than shoulder length brown hair questions.

            “Have you seen the state of this house? I cannot spend all day shopping when so much needs to be done.” Their mother replies. With that, all four daughters and their slowly greying mother, sit in each chair, some on the hard, wooden floor and begin to pick their ribbons as to tie into their hair.