Paupers Graveyard by Gemma Mawdsley Page B

potato rot and famine. Many had heard these words bandied about by parents, who were so out of their mind with worry, they no longer cared if the children had overheard. They all thought Timmy would have the answer. Wasn’t it he who calmed their fears when they first heard the fearsome tale of the headless coachman? The dark coach, it was said, that roamed the roads by night in search of the dying. Some of the smaller ones had snivelled in fear and even the bigger ones gulped loudly.
    â€˜Comes to collect you when you’re dying?’ Timmy had scoffed. ‘How can he see where he is going when he has no head?’ He had laughed loudly at the idea, and that had shattered the tension. From then on, if something was wrong, Timmy was expected to provide the answers. But on this day he had nothing to say, he was as much in the dark as anyone. They played and talked for hours until hunger and cold sent them hurrying home.
    They were greeted by the delicious smell of newly made potato cakes. There was no sign of their father, and Timmy guessed that he had gone to the tavern. Whenever there was trouble, be it sickness or shortage of money, his father always seemed to have enough for a pint and found great consolation in its depths. Their mother greeted them warmly, although her eyes still had that frightened look. She tutted and fussed over the baby, taking her to be changed in the other room. Timmy washed his hands and had to bully his brothers into doing the same. They had set the table and were sitting expectantly when she came back and placed the baby on the bench next to Timmy.
    The smell of this favourite food made their stomachs rumble. Their mother smiled and cut into the first one. They could see that it was more flour than potato, but it smelled lovely. She cut it into four triangles and placed a slice before each of them. Small pieces were broken off and stuffed into impatient mouths. This was washed down with buttermilk, and when all were finished, they began to get up from the table.
    â€˜Would you like another bit?’ their mother asked.
    They looked at one another before sitting back down, and watched in awe as she brought the second cake and shared it out in the same way. Rose had already had enough and her second slice lay untouched when the boys had finished eating. Before his mother could offer it to them, Timmy spoke.
    â€˜Have some yourself, Ma. We’re full up and it will only go to waste.’ He glared at his brothers, who eyed the slice like hawks.
    â€˜Well, maybe I’ll eat it later.’
    â€˜Have it now, Ma, while it’s still hot,’ insisted Timmy. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea to go along with it.’
    He swung the kettle over the fire. Rose’s head was drooping, so he motioned to Tom to take her to bed and for Peter to follow. The kettle was soon boiling and he used fresh leaves to make the tea. He could hear the sound of Peter singing softly to the children, who were probably already asleep. The lullaby drifted in from the next room and his mother joined in humming. Taking the cup, he left it beside her on the hearth and placed the slice of potato cake on her lap.
    â€˜Eat it, Ma, please.’
    She broke off a piece and placed it in her mouth. She just let it sit there for a while, too tired to chew and swallow.
    â€˜Come on, Ma, have another bite.’
    She picked up the cup with shaking hands and brought it to her lips. Timmy noticed a crumb on her cheek and reached over to brush it away. His gentle touch opened the floodgates.
    â€˜Is it that bad, Ma?’ His mother was crying for the second time in two days!
    â€˜It’s worse than you could ever imagine,’ she gulped between sobs. ‘We’re in terrible trouble. Only a miracle can help us now.’
    â€˜But, Ma, we’ve saved most of the potatoes. We can replant the good tubers in the spring.’
    â€˜Listen, child, you’re too young to understand how bad