September Moon

September Moon

Catherine knew how to present herself.

She always knew just what to do and when.

Catherine knew what she thought right.

She was an only child and been taught early and taught well.

The Ladies’ Guide to hand when needed and Mama’s help when she was ready at all times.

A Parson’s daughter had to do things right and in a way that was expected…

…and after indulging too many sweet meats Catherine would consult the guide and bathe in Claret as was said to shed unwanted weight, infused with mint and sage and chamomile, not Papa’s claret for the church, not that…

She would have to take great care now as she was to marry, could not be scraggy or be fat with lily breasts for her betrothed to lose himself, not yet. She had been taught that when the children came it was harder every time one came to stay the sagging breasts…too much of a glimpse of cleavage after marriage might play havoc with ones reputation Catherine knew…but you were only young once and you wore your hair up high and pinched your cheeks as any make up was for the ladies who opened their shops when the merchants closed theirs and you bit your lips to make them red, wore floor length dresses and the prettiest shoes to show off an ankle when the moment was right….one had to be aware of all these things, alert and proactive at all times even when you were betrothed. Goose fat for the wobbly bits to stiffen them, add oil of lilies the Guide advised and pine oil to add and virgin’s wax as much as would stiffen the mass and apply to the languishing parts.

The Ladies’ Guide advised great caution when thinking of sex or talked of avoidance altogether as the consequence of raging lust was not without danger and quite, quite unmentionable.

Catherine learnt early what she was to do and it was not long after she was wed she was with child and with another child and with another. But alas, the joy of the first two babes did not last long but more came quite soon by name of Maurice and Susannah and of William. Her colour faded with the birthing and her lips grew pale, all her lotions and her potions did no longer of help and it was not for want of trying, biting her lips just made them split and sore  …and when yet another babe was on the way it was time to talk again to Amy Alcott, her trusted friend now, her confidente in ladies’ matters.

Amy never failed her when her time was near, she was ever ready at her side and came each time that she was called for. Along the hedgerows she’d walk then, day or night with a quick, firm step, stop and look back once in a while so she  knew she was not seen. She came even though Edmund protested that the thing to do now was to get a man to do the woman’s work as women were not very strong.

Amy got there every time but she knew that she must soon give it up, she knew there was no future in it anymore, men folk knew better now than she did and her kind. With instruments they would arrive when the pains gripped, where strong, small hands would have been kinder to turn a babe around that lost direction. It was many a cord that Amy severed with her teeth, now blunt and worn, bitten through them to taste the blood of every mother she delivered and clenched her teeth hard then till the cord stuck tight and no longer bled and delivered the new born into the arms of his mother. It was her time to go now, there was no doubt, for fear of the pyre, but not just yet, not before she had helped deliver Catherine of her weakling child, fair of skin and delicate, the child that smelled of peaches when he came. And they named the child Horatio.

The moon rose high, September moon, a harvest moon, one day to spare before October and Amy Alcott looked for omens. She recalled the babe’s first cry was no more than a sigh and now that her work was done and she packed up her bag, sighed and wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders against the first night chills after the summer and she hurried over the field track back to her cottage as in daylight in the moonshine. The night was still now that the child was born and you heard the roaring of the sea close by.

Catherine bore a daughter next whom she named Ann and Suckling then and Edmund, George and Catherine and after that she died, worn out, too weary now to carry on to live and birth…and three years later Uncle Maurice, her dear brother, took young Nelson on aboard his ship to learn the life at sea…

Horatio knew how to present himself.

He knew what to do and when.

Horatio knew just what was right.

He was a weakling child and was taught early how to be.

And Uncle’s help to hand when it was needed at all times.

A Reverend’s son to do things right and in a way that was expected…

…and…

…he always acted as felt right, he said, without due regard to custom…