THE MILL STREAM’S STORY by Gwenda Major (1st place, Jul22)

The mill stream has always been the artery of the village. In the old days it powered four mills as it splashed and gurgled its way under the slum dwellings down to the river.  But nowadays the cottages are smart second homes and holiday lets.

Mill Cottage has a little courtyard where the stream still flows underneath.  The artful architect inserted elegant metal grids in the paving, allowing glimpses of the water.  Ferns cling attractively to the walls of the culvert. The water is enchantingly clear.

It is June and Elena takes a sip of her Pinot Grigio.  As a very successful solicitor, her work is naturally stressful.  Constant decisions to be made.  Risks to be evaluated.  And even up here on the wild moors she cannot escape.  Her iPhone lies on the table next to her, tethering her to her work.  She knows she will pick it up in a minute to check Facebook and emails. It is almost a game.  How long can I resist?  Inside the cottage Felix is preparing their evening meal – quinoa and sea bass with samphire.  The cottage is exactly as it looked online – pastel perfection.  Lime-washed woodwork, sparkling glass surfaces, tasteful prints.  Elena has come to this remote, timeless place to think.   She has had a tempting job offer from a rival firm and a deadline of next week for her response.  The bubbling sound of the water soothes her mind. 

But the mill stream has a story to tell.  Listen listen.

Susannah plunges her red raw arms in and out of the tub.  She hears the crack of the clean sheets blowing in the wind.  At her feet the stream chuckles and gurgles under the courtyard slabs.  Inside a pan of soup is bubbling on the fire.  When she has hung this batch of washing on the line Susannah will go up the lane to weed the patch.  With luck there will be some leeks and a few potatoes left to add to the soup.  The baby wails.  With a sigh Susannah dries her hands on her skirt.  The other children will be tumbling in off the streets soon.

Now it is August and Miriam pours herself a second cup of Earl Grey in the elegant little kitchen in Mill Cottage up on the moors.  The silence is like a balm to her senses.  She genuinely does not know what she is going to do.  This makes her feel alternately exhilarated and terrified.  She has five more days here to make up her mind.  She knows she might decide to forgive Charlie again.  This is the most tempting option, allowing her to preserve her very pleasant way of life.  After all it is not the first time she has discovered his affairs.  Far from it.  And he is always contrite, attentive for a while.  But there is also a new voice in Miriam’s head, whispering to her that she can choose to end the relationship once and for all.  Find a new way to live. Her future hangs in the balance. Five more days. At night she hears the mill race rushing and muttering under the courtyard.

And the mill stream has its story to tell. Listen listen.   

Susannah sees George off on Monday morning as usual.  She watches him stride up the road, his white cotton miner’s wallet slung over his shoulder.  This time it will be better he tells her.  He and Ned and John and Hugh are hopeful.  They have come upon a good seam but it will be six months before they will be paid.  So, like all the women, Susannah must manage with her vegetable patch and her washing. 

George hates the mine shop where they all lodge.  Three in a bunk bed, one more across the bottom.  Windows fastened shut to keep out the cold.  The air acrid with the stench of the stove and their sweat.  A haven for lice and rats.  Around the peat fire their work clothes steam, sending up clouds of filth.  The men’s bodies are blue with bruises, their lungs thick with dust.  They know the black spit will get most of them in the end. It is just a matter of time.

The year has moved into September and Fiona lays down her book with a sigh and stretches.  She is alone in Mill Cottage and is finding the quiet oppressive.  Only the constant chatter of the water for company.  Derek has gone for a walk.  He knows she needs time to think, to make up her mind.  They have agreed that this is the week, in this quaint quiet place, when they must finally choose.  Fiona is confident Derek will accept her decision but she also knows he longs to be a father.  The problem is, Fiona still cannot decide if she wants to be a mother.  And they both know time is running out for her to conceive. A baby would change everything. She sighs again while the mill stream murmurs in its deep dark channel.

And the mill stream has its story to tell.  Listen listen.

George and the other men stick their candle stubs to their hats with blobs of clay and stoop to enter the mine entrance.  They will not light the candles until they reach the seam, the narrow vein of lead they must mine.  Galena.  Precious metal.  By late morning they have made the holes for the gunpowder with the hand drill and jumper hammer.  Now George inserts the long iron rod to keep the hole open for the fuse.  Ned packs shale and clay around the pricker and then stands back.  George is beginning to withdraw the rod when Hugh’s hand slips and the hammer falls. A spark flies.  An explosion hurls the men back.

Now it is winter and Elena, Fiona and Miriam have each gone back to their separate lives.  Decisions taken.  Choices made.  The old cottage is empty again.  In the courtyard the mill stream tumbles on down to the river, swollen with the thoughts and sighs of the women.

But the mill stream must finish its story.  Listen listen.

Susannah hears the cart before she sees the men’s faces and she knows without being told.  She drops the dank heavy sheets into the tub and waits, her mind empty.  In the alley Hugh avoids her eyes, silently pulling the filthy sheet back to reveal George lying in his thick cotton trousers and shirt. He looks peaceful, almost as if he could be asleep. But a dark brown stain has spread like a map across his shirt front. 

Even as she goes out into the streets to look for the children Susannah’s mind is running on into the inevitable future.  Abie will have to go to work at the hotching tubs earlier than planned.  She will have to take in more washing to make ends meet but it will not be enough.  She will have to re-marry before the winter.  There will be more children. What else can she do? She does not have the luxury of choice.