Mary Ann Sate, Imbecile, page 40
Leaps up and down the walls
Then he open the door
Pass me the candle
You not scard to meet the Devil he say
I shut the door on he and am alone
By the light of the candle
I see the body laid out
Mostly coverd by a coarse blanket
I hold the candle up
See what is left of the face
Black blood sticking the white of a bone
Shatter tooth and jaw all tore out
You see straight through the black rip
To the rigid throat
The eyes closd the brown hair flat to the head
What remains of the mouth grinning
But even for all that I know
I know
Still I reach for the hand under the blanket
Tis cold and stiff yet I pull it out
I must see
There is the scar livid
That day on the roof when his hand rip
I know
The man I see here is not Master Ned
God save my soul
Keep my hand on his dear hand
Though cold and brittle
Slide that ring on his finger
Oh belovd Father
How oft and always do we fall
So far short of yr Glory
Father forgive I pray Forgive
MOUNT VERNON
So there now tis writ down
Words like the twisting grain of wood
Or the course of a slow running river
Have ways they must evr go
Who might I to wield the axe cross the grain
Or try to untwist the flow of water
But so I have done
Now you know
I also know
Tis as though I see it for the first time
Though twas always so
The man downstairs
The maggot leg man dying hard
For forty years has usd
His dead brothers name
We are deep in the caves of night
The silence plunges down distant all round
Yet strange tis that my Master also
Does know what I have writ now
For sudden he is keening wailing
I go downstairs
Stiff and breathing sharp
Without a candle hand feeling rail
Foot edge forward not a star shine a winder
I find him raging
Like some girt chaind beast
Convulsd by pain
The end cannot be far away
I perhaps have hastend it
Soon the torrent of pain do pass
He lies hissself down draind
Oh Lord God why not he be takd
Such cruelty is there in this
He was never a man would make
A Godly death
I do not wait
For him to come to repentance or confession
I have never thought to call any Minister
He no a ways did want any of that
He is as he is And always was
Some beauty in his steadfast stubborn nature
He is glorious in his error
It were evr so
Mr Ned Cottrell
Now my thoughts push at something
They cannot fathom
Why did he want me to write his story down
The story of Mr Ned Cottrell that famous hero
Shot dead so long ago
Yet alive all these years
He wants to hide the past
Yet also he pushes at it plays with it
Wants it hid wants it out
Perhaps his soul is not easy
Fear the judgement of God
That he may burn forver in hell
As sure he will
There can be no doubt
Still I say to myself
Oh Mary Ann Mary Ann take care
Will you never end with trying to save he
Then tis as though he know my thoughts
For he wakes and turns his head says
Ah Mary Ann Mary Ann do you not know
You think you take some power ovr me
Yet I care not what is said about me
Only that something is said
That I shall be immortal
Whether in fame or infamy
I know it for truth
Why did I not see this sooner
He wants glory and cares not good or bad
What power can I evr have gainst he
Nothing folds out here as I expectd
I thought once the truth was told
Then all would be straightd out
There is perhaps some loosening in the air
Some shifting inside me a weight gone
Yet that is all no more
For this can no a ways be put right
Pain burns through the lump in my chest
Which pounds in my heart
Brings fever to my cheeks
Pulls tight every muscle
For a moment I look up then
Seeing now the first fire of autumn
Touch the leaves
Why stand I here for arguing with he
What will any of it change
I should better go out in the garden
While I still may
Yet still I think on this question of glory
Which he wants so much
He did always
It seems to me he is confusd
For glory does last for but a season
Whereas for those of us who are
But naught
We shall endure for eternity
STOCTON HILL
That night I come back from Spillmans Court
I am like a person lost in purgatory
See hear feel touch nothing
I should have said something then
Could have told Mr Birch Nazareth
Ambrose or Nettie
Not Mr Harland Cottrell no
He was too sick he could not have understood
I could not abear his relief
For so it would have been
If someone had told him that Master Ned
Did live yet
Yet my lips were seald by outrage
Confusion anger pain
Oh to see him lying there
His body brokd to bits
Laid out where others make merry
He who had always been so poorly usd
All I could do was go to my room
Lie me down
Shut my eyes gainst the world
I know not if I slept
Yet twas as the night was rising
Up toward the dawn
I heard sounds within the house
Thought perhaps Mr Harland Cottrell stir
So got up went to the kitchen
Thinking to take some water
So imagine then my shock
I turn back from the dresser
Who is there but Master Ned
Tis like I see some fantom hover there
In his hands does he hold
That same letter as his brother held earlier
Tells I think of this new position
Starting soon in the City of Oxford
Now he turn his head in greeting
Fold letter in his pocket
Raise finger to his lips
Ah Mary Ann he say
His voice no louder than a spring breeze
I have need of yr help
We must work quick and quiet
Go upstairs now bring me all is in the room
Does belong to Master Blyth
He is standing close to me now
I look up in his eye
There I find nothing at all
So I spit on him
Turn away
I will fetch carry nothing for he
Yet still he goes on
His feet creaking slight on the stair
I stood there
Could have run then for Mr Birch Nazareth
For Ambrose for a constable
Yet I did nothing at all
Not long afore he come down
Wearing boots cravat
Double breastd vest of velvet
That great coat narrow waistd
All as belongd to Master Blyth
The bag as well the cane
In his hand the silk top hat
So he goes past me with a nod
I follow behind him up to the gate
Places then that hat on his head
Stretches out his hand to me
Say Come come now Mary Ann
You and me are old friends
Do not let us part like this
I keep my hand by my side
Stare at him straight
So then he shakes his head says
One man is already dead
That he says
So he knew
Then he smiles a little say
What help tis for another to swing
I have no talent for sacrifice
Remember this now Mary Ann
No one would have been shot
If you had been loyal
If you want to make a new world he say
You must break up the old
In this business many will suffer
Progress is a girt mill
All men are but grist to it
He looks at me then long
Stretch out his hand
Once more
I do not take it
Yet still he gives me a kindly smile
Waves with a flourish that silver head cane
As belongs to Master Blyth
So he is off
Not down the hill but stepping out
Along the shoulder of the Valley
Heading up through Cinque Foil Piece
And Elchers Orchard
Going perhaps to Painswick or to Gloucester
Where his face be not so well knowd
From there no doubt to Oxford
That was the last I see of he
Moving easy flowing away
In that spruce hat and coat
Catch now in the dawn breeze
Cane waving the silver knob
Carvd with lines fine as spiders web
His hand moving up to hold the hat
Less the wind pull it away
Even now I have to say
Something in his movements
That wave of the cane steady of the hat
The long strides as though he cross the world
That would make you yearn for he
For though his brother twas
Had the gift or curse of the mesmerist
So he also had that power
That grips on the minds of others
Away away along the hill
Turning only once to wave a hand
Afore stepping on again
MOUNT VERNON
So that was all
Never did see him again
Not for forty stretchd years
Heard of him maybe once twice
Mr Blyth Cottrell gone off
To the West of Indies so they say
After the tragic death of scoundrel hero brother
A doctor and a fine gentleman he
Some say also he went so hurry
For twas he
Did shoot his brother
In some dispute ovr a sweetheart
Could it have been true
No No It never was so
He went to his brother that day in love
It were evr so
His godsend and his blight
See how the truth is twistd
Yet so it go on til that day I already tell
Five months ago now
In the spring
When I am stood there outside the Shambles
Someone throws a rotten turnip
Then there he is
Walking toward me
Just as though only a day has passd
He has come back that eve
Along the shoulder of the Valley
With his brothers hat and cane
Raise his hat to me
Just as he did that last day
Say Ah there you are again
Mary Ann Sate
I thought you were dead
And yet do you know me
I say straight
Course Sir how could I forget
Aye aye he say Yes
Mr Blyth Cottrell
You remember
When I hear that name
I do look at him long
Then I also do say that name
Which is not his name
For why do I do it
Because if you tell a story oft enough
So it become true
I had a few shillings in my pocket
Yet how many nights would that last
Afore I must sleep in the street
That is how it came to pass
I work for he again
Day on day I not think
Of the lie he told
Who can wonder Master Blyth
He find no rest
Tis not only my Master he haunts
But me also
Has done all these years
Wandering endlessly
The many chambers of my mind
My questions being many
How twas that he was namd
An unnatural man
When surely all that is creatd by God
Must be natural
He Me All
Also what crime did he evr commit
None That is the truth
Nettie saw it and I did not
Did seem always to be such a mystery
So long it has takd me to see
There was nothing to understand
Only goodness
Which does sometimes blind us
With its bright simplicity
He and I we might have been
Unitd in a brotherhood of oppression
But what I see is this
In this world we are all positiond
On a ladder with a thousand rungs
Each tries to edge off the ladder
Those who lie just below
Tis the tragedy of the human state
So when a gate is left open
I blame it on he
This the error into which
Our too feeble flesh
Do evr fall
We are told what we should see
So we see only what we are told
Our only prayer should evr be
Let me see with mine own eyes
They say that time will always shew
The truth of a situation
Yet tis not my idea
For me it seems
That passing time
Only shew that what seemd important
Is nothing at all
Time not bring the past into clearer sight
Instead just wipe all clean
Render all the struggles of the past
As naught
STOCTON HILL
So twas I left my home at Stocton Hill
Walkd away that same morning
Took with me that shilling piece
Scorch like guilt in my hand
Yet what choice do I have
For now I have need of all I can gather
My foot follow the same way as he did go
Heading maybe for Gloucester
I always heard tell of but never see
As I come up toward Elchers Orchard
I stand look back
Tis too bad for tears
How will I live without this place
Soon all will be rising
Nettie shouting vicious for me
Why I not get the range lit the water fetchd
Mr Harland Cottrell not in for breakfast early
Only lie there bent now
Yet still he gave me
The best of my life
The farm solid and growd into the hill
Its gables ruggd gainst the lightening skye
The barns huddle about and the gardens
Where grow I so many herbs tomatoes beans
But no no I cannot stay longer
So I on into the starting day
The hill hard and steep
Oh that wretchd day
On on I did walk
I dare not go down to the toll road
Or through the town of Painswick
Must keep to the fields at the back
I afeard of ruffians who may know my name
Mary Ann Sate the witch as did betray
Mr Ned Cottrell
On I go up and up
Still the way twist and turn
Few do come this path
Come I then to a place I know
Tis Freams Farm leading on down
Where is Sutton Mill
I have been sent some time in the past
