The Courage of a Child

The Courage of a Child

The day passes into night; the night into day and I am not sure how much time has passed but I know it is going by. There are no clocks in the workhouse; the time is determined by my overseer and the Master of the mill.

My life changed for darkness since the day that I was brought to the Cortabald’s workhouse and has grown increasingly dim ever since.

We work from morning to late into the night; I am only worth as much as I produce to the overseer.

I work as a piecer in for the workhouse and I was privileged to get this job because I am older than many of the girls.

I am sure my mum didn’t know what she was doing the day she sent me here so I could help our family live; she couldn’t have known that I would have signed my young life away when I marked the "X" on the paper and took the shilling into my hand. It seemed a harmless act to get a shilling; I never knew what had taken place.

Since that day, I often dream of speaking to the rest of the group to organize a small revolt, but I am fearful of the repercussions if I were to be caught. Our overseer, his name is Thomas Pithy and he is like the devil in human form. I didn’t know this when I first arrived at the workhouse, but he soon revealed his true likeness to me when I slowed down a machine that I was supposed to re-thread.


He came up from behind as I could not hear for the loud machine sounds. So loud is the whirring and cranking of the threaders that we would seem to hear them in our sleep.

"Bethany! What is it that is taking you so long with the thread?”
I told him, “I am hurrying along as fast as my hands will let me, Mr. Pithy, but I have been working without a break for some time now!”

I couldn’t resist letting him know that I didn’t appreciate the long span of work with no stopping time allowed. My papa always used to say that my high spirited ways would get me in trouble at some point.

I guess I had reached that point in my life.

All I remember hearing is a sound from him, a low utterance from his throat, as he grabbed me by my apron straps and pulled me around and held my face between his rough hands.

“Now there will be no back talk here, missy! Do you understand me?” he hissed, his breath smelling of old garlic and vinegar that blew hotly on my cheeks.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was from his breath or his hands clamping on my jaw. It felt as if it would seal forever so painful was his hold on my face.

“I...I understand!” I mumbled the fear of this man embedded into my thoughts.

“Now, move on and get this machine re-threaded!” he shouted. From that point on, I wished for an escape, death would have been a relief; at least I would be with my papa and not here.
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More work....stay productive…no speaking were the only ideals that Master of the workhouse believed. This was engrained in the thoughts of all of his overseers. They religiously patrolled the floor and were sure to paddle anyone that they caught speaking on any subject while working.

I just wanted to escape. I knew it was a foolish thought and I was sure the good Lord was not pleased with my feeling this way, but it was just that they worked us so hard. I grew tired, unable to maintain my strength so long were my days. Since I knew no one in the workhouse save for my bedmate, Polly, I told her of my thoughts on leaving the Cortbald workhouse.

We talked almost silenty, in hushed tones during the night watches. She shivered slightly as if caught by a lone chill.

“What’s wrong, love?” I asked her, not wanting to upset my only confidant.

“Oh, it’s just that you’ll get yourself tortured, that’s all! Do you not remember Mr. Pithy? What he said he would do to anyone who tried to escape? He’ll scalp you! You can’t try to do this!”

Yes, I did remember him telling us all this. He carried a blade with him in a sheath in his hip pocket and during a reprimand session, he had grabbed an unsuspecting child by the name of Jessie by her hair. He held her tightly to himself and gesturing with the blade told us all, “If ANY one of you tries to get out of here…for ANY reason, I will cut your hair so low they all will be sure to think you are a boy!” Jessie just stood there with her legs shaking. We all felt badly for her.

Yes, I did know what might befall me if I failed but I was sure that I would prevail in the end.
“But, Polly, I can’t survive this anymore! I whispered frantically.” “My legs ache; my back feels out of place. The next time that they forget to lock the door, I’m going to try to make it!”

My friend’s eyes turned dark as she looked at me. “I can’t let you do this", she said firmly. "I know it is hard but it is our lot in life. Mr. Cortabald has said that this is his nursery. If we stay on here, we will grow into respectable women, all set for a humble way of life. See? It will be a good thing!”

Polly was a year or so older than me and was concerned about womanhood. I just wanted to be a kid and not work so hard all of the time. No, my mind was made up, but I'd have to continue on without further discussion.

“Ok, Polly", I told my friend, "you win!" "No more talk of leaving!”

We settled down for a few hours rest as I plotted my escape plan.


Today seemed as uneventful as it usually was except that when I went past the door that led to the workroom of the mill. It had been left ajar and eyed it with expectant eyes.

I turned around in the workroom. The overseer was no where to be seen; I knew it must be my chance…maybe even all of our chances to leave!

I ran up to Polly’s work area beaming brightly.

“Polly!” I mouthed excitedly. “The door is unlocked! Let’s go! Let’s see if everyone will go!”

Polly shook her head sadly at me. “No.” she said. “I cannot go with you.”

I ran up to Heloise and Eunicethere, who looked at me wonderingly since I was not at my workstation.

“The door’s open! We can leave…come on. Let us leave!” Not one child would go with me.

And the door was still ajar.

I had made my decision. “Then, I will go", I said with courage. "Even if no one goes with me, I will leave!”


I headed for the door and slipped out into evening sun. Ah! It felt so good. The air was clear and I could feel my lungs hurriedly drawing it inside of me.

I felt so free. I knew I would make it.

But then, I didn’t count on being ratted out to the overseer.

I am not sure what hurt the most. Losing my hair or the betrayal of my only friend during one of the most difficult times of my life.

If only papa were still here. Papa, I sure do miss you.