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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1636043-The-Blacksmiths-Boy
Rated: E · Short Story · Children's · #1636043
This won first prize in the Oxford Literary Festival young writers story contest in 2004.
The Blacksmith's Boy

"It was mid winter in 1905, and the trees were gently

rustlin' in the chill night air. And as a result, everythin' was

peaceful. Everythin' was peaceful, 'cept for the distinct sound of

ringin' metal comin' from the blacksmith's workshop.

"In this workshop there lived a man named Blacksmith Bob. Nobody knew

his name, so that was what they called him. He was an aging man with

streaks of grey runnin' down his dry brown hair.

"The blacksmith's workshop was located just there across the street.

But all that lay there now are a few chunks of metal and a battered old

litter bin. It was a few doors down from the Farmer's Inn. But they're

all gone now, nothin' left 'cept memories." I pause.

" 'Tell us more grandfather!' Cries Jenny, her eyes glossy with

excitement and enthusiasm. My eyes water a little, but I do me best not

to disappoint 'em, even if Tom is a bit too young to understand.

"Now this smithy did not live alone. He had a son. His name was Jack,

a good lad. He was loyal and reliable, and his father would trust him

with his life. He had blonde curls that bounced off his shoulders, and

bright sparkling green eyes.

"Day and night, night and day, they would work happily alongside each

other, never being apart for more than an hour. But one day, everythin'

was going to change.

*

" 'I'm just popping across the road to the butcher's. Would you like

anything?' His son asked one mild morning,

" 'Just get a pound of beef joint and a pound of tongue.' His father

replied from behind his workshop door. He hardly ever came out, you

see. Never sticking as much as a toe out the front door.

"So Jack shut the battered old door behind him and made his way across

the road to the butcher's.

" 'A pound of beef joint and a pound of tongue please Sam.' He told

Sam as soon as he was facing the stall. Sam was a jolly old man with a

bloody apron who manned the meat stall.

" 'Certainly Jack. How are you this cool morning?' Sam asked politely,

'And how's the old man?'

" 'Very well thank you. Father's doing fine. You know how he is

though, he really should get some fresh air. That will be all Sam.' So

off he walked, back to the tattered place he called home.

" 'Father, I'm home.' Jack called out as soon as he had closed the

door to his house. There was no reply.

" 'I had a chat with Sam, you know. He's glad that you're well.' Still

no answer.

"After a few minutes' wait, he began to hear some groaning noises,

like a wounded animal. Then he heard quiet sobs, and then a cry of

pain. They were all coming from the room to his right. His father's

workshop.

"Without another moment's thought, he threw open the door and ran to

the huddled figure of his father. Cuddling him close, he tried to

examine his father to see what was wrong. At first he could see

nothing: because his father was on the floor, he was studying his legs

to see if they were damaged. But then after a while, he looked down to

his father's face. There were tears streaming down his crumpled cheeks

and Jack suddenly felt a rush of love towards his poor father.

"While Jack held his father, tears now spilling down his cheeks, he

realised what was wrong. After watching with realisation as his father

felt around for his son's face, Jack could determine only one thing:

his father could no longer see."

*

"After his father's accident, Jack began to feel more protective of

the blacksmith. He would only go out if he had to, for he needed to get

his father's work done as well as his own. He also rubbed ointment on

to his father's sore eyes, even if the pharmacy's medicine cost him all

he had.

"After several weeks of this care and devotion towards the smithy,

Jack realised what he must do: he must find a new job, for this

blacksmith's work would not be able to keep them alive for long. So the

very next day, Jack confronted his father about what he was to

do,

" 'But Jack my boy, our family have been smithies for generations. My

father was a blacksmith, and his father before him, and even his father

I reckon. If you give it up now, you'll disgrace the family honour. We

have to respect our ancestors.' His father replied firmly, 'don't give

in now, son. It will only cause disappointment.'

" 'But father, yesterday we couldn't even afford to buy milk. I need

another job so that we may live a little longer. I want you to live for

as long as possible. I love you, father.'

"His father said nothing, but Jack knew what he was thinking. Jack

kissed his father's head and slowly walked back out the workshop

door."

*

"It took several months to find work, even in such a small village.

This meant he carried on his trade in the workshop for a while longer.

This seemed to please his father. After a long period of searching and

searching Jack finally found an ideal job that paid well. He must move

further into the village where he was to become a groom at Greystone

Manor. He had had some experience with horses so it would be an ideal

occupation, or so he thought.

"The very next day Jack aproached his father about his new job,

" 'So you see father, a blacksmith's job cannot be carried on unless

there is another man to help. And after your accident, you cannot be

that other man.' He paused, but then carried on as normal, 'So I have

been looking for work, as you know, and I have?um?well, I?I've found

somewhere. But there is a problem, you see. To be able to proceed to

actually begin this new job, I have to move away. I would be able to

see you on Sundays and we could go and have a beer together. I would

give you all my wages and we could buy you a walking stick to get

around. How about that?'

"His father just sat there, silently, not saying a word, his mouth

slightly open. After a few minutes he seemed to twitch slightly and

after several more minutes he opened his lips and said three distinct

words: 'what about me?'

" 'Oh, father. I'm so sorry. But there are only spaces in the stables

for those that are to work there. You will have to stay here.' Jack

said guiltily.

" 'But how will I get around? I can't survive without you, son. I need

you here, with me.'

" 'But father we need the wages. This blacksmith's work won't pay.

Don't worry, when we get you that walking stick you'll be able to get

around. And like I said, I'll see you every Sunday. That's a

promise.'

" 'Do you really promise, son? You know I need you. So come here on

Sundays and we'll go down the pub for a pint. Is that a deal?'

" 'You always told me life was like a long journey. I have taken my

path, and my plan is to stay to it, so shall we face this journey

together?'

"His father said no words, but his feelings came spilling out of his

eyes, like tears upon a young child's face.

"And with that, the blacksmith's son slowly walked out of the

workshop, leaving the late afternoon sun to stream across his father's

aging face.

THE END?
© Copyright 2010 Hetty Kitson (imogen_cr at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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