BooksBarbecue
Back Sow the Seed
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Margaret Dickinson
  3. Dedication page
  4. Contents
  5. Part One
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Eleven
  17. Twelve
  18. Thirteen
  19. Fourteen
  20. Fifteen
  21. Sixteen
  22. Part Two
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-Three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. Thirty-Nine
  46. Forty
  47. Forty-One
  48. Forty-Two
  49. Sow the Seed
  50. Note
  51. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  52. Copyright page

Isobel returned from town with her hair beautifully styled and shining golden. She really was quite a pretty girl, Kate thought charitably, except for a sulky pout to her mouth and a way of holding her head as if she were looking down her nose at everything and everyone. And her cold blue eyes missed nothing.

That evening Kate tiptoed into the bathroom carrying her towel, a huge bar of carbolic soap and a flannel. There was a line of six wash-basins along one wall and two baths in separate cubicles. Sighing with relief, she realized she had the bathroom to herself. She moved into one of the cubicles and looked at the huge cast-iron bath standing on clawed feet and fitted with brass-coloured taps. She’d never seen anything like this before; it was very different from bath-night on a Friday night at home when her mother banished her stepfather from the kitchen and tugged the zinc bath in front of the range, drawing water from the side boiler. Kate and her mother would wash each other’s hair before the girl stepped into the bath. Esther, her own hair wrapped in a towel, would pour more hot water into the tub so that it swirled around Kate, warming her. Then she would kneel and soap her daughter’s back, talking to her about school or the farm.

Sitting in front of the kitchen range, in the rosy glow of the firelight, had been warm and intimate. It was a time Kate had cherished; a time when she had her mother to herself – even after Lilian had been born.

But this bathroom was so cold that Kate shivered. The floor was bare stone, the walls painted a dull green with only a line of patterned tiles running round the wall just above the bath. Somewhere above her, pipes gurgled noisily as the hot water was pumped up from the boiler in the cellar. She washed her hair in one of the basins first and wound it up in her towel, turban-fashion, on top of her head. Then she moved into one of the cubicles. The bath was so huge that Kate thought if she filled it too full and slipped when climbing in over the high side, she might well drown in it and no one would know.

The bathroom door opened and Isobel looked in. ‘Oh, sorry . . .’ she began, then, recognizing Kate, added, ‘Oh, it’s you. What’s the matter? Never seen a bath before? You fill it with water, get in and wash your dirty self all over!’

Kate turned her back on the girl and learned over the side of the bath. With nervous fingers she twisted the top of the huge tap and jumped when water gushed out suddenly. She heard Isobel laughing as she went into the next cubicle and ran her own bath.