Extract from chapter 7
1772 : Monk Sherborne
A huge black cloud hung over the rectory in the form of afflicted young George, who was soon to depart for his new home with the Cullums in Monk Sherborne.
Photo: Tredegar House Country Park, Newport, Wales.
Mrs Cullum had been all kindness and help since receiving Mrs Austen’s first letter and the two women had kept up correspondence. Little by little, Mrs Austen had been convinced that it was the right thing to do, to put her troubled child under the care of this more experienced woman. After indulging herself to keep him at Steventon for his sixth birthday, his departure beckoned at the end of August. All his clothes and possessions were sent onwards by cart, but Mrs Austen wanted to walk there, hand in hand with her boy, for one last time.
They left the house quietly after breakfast, carrying a basket of strawberries and a selection of George’s favourite treats. To passers-by they looked like any other mother and son going about their daily visits and Mrs Austen maintained this pretence the whole way there. “Look at how plump those damsons are,” she pointed out as they passed by a row of fruit trees. Then a little further on, “Let us sit here a while and take some refreshment.”
No amount of dawdling and distraction, however, could prevent the inevitable and it was obvious that George was ready for a nice long rest when they reached the Cullum’s farm.
Photo: Brockhampton Manor House, Herefordshire.
Photo: Brockhampton Manor House, Herefordshire.
Mrs Cullum was there to greet them, simply and without fuss as if they came by every day. She took them straight to George’s room on the first floor, which was across the landing from the room where Mrs Austen’s brother, Thomas, had lived all these years. He paid them no attention when they walked past.
Mrs Austen could see instantly that her brother was secure, recognising that whoever came and went through the house meant him no harm. He sat humming to himself, gazing cheerfully out of the window, with a small picture book of birds on his bedside table and a cup and ball laid down neatly beside it. He looked so reassuringly happy that Mrs Austen was engulfed by a wave of confusing emotion which she could not label. Whatever it was, it made her heart giddy and her eyes sting.
Photo: Brockhampton Manor House, Herefordshire.
Photo: Jane Austen Centre, Bath.
Young George’s room was a duplicate of the other, with a similar picture book and cup and ball on the bedside table. It was silent and calm and George sat down to test the bed. ‘So much space,’ he seemed to say mutely, looking around in astonishment.
He had been used to sharing a room with his brother in the rectory, where the noise of his companions had always been his biggest source of frustration. Immediately, he was drawn to the large window, which was all his own, and he smiled at a cockerel chasing a hen. The sun shone down on the water butt, making it sparkle and shine, and its reflection made dancing patterns along the wall.
Photo: Godmersham Park, Kent
Photo: 1 Royal Crescent Museum, Bath
After a minute, Mrs Austen placed her hand gently upon her son’s shoulder. She told him softly that she was going downstairs, but he did not even turn around, so fascinated was he by his new sanctuary.
It was probably best he hadn’t looked, realised Mrs Austen as she made her way down the wooden stairs clinging on to the rail. No matter how much she had been desperate to look upon George’s face for one last time, he would never have understood the pain he would see in her eyes, nor the tears that streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks.
Mrs Cullum led her to the bright farmhouse kitchen and offered sweet tea and cake to energise her. Mrs Austen was grateful for how easy this woman was trying to make the whole sorry experience; she was a kind and generous soul, as well as a soundly capable woman. She promised repeatedly that she would send word should George become distressed, but even more forcefully she assured Mrs Austen that she was certain he would not.
Photo: 1 Royal Crescent Museum, Bath
Photo: Jane Austen's House, Chawton, Hampshire.
It would be better, the new guardian asserted, that Mrs Austen did not return to see her son again. It would only confuse him, she explained in the kindest possible way, knowing that he would soon forget her naturally and that would be for the best.
Before the women parted, Mrs Cullum promised faithfully that she would make the boy happy and, after seeing her brother looking so well, Mrs Austen could not dispute that this would surely be true.
When she arrived back at the rectory that evening, with sore feet and a throbbing head, Mrs Austen was extremely fractious. She instantly picked a fight with her husband when he asked after George; she scolded the cook for burning the chops and she smacked Jemmy about the head when he carelessly spilt some cream on the tablecloth. As if that were not enough, she broke the handle of the cream jug when she insisted on clearing up the mess herself.
Photo: Jane Austen's House Museum, Chawton, Hampshire
Photo: HMS Victory, Portsmouth Historic Docks, Portsmouth.
Everyone in the house gave her a wide berth, instinctively understanding what was wrong, but nothing could give her consolation. The only task she found she could submit to, was to write a letter to Susannah:
‘He was not in the slightest bit upset. In fact, I think he was enjoying being there as far as I could tell. His room was peaceful and spacious, and he was watching the chickens in the yard when I left. He did not concern himself at all that I was going, and Mrs Cullum was very kind.’
She sobbed hysterically as she wrote the words, her quill flowing absently around the wicked thoughts that troubled every breath. Nothing could describe adequately the shame and guilt she felt about what she had done that day. How would she ever be able to forgive herself?
Copyright Diane Jane Ball 2022