Before the Revolution

Spring 1919

Lytchett Matravers was all of a shockle. The Dorset village men were returning from the war. Well most were, by this time it was obvious that thirty-one had been lost. Later, their family would receive 'The Death Penny' and the names of the fallen would be etched on the War Memorial that would be erected on the corner of High Street and Lime Kiln Road. Some comfort for their loved ones, I suppose.

Others came back alive but they bore the scars of war, both physical and mental. Fortunately, what none of them returned with was the influenza. The village welcomed them with open arms. They expected to hear no more about their experiences than that the men would choose to share.

In addition to this roll call of the lost, the damaged, and the lucky, Lytchett gained one more war hero. Jack McMurray was staying at the Rose & Crown.

Within a few days of his arrival word spread about 'the Yank'. Initially, Jack had tried to explain that he was in fact Canadian. He soon discovered that it was easier to simply go along with it. In response to 'Why Lytchett Matravers?'. Jack consistently replied that there was a family tradition that his mother's people were from around there somewhere so he thought he would see some of the area before he went back to Ontario.

He never strayed far from the village. Jack was just happy to talk to the locals; in the pub or on the street. That way he soon found out who was who and what was what.

Without actually asking the direct question, he soon learned the life story of the Leader of the Parish Council, the village school master Mr Martin Hurley.

Mr Hurley was fifty-eight years old, had lived in Lytchett Matravers all of his life and was married to Agnes, a woman twenty years his junior. She was the village school mistress in charge of the younger children.

Jack made it his business to bump into Mr & Mrs Hurley as they walked home from their work one day.

"You have done a superb job, Lytchett Matravers is a beautiful place!" he remarked as the couple passed by.

Martin replied, "I beg your pardon?"

"You are Mr Hurley, the Council Leader, are you not?"

"Well yes, but I don't quite follow!"

Jack explained, "Well everyone agrees that everything that is grand about the place is all down to your dedication."

A little flummoxed by the unaccustomed flattery, Hurley pondered the man's motivation awhile before answering, "Thank you. You're American, aren't you?"

"Canadian, actually."

"Ah, I've heard that your countrymen are quite ingenuous and forthright," the schoolmaster said, believing that this could explain the unsolicited praise.

He went on, "Forgive me, this is my wife Agnes, Mr............"

"McMurray, Jack McMurray," replied Jack, shaking hands with both of them in turn.

The three walked along together while the Canadian recited, for the umpteenth time, his reasons for being in Dorset. He interspersed this with lavish compliments regarding the orderliness of the village along with remarks regarding the stunning beauty of Mrs Hurley's attire. Before the war the mid-calf skirt would have been considered shocking but now it had become fairly normal to have a little stocking showing. Martin wasn't entirely sure if Jack's forwardness was the result of his youth or because Mr McMurray was a colonial. Not wishing to appear old fashioned, he let it pass.

Eventually, they arrived at the Hurley's front door. Agnes tapped with her parasol handle and the maid opened it.

"It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance," said Martin Hurley.

Jack McMurray replied, "The pleasure has been all mine."

Agnes Hurley was about to step over the threshold when she turned back, and said, "You must come to dinner tomorrow evening, Mr McMurray."

"Yes, you must," added Mr Hurley, not entirely convinced that the man necessarily must.

"That would be tremendous, thank you," responded Jack.

As he made his way back to the Rose & Crown, the young man concluded to himself that things couldn't have gone much better.

..........................................

Charming! That was the only way to describe the effect that Jack McMurray had on the Hurleys. He seemed to strike up an instant rapport with Christian, the couple's seventeen year old son.

Jack had none of the reserve that they would have expected from English people. He wasn't rude but he appeared to be unaware of the subtle barriers that existed between the social classes. Or, that was the impression he gave.

Subsequently, Agnes Hurley felt able to laugh freely at his little anecdotes of life on an Ontario farm as well as tales from the General Staff of the Canadian Militia, Intelligence Branch (evidently Jack had been seconded to them because he spoke fluent German). At first her husband gave her a look of reproach but very soon he was laughing just as loudly as his wife and son.

When it was time for him to leave, Jack thanked them profusely and emphasised again how much he had enjoyed the meal.

After the two men had shaken hands, Mr Hurley momentarily turned his gaze away as Jack took Agnes' hand. The young man seized the opportunity to hold it longer than he should. The realisation that a liberty had been taken sent an illicit thrill through Mrs Hurley.

........................................

Another seemingly chance encounter provoked a luncheon invitation. Within a month it felt as if Jack McMurray was an old friend of the family. Cycling trips and picnics were interspersed with concerts in the Village Hall.

On each occasion the young man intensified his liberty-taking with Mrs Agnes Hurley. Mr Hurley appeared not to notice or not to care, or he may have just dismissed it as a cultural thing.

Agnes noticed and Agnes cared. The tension was a welcome contrast to Martin's indifference. Cultural or not, it made her heart flutter each time the boy from the Dominion overstepped the mark slightly. Dare I say it, not just her heart.

Jack watched, waited and picked his moment carefully. He saw Agnes return from a Saturday afternoon shopping trip. Leaving exactly five minutes, he knocked on the door. When she answered, the lady of the house had removed her jacket and straw boater but apart from that she was still in her street clothes.

"Oh! Jack, we weren't expecting you!" she said.

"Yes, I thought that I would just drop by on the off-chance. May I come in?"

"Certainly, but the maid has Saturday afternoons off, and Martin and Christian have gone fishing."

Without comment Jack put one foot on the doorstep as Agnes stepped to one side to allow him in. He made his way straight to the dining room, turned and stood with his back to the table.

As Mrs Hurley approached he opened his arms wide. She walked straight into them and he embraced her tenderly. She looked up at him, he bent down and the twenty-seven year old young man passionately kissed the thirty-eight year old married woman long and hard.

Firmly, Jack said, "Bend over the table. I am going to fuck you!"

"What?" said the shocked woman.

"I think you heard me perfectly well but I will tell you again. Bend over the table, I am going to fuck you."

Slowly, Agnes turned, placed her palms on the table top and then slid them forward until her enclosed bust rested on the polished surface. Hesitating slightly to heighten the effect, Jack reached down and grasped the hem of Agnes' fashionably narrow charcoal-grey skirt. He pulled it up over her waist. She stayed submissively still.

The young man did the same with the linen underskirt.

He was now presented with the delicious sight of Agnes' baggy closed drawers covering her round backside. Below them was three or four inches of bare skin above the garters that held her black stockings in place, just above her knee.

Jack was now faced with a problem. He took one step backwards and put his fingers to his chin before the solution struck him. His hand went up and over her corset to the pink tape on Agnes' left hip. He pulled upon it and her drawers dropped to the floor. She stepped out of them and spread her feet.

Her heart was pounding in anticipation as she heard Jack unbuckle his belt. Shortly, he put one hand on her waist as he used the other to guide the head of his penis into her vulva. Satisfied with his positioning, he pushed it home as she gasped.

Using both hands Jack pulled himself hard against her. He maintained this stance momentarily before he withdrew and then thrust forward again. Slowly, he began to pump in and out.

With a husky voice, Agnes said, "It's been so long. My husband hasn't shown me this much attention since Christian was born. God, you're so much bigger than him."

It was four or five thrusts before Jack declared loudly, "You have a son. In a few years he will be happy to fuck you!"

"You disgusting obnoxious boy!" cried Agnes as she pushed her bum back towards him hard.

"Don't say that you haven't thought about it!"

Agnes didn't reply as she pushed back with even more force.

Jack maintained a steady rhythm. He could sense the passion building in Agnes.

"Shall I fill you full of spunk?" he asked.

"Yes, yes!"

"Even though you might get knocked up?"

"Yes, yes, do it!"

"Beg!"

"What?" asked Agnes.

"Beg me to fill you full of spunk!"

"Yes, yes, I beg!"

"Say it!" commanded Jack.

"Please, I beg you to fill me full of....spunk!"

"And knock you up?"

"Yes, yes, please fill me with spunk and knock me up!" cried Agnes, so gripped with lust that she would be prepared to suffer any consequence.

Jack didn't answer her plea immediately, he just kept on ramming into her. It wasn't until he felt the lady quiver and shake and lose the use of her legs that he finally obliged her.

Leaving Agnes panting over the dining table, Jack reached down and picked up her drawers. As he bent, he could see his and her combined juices producing tiny bubbles as it leaked out of her. He used Agnes' underwear to wipe his penis. Jack lifted his trousers and buckled his belt before heading off to Martin Hurley's study. There he dropped a note on the desk for the cuckolded husband to find later.

It read, "I have fucked you wife as I said that I would and hopefully I have left a souvenir of my vistit. Yours sincerely, John Barnesfield."

Jack left the house, went to the churchyard and stood before his grandmother's grave for fifteen minutes before he left Lytchett Matravers forever.

..........................................

About 20 years before all of that.

John Barnesfield's life had not been easy. When he was seven, his mother ran off with a soldier who John had no reason to believe was his father. John was left in the care of his widowed grandmother just at a time when she didn't need to be saddled with a young grandson. The poor woman did her best.

John's father was probably still in Lytchett Matravers but nobody was certain who he was. His mother may have been able to draw up a shortlist but it wouldn't have been a very short shortlist. Consequently, everybody knew that John was a bastard and hardly a week went by without someone reminding him of this fact.

The boy was clever, he could read and write, was passable at arithmetic and could remember facts. What he wasn't was worldly wise and tended to see the best in people without questioning their motivation.

From all this, I wouldn't blame you if you thought that John was unhappy. But you would be incorrect, because he had two consolations in his life. Or three if you count his Grandmother.

Firstly, there was the Dorset countryside around Lytchett. At every opportunity, he would wander the footpaths and bridleways. Most of all John loved staring into the little streams and brooks to watch the way that they teamed with life. Stickleback, pondskaters and newts all delighted him.

The second was his school teacher, Mrs Hurley. She had been Miss Woodhall but, shortly after John started school, she married the schoolmaster Mr Hurley.

If you had asked him to describe an angel, 95% of it would have been Miss Woodhall. She had grace and kindness, intelligence and humour. Her blonde hair and radiant smile entranced young John. He loved to go to school simply for the joy of seeing her.

At the age of ten his world inverted. That was when he moved to 'Upper Standard' and the dictatorship of Mr Hurley. Less like his wife he couldn't have been.

Where she had taught by kindness and understanding, he taught by brutality. The cane replaced the smile. John hated him and he hated John. Mr Hurley knew his history and there was something in it that upset the man intensely. Now school was a torment. The boy only dragged himself there each day because he got the occasional glimpse of Mrs Hurley.

The school day consisted of two sessions punctuated by lunch. Each day Johnny ran home where Gramm'er had bread and dripping waiting for him with a glass of milk. Both morning and afternoon sessions had a fifteen minute break in them, universally called 'playtime'. The children were turned out into the school playground regardless of the weather. There they were allowed to play, fight and bully to their hearts content until the watching teacher clanged a handbell to recall them.

John loved morning playtime because that was always supervised by Mrs Hurley. Usually, he would just sit with his back to a small tree and watch her.

"You loves 'er, don't 'e?" came a voice from behind as he sat there one morning.

"E do, 'e really do!" said another. John's heart sank, it was Edward and Saul Gibbons, older twin boys. John remained silent.

"You Bastard, we're goana make you tell 'er," said Edward.

Saul laughed, "That's right, if you don't we're goana tell Mr Hurley that it was you that pissed on the coke stove last winter and made the classroom stink.

"Go on up to her and say 'I'm goana fuck you one day', go on!"

"What does that mean?" asked John, confused.

Edward kept a straight face as he said, "It's just an ole fashioned way of saying that you will really like someone forever. Knights used to say it to fine ladies. 'Er was always banging on about Knights and Shivering and all that, so er'll like it.

"Go on! If you don't, Ole Hurley will beat the skin off you. He hates you 'cause you're a bastard; as do we all."

The two bullies dragged John to his feet and pushed him towards the school house.

"Go on," hissed Saul, "you knows what you'm has to say."

Very reluctantly John walked forward. He knew that Mr Hurley would welcome any opportunity to beat him. And he was certain that the Gibbons boys would carry out their threat.

He looked back. The twins urged him on with clenched fists.

When he reached Mrs Hurley, she bent forward to say, "Hello John, it's nice to see you. What do you want?"

John mumbled, "Please Miss. I'm going to fuck you one day."

"Sorry, you will have to speak up. Don't be shy"

He raised his voice slightly, "I'm going to fuck you one day, Miss."

"Oh, You disgusting obnoxious boy!" cried the female teacher.

She went bright red before adding, "Get out of my sight, I never want to see you again, ever."

John turned and ran to the far side of the playground. He could see the Gibbons twins clutching the tree in fits of laughter. And then, to his horror, Mr Hurley emerged from the school building and approached his wife.

"Why are you so flushed, my dear?"

"Oh, it's nothing really."

"But it is something, you wouldn't be that colour over nothing. I must insist that you tell me. You are too soft on bad behaviour," he said sternly.

"It was just something that John Barnesfield said to me."

"Barnesfield, what did that b.....lighter say?"

"I couldn't say it out loud," she said, her colour increasing.

Annoyed now, her husband said, "Well whisper it to me! Enough of this shilly shallying."

John saw the schoolmaster stoop. He saw the schoolmistress put her mouth to his ear. By the time that Mr Hurley's face went black with rage John was clambering over the school gate. He was far up the Huntick Road, where the village meets the fields, before he stopped running.

.................................

At some point we all have to face the inevitable. John went home. He never thought that Mr Hurley would be there. Once John came face to face with him, he expected the man to be wild. He wasn't, he was calm, very calm. Almost too calm.

"Oh Johnny, Mr Hurley says that you have been very wicked," said Gramm'er Barnesfield.

John tried to explain, "But I didn't know................"

"That's alright, I understand that you didn't act alone," said Hurley, cutting him short.

"I have canned the Gibbons but I won't punish you," he added.

Gramm'er joined in the explanation, "Mr Hurley says that it's not fair to expect an old woman like me to bring you up alone so he has kindly arranged for you to go somewhere to learn a trade. Isn't that lovely?"

John wasn't sure it was lovely. "I'm not sure that I want................."

"It's that or prison for you if you don't," explained Mr Hurley, retaining his calm demeanour.

John knew that people went to prison but he wasn't sure how minor an offence demanded it. He said nothing.

"So, we are in agreement, then? You just have to sign the papers, Mrs Barnesfield." concluded Mr Hurley.

..........................................

The label pinned to his coat read 'Church of England Waifs and Strays Society - Southampton Docks'.

John had seen steam trains hissing and puffing across the Dorset countryside before. He even hoped that one day he would get to ride on one. Now, as he sat in a Third Class carriage his apprehension was mixed with excitement. The greenness flashed past interspersed with stops at towns and villages he'd never heard of.

Eventually, the train could go no further. The engine slowed, stopped and released a great cloud of steam.

"Southampton Town and Docks", shouted a very loud man as he walked past each carriage, flinging open the doors.

A elderly lady, who was holding a small cage which contained a live chicken, rose from the seat opposite John, and said, "You have to get off here, boy!"

As he alighted there was hustle and bustle everywhere. John had never seen so many people in one place before. He stood trying to make some sense of it when a chubby young woman rushed at the boy.

"Dorchester?" she barked at him.

John looked puzzled.

She barked again, "Dorchester! Have you come from Dorchester?"

"Yes," answered John.

"You shouldn't be here. You should be over there. See that lady holding an umbrella aloft? Go and stand with that group."

There was a gaggle of children, mostly boys but some girls, surrounding a matronly woman dressed in black. Every one of them had a label pinned to their coat. I say 'their coat' but some of the garments didn't look as if they would fully belong to the occupants for some years.

Dodging the scurrying people, John made his way to the old lady.

"Lady!" he called to her.

She frowned at him and asked, "Name?"

"John Barnesfield."

She studied the paper which was clipped to a board. "Right," she said, "don't you try any of your evil ways with me. I know all about you." She ripped off his label and then used the pin to attach a new one.

"Don't move. We are only waiting for two more," she commanded, as she raised her umbrella once more. It was then that John realised that some of the other patient waiters were sobbing.

It wasn't long before all of the children were ushered into a single file with both hands on the shoulders of the one in front. With the umbrella lady at the front and the chubby one bringing up the rear, they were marched out of the station, across the road and through the Dock Gate. They were allowed to hold the handrails as the children made their way up the gangplank of a waiting ship.