27th May; Campfires

The Pioneer rumbled a laugh. "Would ye be wantin' to admit to et, yer own self, laddie?"

"Ah'd admit i'," Davy answered. "Tha's respectable."

Kerr laughed outright, while Braggins simply flushed red.

"Well, i' is!" Davy protested. "Ye'd nivvor haad it agyen a lad?" Handling nightsoil, or - well, other things, that could be done. It wasn't something to be despised. "Is't honest wark."

"Oh aye, so it is," Kerr said. "But on'y fre lads with foul natures like Braggins yon. Takes a 'ticular sorta fella to earn his keep sweepin' crap alla time."

Braggins' face was, by now, the same colour as his jacket.

"Ah divvent think tha's fair," Davy scowled defensively. People did what they had to do, didn't they? "Any road he's ne more owt sich."

"That's so, I ain't," the grenadier said finally, mastering his embarrassed indignation. "Army's a far sight cleaner'n Leicester, that's sure!"

" 'Cept fre ye're still cleanin' up after lads," Kerr wheezed, still finding the whole conversation no end of funny.

"De ye miss hame?" Davy asked both of them, turning the subject slightly. "Get te thinkin' i' the neet an' aa', o' them ye left ahint?"

Home. Both redcoats were silent for a few seconds, each thinking on his own answer.

"Don't much 'member home," Kerr replied thoughtfully. "Been... a few year since I was 'round in the mairches, last."

Braggins prodded at the fire with his shoe and shrugged. "Hard to miss anythin' of Fox Lane."

"Ye divvent hev fowk there?" Davy inquired. "Hoo lang hev it been fer ye, Jonny?"

Braggins shook his head. "None needs mentionin', anyways."

For his part, Kerr was less dismissive. "Oh it's... near to ten years since I were last in Roxburgh. Or somm't like that."

Davy lapsed into silence for a little while, looking into the fire, then asked, a little more quietly than before, "When aa' this is ower, what ye's gan te de?"

That was a good question. Kerr and Braggins glanced at each other, and Kerr shrugged.

"Go home, most like," Braggins replied. "Back to England, anyway. Find a trade or somethin'."

"Back to sheep-herdin'," Kerr said wistfully.

Davy was lost in thought for a moment, thinking about Newcastle - and wondering whether he really wanted to go back there. It was home, it was familiar, and yet...

"Nivvor thowt on gannin' somewheres new?" he asked.

"Where else's there to go?" Kerr enquired with a shrug. "We been to plenty of 'somewheres new', anyways."

"Ah divvent knaa," Davy said slowly. "Somewheor leik Canada, mevvies? They says a man can mek a bonny thin' o' it, Canada."

Canada. That was an idea, sure.

"Mebbe," Braggins allowed. "I knowed a couple lads what've been posted there. They say it's all right."

"Ah'd leik te oon summat o' mine," Davy said, ruminative. "Land, ye knaas. Tha'd be areet."

"Wha's it leik where ye came frem?" he asked both of them after a moment.

"Get ye a lass," Kerr teased, "an' that'll be yer land."

Braggins rolled his eyes. "Back home, it was alleys and stinkin' streets. Nothin' to make a lad wanna go back to, sure."

"The mairches... rocks an' fields an' sheep. Plenny of space fre a lad to stretch his legs, like."

Davy flushed slightly, and rolled his eyes. "Divvent want a one!" he exclaimed, in tones of disgust. "Ah's nivvor gettin' married, nivvor." He scowled darkly, as if Kerr was about to drag him and some girl off to the altar at once. "Mevvies if she's real bonny," he amended finally. After all, it wouldn't be too fun to have to cook and clean for himself for the rest of his life. He wouldn't have Lucy around forever.

"That's half the trick." Braggins lounged back on his elbows. "Other half's bein' sure she's tolerable in her temper."

"Aye," Kerr agreed. "Norra bit of use of her bein' bonny if she's meaner'n a bull."

"An' she's got te be a canny hand aboot hor wark," Davy added. "Cookin', an' cleanin', an aa'." It was his business, of course, to provide for a household, but he'd not find a lass that made him help take care of it as well. Not a chance! "An Ah divvent ken there's a lass i' the warld as will be aa' o' them."

The two men nodded. "Aye," Braggins agreed. "Good luck t'you findin' that sorta lass, sure."

"There's some what come close," Kerr observed.

"Ah've nivvor seen one yet. Except fer wor mam," Davy amended, after a moment. He was proud of how steady his voice was when he talked about her, now. Mam could have done anything - Lucy's cooking didn't touch hers, and Mam knew exactly how to talk to you when things were wrong and fix them again, or at least make it seem as if they weren't so bad after all. His expression wavered for a moment, beginning to crumple, but then he firmed his mouth, determined not to let either of these two think he might be a cry-baby.

"Mams." Kerr scratched at his ear thoughtfully. "Mams're different. They ain't meant to be nothin' 'cept perfect."