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Farmer Biggles glanced over his field of parsnips – not without a certain pride – and settled himself comfortably on the top of the old stone wall beside the road. The day was dry, so it was not unpleasant to sit out here. This time of year, there wasn’t quite so much to do around the farm, and now that the pigs had been fed the farmer had a little time to sit down and watch the world go by.
He took out a torn glove from his pocket, along with an awl, needle, and strong thread, and began to repair the leather. No use in sitting completely idle. His dear mother still did a great deal of sewing and mending for both of them, but she was too old now for tougher jobs like this. Once upon a time she had been quite a good seamstress, and she liked to tell the story of how in her youth she’d run away from home hoping to make her fortune with her needle.
Of course, Biggles mused, if she’d managed to do that, he might never have been born. After his mother travelled all the way from Ireland, the only work she could find was – well, in a house of ill repute. (She preferred not to discuss the details of her time there, for which Biggles was grateful.) Then came the part of the story that he’d always found most wonderful, though people round these parts never quite believed it when he told them. The King himself visited the place and took a fancy to her! Unfortunately there was no fairy-tale ending, as the King already had a Queen. Nevertheless, Biggles’ mother swore that the King was his father, and the father of his older brother Bittles too. Bittles even managed to secure a place at Court when he was old enough - though only as the King’s trusted manservant, not as his acknowledged son.
Lost in thought while sewing, Biggles accidentally jabbed the needle into his thumb, which made him jump and curse. He rubbed the sore spot and glanced around to see if anyone had heard him, but there was no-one in sight.
The pain reminded him of the next part of the story his mother had told him when he was growing up – the saddest part. He had never met his brother Bittles, or his royal father. After Bittles’ painful death (which, their mother claimed, was the dramatic end he’d always wanted), the King was so heartbroken that he himself died not long after. The widowed Queen had borne a son, and would rule until this prince came of age, so there was no great upheaval at the King’s death – or not that most common folk would notice. A special message came for Biggles’ mother, though, which she always said must have been a last-minute request made by the King before he died. She was given this lovely bit of land out here in the countryside, and some money besides, so she could leave her unsavoury occupation at last.
Biggles had been born around that time, so he had grown up in this ordinary village. His life was much quieter than his late brother’s had been - and he liked it that way.
His mind wandered back to the present as he finished his mending and put away the needle, awl, and thread. Just at that moment he became aware of a cheery, tuneful whistling and caught sight of an approaching figure on the road.
Although the farmer knew all of his neighbours by sight, and strangers were rare here, the young man walking down the road looked unfamiliar. This was interesting! Having someone new to talk to would really make this a special day. Biggles sat up straight and called out in a friendly manner: “Good day to you, lad!”
The lad stopped whistling and his bright face broke into a smile as he began to walk towards the stone wall where Biggles sat. “Good day to you, farmer!” he replied in a boyish voice.
“Who might you be, and where are you going all alone?” asked Biggles as the young stranger approached, trying not to sound as though he cared too much. He simply wanted to be sure this boy wasn’t here to stir up trouble.
“My name is.. Bob, and I’m going to the city to enlist in the army. I’m going to be a soldier!” announced the boy. Biggles noticed a slight pause before “Bob” as if the name had required some thought.
“Are you now? Do you think they’ll take a lad as young as you?” he asked.
Biggles prided himself on how well he could recognise all the people of the village who stopped to talk to him as they walked along the road, and he was beginning to think that there was something familiar about this boy after all.
“Why yes,” said Bob earnestly. “Boys can be messengers or they can be drummers. I want to be a drummer, that’s why I’m going. Here, I’ll show you – ” Bob picked up two sticks out of the ditch and began beating a rhythm on the top of the stone wall near where Biggles was sitting. His drumming looked quite masterful to Biggles, who knew nothing of such things.
Bob paused just long enough to blurt out happily “I’ve even made up a song about it!” and then resumed drumming on the wall, lifting his unbroken voice to accompany the clattering of the sticks in his slender fingers:
“I’m going to be a soldier in a uniform quite new,
And if they’ll let me have a drum, I’ll be a drummer too,
I’ll march onto the battlefield with broadsword in my hand,
To hear the cannons rattle and the music sound so grand.”
Biggles began to laugh, and Bob stopped singing and drumming. The boy put down his sticks and hopped up onto the wall to sit beside the farmer. “Don’t you like my song?” he asked.
“It’s a pretty song, to be sure” replied Biggles, once he had collected himself, “but how do you expect to play the drum if you have a broadsword in your hand?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that” said Bob, suddenly looking slightly lost for the first time since Biggles had spotted him. “I just thought it sounded splendid. Perhaps the man next to me will have two swords, to make up for it?”
“I dare say he won't. If you join the army, you'll find it's not all glorious marching and drumming” warned Biggles. “You might very well go off to battle and never come home again.” This lad’s idealism might be his undoing if he didn’t know what he was in for. Biggles hadn’t been a soldier himself, but he had heard things from those who had, whereas Bob was clearly young and seemed quite innocent.
Bob's face was suddenly serious as he responded “Oh, I know what might happen. My Papa was a captain in the army, and he died heroically in a great battle, or so my Mama told me. Mama wants me to get work as... as a servant, but if I become a soldier, I’ll get much better pay and then I’ll send some money home to her.”
This last thought seemed to cheer Bob up, and his face brightened again. “Besides, whatever happens to me, it shall be glorious to serve my country” he added.
“Oh, don’t be too quick to blindly rush to battle for your country,” Biggles advised cynically. “Is that really what your heart wants?” He was no longer simply offering advice to the yellow-haired boy sitting beside him – he was preparing to test his suspicions about the boy’s true identity. Carefully watching for Bob’s reaction, he launched into a story.
“Let me tell you something, lad. My grandfather – my mother’s father, that is – lived in Ireland, in Kerry, and he’d never have thought to go anywhere else. He was so proud of his country that he hated the thought of any Englishmen setting foot there, so do you know what he used to do? He used to sit by the road, just like I’m sitting here now, and whenever some pompous-looking Englishman came along and asked him for directions - why, he’d give them such directions as would send them into the sea, if they didn't get lost along the way! He'd never see them again.” Biggles paused to chuckle at his own story. It was true, as far as he’d been told.
He went on: “Now if my mother had loved her country above all else she’d never have left, but when she was young she wanted to adventure and seek her fortune, so she disobeyed her father and came to England. And things worked out all right for her, you see - she’s living here happily, and she’s got me, and the farm and all. So don’t forget to follow your heart.”
Bob had been smiling at the first part of Biggles’ story, but now he piped up skeptically: “That’s all very nice, but begging your pardon and your mother’s, I thought she had some great difficulties and sorrows before things ended up all right.”
No sooner were the words out than Bob belatedly clapped a hand over his mouth. Biggles was laughing again in a good-natured teasing way and wagging his finger at Bob.
“I did think you looked familiar! I knew if I told a story that everyone around here already knows, and I left some bits out, I’d find out if you were a stranger or not. That fine disguise would fool a great many people, I dare say, but not one as canny as I. Now why don’t you tell me what you’re playing at, Bob – or should I say Miss Hullington?”
Betsy Hullington’s face turned quite pink and she lowered her eyes sheepishly. However, the embarrassment of being discovered was brief; after a moment she looked Biggles in the face again as boldly as ‘Bob’ ever had.
“Well, you know who I am now, so you also know the bit about my parents is true,” began Betsy (alias Bob). “I never even met Papa, since I was born right after he went off to war, Mama said, and – and then he never came home. Now Mama says she didn’t want to marry anyone else, but life was always hard with just the two of us. Well, you know how it is!”
Biggles nodded understandingly. He did know. Everyone knew that the widowed Mrs. Hullington was the hardest-working washerwoman in the village.
“Your mama has a new position now, though, doesn’t she? Does that have aught to do with your – ” he gestured at Betsy’s breeches, jacket, and cropped hair – “current disguise?”
“Oh, yes indeed” Betsy responded. “Mama was hired to help on washdays at Butt-Russell Manor now, so she’s working harder than ever. These clothes were some old cast-offs that one of the Butt-Russell boys didn’t want any more. Mama was going to use the fabric for something else, but then I had my idea to run away, so I hid them. I left before dawn today so she wouldn’t see me dressed like this. I’m sixteen years old, I ought to be working somehow, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as a washerwoman or find work as a housemaid like Mama thinks I’m doing. She wouldn’t like me joining the army, but I’m sure she’ll forgive me when I’m bringing in a soldier’s salary.”
Listening to Betsy eagerly spill out her story, Biggles could only shake his head. Sixteen-year-olds with their hearts set on wild schemes can rarely be made to see sense. He could tell her a thousand reasons not to go, but would she listen?
In the end, Biggles told her to stay there on the wall and wait for him, and made his way up the path to his house as quickly as he could. His mother was taking a nap and did not see him put a loaf of bread, a bottle of cider, and a small pork pie into a satchel before hurrying back down to the road. When he returned to the corner of the stone wall, Betsy had her cap pulled down low over her crudely-cut hair and was practicing whistling, looking about her in a carefree, boyish way.
“Well, if you’re determined to go, here’s a little something for the road” said Biggles as he handed over the satchel of provisions. “I wish you well, and I’ll keep an eye out for your mother while you’re gone. You know it would break her heart if you ended like your father – no matter how glorious you think he was – so stay out of trouble now!”
‘Bob’ thanked him with a smile, hopped down from the wall, and set off briskly up the road towards the city. Biggles stood staring until the slender figure disappeared in the distance, hoping foolishly that all would be well.
About a year later, Farmer Biggles once again found himself sitting on the stone wall at the corner of his parsnip field beside the road. He remembered his surprising encounter with headstrong young Betsy Hullington, and had just begun to wonder whether she would ever be seen again in the village, when he heard someone singing not far away.
Biggles turned to face the sound, which was coming from the direction of the city, and soon saw two young women appear over the curve of the hill.
They both wore rather plain dresses, splattered with mud from their journey, and beautiful knitted shawls over their shoulders. As they drew closer, Biggles could see that one of them was Betsy Hullington while the other appeared to be a stranger. Betsy’s fair hair was still shorter than a lady would wear it, and her smiling face was reddened by the sun; her dark-haired companion was knitting as she walked, with spare needles tucked into her belt. Both were singing.
“They sent me up to London to guard over the Tower,
And there I might have stayed until this very day and hour,
But a young girl fell in love with me, she found I was a maid,
She went straight to my officer and my secret she betrayed.”
“That makes it sound like I told him on purpose!” the dark-haired girl protested good-naturedly. “Well, this way it rhymes - and he did find out after all,” said Betsy in a conciliatory tone. Their laughter was interrupted when she caught sight of Biggles sitting beside the road.
“Good day, Farmer Biggles!” she exclaimed. “I’ve had my grand adventure and followed my heart, and now I’m coming home again! You know, everyone said Bob was a fine young man and a splendid drummer, and none of them suspected a thing. Sally here found me out first.” Betsy put her arm around the dark-haired girl’s shoulders. Sally blushed and smiled sweetly, and her fingers stopped knitting for a moment.
“Sally’s learned a lesson about keeping secrets, haven’t you?” More blushing, and the two young women smiled at each other before Sally herself addressed Biggles.
“I’m pleased to meet you! Betsy’s been telling me all about her lovely little village. I’ve no family, you see, so when she got discharged and was coming home, I thought I might as well come back with her.”
Sally spoke shyly and seemed perfectly happy to fall silent after that and let Betsy continue the story. “Well, when I was found out, of course I had to leave, but since I’d been such a good drummer they gave me a proper military pension - so Mama won’t have to work so hard any more. Sally knits fine things, too, and she can sell those in the market. Things have worked out all right after all! And we’ve got a jolly good story to tell to anyone who wants to hear it.”
With that, Betsy pulled out Sally’s spare knitting needles and began tapping a rhythm on top of the stone wall beside where Biggles was sitting. Biggles and Sally watched and smiled as she drummed and sang:
“Oh farewell to my officer who has been kind to me,
And farewell to my comrades who ne'er forgot shall be;
And if the army ever has a need of any man,
I’ll put on my cap and feather and I’ll beat the drum again!”