Tabula Rasa

For weeks beforehand the anticipation built like pressure inside a bottle of Jack Pendergast's beer until there was an almost unbearable tension in the village, exacerbated still by the erection of the white canvas tent. On the day, the women awoke early to garland their hair with wild flowers whilst the men awoke earlier still to polish their boots, oil their beards and fuss over their belt buckles. Families waited anxiously, pacing the house, until what seemed like a reasonable time to burst forth onto the village green like so much froth. Merry greetings rang out as neighbours emerged and wound their way towards the waiting tent, arms laden with baskets of cakes, pies, beer, cider, apples, bread, butter, cream, honey and many more delicious things, prepared in the most careful way for this day of celebration. Not just a day of feasting, this too was the day when the budding young women of the village would be bestowed a husband, chosen through careful negotiation between the heads of the families. This would be the day that Mary left home to start her new life. Her father called her name as her hands skittered nervously over her gently protruding stomach.