English literature c/w
Rhoda Brook’s diary -
‘The Withered Arm’ by Thomas Hardy
Dear Diary,
I am quite alarmed today as when I was milking the cows this morning I overheard some other milkmaids gossiping about my former lover and father of my son and that he is getting married to a woman ‘many years his junior’. This is just so typical of him. I know he is only doing this to spite me. He has really embarrassed me. As if I wasn’t already the talk of the village even after twelve years since I had my beautiful but forbidden baby boy, they are still calling me a witch and a prostitute. And now that Lodge has started to see this new mistress of his, people round here have yet another thing to gossip about when they meet up in the pub or at each others houses having afternoon tea. It makes me so mad! It makes me so furious but then again I’m used to it by now, if you can get used to folk talking the minute your back’s turned. I am quite surprised at Lodge marrying at his age! I mean he should be retired by now, not frolicking with a teenager! And as for the unfortunate girl! Sure she might be pretty but that’s probably why he has agreed to taking her hand and also if she had any brains in that little head of hers she would think twice before marrying him and being shacked up in a farm for the rest of her life. It will all end in tears as far as I’m concerned. As soon as one strand of her hair turns a shade of grey and her fresh, white skin starts to sag or even worse, if she cannot bare a child, he will forget her and throw her away like a piece of rubbish and deny that he ever married her. And you can bet that I will be there laughing at her face and counting the days when that happens!
Dear Diary,
I have something quite alarming to tell you. It has made me think about myself and the rumours which have been haunting me for as long as I remember. It started one night, I think that it was not long after Gertrude’s arrival; I had a very disturbing dream. I dreamt that I was lying in bed and Gertrude was on top of me. But she wasn’t her pretty, sweet self. She looked old and ugly and quite menacing. I couldn’t breathe as I was being suffocated by the enormous pressure of her weight. Her blue eyes were glaring eerily at me. She held her left hand out to me and started to hold it in front of my face and slowly wave it about, her diamond wedding ring glistening as she did so. I could take no more. I grabbed her arm fiercely and hurled her across the floor. It was a dream but it was as real as life. The next day my son told me that he had heard some banging on the floor of my room the night before and he thought that I might have fallen off my bed or something of that nature so I let him believe it. Nevertheless I am scared out of my wits. What if she was really there? Did she know she was there? Questions wouldn’t banish from my tired and confused mind. Then, about two days later Gertrude came along to visit. She seemed a little distracted which worried me quite a lot. What if she knew what I had done? Then I stopped myself from being led astray by my fear and anxiety. I was being silly so to make conversation I asked her something about how her new country life suited her. she replied rather hesitantly and added that there was something minor troubling her. With that she lifted up her sleeve and I instantly felt my heart somersault around the room! As soon as I saw my four distinctive finger marks on her delicate white skin, guilt and horror swept over me like an ocean on the sand. I tried to hide my guilt by asking her what had happened to it to give me some time to think about my following actions. But it only made things worse as her reply made me even surer that it was me that had hurt her. I felt so regretful and ashamed of myself. I never thought that I would ever feel remorse over hurting Gertrude but over the past few days I had discovered that she definitely not the selfish, greedy, self-obsessed, scheming little witch that I was sure she would be. She was quite the opposite actually. I felt a bit uncomfortable as I did not think we had such a great deal in common but I think the reason why we eventually became friends is that Gertrude knows nothing about my past. Yet. She knows me for what I am now. Not the dirty witch everyone calls me. I could have started a clean slate with her but I had to feel jealous of her and dream that dream and hurt her. It was my only chance after twelve years of torment to actually have someone to call a friend. I guess I was just not meant to be happy. Like a dark cloud had permanently cast itself over my life. I don’t know what I’d do if she found out it was me. I would lose my one and only friend. What if I really am a witch?
