Garth,the Bakers Son,and his Daydreams
By Vicky Hill
Kalamazoo Valley Community College
Spring 2007

Garth! Get out of your bed and get in here and eat your bread before these rats carry it away!

I mumbled something back to my mother, but my focus at this moment was directed to catching the very large roach that was scurrying to hide in the straw. John, Lizzie, Mary, Gunner, and little baby Sarah had already left the bed to eat their morning bread. This was one of my favorite times of day, when they all left me alone and I could lay back and pretend I was a rich noble Lord or Knight on a great Crusade.

Instead of my bare feet hitting a cold hard packed dirt floor in a 2 room basement flat in the village, I was dreaming of my feet softly treading on fancy rugs in front of a blazing hearth. My breakfast would consist of the fine white breads my father bakes for the titled instead of the dark, barley laden stuff we had to gnaw through. My imaginary breakfast even consisted of eating an orange! Every day! Not just on the Yule morning.

After eating my bread, it was my job to take the 2 pigs out of the house and into the pen off the back alley. Having discovered that pigs are called pigs because they live like pigs, would also mean I would have to clean up the mess they left in the flat. Stupid pigs. They should stay out all night so theyd get stolen, then I wouldnt have to fuss with them. We sell most of the meat anyway, so I dont even get to enjoy much of eating them. In my dreams manor house thoughthe only time I saw a pig was with an apple in his mouth and a knife in my hand!

All of us, except bratty little baby Sarah, will then have to help mother haul water from the well. Three trips from each of us would usually fill the barrel for the day. Mother would leave the hauling to us as she would spend the time talking with the other women. Of course lately it had all been rat talk. BORING!!

I didnt mind the rats that much. I didnt really like having them run across my face when I was sleeping, but it was pretty funny when theyd make baby Sarah scream. With my wooden sword and a pocketful of rocks, they made great dragons or Norsemen to slay.

John, Gunner, and I would then make our way through the maze of streets to the monastery to learn our rhetoric. The walk to the abbey was always a challenge, dodging the emptying chamber pots from the upper flats and side stepping the still steaming piles of dung, both human and animal. It was ALWAYS funny when somebody else got hit.

We would all gather on the floor for the lessons in grammar, Latin, and logic, sharing the bone stylus and the waxed board when needed. I did not like the experience, but knew that in order to be a knight; I had to learn this stuff.

We would get a half an hour lunch break, and on nice days get to go outside. Dividing the half loaf of dark bread and sometimes a piece of hard cheese between the three of us, we would seek our own amusements. While the other boys would play prisoners base or hood mans blind, Id usually just lie down and dream of the life I could have.

No hard cheese or dark bread, but fat capons, salmon, young hind or gar. Dragons to be slain, damsels to be saved, and crusades to be undertaken. Sitting astride my huge destrier, my shield bearing my crest, and my enemies fleeing at the mention of my name. Sadly, Id be rustled back to consciousness, back to real life. Even at 11, I knew I did not want to be trapped in this prison of my birth. Most of my friends felt the same way. Someone had to have the answer.

After rhetoric, we would help father haul the flour from the mill to his bakery. Sometimes father would slip us a piece of the wonderful white bread he made for the Manor Lord. His bakery was dug into the ground, almost a cave like building set aside from the other buildings in that place to limit the chances of fire. His great oven actually backed into the Smiths oven on the other side of the little hill. In the shop were two long tables made of boards lain over trestles, the oven, and a three legged stool for father. Several barrels lined one of the walls, which held the assorted ingredients; barm, barley, flour, salt, water, etc. He showed us where the rats had tried to chew through the barrel staves to get inside. Father was gone every morning before I woke up, home every evening after I was asleep. I did not want to share the same life sentence.

Then it was home for dinner which usually was a pottage with beans or peas, and on rare occasions, salt pork. Sometimes after dinner mother would set a pie tin on the stove to get it red hot. Then she would sit us all down by turn with a small bone comb she had, to as she said, get rid of our little friends. As each little nit was found she would toss it into the pan to make the funniest popping sound. Said she wished the rats could be taken care of so easily.
After prayers, the five of us little baby Sarah slept with mother and father would pile onto the pallet, and my journey to escape would continue. I just overheard mother and father discussing a crusade. I knew it..my dreams may come true.