I
The Brangwens had lived for generations on the Marsh Farm; in
the meadows where the Erewash twisted sluggishly through alder
trees; separating Derbyshire from Nottinghamshire。 Two miles
away; a church…tower stood on a hill; the houses of the little
country town climbing assiduously up to it。 Whenever one of the
Brangwens in the fields lifted his head from his work; he saw
the church…tower at Ilkeston in the empty sky。 So that as he
turned again to the horizontal land; he was aware of something
standing above him and beyond him in the distance。
There was a look in the eyes of the Brangwens as if they were
expecting something unknown; about which they were eager。 They
had that air of readiness for what would e to them; a kind of
surety; an expectancy; the look of an inheritor。
They were fresh; blond; slow…speaking people; revealing
themselves plainly; but slowly; so that one could watch the
change in their eyes from laughter to anger; blue; lit…up
laughter; to a hard blue…staring anger; through all the
irresolute stages of the sky when the weather is changing。
Living on rich land; on their own land; near to a growing
town; they had forgotten what it was to be in straitened
circumstances。 They had never bee rich; because there were
always children; and the patrimony was divided every time。 But
always; at the Marsh; there was ample。
So the Brangwens came and went without fear of necessity;
working hard because of the life that was in them; not for want
of the money。 Neither were they thriftless。 They were aware of
the last halfpenny; and instinct made them not waste the peeling
of their apple; for it would help to feed the cattle。 But heaven
and earth was teeming around them; and how should this cease?
They felt the rush of the sap in spring; they knew the wave
which cannot halt; but every year throws forward the seed to
begetting; and; falling back; leaves the young…born on the
earth。 They knew the intercourse between heaven and earth;
sunshine drawn into the breast and bowels; the rain sucked up in