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Updated: June 24, 2025
There are people in Bursley who do not know the name of the Mayor of Longshaw who make a point of not knowing it. Yet news travels even from Longshaw to Bursley, by mysterious channels; and Helen Rathbone's name had so travelled. James Ollerenshaw was glad that she was just Helen.
"Of course I'm an Englishman" Mr. Bryany began. "Why 'of course'?" Edward Henry interrupted him. "Hear! Hear! Alderman. Why 'of course'?" said Brindley, approvingly, and Stirling's rich laugh was heard. "Only it does just happen," Brindley added, "that Mr. Bryany did us the honour to be born in the district." "Yes! Longshaw," Mr. Bryany admitted, half proud and half apologetic.
"But you haven't told me what you're doing i' Bosley," said the old man. "I've told you I'm living here," said Helen. "I've now been living here for one week and one day. I'm teaching at the Park Road Board School. I got transferred from Longshaw. I never liked Longshaw, and I always like a change." "Yes," said Ollerenshaw, judiciously, "of the two I reckon as Bosley is the frying-pan.
Vaillac, a widower with two young children, Mimi and Jean, was a Frenchman, and a great authority on the decoration of egg-shell china, who had settled in the Five Towns as expert partner in one of the classic china firms at Longshaw. He was undoubtedly a very attractive man.
The parasol covered the faces of the just and the unjust impartially. "I suppose you don't know a farmer named Bratt that used to have a farm near Sneyd?" said Helen. "I can't say as I do," said James. "Well, that's the man!" said Helen. "He used to come to Longshaw cattle-market with sheep and things." "Sheep and things!" echoed James. "What things?" "Oh! I don't know," said Helen, sharply.
He laughed; and she laughed also. The fact was that he had been aware of her name, vaguely. It had come to him, on the wind, or by some bird's wing, although none of his acquaintances had been courageous enough to speak to him about the affair of Susan for quite twenty years past. Longshaw is as far from Bursley, in some ways, as San Francisco from New York.
Incredible as it may appear, there was nothing but a horse-tram running between Bursley and Hanbridge and that only twice an hour; and between the other towns no stage of any kind! One went to Longshaw as one now goes to Pekin. It was an era so dark and backward that one might wonder how people could sleep in their beds at night for thinking about their sad state.
"Whatever made you think of coming to Bursley?" Sarah questioned. "Don't you think it's better than Longshaw?" said Helen. "Yes, my darling child. But that's not why you came. If you ask me, I believe it was your deliberate intention to capture your great-uncle. Anyhow, I congratulate you on your success." "Ah!" Helen murmured, smiling to herself, "I'm not out of the wood yet."
Father and mother and the boys are gone to a fete at Longshaw." "And Miss Lessways?" he inquired self-consciously. "Oh! She's gone," said Janet. "She's gone back to London. Went yesterday." "Rather sudden, isn't it?" "Well, she had to go." "Does she live in London?" Edwin asked, with an air of indifference. "She does just now."
It lies on the face of the county like an insignificant stain, like a dark Pleiades in a green and empty sky. And Hanbridge has the shape of a horse and its rider, Bursley of half a donkey, Knype of a pair of trousers, Longshaw of an octopus, and little Turnhill of a beetle. The Five Towns seem to cling together for safety. Yet the idea of clinging together for safety would make them laugh.
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