Born at the end of the nineteenth century, David Mendy comes from the upper Thames valley in England, a place haunted by memories and customs thousands of years old. These include the good man's croft, an untilled patch reserved for the land's spirit and rumored to have been the site of child sacrifice. David's family legend also includes ties to stone ruins next to the local good man's croft. But as a lad, he is warned to stay away from the area-that it was to be left to the devil. David later goes to medical school, where he meets and marries Maud Millen, a shopkeeper's daughter-and then the world descends into chaos as the Great War begins. While serving in the Royal Army Medical Corps in France, David suspects his wife's affections may be torn between him and Peter Landrum, heir to the land that includes the good man's croft and David's nemesis since their school days. But Landrum has another secret that he will kill to protect, and when David returns home, more than just his marriage is at stake. Evil has once again come to the good man's croft and though David may have survived the war to end all wars, it's uncertain whether he'll survive Landrum.

Auszug. � Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Good Man's Croft

By JOHN M. BREWER

iUniverse LLC

1. Origins, 1, 
2. School Days, 9, 
3. University, 23, 
4. Maud, 28, 
5. Sunshine with Clouds, 51, 
6. David Mendy, M. B., 61, 
7. Marriage, 68, 
8. Home Service, 72, 
9. Overseas Service, 80, 
10. First Leave, 92, 
11. Once More ..., 97, 
12. Blighty Wound, 104, 
13. A Visit, 114, 
14. An Encounter, 120, 
15. Return to the Fray, 125, 
16. Rotations, 133, 
17. On the Run, 139, 
18. Honours, 146, 
19. Finis Bellae, 159, 
20. A Rupture, 165, 
21. Cheated, 173, 
22. Dead Man's Croft, 181, 
23. Questions and Answers, 188, 
24. A Good Coal Fire, 197,

CHAPTER 1

ORIGINS

I sat next to my great-great-grandfather, struggling with a feelingof hopelessness: how could I get any information out of him thatwould be of any use? He had to be well over ninety, exactly howover I don't think anyone knew. He stared at me, his jaw movingas though he were chewing something, though I knew he had noteeth. Despite this, I could understand him well enough. I wastwelve and tasked by the schoolmaster with extracting any familylegend or history I could, writing it up and relating it to the otherstudents. We all had to do this.

I asked him, "Where did our family come from?" I guessedthat asking specific questions would be better.

He looked at me until I was preparing to ask him again, whenhe said, "From south."

"Southern England?" I asked.

More stare, then, "No. Far south." More silence before he said,"Walked a long way."

I asked, "Why did they leave?"

He at length replied, "Lost a fight. Lost their land. Settled herebecause only land open. Walked a long way."

I wrote down what he had said, which wasn't hard becauseit wasn't much, and then I inquired, "How did they cross theChannel?"

He shook his head, repeated, "Walked a long way."

This confused me: I asked again, "How did they cross theChannel?"

He looked irritated and said, "No channel then. Dry."

I wrote that down, disbelieving, yet it was a definite statement."So our family has been here thousands of years?" I concluded. Henodded. I asked, "What does our name mean?" Our family name,Mendy, was unusual.

My ancestor replied, "Means 'hill'. We lived on a hill. South.Far south."

"In France?" I asked.

"Spain," he replied.

I wrote this all down, then wondered, "Did they farm orhunt?"

He told me, "Both. Had to pay rent. Hard life. Neighboursdidn't like us. We had poorest land. High meadow. On Landrumestate now."

I wrote all this down. I knew the meadow he was talkingabout. There was also a patch next to the meadow, a few acres ofwilderness. It seemed too small for hunting and I wondered why itwasn't farmed. Was the soil too poor? I asked, "What is the patchof wilderness next the meadow for?"

My great-great-grandfather was silent so long I thought hehadn't heard me or else had forgotten my question. However heeventually said, "That's 'good man's croft'. Left for the devil." Moresilence, then, "Bad place. Stay out. Children sacrificed."

I had never heard of this before, but he seemed very much inearnest. I wrote down what he had said. I couldn't think of anyother questions, so went to write up what I had heard. It seemedfantastic, but I had my instructions.

A few days after, it became too late to ask him any morequestions. My great-great-grandfather died in his sleep. Though Idaresay I had been closer to him than anyone else in our family—Iwas his namesake, we were both named David Mendy—my feelingwas of severed connections with the past, lost history. Since mygrandfather and great-grandfather had died already, that left myfather and me.

My father was also a schoolmaster, teaching in the sameCouncil school. He didn't make much money, one reason mymother left him in 1895 when I was four. I had begun to realizemy father was a disappointed man, and my mother's defectionleft him silent and bitter. We spoke very little; it was a silenthousehold. Because of his profession, I had long understood I wasexpected to do well in school, so I worked very hard. I wasn't surewhat goal or end my efforts were in aid of, perhaps teaching schoolmyself.

* * *

My family legend stirred up some controversy. The masterwas disposed to be sceptical, intimating I had invented it all, butI insisted I had faithfully reported what I had been told. Theother students of course followed his lead, so my efforts seemedabout to be submerged in ridicule, until I got to the part about thegood man's croft. Several of the students had heard of the legendor custom that part of every farmer's field was supposed to be leftto an evil spirit, or the devil, or evil spirits in general. This madeeveryone thoughtful, though there were still a few sceptics. Severalof these challenged me or each other to visit or better yet, spendthe night in the good man's croft on the Landrum estate. However,the master warned everyone that what was proposed involvedtrespassing. So things quieted, to my relief, for my great-great-grandfather'swarning had impressed me, I wasn't sure why.

* * *

Later that year, after end of term, my father had gone over mymarks. I had expected praise, for I had done well, but, in one ofour very rare conversations, he told me he expected me to do aswell next year, my upper fourth. This so I might gain a scholarshipto attend a grammar school about twenty miles away. He seemedunhappy as usual, but I realized his unhappiness was chronic andhad nothing to do with me. I also realized he expected me to besuccessful, it didn't matter in what, just that I was to do better thanhe had. For me, that meant education.

I took his comments seriously enough so that I spent part ofthe summer studying, trying to gain some advantage. Otherwise, Iwandered. I liked to walk, to be alone with my thoughts, a solitarywanderer. I tried to avoid the other boys; they were inclined tobully me, another reason for being alone.

Our parish was moderately hilly, gently rolling country. Tothe northwest of our parish, beyond Cirencester, the land rose toform the watershed that separated the tributaries of the Thamesfrom those of the Avon. The eastern edge of our parish was definedby a small stream that ran into a larger one, an actual tributaryof the Thames. I had been made aware that my presence in theeastern parish was unwelcome, for reasons I didn't understand, so Iconfined my rambles to my own parish.

In wet weather, unfortunately a common occurrence, I wouldsit at the table in the front parlour and read or pore over maps,for my father had survey maps of the area. My father didn'tteach history, but was interested in the subject. If I wanted aconversation with him, I would ask about historical features ofthe area. I learned, for example, there was a very old road or trackway called Akeman Street to our north running roughly east andwest. A Roman road to our west went to Cirencester. There wasa curious mound, called a "camp", north of our parish. My fatherthought this an ancient fortification, for the remains of walls andditches were too large, still, to be considered a pen for cattle. Ifound this to be rather interesting, but in a way frustrating, foreven approximate dates were wholly speculative, "prehistoric" saidmy father, forestalling my questions.

Much closer to the present day were the remains of tenanthouses, a few still intact and occupied, including the one...

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