Punch and Judy
There is little doubt that the Industrial Revolution created a life of hardship for many of England's city-dwellers. The estimable author Charles Dickens often wrote of the plight of London's poor. Crime, poverty and disease ran rampant through the lower class population. Roughly twenty percent of infants born during Queen Victoria's reign died during their first year, and twenty-five percent would never live to see their fifth birthdays. For those hardy enough to survive childhood, the average life expectancy was only twenty-six years.
Sixteen-year-old Louisa Owain did not toil in the sweatshops of Britain's capital. Rather, she lived in a Welsh mining town, where life was nearly as hard as that found in one of Mr. Dickens's novels. Her mother died in childbirth after delivering her second child, a son, who followed his mother to the grave shortly thereafter. Her father never remarried, and Louisa was often left in the care of her aunt while he labored in the mines.
Although they had little money, the father and daughter truly loved each other and shared a close bond. Once she was old enough to help out, Louisa kept house for her surviving parent. She not only cleaned their three-room hovel but also washed their dirty laundry, mended their worn-out clothes and cooked their meager meals. There was little time for education even if there had been a public school in the mining community, which there was not.
Why do I need to learn to read and write anyway? Louisa once asked herself. I'll eventually marry a miner like my mother did. I'll have children and spend the rest of my life—however long that might be—living in the same small village in Wales.
However, life seldom goes as planned. Just weeks away from his daughter's seventeenth birthday, Gwilym Owain went down into the mine as usual, but he never came back out. He and nineteen of his fellow miners were trapped below the ground when a dust explosion caused a cave-in. Although several valiant attempts were made to reach the men in hopes that some might still be alive, rescue efforts were eventually abandoned. After a memorial service for the dead miners, Louisa wiped her tears, packed what few belongings she had and left her home town, never to return.
* * *
Paul Selkirk woke early, more than two hours before the sun rose in the sky. He winced at the discomfort in his old bones as he got out of bed and missed the pain-free days of his youth. After a meal of buttered day-old bread and hot coffee, he went downstairs to the bakery below his apartments where he lit the fires beneath the ovens.
For more than thirty years, he had adhered to the same routine. Once the ovens were lit, he began preparing his dough and batter: breads first, followed by rolls and then cakes. There was a time when he enjoyed owning a bakery. That was when his wife ran the shop while he baked the goods. Since her death, he handled both jobs.
The morning sun was glistening on Carmarthen Bay as he carried the trays of freshly baked goods into the shop and placed them in the display cases. Paul glanced at the clock. In ten minutes, he would unlock the door and open the bakery for business.
It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day, he mused, gazing out the front window.
In the seaside resort community of Tenby, Wales, a warm summer day meant the wealthy Victorian tourists would be out walking or bathing, enjoying the sunshine and the healthy air. It was the time of the year for donkey rides and Pierrot performances.
Here comes an early riser, he thought as he watched a young woman headed in the direction of his bakery. She's not one of the guests though. Judging by the way she's dressed, I'd say she's more likely a maid at one of the resorts.
As Louisa Owain drew nearer, the old man got a better look at her. Her hair was bedraggled, in need of both a washing and a combing. Her torn and dirty clothing hung loosely on her frail frame. It appeared as though she had not had a decent meal in days, if not weeks.
Although it was still five minutes until his normal opening hour, Paul unlocked the front door and called out to the young woman.
"I'm open for business."
"I'm sorry," the girl said. "I was just passing by. I don't have any money."
"It's just as I thought. You look like you could use something to eat. Come inside, child. I usually bake more bread than I sell and wind up giving the leftovers to the seagulls. Why should a bunch of scavenging birds fill their bellies while a human goes hungry?"
"Thank you kindly, sir."
Paul removed a loaf of bread out of the case, sliced it and gave it to the half-starved young woman.
"It's still warm," she said and then gobbled down the first slice.
"How long has it been since you've eaten?"
"Two days."
"And what did you have?"
Louisa turned red from embarrassment and mumbled something the baker could not hear.
"Let me guess. You've been rummaging through the trash looking for food."
Eyes cast down to the floor, she slowly nodded her head.
"Have you no family? No means of support?"
In between bites of her bread, Louisa told the baker about her father's death and her search for some form of employment since leaving the mining town.
"And you've come to Tenby, hoping to find work in one of the hotels, I assume."
"Yes."
"I'm afraid you're too late. Most of the places began hiring a month ago. Unless someone leaves or is discharged, there won't be any openings for this season."
The disappointed look on the young woman's face tugged at Paul's heart.
"I'll tell you what," he said with a sigh. "I might be able to use some help. Since my dear wife passed away, I've had to take care of the shop and do all the baking as well. Now before you answer, I want you to know that I can't afford to pay you much, but I will give you room and board."
"Oh, thank you!" Louisa cried. "I'll do my best. I promise."
"Starting tomorrow morning I will work with you in the shop until you can wait on the customers yourself. Today, however, I want you to get some sleep. When you wake up, you can take a hot bath. I have some dresses that once belonged to my wife. I'm sure they will fit well enough."
"How can I ever repay you for your kindness?"
"You don't have to. Everyone needs a helping hand from time to time. I know I did when I was a young man. Now it is my turn to be of assistance to someone else. Come on; let me show you the spare room. It's small, but it's clean. I close up shop at six. Then I'll come up and make us some supper."
"Oh, I can do that. I used to cook for my father all the time."
"Excellent!" Paul said with a smile. "I may be a good baker, but I can't cook worth a damn!"
* * *
Paul was surprised at the change that occurred in Louisa over the next few days. Thanks to regular bathing, a decent sleep schedule, clean clothes and a healthy diet, the sad-eyed waif became a beautiful young woman. The transformation reminded him of the tale by Hans Christian Andersen where an ugly duckling transforms into a beautiful swan.
Of course, Louisa was never ugly by any stretch of the imagination, he thought. Her beauty just needed a little coaxing to come to the surface.
"And what epicurean delight have you made for us tonight?" he asked as he took one of the two chairs at the small kitchen table.
"Boiled cod and puréed turnips," the young woman replied as she put clean dishes on the table.
"That ought to go well with our dessert."
"What dessert?"
"I had a cake left at the end of the day: a gingerbread sponge."
"I dare say you and I dine as well as Queen Victoria and Prince Albert."
"You think this is good? You should have seen the meals I got when I was in Paris."
"I never knew you visited Paris," the girl said with surprise. "Is that where you learned to bake?"
"No. I picked that particular skill up right here in Wales."
"So what were you doing in Paris?"
"I was a magician. I travelled to the French capital to learn from the great Robert-Houdin, the self-proclaimed Premier Prestidigitateur of France. Ah! What a wonderful experience that was! There is no city in the world like Paris! The architecture, the avenues, the nightclubs, the Folies Bergère—not to mention the mesdemoiselles."
"If Paris was so wonderful, what are you doing here in Wales?"
"I left there to play an extended engagement in London. Then one summer day I decided to get out of the hot city and go somewhere cooler. I came here to Tenby, met my lovely wife and never left."
"What about your magic act?"
"At first, I put on a show locally, but once the summer ended and the tourist trade left, there was no audience; so I went to work in my father-in-law's bakery, which provided a year-round income. When he passed away, my wife and I inherited the place."
"And you didn't miss being a magician?"
Paul smiled, and his eyes misted with unshed tears.
"Not at all. Love was all the magic I needed."
* * *
It was a warm sunny day, with a light breeze and no humidity, the kind of day that was meant to be enjoyed out of doors. When Louisa donned her apron and walked into the bakery, she was surprised to see Paul standing behind the counter.
"What are you doing in here?" she asked.
"I'll handle things in the shop today. You've been working so hard since you got here. It's time you had a day off."
"I don't need a day off."
"Everyone needs some rest and relaxation from time to time. Now I insist you take off that apron, go outside and enjoy yourself."
"What should I do?"
"I don't know. Why not explore the town? Have you seen the old Norman defensive walls? Or better yet, take a walk on the beach. You couldn't ask for a nicer day weather-wise."
Louisa took one look at the cloudless blue expanse of sky through the window and gave in.
"All right, but I'll be back by lunchtime."
"No need to rush. Take your time and enjoy yourself."
When she walked out the bakery doors, Louisa was treated to sights, sounds, smells and physical sensations that dazzled four of her five senses. She followed the sound of the waves down to the beach where early-morning sunbathers were strolling beside the sea. Meanwhile, vendors were busy setting up concession stands before the crowds arrived.
A handsome young man who had been setting up a red-and-white puppet stage stopped his labors in order to stare at the pretty girl headed toward the water. Louisa walked past him without bothering to look in his direction, so the puppeteer quickly ducked behind the curtain of his stage.
"Oh, Judy!" Mr. Punch, the clown-like star of the puppet show called to his long-suffering wife. "Come and see. It's Venus emerging from the sea."
Louisa stopped walking and turned to watch the performance, one that was being performed solely for her benefit.
"But she can't be emerging from the sea, she's not wet," observed Judy, who was unfamiliar with Botticelli's famous painting.
Punch responded to his wife's inane comment by hitting her with his club, an action he seemed to do with some regularity.
"Wait. She's not coming out of the ocean," the large-nosed puppet with the jester hat claimed, "she's about to go into it. No, no, fair maiden! You mustn't return to Neptune's realm and deprive us mortals here on land of your great beauty."
"Are you talking to me?" Louisa asked.
The puppeteer, still holding onto Punch, stepped out from behind the curtain.
"I didn't say a word," he replied. "It was Punchinello here that was speaking."
"You may call me Punch," the puppet said. "And this big guy behind me is Professor Gareth Wildsmith."
"I'm pleased to meet you," the girl said, focusing her attention on the puppet and not the man who held him. "My name is Louisa Owain. I work at the bakery just down the street."
"A bakery?" Punch echoed. "That must be why you're so sweet!"
"Stop it, now, Punchinello," Gareth warned. "After all, the young lady might have a jealous husband who would think nothing of carving you up into kindling wood for flirting with his wife."
"You needn't fear, Mr. Punch. I'm not married."
"Perhaps you would like to join me and the professor for some ice cream then," the puppet said.
"Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for a performance?"
"We've got plenty of time, don't we? Come on now, Gareth; don't stand there like a statue. Say something."
"Things will be quiet around here for another hour yet," Wildsmith said, no longer speaking through his club-wielding puppet. "Would you like some ice cream?"
Although Louisa believed it was too early in the morning for such a treat, she could not turn down the invitation to spend time with such a devastatingly handsome man.
* * *
Paul Selkirk watched Louisa flitting back and forth between the kitchen table and cooking stove as she prepared their dinner. The ever-present smile she wore since meeting the puppeteer lit up her exquisite face. The baker had mixed feelings regarding the ensuing romance. On one hand, he was glad for her happiness. A young woman ought to be married, he believed. She should have a husband who cherished her, a home of her own and children to bring joy to her life. On the other hand, he had grown to love her as a daughter, and the thought of losing her pained him. Gareth Wildsmith was a summer performer. Come autumn, he would no doubt pack up and leave Tenby.
Will Louisa go with him? he wondered, already feeling the twinges of sorrow at the thought of her going.
It wasn't until August came to an end that Paul got the answer to that question. After knowing Gareth for barely two months, Louisa consented to marry him.
"When is the wedding going to take place?" the baker inquired when she broke the news to him.
"The first week of October. The tourists ought to be gone by then."
Having spent a good part of his life on stage, the baker remained outwardly calm, not wanting to reveal his innermost feelings.
"What will you do after you're married?"
"We're hoping to spend a few days in London as a honeymoon. Then we're off to Cardiff—that's where Gareth is from."
"I don't mean to be nosy, but what does your young man do for money the rest of the year? I don't imagine there's a big demand for puppet shows in Cardiff in the off months."
"He says he is often called upon to perform at neighborhood fetes, holiday parties and church festivals. Of course, when he's not running his Punch and Judy show, he works at his uncle's alehouse."
"Ah! That's good. You can never go wrong selling alcohol in Wales!"
"Oh, I don't care about money. You once told me that love was all the magic you needed. I've come to realize that as long as I have Gareth, I won't need or want anything else."
Paul's warm-hearted laughter was forced as was the good humor he exhibited throughout their meal. Inside, his heart was breaking at the thought of losing Louisa.
* * *
It was a small ceremony, attended by only the bride, the groom, the officiating vicar and Paul. Louisa wore no elaborate gown, just a plain blue dress and a ladies boater hat that once belonged to her employer's deceased wife. She carried no bouquet of flowers and wore no ring, but no bride ever looked lovelier despite her modest circumstances.
Once the vicar pronounced them man and wife, Louisa and Gareth accompanied Paul to a nearby restaurant where they celebrated their nuptials with a scrumptious meal—a wedding present from the baker.
"So what are your plans for London?" the elderly man asked. "I suppose you'll want to see the usual sights: St. Paul's, the Tower, the houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey ...."
The groom interrupted his host's enumeration of the capital's attractions.
"Didn't Louisa tell you? Our plans have changed. We're heading straight to Cardiff."
"Gareth's uncle isn't feeling well," his new wife explained. "He needs someone to look after the business until he's able to return to work."
"You're both young yet," the baker said, casually dismissing the honeymoon as though it did not matter. "You will have plenty of time to take a wedding trip."
At the end of the evening, Paul accompanied the newlyweds to the train station to see them off. Gareth tended to the couple's luggage as the baker and his assistant said their heartfelt farewells.
"I can't ever thank you enough for all you've done for me," the girl said, tears shimmering in her blue eyes. "If it hadn't been for you, I might have starved to death."
"I'm the one who should be expressing gratitude. You not only helped me out in the shop, you also cooked my meals and cleaned my house. Furthermore," he added, wanting to let her know his appreciation went far beyond her housekeeping efforts, "you were excellent company. I enjoyed every moment we spent together. In fact, if I wasn't old enough to be your grandfather, I'd have given that puppeteer a run for his money."
Louisa laughed, wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and then, much to Paul's surprise, stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
"I love you," she said.
"Come on," Gareth called over the clamor of the steam engine. "You don't want to miss the train."
"Goodbye. See you next summer."
With one last heart-rending smile, Louisa climbed aboard the passenger coach and disappeared from the baker's sight.
"I love you, too," he replied, but his words were lost in the din of the departing locomotive.
* * *
Having been born and raised under impoverished circumstances in the small Welsh mining town, Louisa had not viewed matrimony as a starry-eyed schoolgirl might. She fully expected that being a wife would present its challenges as well as its rewards. Marriage—like life in general—would have its ups and downs. It would require hard work and patience.
No doubt Gareth and I will have our foolish little spats, she realized with contentment, but how sweet it will be when we make up afterward.
With her father and Paul Selkirk being the only male role models in her life, Louisa had no idea that foolish little spats between man and wife often escalated to arguments and sometimes physical violence. The first time her husband slapped her after a mild disagreement, she was dumbfounded by his actions. No one had ever hit her before, not even as a child. In the wake of the first incident there were tears, apologies and assurances that such conduct would not be repeated. Like many women, Louisa believed her abuser's promises, and invariably he kept them only until another quarrel caused him to lose his temper.
Throughout the autumn and winter months the Wildsmiths' marriage slowly disintegrated. Like his puppet, the comical Punchinello, Gareth proved to be short-tempered, a fault exacerbated with alcohol. Unfortunately, he could not avoid drinking when he was working at his uncle's pub since many customers insisted on buying a round for the man behind the bar.
Reminiscent of the downtrodden Judy, Louisa suffered the abuse in silence, telling no one of her husband's proclivities toward violent behavior. Who could she tell? She lived in an era when wife-beating was a common practice, a time when both men and women believed it was a husband's right to correct his wife if she should disobey or displease him. Although Louisa did not give voice to her misery, she felt it nonetheless. When Gareth went to work in the evenings, she would often allow herself the luxury of crying, and while the tears glistened on her cheeks, her thoughts turned to happier times.
If only I had never left the bakery, she thought longingly.
It was only when the first signs of spring appeared in March that Louisa's spirits began to rise. Summer was just months away. She and her husband would be returning to Tenby, the place where she had known the greatest happiness in her short life.
Sadly, Louisa was destined never to make the train trip to the Pembrokeshire seaside town. She would never again walk past the remains of its Norman-built walls or stroll along the beaches of Carmarthen Bay. Worst of all, she would never again enter the bakery with its mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked cakes and breads and the welcome smile of the kind-hearted, generous baker.
On the night of April 8, Gareth Wildsmith staggered home from the alehouse. Having had too much to drink, his mood was foul. Afterward, he could not even remember what caused the argument. Was it something his wife said? Something she did or neglected to do? Or was he just angry at the world in general and cast her in the role of whipping boy? Whatever the reason, the quarrel soon turned violent.
Louisa took several punches to the face. One split her lip open and loosened her front teeth. Another sent a searing pain into her eye, and she hoped it would not cause her to lose her sight. As the pain in her head throbbed and her blood mixed with her tears, she longed to escape the anguish of her hellish marriage.
I've got to get away, she contemplated with desperation. If I can just make it back to Tenby, I'm sure Paul will help me.
Trying to avoid her husband's blows, she staggered across the room and threw open the front door.
"Where do you think you're going?" Gareth drunkenly shouted.
With freedom just one step over the threshold, Louisa was pulled back into the house by her hair. The final vicious punch to her head put her out of her misery at last.
* * *
Petula, the young girl Paul Selkirk had hired to take Louisa's place behind the counter at the bakery, was surprised to see her employer dressed in a suit rather than his flour-dusted work clothing.
"Where are you off to dressed like the Prince of Wales, a funeral?" she asked.
"No. Actually I'm going to see a Punch and Judy show."
"I never took you for the kind of man who likes puppets."
"I don't actually," the baker replied. "But the wife of the puppeteer is a good friend of mine, and I haven't seen her since last October."
Despite his getting on in years, there was a youthful spring in his step as Paul made his way to the red-and-white striped puppet stage. He did not see Louisa's face in the crowd and assumed she was at home. Since he had no idea where that might be, he would have to ask Gareth once the show came to an end.
I should have brought her flowers or candy or something, he thought after finding a place to stand among the children, nannies and parents. I ought not to welcome her back to Tenby empty-handed.
The baker watched the puppets on the stage with interest. The long-nosed Punchinello had not changed a bit. He still wore his jester's hat and clown-like costume. Judy, however, was a new puppet, one that looked less like a middle-aged house wife and more like the former Louisa Owain.
When Paul presented himself to Gareth Wildsmith at the conclusion of the show, the puppeteer did not look happy to see him.
"I notice you have a new Judy," the baker said.
"Yes. I lost the old one somewhere."
"This one reminds me of your wife."
Gareth, who had never noticed the resemblance before, took a good look at the puppet. It did look like Louisa.
"Where is she, by the way?"
"What?" the puppeteer asked absentmindedly, his mind distracted by the similarity of Judy to his dead wife.
"Louisa. I want to see her. Where is she?"
"I'm sorry. Louisa's ... gone. She died in April."
All color drained from the baker's face until his complexion was whiter than the sugar and milk he used in his cakes.
"How?" he managed to utter with difficulty.
"She got sick ... a fever. I don't want to talk about it."
"I quite understand. You must be terribly upset. She was ...."
Paul could hold back his tears no longer.
"My sympathies," he concluded once he got some control of his emotions. "I grieve with you. I loved her like a daughter. If there's anything I can do ...."
"No, thank you. I'll be all right."
That night, however, as Gareth sat in his small rented room, he stared moodily at the Judy puppet.
How come I never noticed you looked so much like her? he wondered.
Despite his having been an abusive husband, he had honestly cared for his wife. He had loved her in his own twisted way, and he missed her beautiful face and sweet smile—although the smile had disappeared not long after they settled in Cardiff and the beatings started.
"I'm sorry," he said to Judy since Louisa was not there to hear his apology. "Why did you make me hurt you?"
Like so many abusers, he blamed his victim for the abuse. It was her fault he was angry, not his. She was responsible for the beatings, not him. He did not kill her, he concluded illogically. Her death was of her own doing.
He opened a bottle of gin and took a drink and then a second, soon followed by a third. But the alcohol would not erase the memory of Louisa's battered face. Inebriated to the point of being unable to walk, he collapsed onto the floor. Punch and Judy lay nearby. On the point of slipping into unconsciousness, his partially closed eyes fluttered open when a sudden movement caught his attention.
"What ...?"
The Judy puppet, looking more like Louisa than before, stood in an upright position despite the absence of legs. She leaned over, picked up Punchinello's club and then glided toward the defenseless puppeteer. Judy raised the weapon high in the air and brought it down on his head. The club was too small to do any damage. It did not even leave a mark on his skin. However, the blind terror he experienced at the sight of the vengeful puppet brought on a fatal heart attack, and Professor Gareth Wildsmith literally died of fright.
* * *
As was his custom, Paul Selkirk woke early, more than two hours before the sun rose in the sky. He had finally grown accustomed to the discomfort in his old bones as he got out of bed and no longer missed the pain-free days of his youth. After his morning meal, he went downstairs to the bakery and lit the fires beneath the ovens.
The morning sun was glistening on Carmarthen Bay as he carried the trays of baked goods into the shop and placed them in the display cases. Paul glanced at the clock. In approximately ten minutes, Petula would arrive and he would unlock the door and open the bakery for business.
It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day, he thought, looking out the front window.
After refilling the cases at midmorning, the baker removed his apron and put on his hat.
"Out for your daily walk, then?" Petula asked rhetorically. "See you when you get back."
It was a perfect day weather-wise. The sun shone brightly, and there was a warm breeze in the air. When he saw the red-and-white puppet stage, the baker quickened his step. There was a good-sized audience for the performance, but he managed to find a place to stand among the children, nannies and parents. Although he had seen the show many times, Paul joined the others in laughter as the Judy puppet wrested the club from Punch's hand and hit him over the head with it.
"Take that, and that, and that," the puppet cried as she rained blows down on her husband.
Paul frowned as he noticed for the first time that Punchinello, despite his long nose, looked a good deal like the late puppeteer.
Maybe it's just my imagination, he thought, his downcast mouth transforming into a smile.
The show came to an end, and the crowd in front of the puppet stage broke up. The people having moved on, the puppeteer came out from behind the curtain.
"I missed you this morning," Paul said as the two began walking along the beach.
"I'm sorry. I overslept and ran out without stopping to say good morning to you."
"As long as you're all right, that's all that matters."
"Don't worry," Louisa's revenant assured him as she affectionately took hold of his arm. "You won't lose me, not this time."
Paul knew the spirit of the pretty young widow would stay in Tenby after the summer visitors left. The apartments above the bakery had become her home and would remain so until the baker's death, which was still many years in the future. For despite having lost her life to her husband's brutality, Louisa Wildsmith had been given a second chance to live, thanks to the magic of the unselfish love she shared with the elderly baker.
When Salem cast a spell to turn himself into a hand puppet, he didn't realize where that hand was going to go.
