Have you ever wondered what it would have been like to live in the Middle Ages during the time of the Black Death? I was introduced to this book over ten years ago when I taught it to my year 10s. I loved it so much that when I was in the UK a few months ago I made sure I visited the actual village – Eyam – where the story was set. Talk about 3D writing! What a privilege to see everything come to life as I walked the very paths mentioned in Brooks’ fine work.
Brooks outlines in the afterword how she stumbled across the village of Eyam whilst on assignment in London in 1990. I, too, was captivated by its history, namely, in how the minister of the time passionately implored the residents to ‘lock down’ the village in a bid to stop the ‘plague seeds’ spreading beyond and infecting the nearby locales.
Beloved, I hear you in your hearts, saying that we already have fear. We fear this disease and the death it brings. But you will not leave this fear behind you. It will travel with you wheresoever you fly. And on your way, it will gather to itself a host of greater fears. For if you sicken in a stranger’s house, they may turn you out, they may lock you up to die in dreadful solitude. You will thirst, and none shall quench you. You will cry out, and your cries will fade into empty air. For in that stranger’s house, all you will receive is blame… they will heap their hatred upon you, in the hour when your greatest need is love! (Rev. Mompellion pp.105-6)
This work of fiction is plausible. There are storylines which adhere closely to historical records. I can testify to viewing the actual ‘plague houses’, the church, and many inscribed tombs. As for the rest, Brooks envelops the reader in the likely superstition, the livelihoods, the class structures, the religion and the very language of the period. The detail is graphic; the relationship dynamics are timeless.
I almost dropped the pitcher in my shock… George Viccars lay with his head pushed to the side by a lump the size of a newborn piglet, a great, shiny, yellow-purple knob of pulsing flesh. His face, half turned away from me because of the excrescence, was flushed scarlet, or rather, blotched, with shapes like rings of rose petals blooming under his skin. His blonde hair was a dark, wet mess upon his head, and his pillow was drenched with sweat. There was a sweet, pungent smell in the garret. A smell like rotting apples. (p.42)
Brooks is a brilliant writer. My attempts to capture her gift in weaving a story leave much to be desired! She always manages to capture the tension wrought in the human condition – to save others at the peril of losing your own life or not. And of course there’s the sexual tension: sometimes restrained; sometimes unbridled. Just enough. Never gratuitous.
Enjoy my Eyam pics. What a ride!
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| Entrance to Church, Eyam Village UK |
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| The original 'plague houses' still standing. |
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| Courtesy of the Eyam Museum - replicas of George Viccars (the tailor) and Anne Frith |
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| Replica of plague attire - the 'beak' is full of herbs |
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| Replica of Rev. Mompesson (Mompellion) meeting with Rev. Stanley |
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| Replica of the boundary stone. The holes were filled with vinegar before coins were added in exchange for supplies from beyond the village. |
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| Plague victim. |
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| Catherine Mompession's tomb. 1666 |
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| I reckon this is the ancient celtic cross Anna Frith clung to in her time of despair. |
