One Disappointment and One Tragedy
Mary was Mary Denyer once and seventeen years old when she married the equally young Joshua Toft. It was a practical union. Mary came from a family with many children. Joshua came from a family with many children. Mary’s family, the Denyer family, was even more impoverished than the Toft family. For Mary, it was a good union, even when having to leave everything behind and go live with her husband’s family. One year after her marriage, her mother died. When her mother died Mary was truly cut off from her old family, once and for all.
The only mother-like figure in close proximity in her life from then on was to be Ann Toft, the husband’s mother.
· · ·
That was six years back. On the wedding night Joshua had said:
‘You are not handsome. But then again, I am not handsome either.’
It was true. Joshua was not handsome. He had other qualities. Mary Toft was not handsome. And she had no qualities whatsoever. Instead, people often described her as having a very stupid and sullen temper. Doctors would later describe her as having a fair complexion, a strong and healthy constitution, a small stature and a stupid and sullen temper. They would note that she could neither read nor write. The latter is something literate and educated men like to point out when demonstrating dominance and superiority.
But in Mary Toft’s circle no one could read or write. It was no problem. It was not noted. It was just how it was.
For women like Mary Toft, other means of communication were employed.
One might wonder what women like Mary Toft, who can neither read nor write, would do if one day wishing to make an impact, wishing to attempt a change.
A change in circumstances, for example.
A change in one’s wretched conditions, for example.
One might wonder what women like Mary Toft would do if they one day wished to attract attention on a grand scale.
After all, getting a message across, a message to reach many ears and eyes, must be very difficult if one doesn’t know how to read or write.
If one would ever like to communicate outside of one’s own circles, outside of one’s own very poor circles, an endeavour like that might seem impossible, if one doesn’t have the ability to read or write.
But Mary Toft never pondered things like these. She had no ideas. She didn’t wish to change things. Life and its harshness overwhelmed her at every moment. She went from day to day, merely trying to survive.
She married Joshua Toft. They had a daughter, buried in the same year she was born. One had to go on.
And then, soon after, Mary fell pregnant again, bearing a son this time. The son was allowed to live, to grow, to eat. He was one more mouth to feed, the most important mouth to feed, ev
