A Marriage Lottery

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXVIII, Issue 3481, 9 August 1937, Page 7

A Marriage Lottery

When old Silas Brindle died and left his niece Tilly two hundred pounds, she became the most courted lass in the village. True, Tilly was worth courting even without money. She was buxom and pretty and could milk quicker than most, but there were many lasses in the village and Tilly's legacy turned the scales in her favor. She could have had her pick from the whole of Pudney. It seemed pretty hard on poor Bert Thurkill, who had been courting Tilly long before she'd got her legacy. He just wanted Tilly for herself, not that the two hundred pounds wasn't welcome. Bert didn't have much money and he wasn't too bright, but he was a hard worker and thought the world of Tilly. So there were many in Pudney who were pretty sorry for Bert. Since she'd come into her money, Tilly had become pretty flighty. She went out with a different lad each night and no one knew whom she preferred though most were agreed that Bert's chances were rather slim. One night Bert was sitting with Tilly on the stile that led to the farm where Bert worked. He was feeling pretty miserable as he hadn't been alone with Tilly for oyer a. fortnight. "Tilly," he said, "aren't you goin' to marry me?" "I dunno, Bert," sighed Tilly.

Bert groaned. "You see, Bert," explained the lass, "you've got no money. If we got married, the two hundred would very soon be spent." "We could buy a little farm," said Bert, thoughtfully. "Old Gribble was saying the other night that he'd sell his place for two hundred." "It's a good farm," conceded Tilly, "but there's no stock." Bert nodded his head in glum agreement.

"No stock," repeated Tilly slowly, and a smile illuminated her pleasant face. She sat In silence for a long moment. "I'm goin' now, Bedt. See you again some time soon." And Bert watched her vanish into the night, feeling real miserable, because he liked Tilly a great deal, quite apart from her two hundred. Next day there was a bit of a sensation. Tilly was going to give a party at the local hostelry. She Invited all the lads that had been courting her for Saturday night, and those who knew Tilly guessed that there was something behind it all. Bert was asked, too, but he was still feeling very miserable. On the Saturday night, about fifteen lads turned up as Tilly's guests. After there's been a lot of chatter and laughter and Tilly had been pretty liberal with the liquid refreshments, she rang a bell and everyone was quiet.

"Lads," said Tilly, "I've brought you all here to-night to tell you something. I've decided to make an offer for Mr. Gribble's farm, and he's bound to accept. Now I want two things." Tilly smiled around her. She'd dressed herself in a new frock and she looked sweetly pretty. You could have heard a pin drop in the room. "I want two things," she went on, "and they are stock and a husband. I've asked you all here because I believe that you wouldn't mind marryin' me." There were many throaty grunts. "Well. I've decided to get the stock and my husband all at once. I'm goin' to raffle myself and Mr. Gribble's farm."

Fifteen mouths fell open. "Next Saturday, everyone who wants to have a chance to win Gribble's farm and me as his bride will bring three pounds' worth of stock to the farm. All the names of those who bring stock will be put into a hat. Mr. Gribble will draw out one name and that lad will take the farm, the stock and me." It took a minute or so for all this to sink in and then there were cheers and clapping, but poor Bert sat in the corner with his face as long as a fiddle. "Remember, lads." cried Tilly, "three pounds' worth of stock. See you all next"* Saturday." Tilly became the talk of Pudney—and further. A newspaper reporter came from London, but Tilly wouldn't tell him anything. The vicar went to have a talk with her but came out of the house with his face as red as a turkey-cock. All the lads thought it a grant notion, and some even came from other villages to make inquiries and to have a look at Tilly. On the Saturday, old Gribble's farm was crowded with folks. Many of them had come only to watch the proceedings." Tilly sat at a little table, prettier than ever and looking very shy and modest. Bill Green was the first to arrive. He drove six fat porkers in front of him. "There y'are, Tilly," he cried. "They're good value." Tilly looked at thp pigs critically. "They'll do, Bill," she said and she wrote Bill's name on a bit of paper and dropped it into a bowler hat in front of her.

The yard was soon filled with fowls, turkeys, ducks, pigs, calves and heifers, until the place- looked like market day.

Old Ben Timms, who was sixty and had been a widower for ten years and should have known better, arrived with a dozen white Orpingtons in a crate.

"I hope you'll let me in for this, Tilly," he grinned toothlessly. "Of course," she cried. "The more, the merrier."

Jim Bailey brought a cow. "Put my name down, Tilly," he said, "though 1 don't like me chances. I'e never won any thin' in a raffle yet." Then came Bert Thurkill with his mare, Susie: "This is all I've got, Tilly," he said, twisting his cap. "1 hope she'll do." "Yes, of course, Bert," said Tilly, and her face was very red and she didn't look at him as she wrote out his name.

At last Tilly declared the raffle closed. She'd done pretty well, too.

She must have had about seventy pounds worth of stock there.

Old (kibble came forward grinning all over his face and picking up the hat, began to mix up the pieces of paper with his hand.

"Now, who's goin' to be the lucky bridegroom?" he chaffed. "Get on with it," cried someone. Even the fowls and the ducks were silent as old Gribble withdrew a folded slip of paper from the hat. Slowly he opened it. "The name here," he cried, "is —Bert Thurkill."

At first no one said anything, but then there was a cheer. Bert was a good, sober, hard-working fellow and, besides, he'd been courting Tilly before she'd come into the two hundred pounds. He sat on the fence scarcely able to believe his ears while everyone heartily smacked him on the back and congratulated him.

Tilly was seated at the table, her eyes lowered. All the lads took it well and left at last, saying that they all expected to be asked to the wedding. Then Bert went over to Tilly and, placing her hand in his arm, he led her across the field in silence. At last they seated themselves with their backs against a haystack. Bert looked at Tilly but her eyes were still lowered. "Tilly," said Bert. "Yes." "Tilly, I nearly died when old Gribble drew the name out. Suppose it had been Ben Timms or one o' the others?'

Bert could not suppress a shudder at the thought. "You needn't have been afraid, Bert," murmured Tilly. "But I love you, Tilly," said the man simply. Tilly looked up at him. "And I love you, Bert," she whispered. "I wrote your name on all the slips of paper." Slowly Bert's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "Coo!" he said, "Coo!"