The Whispering Wind

Based on Lucy Gray by William Wordsworth

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:

And, when I crossed the wild,

I chanced to see at break of day

The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;

She dwelt on a wide moor,

-The sweetest thing that ever grew

Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,

The hare upon the green;

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray

Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night--

You to the town must go;

And take a lantern, Child, to light

Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do:

'Tis scarcely afternoon--

The minster-clock has just struck two,

And yonder is the moon!"

At this the Father raised his hook,

And snapped a faggot-band;

He plied his work;--and Lucy took

The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:

With many a wanton stroke

Her feet disperse the powdery snow,

That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time:

She wandered up and down;

And many a hill did Lucy climb:

But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night

Went shouting far and wide;

But there was neither sound nor sight

To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood

That overlooked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood,

A furlong from their door.

They wept--and, turning homeward, cried,

"In heaven we all shall meet;"

--When in the snow the mother spied

The print of Lucy's feet

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge

They tracked the footmarks small;

And through the broken hawthorn hedge,

And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:

The marks were still the same;

They tracked them on, nor ever lost;

And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank

Those footmarks, one by one,

Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none!

--Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray

Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind

Hares and rabbits browse gaily on the moor close to where the Gray family lives. The deer and their fawn drink deeply from the Ryburn that flows gently by. In the sleepy village of Ripponden nearby, people are few and far between. And the houses even fewer. They go about their daily business. Some work in the fields; others tend to their sheep; and yet others take their wares to the market in Elland.

Mr. Gray is one of them. He usually takes bundles of firewood to the market, sometimes he sells some wood craved items as well, that he makes. Usually, when he returns home after a long day at the market, his daughter Lucy runs to him, clinging to her father's coat tails, waiting for the lump of sugar candy and a sausage that her father gets from the market. 

After dinner, they retire to bed. Lucy is eight and has her own little bed. She does not share it with anyone for she is the only child. Their house is on the moor, on a slope of the hill. Further up, the hill becomes quite steep. Their's is a little house with a thatched roof, same as the other houses in the area. A hedge of hawthorn runs in front of the house, round the village green, by the long stone wall and all the way to the Minster, as their parish church is called. 

There are no other houses nearby though and hence Lucy has learnt to play alone and be happy with herself. She is always smiling and ready to lend a hand. Lucy loves to watch the sun rise, the butterflies settle on the flowers, the fawn graze nearby, the rabbits hop around on the green and the seasons change. She herself looks as pretty as a butterfly flitting around when she runs round the village. She brings a smile to her parents and to everyone she bumps into. Such is her sweetness and innocence. 

There is no school as such in Ripponden and Lucy goes to the Minster every Saturday to learn some useful things from the Parish priest. When Lucy is not playing, she helps her mother at home, washing vessels or putting to dry clothes that her mother has washed. Lucy never disobeys her parents. She gets up early, at 6 every morning. She knows well what time it is because the Minster clock strikes six deep chimes.  She helps her mom in the kitchen, has porridge for breakfast each morning before running out to play. 

Sunday is a special day for the Grays and for the rest of Ripponden too. Every Sunday they take a bath and go to church to hear the priest preach to the parishioners. That is also the day she gets to meet her friends Margaret and John from the neighbouring village. The Grays are God-fearing. Mr. Gray works hard in his shed from morning  till late in the afternoon. And Mrs. Gray goes out to help at the Minster on many a day after finishing her housework. She also does some sewing at the local tailors' to earn some extra cash. And once in a while she visits her folks further along the moor, on the way to Rishworth. The Grays got by with what little Mr. and Mrs. Gray make. They never complained

Time passes and the days get shorter. The leaves change through various colours, ripened and fallen away. The wind is keen and it is well near Christmas. This year it is snowing a lot more than usual. Lucy enjoys every moment of it. The frosted tree branches with the sun shining through the ice crystals. The snow crunching with each step, the robins chirping- o the joy of it! Lucy has made a snowman with a stone nose.

And it is Christmas Eve. Lucy is excited as she knows she will get new clothes to wear on Christmas. Apart from the occasional new clothes for Easter, Christmas is the only time people get new clothes. In spite of the bitter cold and heavy snow, everyone from all round is attending church dressed in their newest and best clothes. After church, everyone has gone back home to have their Yule feast- there is roast meat today, lots of it.

The year has now turned but there is no relenting to the cold and snow. Mother has gone early in the day to visit her folks as there have been tidings of her mother taking ill. The weather doesn't seem too bad this morning. Mr. Gray stays back, working in his shed as usual. Lucy stays by her window watching the snow flakes spinning giddily as they fall to the ground. The whole world is magical now. A few hours, and the weather suddenly takes a turn for the worse. It is much darker and the wind is keener, howling. The Minster clock strikes two. The moon is already visible in the sky.

Father comes in from the shed looking quite grim. He takes another look at the sky and the direction of the wind blowing. He then turns to Lucy and says

"A storm is brewing. And it is quickly growing dark. Your mother must be starting on her way back now. She will need the light to get back home before the storm begins in a couple of hours. So take a lantern with you Lucy and go thither so you can light your mother's way back."

Obedient and eager to please as ever, Lucy jumps up and says she will gladly do so. Father quickly goes back into the shed, fashions a stick from the wood and returns with the lantern hooked on it. Lighting the lantern, he hands it to Lucy's eager hands. Lucy sets out, the snow crunching under her feet. Playfully, she kicks the powdery snow, making it rise into the air like smoke. She is skipping along like a rabbit, her pigtails bobbing behind her. She takes the path beside the green, along the stone wall and further uphill. The hill is getting steeper when all of a sudden, the wind howls ominously. The snowfall is thickening and the wind is whipping up speed every minute. Lucy picks up her pace. The storm has hit earlier than expected. Lucy is hardly able to see now. The lantern light isn't of much use to her in this storm. She is following what she thinks is the path and keeps climbing up and down many a hill. But she doesn't reach mother.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Gray has managed to reach home before the storm worsened. As she steps into the house, Mr. Gray says to her that were it not for Lucy, she would not have reached home in good time. Mrs. Gray looks quizzically at him. And that look is enough to make Mr. Gray realise what has happened. Heavy as it is, the storm forces them to wait until it clears before the set out to search for Lucy. After what feels like infinity to them, the storm settles. Lantern in hand, the two rush out into the cold dark night with just one thing on their minds and their tongues.... 

..."Lucy"...... "Lucy........."............"Lucy..............,"...............................

They search high and low with nothing to guide them except their own hopes and prayers. A few neighbours too join the search, but in vain. There is neither sight nor sound of Lucy. They carry on until dawn, their voices hoarse. The storm is long past now and the sun's rays are shedding light everywhere; everywhere except in the Grays' hearts. They spot the wooden bridge which is but a furlong from their house. With a leaden heart, the Grays decide to return home, crying "We shall meet in heaven my child!". 

Suddenly, Mrs. Gray's quavering scream- fearful, hopeful, incredulous, all at the same time. She has spotted tiny footprints; those of Lucy. A mother, she knows for certain that they are Lucy's. And no other child has been out in the storm anyway. There isn't any other child in the neighbourhood. They are now rushing deliriously down the steep hill, along the hedge broken in places by the storm, along the stone wall... Still clear Lucy's footprints. They go into an open field right up to the wooden bridge. Onto the bridge the prints continue, to the middle plank......

.......or where it used to be. For there is now no plank but a deep gash. Mother and father are on their knees, scooping up Lucy's footprints tenderly, deep sobs wracking their bodies. Again and again they kiss the prints. The wind blows suddenly, soughing, sounding just the way Lucy used to hum in her sweet voice. The Grays turn sharply to the direction of the wind- 

scanning, searching, seeking, sighing... 

sighing...