“Tommy! What on earth are you doing?” His mother shouted. It was a mistake, not a bad question, but a distracting one. Especially as what Tommy was doing was juggling. And juggling eggs at that. And you can’t afford a distraction when you’re juggling eggs. As both Tommy and his mother found out. He did at least manage to keep one egg from hitting the cold, hard stone floor in the kitchen of their cottage.
It was his ninth birthday, so he didn’t get into too much trouble. There were no eggs with his breakfast either.
After breakfast he was given his presents, two pairs of socks from his nan, and a woolly scarf from aunt Ada. Nice enough presents, each hand knitted, and he knew he needed new socks and a scarf would be good on the long walk to school across the fell. Nice, and he’d have to write a proper thank you letter for them. Nice, but boring, still times were hard and there was never money for fancy stuff.
“Here you are Tommy, this is from your mum and me.” His dad passed over a wrapped parcel while his mum stood by, smiling. It was a biggish parcel. Tommy guessed that it was a woolly jumper. And he was right, bright blue, with a V neck.
“Thanks mum, thanks dad,” he smiled gratefully. He might be cheeky sometimes but he knew what his manners called for. And then as he held it up to try it on a small cotton package dropped on to the table. It fell with a clatter and he looked at his parents.
“Aye, clothes are all right, lad, but sometimes you need something to enjoy.” His dad nodded at the bag on the table.
He opened the bag and saw a small hard rubber ball and a collection of weirdly shaped little figures, carved from wood. He knew his dad must have carved them, each one was like two crosses, joined in the middle so they would stand up. There were ten of them. He’d never seen anything like them.
He put the jumper on, a little burst of tact to his mother who, he knew, would have spent a long time making it. Then with a frown he asked his dad. “What do they do?”
“They don’t do nowt. They’re called Jacks. You drop them first, then you bounce the ball and pick one up. Then you have to catch the ball before it bounces again.”
Tommy tried. It was easy enough, and he looked expectantly at his dad.
“Next time you pick up two and catch the ball, then three and keep going. See how many you can manage.”
Two was a bit harder, and he couldn’t manage three. So he tried again, and again. It was a simple game, but one that was a lot harder than it looked.
“That’ll keep you occupied for a bit, lad.”
“Thanks dad, thanks mum. This is great,” and he sat down in the corner of the kitchen and started practicing.
Tommy kept practicing, first he managed three, four seemed easy, for some reason. And then it started to get harder and harder. He practised more and more. Every minute when he wasn’t feeding the chickens or watching the sheep, and doing his homework. Every minute of every day it seemed. His hands got faster and faster, he could manage seven of the jacks and sometimes eight. None of the boys at school could get past four every time.
Wherever he went, Tommy kept the jacks with him and practised. He knew that practising something made you better at it, and he was getting good. By the time his tenth birthday was close he could manage nine jacks, not every time, but enough times to make it likely that he would be able to manage it soon.
On the Saturday, three days before his tenth birthday, Tommy was up on Pendle Hill, looking after the sheep and of course practising. There was a dark, flat rock that was perfect for what he was doing. Smooth and level, so the jacks stayed where he wanted them and the ball bounced true and high. He was starting to get nine jacks a lot more often here and then he managed ten. Just the once but that was enough to get a shout and a little jig in celebration.
“That was luck, just luck,” said a deep voice behind him and Tommy turned and saw a tall man in a long dark coat with a wide brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes.
“I’ve been practising. A lot. I’m better than anybody I know.” Tommy replied, and he held out the ten jacks in his hand as proof of his skill.
“Just luck,” repeated the stranger. “I bet you can’t beat me, and I’ve never played that before.”
Tommy thought for a minute, he didn’t want to seem boastful, his mum wouldn’t like that. But he did know how good he was, and how much practice he’d done. If this man had never played before he couldn’t be that good.
“I bet I can. I’ll bet you anything.” He replied. It was the sort of thing he’d say in the school playground, without thinking about what it might actually mean.
“All right,” said the man. I’ll bet you this bag of gold sovereigns against your soul.”
And Tommy agreed, without thinking about how strange a bet that was. He knew what his soul was, but had never really believed in any of that stuff the preacher said on Sundays.
The man put the bag of gold on the edge of the stone and produced a set of jacks of his own. And that made Tommy wonder, if the man had never played before, why did he have his own jacks?
Still, a bet is a bet and the man threw his jacks down and squatted by them. Tommy watched as the man bounced the ball and snatched up one jack. That was an easy one and the man picked up the jacks and threw them down again, this time picking up two, then three. He did the foursies the old fashioned way, a four and another four and then the two.
He made the fours look easy and then the fivesies and sixsies. At seven there was a slight hesitation but the man managed it. He missed on eight. The jacks fell too far apart to get them all.
Tommy started his turn and got all the way up to the eightsies before he missed on the nines.
Neither of them had spoken during the play, but the man gave a little grunt of pleasure when the ninth jack slipped from Tommy’s fingers. He took his time, scattered the jacks on the stone and squatted there, looking at the way they were positioned. Working out his move. Then he bounced the ball a bit higher this time and his hand moved almost as quick as lightning to scoop up the figures and with a sigh of satisfaction he caught the ball just before it hit the stone.
Then it was time for the tensies. He dropped the jacks and Tommy looked at the way they were lying. He reckoned there was a way to get them all but only if you tried it from the other side of the stone. The man didn’t move, he was making his own plan. He threw the ball high in the air and started to scoop up his jacks. The wind picked up as he did so and as the ball fell it was blown, just a little to one side and landed on one of the jacks, bouncing off to the side. The man gave a muttered curse as the ball flew out of reach. Tommy picked it up off the grass and gave it back.
His turn, as he waited for the man to clear the stone, the wind died down again, which seemed lucky. The man looked up and muttered something again, but Tommy didn’t hear the words.
The jacks fell neatly in a small group on the stone. Now all he had to do was avoid picking up too many at once. He threw the ball, he scooped and after the ball bounced he caught it neatly.
The man coughed. “You were lucky, the wind blew the ball.” It was the first thing he’d said once they’d started playing.
Tommy nodded, he was concentrating as he dropped the jacks. They weren’t perfect as they fell, but not too far apart, concentrated on one side of the stone. The air was still, not a breath of wind, not a flicker of movement on the grass, even the sheep were silent. He threw the ball up. A little higher than usual, it seemed to hang in the air as Tommy’s hand flew across the stone, scooping seven, eight of the jacks. The ball bounced, he swung left and then right to collect the ninth and then the tenth and turned his hand to rest below the falling ball. It dropped neatly amongst the jacks and sat there nestling snuggly amongst them.
The man jumped up and his coat fell open. Tommy could see the hideous goats legs that had been hidden beneath the material. He gave a great scream and taking up his ball, he flung it out across the valley towards Clitheroe. There was a huge crash and a flash of light as it collided with the wall of the castle and gouged a deep hole through the stone wall. The man turned and ran across the fell and out of Tommy’s sight.
But at least he left the bag of gold sovereigns behind him.