washerwoman for the garrison, of Kuttenberg
“I am the only one with any sense in this damp hole, scrubbing soldiers' filth while the old hens cluck at me.”
Things Hannah had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of St John, at Vespers
Bloody hell, my hands are raw meat from the lye today. I haul half the river up here and all the old hags do is whine. Lida wants her coin by Saturday, and I am the only one working for it.
Nota scribaeShe poked her finger at my face while speaking. I asked her to step back.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Martha is a thief! I lent her my brass oil lamp out of Christian pity, and now she refuses to give it back. I need it for my mending work, but she sits on it like a toad.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Sext
Sarah the younger has been awful quiet lately. I reckon she found a purse of pennies in the mud at the bleaching grounds and is hoarding it all for herself. I have half a mind to turn her mattress over.
I found nothing but more mud. Leave my bed alone.
the first week of Lent, at Prime
Elizabeth sits on her arse acting proud, but we all know what she scavenged from the militia camp last summer. Some of us are owed a proper share of what was found in the mud.
Hold your tongue, girl, before I hold it for you. Bynyek found that, God rest him.
Nota scribaeShe muttered this quietly, looking over her shoulder.
Candlemas, at Terce
Because I have a good heart, I lent my brass oil lamp to Martha. Her eyes are failing in this dark hole, and she weeps too much. See if I get any thanks for my charity.
My eyes are fine. James used to light the fire for me, before he marched away.
Nota scribaeDictated while she wrung out a heavy wool shirt. It splashed my boots.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We all haul water, Hannah. Stop your shouting before my head splits.