day labourer of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I haul sacks and mend fences. I keep my head down and pray the chill doesn't take me.”
Things George Ford had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
The rain came through the roof again last night. Frantishek is still in Prague chasing his brother's estate, while I cough up phlegm into the dirt. Sent another message begging for a scrap of timber. He won't answer.
Nota scribaeDictated between bouts of a terrible cough. He stared at his boots the whole time.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Peshek Coleman slid a letter to me. The coward won't even say it to my face. He is terrified of the muster, so he offers me fourteen groschen to answer to his name. An insulting fool. But fourteen groschen is a fortune.
Keep your voice down, George! It was a fair offer between neighbours.
Take the coin, George. I'd do it myself if my war kit wasn't sitting in Hynek's pawnshop.
the Friday before Palm Sunday, at Sext
Shifted timber for the coopers all morning. Saint Jude preserve my back. The young lads complain after an hour, but they don't know what it is to be hungry. If I stop, I starve. Simple as that.
Aye, the young ones are soft. All they do is whine about forbidden matches.
Mind your own business, Casper. You don't know what it is to love a girl like Joan.
Nota scribaeHe refused to sit while dictating this.
the feast of St Gregory, at None
More soldiers on the road today. They buy up all the cheap bread, leaving nothing for a working man at the cookshops but watery pottage. It costs an extra penny just to keep a man standing upright.
It's a bitter world, George. They take everything and leave us the scraps.
Candlemas, at Terce
The winter chill is settled deep in my chest. Woke up barely able to haul sacks today. If this cough gets worse, I'll be in the street. I asked Frantishek for mending wood before he left, but the rich only hear what they want to.
Uncle, father says you can have my old blanket if you need it.
Nota scribaeThe man's chest rattled so loudly I could barely hear his words.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Come sleep by our hearth, George. You're too proud for your own good.
I manage my own burdens, Philip.