Beatrice held out her hand, as defiant as a traffic cop. “I don’t care if you are my husband, you’re not coming near me nor my bed till you find us a proper house.”
Two babies she’d lost, living in this wooden box on wheels.
“But, Beatty, I’m a horse dealer,” her husband said, all reasonable and logical-sounding. “I need to travel to the horse fayres.”
“You need to. I don’t.” She restated her demands, “You’re not getting any more children on me till we’ve a proper house.”
So, yes, he bought a proper house. In fact, he bought a farm where he bred his horses and set up a riding school.
True story? It’s the way my grandma told it, so I guess so.
crispina kemp 
Lovely story.Just remember sometimes Grannies get it wrong.I am living proof of that!!!
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It has to be said my mother was born before the family moved into the farm. I know that because she was born at a nearby inn, the inn keepers wife taking pity on my grandma living in that caravan
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Beatrice sounds like a compelling woman, unafraid to speak her mind. Good for her!
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She was strong, that’s for sure
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Aww, a story of a strong woman and her success.
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