A Little Chimney Sweep

For Duncan Wyllie Who suggest I write this in a comment he once made. Back in the 1800’s in a large city in England there lived a seven year old and I will call him Tarn. His hair was matted with soot, his face and hands were black. His clothes were old and cast offs and didn’t fit too well. His trousers had holes in the knees and the elbows of his shirt were gone. His skin was black from head to foot from climbing chimneys each and everyday. He could work sometimes sixteen hours before he finished for the day. He never got educated, nor did he play with friends. He had no childhood for as soon as he was old enough to walk and climb out to work he had to go to earn money to be fed. There were no luxuries that we enjoy today. Everyday you worked from dawn to dusk. He didn’t smile or laugh, just scampered up and down chimneys to clean the soot away. On one fateful day he found himself wedged and couldn’t move. No one heard his cries, or if they did, they just ignored them. Day after day, he struggled to get free and all the time getting weaker and weaker. He was soon forgotten about and slowly his life expired. He must have died in agony more than most of us will ever know. His body lay there for over a hundred years before it was discovered by accident when they renovated the old house.