elenore rigby

Every town has them, a collection of old warhorses that set around whispering to themselves about the passers by. A gaggle of crones, no one really knows and don’t seem to notice, until their whispering or giggling catches your ear and you turn to see them either looking innocent as thieves, or scornful as old battleaxes can.

The Village offered them the title of Bitty’s, it was mostly a mocking title, however they wore it with pride. Seven in all, the Bitty’s would relish each and every Early Year day that would afford them their opportunity to gather at the local coffee shop and watch as the residence would walk by.

They would comment on the style of dress, the newest gossip, or how a certain pair made such a lovely couple. They were the social commentators of our little world and as all things in the Valley we grew to tolerate them.

One year though, they missed their day in the sun. it was quite a dumbfounding thing, for even though most people reviled them, when they were gone everyone missed them.

We soon found out that the eldest of their number died that day, Millie Seaback was her name. she had passed in her sleep and was buried on the east slopes of the peaks. Her family and the Bitty’s attended. But not many others.

It was not long before they appeared again on the coffee shop corner, a little more sedate and still just as venomous. It was as though nothing had happened, all things were as they needed to be.

It was the year of 52 when Willimena Saint passed, it took longer for the Bitty’s to return and when they did it was not the same. They seemed huddled and fearful of even gathering. Most simply set and stared vacantly at the town as the day passed them by.

In Latter Year of 52, Mona Yeast and Hilleary Stump passed due to the cough. And by Early Year of 53, Jenna Gott took ill in her heart and was gone by Mid Point of Early Year. It was only Kimberly Stine and Andrea Willoferd who managed to survive for very long.

The voice of the Bitty’s silenced, the scorn of the hierarchy of our past now gone, people would pass by the coffee shop corner and look about for the sounds of the Bitty’s carrying on.

It began with one of the condemned from the Bitty’s list, a young woman of improper taste. She had hung pictures of the Bitty’s in the window of the coffee shop, and every morning as she passed by, she would lay a daisy under the window where the pictures hung.

Soon there was a collection of flowers piled high throughout Early Year, all in homage of the Bitty’s and how much a part of our lives they were. It didn’t take long for the practice to become a tradition, and soon a holiday. Every member of the town would come out on Bitty’s Day and have a cup of coffee and spread gossip and well wishing among the crowd.

It was on the very first Bitty’s Day that the last of the Bitty’s were brought to the corner and honored for their lives and the cornerstone they had become in our community. They only lived to see three Bitty’s Day’s. On the passing of Kimberly Stine a plaque was placed under the window of the coffee shop, explaining the love and disdain they perpetuated in our town, and the feeling they left behind when they left us. It’s a hard thing change, we miss the things we loved and are forced to embrace the replacements for our past. I hope to never forget the Bitty’s and the simple time they represent. For it is the doom of man to never remember.