Bennett Family Tree

Sturdy as an oak as I often heard it described to me at family gatherings.  We would make it a habit to gather during holiday at the lake and tell stories of those from which we had sprung from, salt of the earth, backbone of the country, the traditions of our heritage, indivisible and rock solid as anything on God’s green earth.  Several of our relations sung in the Anglican choir and if not singing, would gladly minister during Sunday services.  As I have often heard told, our quaint community would not be possible if not for the Bennett Family Tree.  I was so proud to count myself as a member of this family who had served in every war of this great country, who had turned the tide of the invasion of the German hordes and sacrificed our blood, sweat, and tears in the process.  Our coat of arms hung over each of our doors, proudly and prominently so there would be no doubt as to our origins.

My father Master John Bennett was the second born of his clan that consisted of three other brothers and four sisters, each a vital member of the community.  Two of my father’s brothers gave their lives in the war, one in the Sahara Desert near Tobruk and another in Italy.  Their pictures hang over the mantle of the fireplace, smiling lads both in the uniforms they died in.  His only surviving brother Edwin was the postmaster of the town and a proud member of the city council.  My father married Penelope after his discharge from the war and immediately started a family of his own which consists of me Clyde and my brother Maxwell.  My sister, ten years my junior, was an afterthought more or less. Her name is Emily and she is what you expect of such a whelp of a child.  Still she does shine in school where all her teachers sing her praises no matter how off tune they may be.  As for me and my brother, we did not shine, but were able to find our way through, grabbing a diploma and going off to work, me in a grinding mill and Max as a postal worker.  Solid as an oak, we are.

Our small community faces the North Sea near Norwich where fishing is more of the main way of life, but the Bennetts do not find their livelihoods out on the salty brine.  We prefer the solid steady ground as to the rolling of the sea which has taken many a fishing crew to the watery death from time to time.  Many a time, I have turned my wool collar up to ward off the wind that blows in through the harbor.  Max tells me all about those yappy little he has to face on his mail route while I tell him about the dusty air in the mill where I have to wear a mask or be forced to cough up half a lung.  

Ours in an ancient town, once I was told there was a fortress here to keep the Vikings from invading, but a fat lot of bloody good it did as they ended up sacking the town and razing it to the ground leaving nothing but ashes behind.  Still it is part of our proud history.  Invaders and raiders which is why our language is so bloody hard to deal with at times.

Cosmo is one of the fishermen who I play snooker with on a regular basis and was a transplant from Greece, although we were never quite sure where, because he would change his story all the time. His ship was named Goddess of the Sea and she was quite a study looking vessel. He would tell us stories of coming face to face with a sea monster as he angled for a shot with a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth. 

One night after he had a few uzos and was feeling no pain, he told us of a story of a witch who lived close by.  I was astounded, because he spent most of him time telling yarns about his own escapades. 

“Her name is Hazel and believe me, boys, she is a witch.” He claimed as he downed his third uzo without a grimace.  “She is known for her magic and some of the stories she has to tell. Some say she is the keeper of all the dastardly secrets this town has to tell. She says everyone has a skeleton in their closet.”

“There are no skeletons in the Bennett closet, that much I can say with all honesty.” I bragged a bit as I lined up for a shot on the table.

“All families have their dark secrets.” He said in certainty.

“Not mine.” I reaffirmed.

“There be some I’m sure.  Perhaps you should pay Witch Hazel a visit, lads.” He snickered.

One night I had a chat with my father in his study and I told him about Witch Hazel.  His humor evaporated on the spot even after an after dinner brandy and his eyes became like cold stones, “Where ya be hearing about her?” 

“Cosmo told me.” I answered.

“Perhaps ya Greek friend would be better minding his own business, then.” He sniffed.

“I was just wondering is all.” I shrugged.  He had no way of knowing that his response would further spur my curiosity.

“Max.” I said to my brother as I climbed into my bed.  His bed was across the room from mine and he was reading some girlie magazine and chuckling.

“What ya want?” He nearly growled since he did not like being interrupted from his appreciation of fine literature. 

“Have you ever heard of Witch Hazel?” I asked.

“What about her?” He closed his magazine.

“You’ve heard of her?” 

“Yuha you wanker.” He snickered.

“Is she really a witch?”

“S’at’s what most of them say.  I dunno.  Never had the pleasure of her company.” He paused and then added, “But a lot of the blokes seem to think she’s got the magic.  White magic mixed in with a little of the dark stuff.”

After work, I felt like taking a walk in the country even though my energy had been drained.  There was a pasture just beyond the town limits and then a dark wood I had been warned about as a child.  Mum told both me and Max that wolves lived in that wood, so we made sure never to go into it.  No longer fearful of childish things, I walked into the wood.  After a few meters, I saw a cottage with a weedy garden.  The small yard was surrounded by a stone fence.  On the fence was a name painted sloppily on a wooden plaque, “Hazel Mongoose.” 

It was her.  She was real just like Cosmo had told me and my brother had hinted at.

“Can I help you?” I heard a craggy old voice ask me.  I looked around, but I did not see anybody.  Like a ghost she suddenly appeared from the weeds that were over three meters high in place. 

“Are you Witch Hazel?” I asked dumbly.

“Aye, witch is a bit much, if ya don’t mind me saying.” She shook her head.  Her face was that of an old woman, but her green eyes burned like a much younger woman. She wore a blouse, dress and an apron over everything as she had been puttering around in her garden, “You must be Clyde Bennett.” 

“How did you know?” I was astonished.

“I know all the folks in town.  Your father is a pompous ass.” She hissed at the final word, but it made me chuckle, “And your brother Max is a wanker.”

Now I was laughing fully at her assessment.

“Why are you bothering to come all the way out here to see me?” She asked.

“Curious.” I answered.

“Curiosity killed a cat.” She hummed.

“But satisfaction brought him back.” I added and for the first time I saw her smile.  Her teeth were crooked, but all of them were present and accounted for.

“What seems to be on your mind?” She opened the gate and I followed her in. 

“My family tree.” I answered and she turned abruptly to face me.

“Bennett?” She let it out like a serpent taking several seconds.

“Yes.” 

“Pompous bunch if ever.” She rolled her eyes.

“What do you mean?” 

“Lad, the Bennett name has been stained, but no one will admit to the stain.  It’s like a piece of cloth that has a blood stain on it that won’t come out, but no one seems to notice.” She shook her head and pulled out some weeds from the soil.

“I was told our name was sterling like silver.” 

“Hogwash.  People should not lie to their children as such.” She seemed to spit it out as if she had a sour taste on her tongue.  “All of those lads in your clan who died in the wars.  All heroes.  All subject to the crown like loyal subjects, but alas there have been stains to tarnish your good name and no one has told you.” 

“Can you tell me?” I asked earnestly. 

“Of course, but are ya sure you want to hear it from me...a witch?” She scowled. 

“I do not wish to hear falsehoods.” I crossed my arms across my chest.

“Very well.” She leaned on her shovel. “Most of your ancestors are who you have been told they are, but there are a couple who have been purposely left out of the story for reasons I can only imagine as to tarnish the good name of Bennett.  For good reason.  All families have those in their black sheep and your family is no exception.”

“Why haven’t they told me?” I was hurt to know that I had not been told.

“Protection.” She shrugged, “We do not want our children to discover the bad seeds that are in the family tree.  As you may have guessed Mongoose is not my real name as my own family has asked me to relinquish my own birthright, but I did it for my own sake, not theirs.  I did not wish for anyone to associate me with my actual family and so I chose that name from Rudyard Kipling.  Makes sense.  He understood that which makes us all unique. He understood the black soul that lurks in us all no matter how much we try to fool those around us.”

“I am a good man.” I stated outright.

“But there are those dark moments, when you are all alone you long to see the evilness inside you.” She cackled, “We all have.  We are a balance of both good and evil.  In life we choose, but left to wonder, what if...what if I had killed that person who offended me...what if I had slept with that slut even though I am a married man.  We can’t deny our wickedness, we can only learn to live with it and hope that it does not drag us under the waves like a storm in the North Sea.  Your family has had those who others would call evil.” 

“Who were they?” I asked.

“Sir Roger Bennett.” She rasped. “He was a good captain in his day, but he let his sense of righteousness interfere with his sense of duty.  She then told me the story as I sat on the bench in her garden and listened. 

Captain Roger Xavier Bennett was commissioned in 1734 to help protect the East India Company with transporting molasses to England.  He was assigned to the Royal Cross of Andrew which was a frigate with thirty two guns all tolled. In his first year, he crossed the Atlantic three times delivering the precious cargo to Plymouth.  He was as proud as a red peacock strutting around the deck greeting all of his crew with a cheery greeting before disappearing into his quarters for a nap by noon.  The Atlantic was known as a schizophrenic ocean, calm one minute and stormy the next, but he was an able commander.  Once while down near Cape Hatteras, a pirate ship came out of its hiding place and fired a warning shot hoping to take the cargo without much of a struggle.  Captain Bennett ordered the men to stations and a fierce broadside battle began and before it was over, the pirate ship listed and then capsized.  Some of the crew was rescued from the sinking ship including the captain, a man named Sergio Seville. Brought to Bennett in irons, the pirate captain spoke to Bennett, “Do you know where your cargo comes from, eh?” Captain Bennett told him of the cane farms on Cuba and Puerto Rico, but Captain Seville laughed and said, “Slaves.  African slaves pay for the cargo you take to your country.  Slaves for the Americas.  A triangle.  I felt it was my duty to prevent that from happening.” Upon landing back in England, Captain Bennett checked in with his men at the East India Trading Company, Mr. Teague his boss told him, “It is a balance we are trying to maintain.  America needs African slaves and we need the sweetness of the molasses.  It is how business operates.”  On his next voyage, Captain Bennett made it a point to go to the center of Havana to where the slaves were being auctioned and saw for himself what was going on.  So many of them had been whipped and beaten, but the traders had made sure to cover the  bruises and abrasions so that their human cargo would fetch a decent price.  He was outraged and in his anger, he began to try to free these poor men and women from their chains, but was immediately arrested.  When he returned to England he faced charges and fines, but he refused to pay and thus they removed his commission from him as a result.  A few months later, he managed to commandeer a ship and turned it into a pirate ship having no trouble finding disgruntled men willing to man his vessel.  Sailing down to Cape Fear, he posted his colors of the skull and crossbones on his mast and began to declare war on the merchant ships that happened to sail in the waters off the coast of North Carolina.  According to accounts, he sank over sixty ships belonging to the West India Company and the bounty on him was very steep indeed.  One time he made a miscalculation and a British frigate showed up and took him and his crew.  They sailed back to England where he was tried for treason and sentenced to hang.  On April 16, 1754, he was hanged but before dropping to eternity, his last words were, “I shall not be sentenced to Hell for the sale of another human being.”

“Holy mackerel.” I gasped. “A pirate?”

“Think about, lad.  In reality he was more of a hero than the rest of the lot, eh?” She nodded.

“I guess so.” I was shaking my head as she smiled. “Why do you think they never told me?”

“I can’t speak for them.  Pirates are the outcasts of their time.  Some of them were violent men with nasty reputations, but many of them were just men who were tired from being pushed around.” She began to hoe her garden, “Not so different from us today, really.” 

I had never considered that pirates were always painted in a not so flattering light as villains and savages, but in many cases they were just fed up with how things were, tired of always being on the bottom rung of the ladder with no chance of ascending even to the next rung.  I thought of how angry he must have been when he saw the action of the black skinned people being treated as animals or worse in some cases. How much it took for him to try to set them free from a life of servitude.  How much like Jesus was when he went to the temple with the buyers and sellers.  

“Thank you for telling me the story.” I nodded as I started for the gate and my journey home.

“Don’t mention it, lad.” She looked up and pointed a gnarled finger at me, “Keep in mind those who condemn others for evil themselves are hiding a stain that will never come clean no matter how hard they try to wash it away.” 

I thought about that all the way home, how many times had I saw someone and thought to myself what an evil person he or she was, but in retrospect, we never really know how or why they got there. I would always be proud of being a part of the Bennett family tree as I would always be proud of the exploits of Captain Roger Xavier Bennett, the only pirate in a long noble lineage of which I belonged.