On the road to Southport

Chef Barrel fit his name with precision....he was a good cook, and he was shaped like a rather large barrel.  When the Prince had returned with the chief mountain rebels in chains, or in bags....Barrel had been let go from his Army post, as the levy was disbanded, and the lads sent back to their farms, or whatever was their normal occupation....So Chef Barrel had been glad to hear from Warrant Frank, who was looking for a cook for an expedition to the Western Lands....Barrel had been West once before....but that's a long story....Frank had wondered if Barrel could provide a boy too, for whatever less than dignified or savory duties which might need doing on a voyage and trek of unknown duration.....Barrel had of course said that he had just the fellow at hand, young Jimmy Lafay, an orphan of the regiment.....so the Chef and his protege were jostling along a dirt track North and West of Southport, in a donkey cart.  Under  wrap in the back of the cart rode a very nice Royal Army Small Field Kitchen, and whatever other meagre items Barrel had managed to collect in his forty-odd years.....Jimmy owned only his one threadbare cast-off  set of serving livery, a long knife taken from a dead rebel on the battlefield, and an heirloom pendant hung around his neck on a leather thong....it had belonged to his Grandmother, he had been told.  She had been known as the Witch of West, at least in East Darby.....