Gervase the Blacksmith, of Grimwash-on-Sea

Age 12: the tallage came round again, earlier than last year.

Age 13: fever took both your parents in a season. The parish took you in, grudgingly.

Age 14: a fat harvest. Ate well, for once.

Age 15: a saint's day meant no work and actual meat. You were briefly, piously content.

Age 16: mustered for the array with a rusty bill and a borrowed helmet, then sent home.

Age 17: walked through a plague year untouched. Nobody knows why.

Age 18: a winter fever laid you low, but the fire held it off.

Age 19: a fat harvest. Ate well, for once.

Age 23: a year of no illness at all. You hardly knew what to do.

Age 25: accused of witchcraft. Cleared, but the vibes lingered.

Age 26: a parish upbringing is a hungry one. You learned to make a turnip last a week.

Age 29: filled the great tithe barn with the Church's tenth. It was a very large barn.

Age 30: caught the flux and, unusually, recovered.

Age 31: set out on a long pilgrimage and, miraculously, survived the road, the inns, and the company.

Age 32: confessed your sins at Easter. The priest had heard worse, but not much worse, and not recently.

Age 33: died of a fever that the physician could not name.

Survived by no one. Even the pig looked relieved.