" Are you familiar with Saint Cuthman?" Alfred asked me cheerfully.
"No, lord."
"He was a hermit," Alfred said. We were riding north, keeping on the high ground with the swamp to our left. "His mother was crippled and so he made her a wheelbarrow."
"A wheelbarrow? What could a cripple do with a wheelbarrow?"
"No, no, no! He pushed her about in it! So she could be with him as he preached. He pushed her everywhere."
"She must have liked that."
"There's no written life of him that I know of,' Alfred said, 'but we must surely compose one. He could be a saint for mothers?"
"Or for wheelbarrows, lord. "

― Bernard Cornwell , The Pale Horseman (The Saxon Stories, #2)