by Carol Rivers
As she sat wearily on her bed, her eyes closed and Raj’s dear face came to mind; her sailor husband who had lived here with her for three short years before his death. Somehow they had always made ends meet. Those years had been the happiest of her life.
‘Mum, I’ve finished me supper!’
‘So’ve I.’
Her sons’ voices brought her back to reality. Drawing back the curtain, she turned down the lamp, leaving a soft glow in the room.
‘Tell us a story. A river one,’ said Albert, as she placed the plates to one side and sat on his mattress. ‘About Old Father Thames and the Stink.’
Eve chuckled. ‘After tonight I don’t think I’ll tell you them stories again.’
‘I was only joking,’ yawned Albert. ‘I wasn’t really afraid. There ain’t no monster is there?’
‘Not if you don’t tempt him,’ said Eve warningly. ‘But if you play on the barges and fall in, you’ll soon find out what Old Father Thames looks like.’
‘Samuel makes me do it.’ Albert peeped accusingly at his brother from behind the sheet.
‘We only watch the other boys,’ Samuel said hurriedly. ‘We don’t jump the barges.’
‘I should hope not,’ said Eve firmly. ‘You know what happened to Tommy Higgins.’
Some years ago there had been a river fatality in Isle Street. Maude Higgins’ youngest son of fifteen had missed his footing whilst thieving from one of the barges. His body was swept away by the current and gruesomely retrieved weeks later. The Higgins’ six sons were rough diamonds, but they were salt of the earth and the loss of their brother had affected them deeply.
Eve indicated the bucket. ‘Do you want a wee?’
‘No, we done one whilst you was changing,’ giggled Samuel. ‘The bucket’s half full already from the leak in the roof.’
‘It came down on me head as I was doing one,’ chuckled Albert.
They all laughed and when Eve had kissed them both, she made the sign of the cross, saying one Our Father and One Hail Mary as was their usual nighttime prayer. ‘Goodnight and God Bless,’ she ended, ‘see you in the morning, by God’s good grace, Amen.’
‘Amen,’ replied the boys sleepily.
Tiptoeing to her small space, she took a tartan shawl from the chest. Though old and worn from its many flower-selling days, the shawl had been her mother’s and gave Eve great comfort. Pinning up her long hair, she glanced in the small mirror nailed on the wall. Her large amber eyes were heavy with tiredness, shielded by the flutter of her thick brown lashes. She knew from the photograph that her dark hair and delicate bone structure were inherited from her mother. Peg always maintained that if Sarah Flynn had survived the flu epidemic of 1918, she would have preserved her Irish good looks to this day, despite the hard work and worry that had had turned her hair prematurely grey. It was down to Sarah, she insisted, that Eve was possessed of the timeless beauty of her forefathers.
Another wave of tiredness crept over her as the noise of the rain on the roof seemed to increase. She turned and trod softly over to gaze at her sleeping children. Two little boys, both beautiful in their own way. A hard life awaited them. No amount of wishing otherwise could change the fact. But she had built up many contacts over the years and preserved a good reputation. The watercress would always sell well. The posies and buttonholes too, if you knew how to present them. These gifts from the earth were bread and butter to them. At least Albert and Samuel would inherit the knowledge.
Once more she leaned to kiss them lightly, then pulling her shawl round her, made her way downstairs.
In the kitchen, she found Peg cursing loudly. A pool of dirty brown water funnelled up through the kitchen duckboards making little whirlpools and sucking noises.
‘Isn’t there something we can do?’ Eve stood still, her eyes wide with concern.
Peg turned round slowly, a look of resignation on her lined, worn face. She snatched the dog end from her lips and cast it into the muddy puddle. ‘Watch this,’ she croaked.
Eve waited as the bobbing article made its way with speed to the feet of the stove. It swirled there and Eve held her breath, praying the level would drop. But then the dog end was sucked down between the two submerged clawed black feet of the stove.
‘It’s risin’,’ said Peg. ‘And fast.’
‘The stream must be blocked.’
The enormity of the problem suddenly struck Eve. Once the kitchen and scullery were flooded, what would happen? Would it flow over the kitchen step?
Peg muttered under her breath, shaking her head. ‘This is different, girl. We ain’t had nothing like this ’afore.’
Eve nodded in agreement. It was true, the stream had never raised the duckboards to make a lake of its own. Then Peg gave a hoarse gasp. Lifting a shaking finger she pointed along the passage.
Eve blinked and blinked again. It couldn’t be! A glistening tongue was creeping slowly but surely under the front door and moving towards them.
Chapter Two
Soon the water was running over the cracked linoleum and up to the stairs.
‘We need to build a barricade,’ said Eve, knowing as she spoke it was a ridiculous idea. The force outside the door was building, even the hinges were creaking.
‘It’d have to be a big one,’ sighed Peg, shaking her head. ‘No, there’s only one thing we can do and that’s to take shelter upstairs.’
Eve knew it was the only answer, even though she didn’t want to accept the fact.
‘Come on,’ said Peg, clutching Eve’s arm. ‘We’ve got to work fast. We’ll take the stuff what’s movable from me room up to safety. You get the food from the larder. Put it in the wicker basket hanging on the door. We don’t know how long this is going to last.’
Whilst Peg began to collect her things together, Eve returned to the kitchen. The water level had risen to ankle depth. She undid the string round her boots and removed them then, gritting her teeth against the cold, waded barefoot to the larder. Placing the cheese, bread and dripping she found there in the wicker basket, she hitched up her skirt and returned to the passage.
‘I took all me papers and bedclothes upstairs,’ said Peg breathlessly. ‘This here is me clothes. The furniture will have to look after itself. There ain’t much anyway. Just a few nice ornaments and I put them on the mantel.’ Peg paused, then said regretfully, ‘I don’t like to say it, ducks, but them little cress seedlings of yours will already be under water.’
Eve shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to be done about that.’ Her small patch of cress by the stream would be lost to the main thrust of water from the docks.
‘I’m sorry for you,’ said Peg heavily. ‘You’ve brought that little piece of land into life over the past few years.’
‘I’m not going to think about that now, Peg. We need to save all we can in the house. Don’t know how deep it’s going to get.’
Peg went back to her room and Eve took the food upstairs relived to find the boys still fast asleep. The creaks and gurgles of the cottage hadn’t woken them.
‘Blimey, look at your feet girl, they’re turning blue,’ Peg said when Eve returned to help her.
Until that moment Eve hadn’t felt her feet; the cold water had numbed them.
‘I took me boots off. They’re me only dry pair.’
‘Well, bloody well put them on then again. You won’t be no use to God nor man if your feet are frozen off.’
When Eve had put on her boots she lifted the two hooded capes from the nail on the wall.
‘Yeah, better take them,’ nodded Peg. ‘If the roof falls in we might need ’em.’ Despite the severity of the situation, she gave a chuckle. ‘Run them upstairs then come and help me with the mattress. I’ve cleared a space on top of the sideboard where it could balance.’
Eve was soon helping Peg to lift the sagging mattress on top of the wooden cabinet. It took them several attempts but finally it was in place.
‘It’d have to come waist high to reach this.’
Eve nodded. ‘Let’s roll up the rugs and put them high too.’
When all was complete, Peg pushed back her bush of hair. Wiping her hands down her thin face, she frowned. ‘We’d better turn off the lamp for safety’s sake.’
Eve did so, leaving the room in darkness. Only the lamps upstairs reflected a glow as they paddled through the wet passage and ascended the stairs.
‘Oh, me flamin’ rheumatics!’ exclaimed Peg as she paused half way. ‘Me pins are creaking like trees.’
‘Give me your hand,’ Eve extended her arm, ‘and I’ll help you up.’
‘The bugger you will!’ exclaimed Peg, waving her off. ‘I might be old and slow, but I ain’t dead yet.’
As Peg shuffled one stair at a time, Eve heard more gurgling outside. Was it about to force open the door?
‘I never thought this could happen,’ she said as Peg joined her on the landing.
‘Me neither,’ agreed Peg wearily, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. ‘We’ve had a bit of spillage from the docks over the years, but nothing we can’t manage. Are the boys still kipping?’
Eve nodded. ‘They were a minute ago.’
‘Where the bloody ’ell has Jimmy got to?’ demanded Peg, frowning at the closed door to their left. ‘He should be here now, helping us out.’
‘P’raps he got cut off by the river,’ shrugged Eve. ‘Or the paint factory needs help.’
‘More like he’s onto a fiddle,’ grumbled Peg irritably.
Jimmy’s no angel, but it’s unusual for him to be absent this late at night, thought Eve worriedly. Or was it now the early hours of the morning?
A resounding crack came from downstairs. They both jumped as the cottage seemed to shudder.
‘The front door’s gone!’ whispered Peg. ‘Gawd help us.’
It was as they stood waiting for the next eruption that Eve realized the next few hours were going to be crucial. The cottage was old and already in a state of disrepair. Would it simply fall apart at its seams? Just how high would the river rise? What would they do if it came up the stairs?
It was dark; the lamps had finally burned out and the four small bodies were huddled together on the mattresses for warmth. They had drawn Peg’s eiderdown over them, unable to sleep as they listened to the sucking and swirling noises below.
‘Will Old Father Thames come in?’ said Albert in a small, frightened voice.
‘No, chic,’ Peg assured him. ‘Not whilst me and your mum have a say in it.’
‘Morning ain’t long now.’ Samuel’s little croak was a brave one. Eve knew he was frightened like his brother, but wouldn’t show it.
‘Yes, the daylight will cheer us up.’ Peg’s husky voice was coarse and deep, and she coughed and cursed herself for leaving her tobacco on the scullery windowsill.
‘But the water could come upstairs,’ persisted Albert. ‘And wash us away.’
Peg chuckled. ‘No chance of that love, ’cos Peg Riggs would tell it to sling its ’ook.’
Eve and the boys laughed, despite or perhaps because of their fear. Peg’s light-hearted defiance throughout the night had kept them going but when would the morning come? How high was the water? No one knew.
‘Is it going to be like the Great Stink again?’ asked Samuel, touching on Eve’s own concerns. ‘Has everyone’s lavs gone in the river?’
‘I ain’t done a poo in our lav today,’ giggled Albert. ‘But I done one at school.’
‘It don’t matter what goes down a lav, son,’ replied Peg with a chuckle, ‘it’s what’s comes up that’s the problem. And it won’t be just us, but every other poor sod who gets flooded out.’
‘Wonder what’s happened to the Higgins?’ Eve’s thoughts were with their rough and ready neighbours.
‘And what about Mr Petrovsky at number seven?’ said Samuel.
‘The authorities will send out the fire engines no doubt,’ suggested Eve. ‘With their pumps and long hoses.’
‘Yeah, but unless it’s the ones with horses, none of them motorized vehicles could get near us,’ Peg reflected.
‘They might send a ship,’ said Albert, ‘like our Dad’s, the Star of Bengal. It sailed all the way from India across seven seas. Tell us about it, Mum.’
Eve smiled in the darkness; the boys loved to hear the stories of their father over and over again.
‘Your dad was born in India,’ Eve’s voice was filled with a soft longing. ‘A beautiful paradise.’
‘Where the palm trees sway on the sand,’ Albert prompted, eager for her to continue.
‘Yes, and where it’s always hot even in the monsoon.’
‘That’s the big rains, ain’t it?’ Samuel said.
‘It rains for months solid,’ nodded Eve, ‘as I’ve described to you hundreds of times.’
‘We was going there,’ Samuel continued, taking up the story. ‘To meet our grandparents who was still alive when we was born.’
‘Was they all black?’ This interruption from Albert, his favourite question.
‘Your granddad was Indian, your grandma, Portuguese.’
‘What’s that then?’
‘A mixture. A bit like we are on the Isle of Dogs. People settle on the island from all over the world, since Queen Elizabeth’s time when the Mudchute was used as a hunting ground for her dogs. Your father came here not to live, but work for a big shipping company. They employ men from all over the world, called lascars. As I’ve told you many times, he started as a just “boy” but soon became “topman”. And you both know what “topman” means in English, don’t you?’
‘Able Seaman,’ shouted Samuel and Albert together.
‘Very good. And, of course, you know it was your father who brought us the watercress seeds and gave us our livelihood. You were only babies when we planted them in the stream and from that day forward they’ve grown there in abundance.’ She didn’t add that by now the delicate plants might have perished.
‘Tell us about our other granny,’ went on Samuel, eager not to fall asleep, but yawning loudly.
‘Aren’t you tired yet?’
‘No,’ said both boys sleepily.
Eve smiled. ‘Your other granny – the one called Sarah Flynn – was my mother and came from Ireland and sold flowers like us.’
‘She’s gone to heaven, ain’t she?’
‘Yes,’ replied Eve wistfully. ‘She died in the flu epidemic of 1918, just after the war.’
‘And Granddad is dead too, ain’t he?’
Before Eve could reply Albert interrupted. ‘Yeah, but he didn’t get the flu. He died from bein’ coloured yellow in the war.’
‘Will we get the flu or the yellow?’ asked Samuel knowing the answer already.
‘No and you’re not likely to,’ interrupted Peg with a nod to the shelf. ‘What with all your mother’s medicines up there.’
Silence descended at last as Albert snuggled down on the pillow. ‘Tell us about our granny, Peg. How she was your best friend.’
Peg gave a deep sigh. ‘Well, your gran was one in a million and I was proud to call her me best pal. She was the prettiest flower-seller in all of London and to be honest we had the time of our lives. Selling at all the theatre doors, we’d meet lots of ’andsome gents, who’d give us the eye and pay us a pretty penny for our posies. Like your mum, your granny had long brown hair when she was a girl and eyes of sparkling amber. But no man matched up to your granddad, of Irish descent too, but a true Cockney at heart. ’Course, like a prince and princess, they fell in love and got married. They had your mum, followed by a little boy but he didn’t survive, sad to say. Soon after, came the war. Now, you know all about that from school, how all the blokes were ’eroes and your granddad went off to fight for king and country. But he got the yella’, a bugger it was an’ all. They sent him ’ome on one of them ’ospital ships, but it was too late.’ Peg sighed again, her eyes sad and far away. ‘And as if the war weren’t enough with all its dead, then came the flu. I done all I could for your
gran when she caught it, but she had no resistance. I reckon she missed your granddad so much that she decided to walk up heaven’s stairs to join him.’
‘The same stairs we’ll walk up one day,’ said Samuel as he too wriggled down into the warmth.
‘Yes, ducks, the same stairs.’
‘And we’ll see Tommy Higgins too. We can ask him what Old Father Thames looks like layin’ under all that water.’
Albert was silent. Eve knew he had fallen asleep. Within minutes Samuel also began to snore.
In the quietness, Eve felt a pang of deep regret for her sons. They had stories instead of real people to remember. The other kids at school took for granted their aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents. Even their fathers and mothers. But there was no family left for Albert and Samuel, only her and Peg. And Peg wasn’t even blood related, although they considered her and Jimmy family, nonetheless. Eve had brought her boys up to believe in the hereafter, where one day they would join their father, family and friends again.
A slow, coarse chuckle came from Peg. ‘These kids don’t need no telling, they could repeat their family ’istory word for word. And heaven’s stairs – I ask you! It’s as real to them as Piccadilly Circus is to us. Though to tell you the truth, last night when I saw that water coming in, I would have gladly climbed up them stairs meself!’
‘Don’t say that Peg.’
‘Oh, I’m only having a laugh, gel. We’ve all got to go one day, and it don’t worry me in the least.’
Eve didn’t like to joke about losing Peg. She was all the family they had and the mainstay of their lives, the cog around which the family wheel turned. She had welcomed Raj into the household and loved him like a son.
Resting her head on the thin pillow, Eve thought of Raj, the tall, willowy young man she had met at the market whilst he was on shore leave from the Star of Bengal. Wearing a brightly coloured tarboosh on his head, pyjama like trousers on his long legs and heelless flat sandals, he had made a dashing and elegant figure. It was just after her mother’s death and to make her smile, he had bought her a bunch of carnations, coals to Newcastle was Peg’s expression. The handsome young sailor with skin the colour of dark gold had visited her again on his next leave. They had fallen in love and married, despite the prejudice against Asiatic seamen. Ten months later, their twins had been born. Eve knew that if Raj hadn’t fallen overboard, they would have been blissfully happy. Raj was the light of her life and she had their two beautiful boys to prove it.
