Eve of the Isle

by Carol Rivers

  Joseph nodded, wagging a stern finger. ‘Is that so? Well, I have forty pairs of boots upstairs and I would like them all clean for tomorrow.’

  This time the boys knew he was joking. They laughed as they drank from clean white china cups on undamaged saucers. Eve was relieved to see that Peg also looked happy. She had given the seal of approval to their room and was examining the contours of a small china bowl, no doubt assessing the value.

  Thanks to this kindly neighbour they now had shelter and full stomachs. Tonight they would sleep in real beds under warm blankets. Eve could hardly wait to lay her head on the pillow.

  On Sunday they set about cleaning the cottage again. But the rats seemed to have increased overnight. By the afternoon, Eve was eager to return to number seven. The fear of the vermin had got the better of them, even the boys refused to venture inside.

  When they arrived back at Joseph’s, Eve was surprised by a large tin bath in the scullery.

  ‘I have boiled water and prepared you the bath,’ Joseph said as the boys gazed at the clean water, towels and large bar of Sunlight soap. ‘Fill it up as you please. Boys, come into the parlour with me whilst the ladies bathe first.’

  ‘This is luxury!’ exclaimed Peg as they undressed by the warmth of the stove. ‘You go first, gel. I’ll keep me drawers and vest on for a bit.’

  Eve removed her underclothes quickly. The steaming water looked enticing. She sat in it as Peg poured a saucepan of warm water over her.

  ‘Peg, I’m in heaven.’

  ‘I’ll scrub your head. Reckon we’ve got nits, don’t you?’

  ‘We need the disinfectant to get rid of them.’

  ‘Next week we’ll go to the council.’

  Lulled by the warmth, soap and cleanliness, Eve slid down. As Peg rubbed the Sunlight soap into her scalp, Eve thought about her cress patch at the cottage. It had vanished under the sewage and now only a brown stain remained. The water from the stream had resumed its gentle trickle, seeping under the wall and back to the docks, but all the carefully positioned stones and moss that Eve had arranged over the years to encourage the seedlings were gone.

  ‘Peg, I ain’t got no rent money,’ she burst out.

  ‘Nor me, gel. But don’t worry. We’ll tell them we’ll owe it, pay two bob a week off the arrears when we’re solvent. What can they do? Come and turn us out of a rat-infested cottage that should be pulled down anyway?’

  Eve sat up quickly, spilling the water. ‘They wouldn’t do that, would they?’

  ‘Over my dead body.’

  ‘Tomorrow I’ll go up Covent Garden early. See what work’s around. The boys will be at school.’

  ‘Do you want me to see them nuns for you at St Saviour’s?’

  ‘No, I’ll speak to Sister Mary later.’ Eve winced under the fierce scrubbing of her head. She didn’t want to get on the wrong side of the nuns. ‘Hope there’s something up the market.’

  ‘You’ll have to smile nicely at the old boys.’

  ‘At least I’ll smell nice.’

  ‘If you get anything, I’ll help you sell it. We’ll go up Pall Mall and the Strand, like the old days. Me and your mum used to wink at all the gents. They’d buy a dead flower if you looked at them the right way.’

  Eve wasn’t so sure about winking at the men. Peg was out of touch as she didn’t sell on the streets much these days. Now it was the merchandise that counted with customers. The buttonholes had to be manipulated to keep the flowers fresh. The competition was fierce and Eve took a pride in her stock. But would she be able to start again without a basket?

  Eve set off. It was dark and cold in the early hours of the morning, but the streets were busy with horse-drawn traffic. She was offered a ride by a costermonger and sat on the back of the cart, watching the city wake up. Less than an hour later, the lights of the busiest market in London were upon them.

  They parted, each to their own entrances, the clip clop of the old horse ringing out on the cobbles. Eve made her way through the busy arcade under the imposing cast iron structure. Looking round the lofty naves and glass fanlights, Eve inhaled the familiar scents of flowers and ripe vegetables and she remembered her lessons at school. Covent Garden had been designed by Inigo Jones in 1632 and had survived the test of time. Already the traders and porters were hard at work.

  ‘And the best of mornings to you,’ cried one Irish man whom Eve knew well. His flowers had often filled her basket. His ruddy face under his cap was welcoming and Eve’s spirits rose.

  She began to explain that she had lost her basket on the night of the storm. Busy with his customers, he pointed her in the direction of the next trader. Eve hurried through the gathering crowds, waiting patiently as the workers heaved large baskets of cabbage, carrots, potatoes, oranges, apples and bananas over their heads to pile onto the back of carts and motor vehicles waiting outside. For a moment, she paused to watch and enjoy the sights and sounds surrounding her. The reds, blues and yellows of the flowers, even in winter, the ripe and healthy fruit and vegetables and the shouting and jostling of the men, women and children on the perimeters, waiting for the discarded bargains of the morning to fill their empty barrows.

  Eve repeated her story to the trader as he worked swiftly to replenish his stand, but he had no basket free to offer her. As soon as one was empty it was immediately refilled.

  ‘Come and see me at the end of the day,’ he shouted as he heaved a large sack of potatoes on his shoulders.

  Eve thanked him and moved on, her eyes searching for empty baskets in which she could carry her wares. But there were many like her, desperate for an opportunity.

  By midday, Eve’s hopes were fading. She had been offered one large basket but even empty it was too heavy for her to carry. It was quickly snapped up. If the twins had been with her, they could have carried it.

  She stood in the piazza, tugging the collar of her coat up to her ears to keep out the winter breeze. It was whistling through the beautiful stone and glass architecture, causing her to lower her head against its force. Even if she had found a basket, she had nothing to put in it.

  What was she to do now?

  Joseph Petrovsky shovelled a little coke into the stove and turned to study the young woman at his table. She was eating the last of the borsch, but her pale face and weary expression told him that her day had been long and exhausting. Her long brown hair was dressed in a plait and she wore clothes that were old and darned. His heart went out to her. A young woman, in the prime of her life, with two young boys to support. He knew she worked hard as a flower-seller and that she had lost her livelihood in the flood. He knew what it was to lose everything. To have no identity and beg on the streets. His youth had been a mountain of worry and fear. Until he had come to this country, he had not known freedom in the true sense of the word. And he owed his existence to strangers, good people who had welcomed him into the community, given him work and the opportunity to make a new life for himself.

  He poured tea from the samovar and sat beside her at the table. She smiled, but he could see the fear in her eyes. Beautiful eyes, he noted, golden eyes, that were honest and good.

  ‘Your journey was not productive?’ he asked gently.

  She nodded and put down her spoon. ‘Good working baskets with handles are in short supply.’

  ‘Can you not buy one?’

  ‘I bought me last basket years ago. It was a good one, not too big and lasted a long time.’ She sighed. ‘If only I hadn’t gone out the night of the flood.’

  ‘Let me give you a few shillings for the investment.’

  She shook her head firmly. ‘No, thanks all the same.’

  ‘It’s merely a loan.’

  ‘I’ll find one tomorrow.’

  He sat back on the hard chair. ‘You are a stubborn young woman.’

  She laughed. ‘That’s what Peg says.’

  He understood her pride and respected it. He had known Eve Kumar for many years but in Isle Street people kept themselves to the
mselves, their secrets were important to them. He had seen many things, but one of the most pleasant was the sight of a young couple, a black-haired lascar and a pretty young flower-seller, walking hand in hand, the light of love in their eyes. It had reminded him of Gilda, the woman he had loved and who had not survived the flight from their homeland. Suddenly the pain went through him as he thought of her. The ache was still there in his heart after all these years. In many ways, Eve reminded him of her. And the young sailor who had married her could well have been him.

  ‘Now, you must drink your tea.’ He pushed the cup towards her.

  ‘I hope me boys have behaved themselves.’

  ‘They are good boys. But they told me the Sister Mary was unhappy.’

  She nodded. ‘The nuns are strict.’

  He paused. ‘A good education will benefit them. If I have any regrets it was that I had so little. The Zemstvo, the council of men who provided the schools, were removed from the needs of the peasants. I was only a little older than Samuel and Albert when I was sent to the water company to dig holes and mend drains.’

  ‘That must have been hard.’

  ‘But I was alive. Many of my countrymen died or were robbed of their education. Eventually the Jews were blamed for the assassination of our Czar, Alexander. Thousands of our towns were destroyed. Russia was an imprisonment but it was also home. Yet even this was to be taken away from us.’

  ‘What about your family?’

  At her enquiry Joseph felt the old memories stirring inside him and the longing for physical contact from the long-dead. ‘They perished.’ He shook his head slightly and straightened his bent back. ‘But that was many years ago.’

  ‘I ain’t ever going to complain after what you just told me,’ she said quietly.

  Joseph stood up. ‘My dear, say your tefilla, your prayers of thanks, and God will look kindly on your face.’

  ‘I hope so.’ She rose and carried her plate to the sink, glancing over her shoulder with a smile. ‘Though according to Sister Superior at St Saviour’s she says she has a lot of work to do on us sinners.’

  ‘Oh yes? And why is that?’

  ‘The boys ain’t been to Mass or confession in weeks.’

  ‘The Sister Superior lives in a nice dry house and is safely under the care of Rome,’ he was swift to point out. ‘It is easy to be saintly in those conditions. Has she ever had to accommodate, I wonder, such things as those unwelcome guests that frequent your cottage? Or scrape the mud from the church walls? Or stand on a cold corner selling from a basket in order to forge a living.’

  ‘And I bet she wouldn’t get much custom in that black rig-out,’ she laughed as she washed the dishes.

  Joseph was glad to put a smile on her lips. In the face of adversity it was always humour that got you through.

  ‘Goodnight and God bless.’ Eve kissed the boys goodnight. ‘See you in the morning, by God’s good grace, Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ they replied sleepily.

  ‘And say a prayer for our cottage.’

  ‘We have.’

  ‘And for Mr Petrovsky too.’

  ‘It ain’t bad here,’ said Albert from under the covers. ‘We’ve got a real china po under the bed.’

  ‘And when we got home from school,’ said Samuel eagerly, ‘Mr Petrovsky cooked us more borsch.’

  ‘And let us sit near the stove. Me feet was as warm as toast.’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ nodded Eve.

  ‘And tomorrow we’re having somethin’ else nice. I forgot what he said as it’s got a funny name.’

  ‘Todah rabah means thank you,’ said Samuel quietly. ‘Mr Petrovsky learned it to us.’

  ‘He taught it to you.’

  ‘I’m gonna say it to Sister Mary,’ said Albert, laughing.

  Eve smiled. Her boys were full of mischief. She wondered what Sister Mary’s answer would be.

  Eve pulled the curtain across. Peg was already in bed. Dressed in a thick woollen jumper over her nightdress, she was smoking a roll-up. A saucer was perched precariously on the bedclothes. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t set the place alight.’

  ‘You’d better not. We’re running out of places to stay.’

  ‘The old boy ain’t half bad. Never had much to do with him, even though he’s lived here since before the war. Always said hello mind, and passed the time of day. Even bought a few of me flowers once or twice. I seen a few odd bods visiting him, the type that keep their caps on and collars turned up. Mind up here on the hill you can’t see much more than from where we are. But I tell you this, I never thought I’d be living under me sister’s roof and an old Russian bloke’s, all in the same month. If anyone had told me that before Christmas, I would have said they was barmy.’

  ‘You never know what’s round the corner.’ Eve undressed and climbed into bed. She shivered even though Joseph had given them two blankets each to add to their outdoor coats and the musty eiderdowns they had rescued from the cottage.

  ‘And he ain’t bad with the lads,’ Peg continued, coughing as she inhaled. ‘Whilst I was up the council he fed them when they got home from school. I reckon we fell on our feet coming here.’

  ‘But I don’t want him to think we would take advantage,’ said Eve as she snuggled down.

  ‘Why would he think that?’ shrugged Peg, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

  ‘Because he feels sorry for us. He even offered to buy me a basket,’ Eve whispered so the boys wouldn’t hear.

  ‘Blimey, that solves a big problem!’

  ‘Of course I refused.’

  ‘What!’ Peg’s bushy grey head whipped round.

  ‘He’s an old man and hasn’t got much himself.’

  ‘How do you know that? He might be loaded.’

  ‘Even if he was, I wouldn’t accept. I’ll find a basket tomorrow if I set off earlier.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re daft,’ muttered Peg flattening the dog-end in the saucer.

  But Eve had her pride. ‘Did you speak to the council about the rats?’

  Peg shrugged as she crushed the dog-end. ‘They won’t do nothing till we pay our rent.’

  ‘Did you tell them we would?’

  ‘’Course I did.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  Peg was silent then yawned loudly. ‘I told this stuffed shirt he should come round and see what seven and six a week buys. More ruddy rats than in an African jungle.’

  Eve groaned. ‘They’ll never come round now.’

  ‘Well, this time they can sing for their supper.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look, I’ve lived in that cottage years, long before you was born, ducks. And in all that time, I’ve paid me way, not missing a week and the bleeding council have sat on their fat arses, never lifting a finger to help. The walls are wet and the floors even wetter. The roof is leaking and if it wasn’t for Jimmy, the slates he’s nailed back would’ve stayed where they were, in the gutter. Now, I reckon it’s about time the government wallahs held out the olive branch to Isle Street, came along and did their duty before I pay them a penny more. Right, now I’m off to get me beauty sleep.’

  Eve closed her eyes. What was she going to do? Peg was at loggerheads with the council and they wouldn’t come to fumigate if the rent wasn’t paid.

  She had to make some money. But how?

  Chapter Nine

  Eve rose early and hailed a ride on a milk cart. Covent Garden market was already busy, the traders and porters attending their stands. It was as the dawn’s rays broke through the glass fanlights that she met a costermonger trying to sell off his old stock. He took her out to his cart.

  ‘How much do you want for it?’ Eve asked.

  ‘How much do you offer?’

  ‘I could pay you when I’ve sold it.’

  He grinned. ‘So I’d have to trust you, would I?’

  ‘I’m known to some of the traders here.’

  ‘Yeah, your face is familiar. Are you the flower-and cress-seller
from up Aldgate High Street on Friday nights? The one with two teapot lids?’

  Eve smiled. ‘My boys, Samuel and Albert. But we lost our basket the night of the flood.’

  He pushed his cap back from his sweating face. ‘So how do you propose to flog this stuff?’

  ‘I could do it easy if I had a basket,’ said Eve, though she didn’t like the look of some of the crushed apples and oranges.

  ‘How much business have you been doing up Aldgate?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘Brisk,’ said Eve.

  ‘Well, how is this for a deal, young woman. You take me leftovers each day, early mind, so I can load up me cart without the stuff rotting underneath. I’ve got two baskets so you can borrow one of ’em and at the end of the week, return me five bob.’

  ‘Five bob is a lot of money.’

  ‘You said you could sell it easy!’ exclaimed the costermonger.

  Eve looked him in the eye. ‘You drive a hard bargain.’

  ‘Are we on?’

  ‘Four bob and we’ll shake hands.’

  He threw back his head and laughed. ‘It ain’t me who drives a hard bargain, lass. But I like the look of you, so the deal’s on.’

  He stretched out his hand and she shook it.

  ‘Me name’s Archie Fuller. What’s yours?’

  ‘Eve.’

  He gave her a wink. ‘Get cracking then, lass. I’m going in to buy meself fresh stock. When I come out in an hour I want to see me cart empty.’

  As Eve rummaged through the fruit and vegetables, an idea came to her. She worked swiftly to retrieve only the fruit and vegetables that she could make presentable to the public. When the basket was full, she called to two Irish families whom she recognized from yesterday. The women and children had been standing on the sides, waiting to carry baskets for purchasers.

  ‘Do you want what’s in here, all free?’ she asked pointing to the cart.

  They nodded eagerly.

  ‘You can have it if you help me out to the street with my basket.’

  Ten minutes later Eve was standing on the corner of a road close by. She had told her new employees that if they wanted a repeat performance they were to meet her early the next day. The offer was accepted immediately.