London Folk Tales

by Helen East

  One day the old blind beggar heard the sound of something whining pitifully, and sent Bessie hurrying off to see what the trouble was. She soon found a poor bitch which had had a litter of puppies in the ditch, but being too weak and thin, she was unable to feed them. One of the pups was whimpering, and trying to clamber out. The girl picked it up and took it to her father, and he found a scrap of whey cheese he had been given, and fed the little creature crumb by crumb. From that day on, the puppy loved the old man so much that he followed him everywhere, and looked after him in every way he could. And because he was quick and clever, Bessie’s father taught him all sorts of tricks, and that delighted passers-by, who would stop, and pay a coin or two to watch the fun. He was also presented with a bell, so that people would know when he was coming, and pay attention when he was crossing the road. In this way, the blind beggarman became well known, and people would watch out for him.

  Seeing this, Bessie began to feel that the time had come when she might happily leave him more often on his own, so when he asked her again to try to find some other kind of occupation for herself, she agreed. But hoping to find honest work, she turned her back on London town and walked instead through marshy ground towards the North.

  She had walked for a day or two, and was getting very tired, when, in the village of Romford, she came to a coaching inn named after the king. There she stopped to rest, and begged for a piece of bread to eat.

  ‘I have no coins to pay, but I’ll work in exchange – a good full day,’ she said. The innkeeper’s wife took her at her word, but once she had seen how hard the girl worked, she said a half day was enough, and gave Bessie a good meal too.

  At that Bessie felt bold enough to ask if she might stay on as a tavern wench, and the landlady agreed, for she knew so pretty a girl would help bring people in. Especially when she heard Bessie could sing. But she was a good woman at heart, and warned the girl that she might find some of the customers a little rough. At which young Bessie threw back her head and laughed.

  ‘My father is a London beggarman,’ she said. ‘Although an honester one you will never find. So I have had practise aplenty in dealing with men of all kinds.’

  So, Bessie stayed, and in no time the innkeeper’s wife was treating her like a daughter. And the young men were coming like bees to blossom. And when they heard sweet Bessie sing they lost their hearts altogether. The good wife, taking the girl’s affairs to heart, was careful to stress that she was not to be trifled with; ‘marriage or nothing,’ she said. And seeing that amongst the suitors was a knight, a rich man’s son, and a merchant who was also well-to-do, she also took Bessie aside. ‘Watch what you say my girl,’ she said, ‘you could end up some rich man’s bride.’

  Imagine how dismayed she was when the girl received all offers with the same words, ‘First ask my father for consent. He’s known at Bethen Hall Green. He is the blind beggar with the dog and bell, who daily sits begging for charity.’

  ‘That’s it,’ sighed the innkeeper’s wife. ‘You won’t see them for dust.’ And indeed the merchant and the rich man’s son, and many others too, were soon gone.

  But the knight remained. ‘It is yourself, and not your purse I love,’ he said. ‘I will gladly ask your father, if you will give me hope.’

  ‘More than that,’ she said joyfully, ‘for if you wish, I will come now with you.’ And so Bessie retraced her steps, but this time sat upon a horse, with her true love beside.

  Gossip, however, goes faster than horse’s hooves, and the knight’s family were outraged to hear that he meant to marry a penniless beggar’s daughter. When they arrived at Bethen Hall Green, Bessie’s father was surrounded by the knight’s brothers, armed and angry, and beggars from all over town who had gathered to take Bessie’s part if need be.

  They all stepped back to make a circle round the three, and Bessie helped her father to his feet. Knight faced beggar, and each held out their hand to the other.

  ‘But if it is money that you rate,’ the blind man cried, ‘let us turn and turnabout, drop down an angel for the bride. My gold, I’m sure, will more than equal yours.’

  For every coin the knight and his kinsmen threw down, the beggar tossed two more upon the ground. And on and on it went until the knight’s gold was all spent, and the beggar’s daughter’s bridal gift was £30,000.

  ‘And now I’m free,’ her father said, ‘by “Longshanks” leave to say. My daughter is far better born than many noble men. I lost my sight in battle, and my father in the same. Evesham was the battle, de Montfort was his name.’

  So the truth came out, and all was reconciled on every side. Bessie fairly won her man, and he his honest bride.

  And many a toast to both was drunk at the inn where they both met:

  Then take her and make her your jewel so bright,

  For many a lord this wedding would spite,

  The most beautiful damsel that ever was seen,

  The blind beggar’s daughter of Bethen Hall Green.

  If you fancy raising a glass too, on behalf of love, or luck, or ballads about them, you could always try the Blind Beggar’s pub on Whitechapel Road. Though I don’t think they accept angels any more.

  11

  DICK WHITTINGTON

  There’s many a slip betwixt cup and lip.

  Maybe that led to the tale of poor Dick.

  For some say the story began with Sir William of Pauntley’s youngest son

  Whose name was Richard Whittington.

  However it started, however he came from Gloucestershire to London town, on the back of a horse or the flat of his foot, along the way, he lost half his name. Take the ‘rich’ from Richard, and you’re left with only ‘hard’ and that indeed is how his new life went. For London town was a hard place for a country boy to establish himself; whether he be an orphan, or just the youngest son, heir to nothing but hope.

  As he grew closer to London, the road he was on met up with others, until it seemed that all the roads in the world were leading in the same direction. And more and more traffic joined him too, from every side, until he felt he was being carried along on a river of travellers of all kinds. There were carriages calling for room to pass, men on horseback, donkey carts, people driving cows and sheep, one woman leading a line of geese, children running here and there, beggars begging everywhere.

  Dick didn’t know which way to look, until suddenly they emerged through woods onto open heath, and there beneath were the City walls and a great arched gate. High Gate – the north ‘door’ to London town.

  People poured through like water flooding in, and as the road sloped down it seemed to him they were going faster and faster. So many buildings of every shape and size! In the end he just wanted to shut his eyes, and open them to find himself at home again. Churches, arches, markets, houses, halls, away in the distance he thought he spied St Paul’s. And the roads flowed into lanes, and alleys, and cuts and streets, some paved, too, though none with gold as he had been told they would be.

  More swept along than choosing his own way, he found himself at last at London Bridge. There was a great stone tower at his end of it. And beyond that he could see shops built on the bridge, and houses too. There was even a chapel there, he knew, dedicated to St Thomas à Becket. He promised himself that as soon as he’d found his feet, he’d visit it.

  But meanwhile he had to find the house where he was to stay, although how anything could be found in a city this size was beyond him.

  Just then a young man not much older than him came strolling by. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked, with a smile. ‘You look a bit lost.’

  ‘Well yes I am,’ said Dick, surprised and delighted to find someone so friendly at just the right moment. ‘I’m looking for a house near London Stone.’

  ‘Well that’s the easiest place to find in the whole of London!’ laughed the boy. ‘You must be from far away if you don’t know where it is. Come on, I’ll take you, it’s only a step or two down the river.’

  So of
f they went together at great speed, and in no time at all young Dick had told his new friend all about himself. In return he heard so much about London ways, all rattled off at such a pace, that his head was whirling and he was quite out of breath with trying to keep up with it all.

  It was certainly a good deal more than a couple of steps, but at last his friend stopped abruptly at a crossroads, and, catching hold of Dick’s arm, he whirled him round about. ‘Here you are! London Stone!’ he cried, pointing to a huge slab, taller than a man. ‘Can’t miss it.’ And indeed you couldn’t, for it jutted so far into the street that barrows and carts had to trundle right round to pass.

  ‘Now I must be off!’ the young man said, and away he went with a cheery wave, before Dick had time to blink. ‘Oh thank you!’ he called. ‘I’m most obliged.’

  ‘Much obliged meself,’ his friend answered with a laugh, as he disappeared round the corner. It was only when Dick was left alone, and he put his hand in his bag to get his papers and everything ready, that he realised why his friend had laughed so much and had been so obliged. For all that he’d possessed had gone: his purse; his apprentice papers; and even his little luck piece from home.

  He turned, and ran a few steps after the boy. But it was hopeless. The thief had already vanished. Cursing himself for being a fool, and wavering between rage and tears, Dick wondered what to do next. He wouldn’t ask anyone else for directions, anyway. There was no one to trust. So he wandered around, hoping he would find the house by accident. Instead he got lost, and soon it grew dark. He spent that night cowering in doorways, jumping up at any sound, and moving on if anyone came past. At dawn he made his way down to the river, hoping at least to wash his face, and drink a mouthful or two.

  To his surprise when he got there, by the side of the tower, he saw a dozen or so boys, some his age, some younger, splashing at the water’s edge. Keeping his distance, he was about to duck his head in, when one of them shouted ‘Not there! Upstream!’ and jerked his thumb eastwards. ‘And watch it! Ain’t safe to get in!’

  Now he saw what they were doing. Washing skins. And the blood and mess was flowing his way. He called his thanks and went the other side of them. Here the river looked cleaner, but as soon as he dipped his hands in, he could feel the current pulling, and he understood what the boy meant. When he’d washed, he went over to thank him again.

  ‘Deadly,’ the lad agreed. ‘When river’s high someone always gets drowned. And when it’s cold we freeze. Can’t win, can you?’ He sniffed and dragged an armful of soggy ram skins out onto the bank. ‘Still, won’t be forever, I’ll get on to something better. If I survive, that is. I’m a ‘prentice with the leather. We all start with this.’

  Dick told him he was hoping to be an apprentice too, and the boy grinned. ‘Good luck to you!’ he said, and pointed the way back to the London Stone. And this time Dick was luckier, both in his choice of friends and in finding his way. For just as he saw the stone up ahead, he noticed a grand house on his right, with a picture outside that showed a Maid’s Head, the sign of the mercer. It was surely the house he was looking for, and, as if in confirmation, he heard the familiar song of a blackbird calling to him from the garden behind. As soon as Cheapside stirred properly into life, Dick marched boldly across the street, and knocked on the door of the mercer, Mr Fitzwaryn.

  It was opened by a maid, who looked him up and down and seeing how rough he looked by now, took him for a beggar. Shaking her head, she directed him to another entrance at the side of the house. When Dick knocked there, the door opened onto the warmth and rich smells of the kitchen, and the poor boy realised how hungry he was. But now it was the cook standing there glaring at him. ‘What do you think you’re after?’ she cried. ‘Coming here knocking as bold as the master!’

  When Dick tried to explain, she picked up a skillet and chased him away.

  As luck would have it, however, Mr Fitzwaryn came out at just at that moment, and although he was surprised to see Dick hovering near the door, all mud-spattered and forlorn, and without purse or letters or anything, he soon took charge of the situation, and brought him into the house.

  So that was how Dick Whittington began his life as a loyal and obedient servant, and the newest and youngest apprentice to the merchant trade of the London Livery Company of Mercers. The ‘Livery’ part of the title had only just been introduced – on account of the elegant ceremonial robes that King Edward III encouraged guild members to adopt. The practical reason was that it helped show which guild was which, but the delight in such sumptuous clothing was also a sign of the times, amongst rich Londoners especially.

  The mercers were general merchants, specialising in cloth, mostly exporting wool, and importing silk or linen or calico. Mr Fitzwaryn was one of the wealthiest; he only imported silk and velvet, and dealt in specially embroidered work, which was highly fashionable and much in demand at court. He had a workshop where it was woven, and seamstresses who made it into clothes; he also had a shop where it was sold, as well as dealers who took it all over England and Europe. So it was the best of places for a likely lad to learn.

  Sometimes though, because Dick was new, and young too, and knew so little about London life, the older apprentices would tease him and play all manner of tricks on him. But by and large they were good-natured, and Dick was so cheerful and hard-working that they could not help but like him. Of course, as the newest one to join, he had all the worst jobs, the ones that everyone wanted to pass on to someone else. But there was nothing nearly as bad as the apprentices in the leather trade had.

  As well as working in the shop, the apprentices helped serve in the master’s house. Dick did most of this, because he also lived there. And the best of that, as far as he was concerned, was Mr Fitzwaryn’s daughter. Her name was Alice, and she was nearly thirteen, a year younger than him. She was light and bright as a summer’s day, with a quick smile and a kind word for everyone. And she liked to talk to Dick about the things that he knew most about – creatures of the countryside, especially birds. He could imitate their songs, and made her laugh by mimicking the way they moved, too. But above all, she loved the story of Dick and the blackbird calling on that first morning. They could have talked for hours, if they’d ever had the time.

  For it was a busy life that Dick lived, early morning to late at night. And he would have been happy – even with a bedroom in the roof so small there was not room to stand or move about at all – had it not been for two things.

  The first was the rats and mice who ran all over him at night, and nibbled whatever they could find, including poor Dick’s clothes. He was forever trying to fight them off, and make good the mess they had made. But worse than that was the constant harassment he had from the cook. When she discovered that Dick was the new apprentice, instead of being apologetic for chasing him away on the first day, she seemed to blame him for the mistake she had made. From then on she made his life as miserable as she could. She complained the fires that he built were too smoky, said he took too long if she sent him to buy something, that he left the sweepings of silk everywhere, and anything else she could think of. But harder still were the things she said to him when nobody else was about. That he was a clumsy country fool, and that people laughed at how he dressed. And she’d seen the way he looked at Miss Alice, and how he tried to impress, but hadn’t he guessed that Alice herself mocked him behind his back? Poor Dick would lie awake wondering if what she said was true. And if it was, it would break his heart, but what was he to do?

  So the days turned into weeks, and the months became one year and then two, and then almost three. Dick was doing all and more that he was asked to do, and being bright, he quickly learnt the ins and outs of the mercer’s craft. One day he pleased the master so much that he was given ten groats and an afternoon off, to go and enjoy himself at the May Day celebrations.

  So Dick and the other apprentices went down to All Hallows church, and from there all the way to Billingsgate there were garlands and ribbons and st
alls. So they watched the parades and laughed at the jesters, and joined in the dances too. Then they wandered along the stalls, but there were so many fine things, Dick couldn’t make up his mind what to buy.

  But by the time he got to Billingsgate he was ready to eat, so he spent four of his groats on oysters, which he’d never had before, and he thought them the best thing he’d ever tasted. When he’d done he licked his lips and looked around and what did he see but a cat, watching him with desperate eyes. Knowing what it was like to be hungry, and enjoying the pleasure of being wealthy enough to do what he wanted, Dick bought the poor creature a whole fish for herself. She wolfed it down, bones and all, and then she stuck to him all afternoon, and when he started off for home she followed after.

  Then suddenly a rough-looking man blocked his way. ‘Oi!’ he bellowed. ‘What you doing with my cat?’

  ‘She isn’t yours,’ protested Dick. ‘She’s a stray.’

  ‘Only since she’s strayed away from me!’ said the man, snatching her up by the scruff. ‘If you want her, you’ll have to pay.’ The poor creature meowed so piteously that Dick couldn’t see what else to do but hand over the last of his money. So all he brought back from the fair was a cat. And that he hid under his doublet and carried upstairs to his room.

  But for the first time since he’d arrived in London, he slept the whole night through. For the cat made herself busy at once, catching the rats and the mice. So from that night on, the cat grew fat, and ceased to be wild, and Dick relaxed, and stopped being so tired. And both had a friend to rely on.

  Not long after, Mr Fitzwaryn had a new shipment of wool and cloth to sell abroad. He was a fair man, and he was doing well, so he decided to let all his apprentices and the whole household have a chance to share in trading overseas. So he called everyone downstairs, and asked if they had anything to sell that they would like the captain to take with him to barter on their behalf. Everyone had something except for poor Dick. He had neither money nor goods to offer.