‘What’s up?’ sneered his tormentor. ‘Are you frightened your mama and papa’ll be cross? You’ll do it now or you can’t be in the gang.’
Noel was uncertain whether he wanted to be in the gang now, but feared another bout of violence if he refused. ‘All right… what do I have to do?’
Denzil gestured across the river. ‘Pinch a boat from Hill’s boatyard.’
Noel risked sarcasm. ‘Where am I supposed to hide it, up my trouser leg?’
Denzil said nothing but his eyes glittered again, moving the other boys to action.
‘Let’s take our spuds with us!’ Nat wiped the smear of blood from his lip, then used an iron rod to oust the potatoes from the fire. Tossing the red hot vegetables from hand to hand in an attempt to cool them, the boys escorted a dripping Noel up and over Lendal Bridge, then hung back to watch him approach the boatyard. For a time they couldn’t see him as with bared teeth they made ginger attempts to consume the potatoes which, though black on the outside, were still almost raw. Then to their delight and surprise he appeared and beckoned them with a furtive wave. They threw aside their unpalatable tubers and pelted down the slope to find a rowing boat in the water complete with oars.
‘Quick, get in!’ Noel flicked back his wet hair and picked up an oar.
‘I’m rowing!’ Denzil barged past, grabbing the oar. The others clambered precariously about the craft, leaving Noel to heave the boat away. Denzil bent into the oars, alert for the owner of the boat to come running. ‘How did you do it?’
‘The man was attending to a customer,’ explained Noel, not divulging that the customer had actually been himself. If Denzil found out that he had actually rented the boat there would be hell to pay.
After a time, Denzil concluded that rowing was too strenuous and said that Noel could have a go. He himself knelt on the seat, shading his eyes with a hand, like some intrepid explorer. They had just passed Blue Bridge when Spud said, ‘Eh, look at that big rat in the water!’
The so-called rat was in fact an otter which was swimming ahead of the boat.
‘Let’s get it!’ said Denzil. ‘Come on, Noel, row faster!’
The otter veered towards the bank. The boat followed. Nat leaped out and hauled the boat in so that the others could alight. Denzil grabbed an oar from Noel and with a bloodcurdling yell charged along the riverbank in pursuit. Gunner beat Spud to the other oar, both following their leader. Nat and the yellow-haired boy looked round for weapons then, armed with rocks, they too pelted after their quarry.
The glistening otter ran into some undergrowth. Denzil thrashed amongst the nettles with his oar, sending bits of greenery flying. The otter broke cover. The boys streamed after it again. Nat threw half a brick that caught the animal on its rump. It squeaked and checked its flight. Yelling and brandishing their weapons the boys fell upon it. Denzil raised his oar and brought it down upon the otter’s head. Shouting with glee, Spud contributed his own blow to the dead creature while all danced round in celebration of the successful hunt.
‘God, that’s the biggest rat I’ve ever seen!’ Denzil picked up the otter by its tail and dangled it proudly.
‘Actually, it’s an otter,’ provided Noel, then shrank beneath Denzil’s glare. ‘Well, it could be.’
‘Biggest rat I’ve ever seen.’ Spud copied his leader. ‘What we going to do with it?’ No one seemed to know.
Noel, shivering in his wet clothes, tried to be helpful. ‘You could have it stuffed and use it as a sort of trophy.’
This time Denzil looked approving. ‘How do we do it?’
Noel explained that it needed to be done by a specialist, so the boys were obliged to make their way back into town. Alas, the unmoored boat had drifted and was far out in the middle of the river. Denzil gave Nat a thump for his carelessness and said they would have to walk.
It was common practice for the shops to remain open until late and many still had their canvas canopies erected to protect their goods from the evening sun. The boys wandered beneath these canopies, looking into every window until, finally, they happened upon a taxidermist in Feasegate. Denzil read out the diploma in the window: ‘“References to the Nobility” – I wonder what that means?’
‘It means they stuff royalty,’ provided Noel. There was raucous laughter as they entered the shop.
The taxidermist beheld the saturated Noel and the others with reprehension; he had met such young wags before. Denzil laid the otter on the counter. ‘Please, sir, can you stuff this rat?’
Nat marvelled at the way this brute could sound so unusually polite when in the company of adults.
The man looked down his nose. ‘Young man, I do not stuff things. I preserve and fashion them into a life-like pose. It is within my capabilities to do so with a rat but this, my dear fellow, is an otter.’ With a flourish, he produced a list of charges.
Denzil’s mouth fell open. ‘Oh, we have to pay for it?’
‘Do I take it that you are bereft of cash?’ The man leaned over the counter. ‘Then in that case I suggest that you all vacate the premises before I find myself obliged to practise my art upon you.’
The boys left, Denzil having retrieved the otter. ‘Doesn’t matter, I can do it myself,’ announced their leader. ‘There can’t be much to it.’
‘I think you’ll need sand,’ suggested Noel.
‘I know that! I’m not a dummy. Anyway, I’ll do it at home. I’m off now.’ As usual, when Denzil left so too did Spud and Gunner.
Nat and his new acquaintance stood there, looking after them. When Denzil was out of sight Noel murmured, ‘He’s bloody mad. I’ll wager he’ll be up for murder one of these days. Well, I’m not going to be his victim.’ He turned to Nat. ‘Come home with me whilst I change, then I’ll show you a good hideout in my garden. We can form our own gang.’
‘You can’t have a gang with just two people.’ Nat didn’t particularly like the newcomer as a person but was curious as to his background. ‘Still, I could come and keep you company for a while.’
Noel lived in a huge gabled house in Hull Road. Nat could not believe it when he was conducted to the front door of this mansion. Never had he felt so conspicuous in his poverty. Noel led him across the hall and ushered him into the drawing room. The door opened onto a jolly chorus, which ended abruptly as a soggy-looking Noel and his companion entered.
‘Noel, whatever have you been up to?’ His mother rose from the piano stool.
‘I tripped and fell into the river. Nat helped me out.’ Her son indicated the ragamuffin who lurked behind him and whose mouth gaped at the vision of loveliness. Festooned with jet, she wore a gown of Eau-de-Nil with leg o’ mutton sleeves. Her brown hair was caught in a topknot with three rolls at the fore, under which blue eyes stared disapprovingly at Nat. He averted his gaze.
‘Well, do go and change, dear, you really shouldn’t have come in like this when you know that Father and I have company.’
An aloof and elegantly gloved arm waved dismissal and Mrs Scaum turned back to the guests, who were close friends. ‘It’s fortunate that you’re acquainted with Noel’s eccentricities, but I really must apologize for my son’s behaviour. I don’t know why it is but he gravitates towards the most appalling boys. One despairs whom he’ll bring home next – probably gypsies.’
Noel’s father, casual in a polka-dotted smoking jacket, black trousers and white spats, waited until the door had closed before scolding gently. ‘I wish you hadn’t seen the need to speak so candidly in front of the boy, Elizabeth. It could hardly be of his own choosing that he dresses so humbly, and he did come to Noel’s aid.’
‘Dear Steven, ever the philanthropist,’ smiled one of his guests, a Mrs Powers.
Her husband agreed. ‘You’d probably find a good word if old Nick were to come in here disguised in rags.’
‘I’ve never been one to condemn a person for what they wear if that’s what you mean,’ answered Scaum reasonably.
‘It’s not simply the boy’s clo
thing!’ Mrs Scaum rapped him lightly with her feathered fan. ‘Did you not see the shifty gleam to his eye? He looked quite a rogue.’
Her husband dissented. ‘Embarrassment, my dear! How would you feel in his place surrounded by all these wealthy people?’
‘Wealthy? I shall remind you of that when next I ask for a new dress and you refuse on the grounds of poverty!’
Noel was upstairs changing. He threw his wet clothes on the bedroom floor and slipped into dry ones. Nat, mesmerized by the contents of the room, said even less than usual. He went over to the window and gazed down upon the garden; its limits were not visible from here, appeared to stretch for acres.
When Noel was dressed the two went outside. The evening air magnified the scent of roses and honeysuckle, which hung around the walls like a heavy cape. There was a stream with a bridge over it, looking completely natural. Excited, Nat took off, thudding across the wooden planks and racing down a leafy passageway where he happened upon a cage full of exotic-looking creatures. ‘Look!’ He turned a thrilled face on Noel, who wandered up casually and grinned. ‘I know, they’re Golden Pheasants, Father’s pride and joy. Here, you can feed them if you like.’ Reaching for a tin of grain, he passed it to his new friend, then unlatched the cage. ‘Quick! Get in.’
Noel should be called Nosey instead, thought Nat; he fired a continual round of questions whilst all Nat wanted to do was enjoy the moment. Had it not been for his surroundings Nat would have been long gone, but he just could not leave all this. He couldn’t. For the first time ever he was in touching distance of how the other half lived and he did not want to let go.
‘Come on, they’ve had enough.’ Noel led him from the cage to a weed-ridden hideout at the bottom of the garden. ‘I sometimes come here for a toss.’ The two lolled here for a while, though Nat would have preferred to be in the more ornamental surroundings. ‘What does your father do?’
‘I haven’t got a father.’ Nat snapped off a dandelion, examining the white milk that oozed from it. ‘What does that look like to you?’
Noel grinned, but was not to be deterred from his probing. ‘Is he dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘She’s dead too.’ The dandelion was tossed aside.
‘Sorry. Where do you live then?’
Noel’s curiosity was becoming irritating. Nat parried with a query of his own. ‘Anyway, why do you want to hang around with me and the others? Haven’t you got any posh friends?’
Noel was amused at being thought of as posh. ‘Of course I have, but they never want to do anything exciting. I want adventures.’
Nat thought how immature and naive this sounded. ‘I’d swap my adventures, as you call them, for your life any day. Do you still want to be in the gang, then?’
‘I suppose so…’ Noel scraped his boot along the floor. ‘I don’t like Denzil very much, do you?’
Unsure of how far he could trust his companion, Nat merely shrugged.
‘You won’t tell him I brought you here, will you?’ The yellow-haired boy sounded anxious.
Nat shook his head. He didn’t want to share this with anyone, would even eject Noel from the garden if he could.
‘Mother would throw a fit if I were to bring him in here.’ Noel looked awkwardly at his new friend. ‘Sorry about what she said earlier. She thinks everyone who doesn’t wear a suitable outfit is a criminal.’
‘You’d better not tell her I’ve been in the lock-up then.’
Noel looked astonished. ‘Have you really? What for?’
‘Nowt. You don’t have to have done anything for them to bang you up in there. I first went in when I was nearly ten for not going to school. I hadn’t been out a few weeks when they nabbed me again.’
Noel felt a thrill of danger at associating with a tearaway. ‘But surely you must have done something wrong?’
‘What’s wrong about not wanting to go to school?’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yes…’ Nat made a casual addition. ‘Well, this lad who used to be in the gang accidentally set fire to a building, but we didn’t have anything to do with it. I got nabbed and put away again. So if you hang around with us you know what to expect.’
Noel was thoughtful. ‘If my parents should ask what your father does for a living, tell them he’s an engine driver or something.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, you can’t say he’s a lawyer or a doctor can you? An engine driver is a more realistic occupation.’
Nat tilted his chin in defiance. ‘Why should I have to tell them anything?’
The boy gave a pacific smile. ‘You don’t of course, but they’ll want to know who I’m associating with and if you tell them you’re an orphan they might be inclined to dig deeper and find out you’ve been inside. If you just give them a straight answer then they probably won’t ask anything more.’
‘I’ll tell them me dad works on t’railway – that’s what Mr Maguire does. I suppose he’s like me dad in a way.’ Nat rubbed his chin. ‘By, I could do with a shave.’
Noel’s brown eyes widened in admiration. ‘Gosh, how long have you been shaving?’
‘Ooh, a good while.’
Noel touched the imagined moustache on his upper lip. ‘Father won’t allow me to have a razor. He says I’ve enough years ahead of me to get bored with shaving.’
Nat was suddenly generous. ‘You can have a go with mine if you like. I’ll bring it next time we meet.’
‘Thanks!’ There was a call from the house and Noel got to his feet. ‘Oh fack, I’ll have to go.’
‘Is that your mother?’
‘No, it’s the maid.’ The yellow-haired boy tugged at his stockings. ‘Shall I see you tomorrow?’
‘If you like, but make it the afternoon, it’s the lads’ half day.’ Nat stood reluctantly and looked for the exit.
‘Master Noel!’ The call came again.
‘Coming, Starkey!’ Noel showed his friend to a back gate. ‘Where shall I meet you?’
‘Same place by Lendal Bridge. I’ll be there after dinner.’
Noel, understanding that by dinner Nat meant his midday meal, nodded, then grinned. ‘I wonder where that rowing boat is by now?’
Nat managed a smile too. ‘Probably floated down to the sea.’ He was disinclined to leave. ‘I wonder if Denzil’s stuffed that otter.’
Noel laughed aloud, brown eyes shining. ‘The big rat! I can’t wait to see it. Goodbye, Nat, I’ll see you tomorrow!’ He closed the gate.
* * *
Noel could barely hide his laughter when a proud Denzil held up the trophy, which did not actually resemble either otter or rat nor in fact anything that had once possessed life. The fur was completely matted with dried blood and the body was a shapeless lump with huge stitches in the belly. Noel glanced briefly at Nat who showed no amusement and so he, too, forced himself to keep an impassionate face and asked how Denzil had accomplished it.
‘I took all the guts out and stuck some bits of wire into its head to keep it upright, then filled the gaps up with rags,’ said a proud Denzil, placing the otter on the ground for all to admire. ‘Good isn’t it? But we need a proper place to keep it, so today we recapture our old camp. We have enough men now that Noel’s joined us.’ He took the standard from his pocket. ‘Find a branch.’ Gunner found one and the banner was affixed.
‘May I carry it?’ asked an eager Noel.
‘Go on then, but you walk behind me.’ Denzil led them through town to the derelict St Sampson’s, where sheep were penned in the graveyard awaiting their transfer to the butchers’ shops in Shambles. Here he called a halt and crouched by the railings of the churchyard, narrowing his eyes for signs of the enemy. A pretty young woman sashayed past. ‘Good afternoon, miss!’ Denzil called politely, then muttered with a leer, ‘By, I could put my boots to that.’
Nat, unfamiliar with the term and knowing Denzil’s propensity for violence, assumed it meant he wanted to kick the girl,
but was mystified as to the reason. However, he had no time to have this explained for their leader was beckoning for them to advance with stealth upon the enemy. To the joy of all their numbers were about equal and with the advantage of surprise Denzil, Nat and the others emerged the victors, driving out the interlopers, stealing the beerbottles they had collected and once again taking up residence.
With an accompanying chant of triumph, the branch that Noel carried was rammed into the soft earth, its banner fluttering as a warning to others. Later, Denzil went to collect the stuffed otter which he exhibited on a tombstone. ‘There! Doesn’t it look good?’
Nat dared not even glance at Noel.
‘Are you coming tomorrow?’ Denzil asked the latest member of the gang.
‘I can’t,’ responded Noel. ‘I’m not allowed out on a Sunday.’
‘Do you want to come cow-walloping next Thursday, then?’ offered Denzil.
‘I’d like to but I’ll be at school.’
‘You still go to school?’ Spud was amazed. ‘You ought to get yourself a job.’
‘My father wants me to matriculate and be a doctor. Aren’t any of you still at school?’
‘Nah!’ Spud was derisive. ‘We’ve all got jobs. I work at Rowntrees, Gunner works for t’Council, Denzil kills cows…’
‘Ugh, really?’ Noel wrinkled his nose.
Denzil assumed a look of maturity and nodded. In truth he was only qualified to separate the offal from the slaughtered animals.
‘And Nat…’ Spud looked puzzled. ‘What exactly do you do, Nat?’
‘I collect scrap and sell it.’
‘Do you make much money?’ asked Noel.
The other was nonchalant. ‘Enough to live on.’
‘What school do you go to then?’ enquired Spud.
‘Archbishop Holgate’s.’ Noel felt childish beside these working men.
‘Never heard of it.’
‘It’s down Lord Mayor’s Walk.’
‘Bet it’s posh.’
‘No it isn’t,’ replied Noel.
‘Must be if you go there.’
‘I’m not posh.’
‘Yes you are! You’ve got a posh voice and a posh name.’
Shoddy Prince Page 21
