Barnie was getting impatient, Jim could see that. It was almost as if he didn’t believe him. ‘Where are your friends, then? Where do you live?’
‘Ain’t got no friends. Don’t live nowhere.’
Barnie stared at him. He walked away from the fire and back to it again, then went to the desk. He sat down on his chair and stayed with his fingers drumming across the flat of the desk-top, like the patter of rain on a roof. Jim wondered if he was angry with him.
‘It’s the truth, sir,’ he said anxiously, ‘I ain’t telling you no lies.’ He spoke in the whiney voice the other street boys used to adults.
‘Tell me,’ the man said at last. ‘How many boys are there like you? Sleeping out in the streets?’
‘Heaps,’ said Jim. ‘More than I can count.’
It was Barnie’s turn now to stare into the fire, as if there were secrets in its flames, or answers to great puzzles. He was as still and quiet as if he had gone to sleep, and Jim kept still too, afraid to break into the man’s thinking. The only sound was the spitting of the logs, and outside, the bleak voice of the wind.
‘Now,’ the man said, very slowly, like someone creeping up on a bird in case they frightened it away. ‘If I am willing to give you some hot coffee and a place to sleep in, will you take me to where some of these other boys are?’
Jim looked sideways at him. ‘You wouldn’t tell the police?’
‘No,’ said Barnie. ‘I wouldn’t tell the police.’
‘All right,’ said Jim. ‘I’ll take you.’
It was some time later that they arrived at the high wall of the market. Jim stopped, afraid again. What if Barnie told the police about them, and sent all the boys to the workhouse? But if he didn’t show Barnie, he wouldn’t get the hot meal and the shelter to sleep in. He didn’t know what to do. Barnie seemed to understand and just stood waiting and watching while Jim glanced from side to side, afraid to be seen by anyone in the man’s company. He had almost made up his mind to run away and leave him standing there when the man said, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Jim, sir.’ Out it came, and it sounded such a special thing. ‘That’s it now,’ Jim thought to himself. ‘That’s the last thing I’ve got, and I’ve just give it away.’
‘Where are they, Jim?’
‘Up there, sir.’ Jim pointed to the roof of the market shed.
‘There? And how am I to get up there?’
‘I’ll show you.’ Jim made light work of it. There were well-worn marks on the bricks where the mortar had fallen or been picked away. Jim shinned up quickly and then leaned over the edge, holding down a stick. Barnie grabbed it and heaved himself up, and stood shakily, brushing his clothes and his grazed hands. He held up his lantern.
And there, all round him, lay the boys, curled up in their rags of clothes, sleeping like dogs.
The End of the Story
And this man, Barnie – well, I never seen a grown-up look so sad, and that’s the truth. He just looked and looked, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. I was shivering next to him, and I thought he was never going to move or stop looking. I thought he was going to stay there all night.
‘So this is where you live, is it, Jim?’ he asked me.
‘Yes,’ I said, and I felt sad for him then, because he looked as if he felt as if it was all his fault. Know what I mean?
And then he said, ‘Well, how about that meal I promised you?’ and that cheered me up, because I thought he’d forgotten all about that. He started to climb down the wall, skidding a bit because he had boots on, and it’s not so easy if you’re not in bare feet. He took me to a house and gave me a meal and let me have a hot bath. And do you know what he said? He said, ‘I’m going to give you a home, Jim.’
I went back with him next day to the roof-top, and I told the other boys about him. It wasn’t long before they all decided to come with me. There’s so many boys wanting homes now that he’s asking rich people for money to open another house for them. That’s why he wanted to know my story, see?
It’s like having lots of brothers, living here. We all sleep in a big upstairs room with a roaring fire and swingy hammocks hanging from the ceiling. We get plenty to eat. He tells us about God a lot and he’s kind to us. He gets us jobs to do like chopping wood and we get paid, fair and square, and then we pay him for our meals.
And there’s nothing to keep us here. Can’t believe that, I can’t. No bars on the window or locks on the doors. No beatings. I could run away tomorrow if I wanted to.
But I don’t, see? I’m Jim Jarvis, I am. And this is my home.
Author’s Note
Jim Jarvis was a real boy, but not very much is known about him. I’ve tried to imagine what his life was like up to the time when he met Doctor Barnardo in about 1866. Doctor Barnardo trained to be a doctor but never qualified as one. He gave up his career and his ambition to be a missionary in China, in order to help the poor children of London. First he opened up ‘Ragged Schools’ for them, and then he raised money from wealthy people to help him to set up homes for orphans. He often said that meeting Jim Jarvis was what made him aware of the real plight of destitute children in London.
Jim did run away from a workhouse after his mother died, and was helped by a woman who sold whelks and shrimps. He lived for a time on a coal lighter with a man and dog and was treated very cruelly. After he ran away from them he lived in the streets and slept on the rooftops, until he went to one of Dr Barnardo’s Ragged School classes and asked him for help.
Shrimps is based on Jack Somers, also known as Carrots, who actually came to Dr Barnardo’s notice a little later. In real life Carrots died of starvation in a crate before Barnardo could give him a home. His tragic story was also a very significant event in the history of Barnardo’s, and ever since that time there was a notice put on the doors of the ‘Cottage Homes’ as they were called, saying ‘No destitute boy ever refused admission.’ Soon Barnardo began to open homes for girls, too. Dr Barnardo’s work became known throughout the world, and the charity still exists today as Barnardo’s, to help young people in all kinds of ways.
About the Author
Street Child
Jim crept forward, invisible in the deep shadows, and stood hardly breathing just inside the gate. He heard the carpet woman laughing quietly, and at that moment he took his chance. He slinked himself like a cat into a thin, small shape and glided out of the gate. He tiptoed along the other side of the railings and stood with his breath in his mouth till a cart rumbled past. He darted out behind it and ran alongside it until he was well past the workhouse, till his breath was bursting out of him. At last he fell, weak and panting, into the black well of a side alley.
He was free.
Other titles by Berlie Doherty include
Spellhorn
Tough Luck
And for older readers
Dear Nobody
The Snake-Stone
Copyright
First published in Great Britain by Hamish Hamilton
First published by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 1995
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
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The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is www.harpercollins.co.uk
Berlie Doherty’s website address is www.berliedoherty.com
Copyright © Berlie Doherty 1993
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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