‘Afternoon, Mrs Harrison,’ said a warder, when the family alighted from the special bus inside the prison gates. ‘How’s things with you and yours on this ’appy day?’
‘We’re bearin’ up,’ said Ma. ‘Mind, it’s not easy, seein’ Mr ’Arrison has been more unlucky than unlawful. Is he bearin’ up ’imself?’
‘Well, he’s still in the swing of things, Mrs Harrison, as you might say.’
‘Beg your pardon?’ said Ma.
‘With ’is pickaxe,’ said the warder, unleashing a broad grin.
‘It’s criminal, all that hard labour for a gent like me ’usband,’ said Ma, ‘and what I want to know is if he’s gettin’ good marks.’
‘Straight up, Mrs Harrison, it’s all good marks and no black ones. He’s workin’ in the prison library once a week now, and might be twice a week soon. Got something for him in that shoppin’ bag, have you?’
‘Six Chelsea buns and a treacle tart,’ said Ma.
‘I’ll have to have a look,’ said the warder. Other warders were examining what other visitors were carrying.
‘You and your suspicious noses round ’ere,’ said Ma. The warder grinned again. He inspected the contents of her shopping bag, which contained a treacle tart in a tin and six Chelsea buns in a cardboard box.
‘Pass, friend and fam’ly, with tart and buns,’ said the warder. Ma and her family always induced good humour in the staff.
‘Wait a bit,’ said Nick, ‘do all hard labour cases get a chance to do library work?’
‘Not bleedin’ likely,’ said the warder, ‘the governor’s stretched the rules for your old man, especially as he still ’asn’t coughed up the unfound proceeds. Pity about that, he’s not a bad bloke. He offered to get me a gold watch at a knock-down price when he’s done his time.’
‘What?’ said Ma, bristling a bit.
‘You’re right, Mrs Harrison, you wouldn’t think he’d try that one on in here, would you? In you go.’
Marsham Gaol was like a grey stone fortress on the outside. On the inside, it was all monotonous tiled walls. But the spacious room where visiting relatives could talk to inmates was quite cheerful, mainly because several windows, although barred, let in a flood of light. October sunshine was almost caressing the room today. Various visitors were already there, sitting at tables and conversing with men who’d been daft enough to do crooked deeds and get themselves copped and convicted.
Everyone turned their heads to look at the Harrison family. Ma was a picture of neat respectability, and the girls entered without hanging their heads. Although they regretted Pa’s wrong-doing, they weren’t ashamed of him. As for Nick, he was taken up with the possibility that Pa’s obvious good behaviour might earn him several months off his full stretch. As it was, he still had a year and five months to go. If that came down to a year, thought Nick, I could start looking at what Ma would call pleasurable prospects next autumn, say.
Pa came in when they’d seated themselves at a vacant table under one of the windows. He was wearing his convict’s clothes, but somehow he never seemed to look like a convict. He always looked more like a handsome gent wearing prison garb for a fancy dress party. Well, he’d always taken a pride in his appearance, and even if he didn’t like being shut up inside stone walls at night, his daytime hard labour had given him a quite healthy colour. Other men had a prison pallor.
He arrived at the table clean-shaven and cheerful, his hair brushed and his blue eyes as clear as a saint’s.
‘Hello, sailor,’ said the girls in concert as he sat down. That made him grin, and it also made him lively. He told Ma she was getting younger every day, and he told the girls they were all looking like Christmas fairies. It’s only October, said Amy. Can’t help that, said Pa, you all look like fairies on a Christmas tree. He said Nick was looking manly, but hoped he wouldn’t turn into a wet weekend through working in an insurance office. Work in an office or a factory is all right for some people, he said, but not for young chaps with inherited talent and a bit of ambition. All you need, Nick, is a West End suit and a handsome titfer. Then you could sell diamond rings to Her Majesty herself.
Ma went for him, of course. Not that she shouted. She never did. She wasn’t a shouting woman, especially not in this place, where common criminals would hear her. Further, there were always two warders present, not only to keep order but to make sure nothing illegal went on, such as visitors slipping forbidden items to prisoners, like files for sawing bars, or dynamite for blowing the prison up. Ma went for Pa in a low cutting voice.
She told him she couldn’t believe he was still daft, and that he was showing his whole family that he hadn’t learned any sense. Don’t you encourage Nick to dress in flash suits to try and sell your kind of diamond rings to our beloved Queen, she said. It’s not the first time you’ve tried to give him the wrong ideas. I’ve a good mind to take this cake tin out of my shopping bag and knock your head off, she said.
‘Take the treacle tart out first, Ma,’ said Nick.
‘Treacle tart?’ said Pa happily. ‘Mabel, me dear old Dutch, you’re a blessing to a man down on his luck, Lord love your caring heart.’
‘There’s Chelsea buns as well, Pa,’ said young Fanny.
‘May the soldiers of the Lord jump on the devil,’ said Pa, ‘that’s uplifting news straight from heaven.’
‘Bless you, Pa,’ said Amy.
‘Don’t start blessing ’im, not till he’s reformed,’ said Ma. ‘Albert ’Arrison, you won’t get the tart or the buns if you don’t get your brains sorted out.’ She went on to tell Pa that even if he was doing hard labour on account of accidental circumstances, that didn’t mean he’d got to hold a grudge against the law and not do honest work when he came out. And what d’you mean, she said, by offering to get a gold watch for that warder Mr Brinkley? Pa said it was only as a favour. Ma said she didn’t want any of his fairy stories. We all know where them gold watches come from, she said. From that grinning Flash Harry who calls himself Tosh Fingers. I might tell you, she said, that he had the sauce to show up yesterday offering to teach Nick how to make a living without doing any work.
‘I think I heard he was going to offer his services,’ said Pa. ‘Well, his heart’s in the right place, I suppose.’
‘Yes, in ’is overcoat pocket, with ’is gold watches,’ said Ma.
‘I’ll say this much,’ observed Pa, ‘Nick’s grown the right kind of looks for cutting a dash with people who’ve got a useful amount of loose change in their pockets.’
‘Pa, you terror,’ said Alice.
‘I think I also heard there was a lodger on his way to you, Mabel,’ said Pa.
‘Yes, he moved in this mornin’,’ said Ma.
‘Rent?’ said Pa.
‘Ten bob a week,’ said Nick.
‘That should help,’ said Pa. ‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s Polish,’ said Nick.
‘Ma told us he talks funny English,’ said Fanny.
‘Common to Polish geezers, Fanny me pet,’ said Pa, ‘and of no account compared to what ten bob a week can do for your Ma.’
‘Yes, but suppose he gets drunk and falls down the stairs?’ asked Alice.
‘I trust a certain acquaintance of mine won’t have landed you with a lodger who can’t hold his drink,’ said Pa.
Ma said she had a suspicious feeling that Pa still had an acquaintance with a law-breaking Hackney lot, and that if he didn’t give them up his life wouldn’t be worth living when he came out. Pa assured her that when he was back home he was going to use some savings to set up a business in the Portobello Road market. Ma wanted to know what savings he had in mind. Pa said confidential savings. Ma said she’d never heard of confidential savings. Pa said he couldn’t go into details here, but not to worry, she could look forward to him setting up the aforesaid business, which would be selling Old Masters in the Portobello Road.
‘What’s Old Masters?’ asked Amy.
‘I’ve heard of them,’ said Alice,
‘I think they’re paintings.’
‘What, paintings of old schoolmasters?’ said Amy.
‘Whatever they are, I don’t like the sound of them,’ said Ma. She was sitting up straight, as she always did in this place. It dissociated her from the other visitors, whom she thought either blowsy or common.
‘Old Masters are valuable,’ said Nick. ‘Who’s going to paint yours for you, Pa?’
Pa, trying to look hurt, said what he had in mind were highly prized pictures that gentry would pay hundreds of quids for. Old pictures, he said, Old Masters. Nick asked him where he was going to get them from.
‘Glad you asked, Nick,’ he said. ‘It so happens that Tosh Fingers—’ He stopped. Ma’s eyes were like fixed gimlets. ‘What was I saying?’ he asked.
‘Don’t come it,’ said Ma.
‘Well,’ said Pa, ‘I’m not saying the bloke isn’t slightly dubious—’
‘He’s a crook,’ said Alice.
‘All oily,’ said Amy.
‘Ruddy common,’ said young Fanny.
Pa said he was surprised to hear Fanny using language. Ma said Fanny had got it from Nick, who’d got it from their Polish lodger only this morning. Pa said have a word with the gent. Anyway, he said, he wouldn’t get his Old Masters from Tosh Fingers, no, certainly not. He had legal sources in mind. Ma said we know about your legal sources, Albert Harrison, and you can forget whoever it is, or I’ll send Nick round to give him a nasty headache. Just be grateful, she said, that you’ve got an honest son already able to knock people like that Mr Fingers into the middle of next week, and also being as good as a comforting father to the girls.
‘Don’t you mean bossy, Ma?’ said Alice.
‘Now, Alice, mind your manners,’ said Ma. She and her son and daughters all seemed oblivious to the true meaning of this place, and to the presence of several inmates visibly hard-bitten. They always directed their attentions at Pa alone for the most part. And for the most part, Pa acted much more like a guest than a prisoner. Alice truly believed that if he’d made up to that American woman instead of chucking an eiderdown over her silly head, he wouldn’t be here.
When their visiting time was nearly up, Ma took the cake tin and cardboard box out of her shopping bag. One of the warders was on the spot immediately. He inspected the contents of the tin and box.
‘Well, well, what’ve we got ’ere, Harrison?’ he said. ‘Looks like treacle tart and Chelsea buns. You sure he deserves ’em, Mrs Harrison?’
‘Don’t you try purloining them,’ said Ma, ‘or I’ll have the law on you.’
‘So will I,’ said Fanny.
‘I’m shakin’ in me boots,’ said the warder. ‘All the same, I’ve got to admit I’m partial to Chelsea buns.’
‘Well, all right,’ said Ma, sensible enough to know it was a help to Pa to sweeten his gaolers, ‘if Mr ’Arrison says you can ’ave one, I won’t argue.’
‘And I’d be failing suffering humanity if I couldn’t part with one bun,’ said Pa. ‘No, take two, Mr Robertson, take two, and if ever Mrs Robertson fancies a silver bracelet, just get in touch with me. No rubbish, I guarantee.’
‘He’s a natural comic, your old man, Mrs Harrison,’ said the warder, helping himself to two buns, ‘and I’m Simple Simon when I ain’t pickling heads.’
‘Pickling heads?’ said Alice.
‘Right first time, miss,’ said the warder, ‘it ’appens to be the best thing for most of the heads we’ve got in Marsham.’ Off he went with his buns, which gave Ma a chance to berate Pa for doing his gold watch lark again. Silver bracelet, actually, said Pa. Same thing, said Ma. Pa said the offer had slipped out absent-mindedly. Time was up then. Just as well, said Ma, or I might just ’ave done something absent-mindedly myself, and left you with a nasty headache.
Pa said goodbye with a cheerful smile, and most of the way home by bus and train, the girls talked about how well he was bearing up. Young Fanny said it was corblimey awful that he had to be in a place like that. But by the time the family were back home, Ma had put him in the Royal Navy again. Well, a neighbour stopped them in Browning Street and asked the usual questions about him, and Ma supplied the usual answers.
That evening, Ma thought the lodger had better meet the girls, so that he could see they were being well brought up. She’d heard that some daughters of some landladies, being a bit fast, didn’t at all mind being chased up and down the stairs by lodgers when their mums and dads were out. Ma thought it would be a good idea to let Mr Lukavitch know she didn’t allow any of her daughters to be fast.
In response to her invitation, Mr Lukavitch came down to the kitchen in the evening. He looked comfortably casual in belted trousers and an old striped flannel shirt. His black hair was slightly ruffled, his ready smile brightening his dark eyes. Ma, not disapproving of his informal look, since it seemed to indicate he was already making himself at home in the upstairs top, introduced him to Nick’s sisters.
‘This is Fanny, Mr Loovakish. She’s me youngest and me snowy lamb.’
‘Ah, Fanny?’ Mr Lukavitch shook hands with her, and Fanny’s saucy eyes looked him over. ‘How’d you do, eh? Pleased to meet you, corblimey, not half.’
‘Same to you,’ said Fanny, giggling.
‘And this is Amy, me middle girl,’ said Ma.
‘Ah, middle?’ said Mr Lukavitch. ‘I know, middle for diddle, eh? Pleased to meet you, Amy.’ He shook her hand. ‘My word, bleedin’ pretty, I think, don’t I?’
‘Crikey,’ said Amy.
‘Language, Mr Loovakish,’ said Ma. ‘And ’ere’s me eldest daughter, Alice, that’s got an office job.’
‘She’s the ticklish one,’ said Nick.
‘Ah, Alice, eh?’ said Mr Lukavitch, and took in her neat and attractive look. ‘Ruddy tophole,’ he said. ‘You’re liking a tickle or two? Up and down the apples and pears with your young man?’
‘Excuse me,’ said Ma, ‘but we don’t ’ave any of that in this house. All my girls are ’ighly respectable.’
‘I am happy for them, missus,’ smiled Mr Lukavitch, ‘and very pleased to meet Alice.’ He shook hands with her. ‘You are in the pink?’
‘Yes, I’m quite well, thank you,’ said Alice, looking as if she wanted to laugh.
‘What good luck for me,’ said Mr Lukavitch, beaming. ‘I am in the house of a fine family, I think, don’t I? All pretty girls too. Mrs Harrison, I’m allowed to give them a small gift?’
‘Well,’ said Ma, satisfied he understood her girls weren’t to be chased up and down the stairs, ‘I’m sure they won’t say no.’
‘Good,’ said Mr Lukavitch. He dug into his trouser pocket and brought out four strings of polished coloured beads. ‘All my own work, you see? If you please, one for Fanny, the young lady.’
‘Lovaduck,’ breathed Fanny in delight as she received a string, ‘ain’t they swish?’
‘And one for Amy, the middle girl, yes?’ said the lodger, and Amy received her gift rapturously.
‘Crikey, thanks a lot,’ she said.
‘And now one for Alice, the old girl, eh?’ said Mr Lukavitch, handing a string to her.
‘They’ll do our old girl proud,’ said Nick.
‘Corblimey, you bet,’ said Mr Lukavitch, ‘they will suit how young you are as the old one, Alice.’
‘You said that just in time,’ said Alice, ‘but thanks ever so, they really are nice.’
‘Yes, I’m bloody good at making them,’ said Mr Lukavitch. ‘And now, this last one for your mother. Mrs Harrison, allow me.’ He placed the necklace in Ma’s hand. She looked quite overcome.
‘Well, I never did, I’m honoured, I’m sure, Mr Loovakish, and so are my girls. What lovely beads, and all your own work.’
‘Ruddy tophole, eh? I shape and polish and put together like an artist, don’t I? Bleedin’ right I do.’
‘Mr Loovakish, if you could just moderate your language a bit in front of the girls, I’d be obliged,’ said Ma.
‘Moderate is fine, eh?
’ Mr Lukavitch beamed again. ‘I’m happy to speak such good London English with your girls. Ah, see how pretty the beads look.’
The colourful necklaces adorned the girls, and Ma’s looked really fancy.
‘Imagine you made them yourself, Mr Lukavitch,’ said Amy.
‘Good, eh?’ he said. ‘But no, not Mr Lukavitch now we are friends. In Poland, I am Toblisch. Here, everyone calls me Toby. What d’you think, eh? Toby?’
‘Well, I don’t know it wouldn’t be too familiar, callin’ you that when they’ve only just met you,’ said Ma. ‘Their Pa, bein’ in the Navy, don’t ’old with them bein’ familiar.’
‘Any old time, eh, Mrs Harrison?’
‘Yes, any old time after we’ve got to know you,’ said Nick.
‘Ruddy good,’ said Mr Lukavitch. ‘Now I must leave you, don’t I? up the apples and pears to my rooms, eh? Goodbye, young one, middle one and old one, we shall meet again, don’t you think? Goodbye, old cock.’ He gave Nick a friendly pat on the shoulder, and he gave Ma a smile. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Harrison.’ He departed upstairs.
‘Well, I don’t mind havin’ a lodger now,’ said Fanny.
‘Not when he gives presents like these,’ said Amy.
‘I’m in two minds, not havin’ been called an old lady before,’ said Alice.
‘I suppose some women get to it a bit quicker than others,’ said Nick.
‘And some fellers get a bash over the head a lot quicker than others,’ said Alice.
‘I must say it’s nice ’aving a kind gent as a lodger, and not one that falls about drunk,’ said Ma.
‘There’s still time,’ said Alice, ‘he’s not been here a full day yet.’
But altogether she and the girls seemed pleased they didn’t have a lodger who looked as if he’d fall about drunk and break the furniture, even if he did speak his own kind of London English.
On Monday morning, a piece of front page news in the daily paper really got Ma’s goat.
Pride of Walworth Page 11
