Pride of Walworth

by Mary Jane Staples

  The pitch was slippery from rain. Nick, attempting a sliding tackle close to the touchline, missed completely and slithered several yards forward to finish on his back at the feet of the official supporters’ club.

  ‘Now then, clumsy,’ said young Fanny.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ said Nick. ‘You got anything to say, Miss Somers?’

  ‘Yes, utter rubbish,’ said Annabelle.

  And that was all she said to him during the entire match. She’d gone by the time the team had changed.

  I’ll get her, thought Nick, I’ll get her. Ruddy hell, though, what do I do with her when I do get her? Ask her to come and visit Pa with me?

  Mr Lukavitch didn’t go out with his bag of beads on Sunday. He’d caught flu. Ma said you couldn’t trust flu, it was one of them sly diseases that sneaked up on people when it should have been hibernating. Ma could say hibernating. She often said she’d heard Mrs Clancy of Revesby Street was hibernating again. What she meant was that Mrs Clancy had taken to her bed with a new bottle of gin and wouldn’t be seen for a couple of days. In regard to flu, Nick said it didn’t hibernate in the winter, anyway, only in the summer. Ma said well, it ought to.

  She did her best for the likeable Polish lodger. Feed a cold, starve a fever, that was how she went about it. It was what she and most women in Walworth believed. So she didn’t take up any solid foods for Mr Lukavitch, but she did supply him with mugs of hot tea and Bovril. He was poorly, she said, but not chronic. She didn’t want anyone to go up and see him in case the germs sneaked up noses and took hold. Nick and the girls asked what about her nose, then? Ma said that having had the flu twice herself in her lifetime, her nose had got immunity.

  She went round to the doctor’s on Monday morning to tell him about Mr Lukavitch, and the doctor called later, confirmed it was flu, told him to stay in bed and left him a bottle of medicine. Ma was present, and she noted the fact that the lodger was ailing but doing his best to be cheerful. He asked the doctor how his bleedin’ canary was. Still singing, said the doctor, and Mr Lukavitch said corblimey, ruddy good, eh? Mind, it was in a bit of a weak voice, said Ma, and you’ve got to forgive him for using language to the doctor. The girls said all right, we forgive him. Corblimey, course we do, not half, said saucy Fanny. Yes, but don’t keep copying him, said Ma, or you’ll all get a clip. Don’t forget you’re Pa’s daughters, she said, and your Pa’s a gent at heart, remember.

  In the evening, Nick was in the parlour with Danny, helping him to compose a letter to the head office of the London and South Eastern Railways. It was an application for a job in railway workshops. Danny wanted to better himself, saying he was desirous of marrying a certain party in about a year. Nick said a certain rotund party? No, Dumpling, of course, said Danny. I told you, you’ll have to force the issue, said Nick, so have a quiet word with her dad about getting her into her parlour and getting her jumper off.

  ‘Make sure her dad comes in at the right time—’

  ‘You’ve said all that once,’ complained Danny, ‘and I ain’t doin’ it. I ain’t been brought up to get any girl’s jumper off, least of all Dumpling’s, which I kind of cherish.’

  ‘Granted,’ said Nick, ‘but you’ve got to show her you mean business, and when her dad comes in on cue and finds you waving her jumper about, he’ll order you to marry her or take his shotgun to you.’

  ‘He ain’t got any shotgun, yer daft haddock, and even if he ’ad, I ain’t interferin’ with Dumpling’s personal clobber. Now, would yer mind if we got on with doin’ this important letter?’

  They were getting on with it when Nick heard the front door open. Someone had used the latchcord. It couldn’t have been any of the girls. They were all in the kitchen with Ma, Alice at the sewing-machine, Amy knitting herself a woolly hat, and Ma doing her best to put a wave in Fanny’s hair with the help of the curling tongs. Ma’s three girls had always looked well cared for. Even in Hackney Wick, when Pa had been an irregular provider, due to the unreliable returns of his profession, Ma had seen to it that none of her offspring ever left the house looking a thing of rags and patches.

  ‘Hold on a tick, Danny.’ Nick went into the passage, and there was slinky Tosh Fingers already halfway up the stairs. ‘Wait a minute,’ said Nick, ‘what’s your game?’

  Tosh turned, his permanent grin spreading to become an invitation to a waltz, if Nick cared to.

  ‘’Ello, Nick me young friend, ’ow’s yerself this ’appy New Year? I won’t be more’n ’alf a jiffy, I’m just goin’ up to see ’ow the guv’nor’s acquaintance is. Toby, yer know. Well, I was passin’ by, and the guv’nor said while I was doin’ that, I could look in on the gent and see if ’e’s lodgin’ nice and comf’table with Mrs ’Arrison. ’Oo I ’old in regard, ’e said.’

  Since no-one with any sense would trust Tosh Fingers to even serve a bun to an elephant without trying to nick the animal and sell it as horsemeat to a pie and mash shop, Nick said, ‘Yes, I heard all that, but what’re you after?’

  ‘After? I just told yer, Nick, it’s a goodwill call.’ Tosh resumed his climb of the stairs. Nick went up after him and cut him off on the first floor landing. He blinked hurtfully. ‘Yer in me way, Nick,’ he said.

  ‘You can’t go up,’ said Nick, ‘Toby’s down with the flu.’

  Tosh scratched his chin.

  ‘Well, ain’t that a cryin’ shame, Nick, a nice bloke like ’im? I tell yer, matey, flu don’t ’ave no respect, not even for archbishops. A church-goin’ aunt of mine caught it once at the end of July, would yer believe, just as she was lookin’ forward to knockin’ down a few coconuts at the Bank ’Oliday fair on ’Ampstead ’Eath. We had to bury the poor old girl the day after the Bank ’Oliday, and ’er old man, me Uncle Jim, put a coconut in ’er coffin to send ’er ’appy to the Lord. ’Ope it ain’t goin’ to be likewise fatal for Toby. That would upset the guv. Well, I’ll go up and extend me condolences and see how ’e is, eh?’

  ‘Not till I’ve been up first to ask him if he wants to see you,’ said Nick.

  ‘All right, Nick, you do that,’ said Tosh.

  Nick went up to the top floor, knocked on the door of the lodger’s bedroom, opened it and put his head in. Mr Lukavitch was in bed, looking wan, his eyes closed.

  ‘Toby?’

  His eyes opened.

  ‘Ah, Nick,’ he said, his voice a bit husky.

  ‘There’s a bloke called Tosh Fingers wanting to see you.’

  ‘Him?’ Mr Lukavitch sighed.

  ‘He’s called to see how you are.’

  ‘How bleedin’ kind, eh?’ Mr Lukavitch dragged the words up. ‘Let him come up.’

  ‘Well, keep an eye on your belongings or they’ll disappear,’ said Nick. ‘Are you feeling a bit better?’

  ‘I think so, don’t I? Yes, I think.’

  ‘Hope so,’ said Nick. He went down and told Tosh he could go up.

  ‘Well, I’m a warm-’earted bloke, Nick, and it comes natur’lly to me to cheer up a sufferin’ friend,’ said Tosh, and up he went. Nick returned to the job of trying to help Danny make a name for himself with the General Manager of the LSER.

  If Nick hadn’t closed the front door, he probably wouldn’t have heard Tosh leave. But he had, so he did hear him. The front door always made its own little noise when it was opened and closed. He got up from the table and looked through the bay window. Mr Lukavitch might not have owned any family silver, but he also might have. One could never tell with some of the characters to be found in London.

  By the light of the lamp just across the street, Tosh Fingers was visible, going like Springheeled Jack towards the Walworth Road. He was carrying Mr Lukavitch’s black bag.

  Up went Nick to look in again on the lodger. He didn’t want to worry him when he was obviously aching all over with flu, but he felt he had to.

  ‘Toby, that bloke has gone off with your bag.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Yes. Don’t worry, Nick.’

  ‘Oh. Right. If you say so. Sorry to
have woken you up again. Hope you have a good night.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Nick liked the Polish lodger, but not his friends, Mister Horsemouth and Tosh Fingers.

  On Wednesday morning, there was a paragraph on page four of Ma’s daily paper relating to a dramatic incident at one of His Majesty’s prisons. A warder on duty in the nearby quarry narrowly escaped being crushed to death by a boulder which, having become dislodged, hurtled precipitately down from the lip. A prisoner performed an act of heroism by flinging himself at the warder and pushing him clear in the nick of time, although at great risk to himself. Warder and prisoner both fell. The warder escaped unharmed, the prisoner broke an arm. The prison Governor intended to approach the Home Office with a view to securing parole for the convict in question. The man had undoubtedly saved the warder’s life.

  Ma missed the paragraph.

  The Governor thought it said just enough. He called Pa into his office, and Pa, his left arm in plaster and a sling, arrived accompanied by the chief warder.

  ‘Convict 43789 present and correct, sir,’ said Mr Saunders smartly.

  ‘Complete with plaster and sling, I see,’ said the Governor. ‘Is it uncomfortable, Harrison?’

  ‘Not uncomfortable, Governor, no,’ said Pa. ‘More inconvenient, you might say.’

  ‘I might,’ said the Governor, ‘but I prefer to point out it looks convincing. You’ll have to make your own arrangements to have the plaster removed. If you go to a hospital to have it done, they’ll want to know who plastered a perfectly sound arm.’

  ‘Well, Governor,’ said Pa, ‘I do happen to know—’

  ‘I’m sure you know all the quacks in London,’ said the Governor. ‘You’ll be released Monday week, but God help you if Inspector Clark of Scotland Yard draws a blank, and God help you too if you break any conditions of your parole. You’ll be back inside before you can turn round. My compliments to you, Mr Saunders, for arranging the incident so well, and I trust Warder Brinkley has got over his near heart attack.’

  ‘No worries, sir, all in the line of duty,’ said the chief warder.

  ‘It had to take place before and not after the law has made its move,’ said the Governor.

  ‘Understood, sir,’ said Mr Saunders. Pa understood very well himself. It had been his idea to contrive a convincing reason for his release before the law took action on the information he’d supplied. Otherwise, certain sensitive people might think he’d blown the gaff, and that it was this and not a subsequent life-saving act that had secured his release. In which case he might become the victim of a fatal accident. As it was, the law was lying low at the moment, waiting to pounce on the gang and its leader. Scotland Yard had agreed to make Pa’s release look exclusive to his act of heroism. The Governor and the law were taking a chance on his information being correct. Pa was much obliged for their belief in him, and said so.

  ‘Our belief, Harrison, is in the fact that an excuse can be found to hang you if the law draws a blank,’ said the Governor.

  Pa assured him he was dead against being hanged.

  During the afternoon, Nick was summoned to the fourth floor, much to the renewed agitation of his manager, who had hoped all this unheard-of stuff had blown over. Nick, of course, wondered if the summons meant a renewal of tea and crumpets with Annabelle.

  God received him with a searching look, as did the bewigged bevy of City merchants.

  ‘H’m,’ said the almighty chairman.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You’re still among us, Harrison.’

  ‘Yes, I’m still alive, sir.’

  ‘Something we must all put up with, would you say?’

  ‘Well, I do have a few friends who don’t mind.’

  ‘Life is full of surprises,’ said God, ‘and some are more surprising than others. However, that is by the way. I have to tell you, Harrison, that at the end of next month the company will be dispensing with your services.’

  Nick, in shock, could only say, ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I think you heard me, Harrison.’

  ‘Well, so I did, sir, but that doesn’t mean I find it easy to believe. No-one’s complained to me about my work, and if I’m getting the sack, I’d like to know why.’

  ‘It’s enough for you to know your department manager will be advised this afternoon that you’re leaving us.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s very fair,’ said Nick.

  ‘Don’t be impertinent.’ God scowled.

  ‘I don’t see it’s impertinent to ask for a reason,’ said Nick.

  ‘The reason, Harrison, is that this is not a suitable place for your employment.’

  ‘Sir?’ Nick was incensed, particularly as he knew he simply couldn’t afford to lose his job. New ones didn’t hang about on trees. ‘Why isn’t it?’

  ‘Because I say it isn’t, you whippersnapper.’

  ‘Blow that for a lark,’ said Nick, ‘I don’t like the smell of it.’

  Thunder creased God’s brow.

  ‘Damned if I ever heard such impudence,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I know, sir, but I can’t believe you think this is fair,’ said Nick.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet. Stand still and listen. First, as far as being fair is concerned, you’re being given exceptionally good notice. Secondly, on the first Monday in March you will commence work with the firm of Parker, Rawlings and Gregson Ltd in St Mary Axe. They deal in imports and exports. Mr Gregson’s assistant will be leaving in March, and you’ll take his place. Your salary will be one hundred pounds a year.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes?’ said God. Nick groped. ‘Lost your tongue for once, have you, Harrison? I find that a pleasant change.’

  Nick was still groping. Hundred pounds a year? Two quid a week? Ma would do a knees-up and the girls would dance on the table. He could give Ma a pound a week for her housekeeping and put ten bob a week into a savings account. Wait a minute, how had this happened?

  ‘Excuse me, sir, is this anything to do with Annabelle?’

  God’s scowl reappeared.

  ‘Are you referring to my great-niece, Miss Somers?’ he asked threateningly.

  ‘Yes, I am, sir. Has she—’

  ‘Hold your tongue,’ growled God. ‘You can forget Miss Somers, you pipsqueak. I think we agreed weeks ago that you are of very little importance to civilization, or to any young lady deserving of sound prospects. I am merely advising you, Harrison, that having studied your record with this company, I have decided to give you a chance to make more of yourself than you will here. If you have anything worthwhile to offer commerce, and you’d better have something, you will give Parker, Rawlings and Gregson the benefit of it. When you commence your job with them, do so in the knowledge that you are no more and no less than any young man of twenty-one. But I won’t have you getting above yourself, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Nick was certain this was a warning not to get fanciful ideas about Annabelle. Actually, of course, he had very fanciful ideas about her. What bloke wouldn’t? But he simply wasn’t in a position to do anything about it. ‘Mr Douglas, can I at least thank you?’

  ‘If you attempt to bow and scrape, Harrison, you’ll disappoint me.’

  ‘No, just thank you, sir.’

  ‘Very well. That’s all, Harrison.’

  ‘Goodbye, sir.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll have my eye on you, Harrison,’ said God. He failed to mention he held the majority of shares in Parker, Rawlings and Gregson Ltd. Nor did he give any indication he liked the young man in whom Annabelle was so interested.

  A little while after Nick had returned to his desk, the manager called him in again.

  ‘Harrison, I understand from the company staff manager that you’re leaving us at the end of February, that you’ve obtained a new job.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, Mr Pollard.’

  ‘We shall be sorry to lose you, of course,’ said Mr Pollard, failing to look the part. He seemed visibly relieved.

&
nbsp; ‘Kind of you to say so, Mr Pollard.’

  ‘Not at all. Good luck, Harrison.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Pollard.’

  Nick blew most of the money in his pocket on his way home by buying two boxes of chocolates from Gran Emerson’s shop. Ivy served him and wanted to know if he’d met a young lady who was so alluring that one box wasn’t enough for her.

  ‘Funny you should ask that,’ said Nick.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ said Ivy, avid with interest.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nick.

  ‘Well, then?’ said Ivy, larks in her eyes.

  ‘That’s all,’ said Nick.

  ‘Oh, yer teasin’ bugger,’ said Ivy.

  ‘’Ere, I ’eard that, you baggage,’ said Gran.

  ‘Slip of me tongue,’ said Ivy. ‘’Ere, listen, Nick, Wally’s sailor friend says the Navy ain’t fighting Chinese pirates, that they sorted them out years ago.’

  ‘They must have popped up again,’ said Nick.

  ‘Must they?’ said Gran.

  ‘’Well, you know what the Chinese pirates are like,’ said Nick, ‘if they’re not popping up again, they’re multiplying. So long, girls.’

  Ma didn’t actually do a knees-up when she heard the good news, but she came close, especially when she received a box of chocolates. The girls all gave Nick a kiss and a cuddle, and performed encores when the second box was presented to them.

  ‘Now what d’you think of havin’ a brother, you Fanny?’ said Amy.

  ‘Oh, I ain’t sufferin’ half as much now,’ said Fanny.

  ‘Well, I’m pleased to hear it, Fanny,’ said Nick. ‘Like a tickle would you?’

  Fanny, putting herself behind Ma, said, ‘Ma, don’t let him.’

  ‘Oh, I liked a nice tickle meself when I was young,’ said Ma. ‘Your Pa tickled very romantic’

  ‘What’s a romantic tickle?’ asked Alice.

  ‘It’s – well, never mind that,’ said Ma, ‘but I daresay when Nick does get a young lady, he’ll know just ’ow to do it in a way she’ll like.’

  ‘How to do what, Ma?’ asked Amy.

  ‘Tickle ’er romantic, of course,’ said Ma.

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Amy. ‘Never heard of it.’