The Long Walk Home

by Valerie Wood

  ‘Come on, Mikey,’ Bridget called to him. ‘Tully’s given Simon some money for us to buy food and a drink, and he says we can travel to London with him. For free!’

  For free, Mikey pondered. I don’t think so!

  An hour later, having had bread and cheese and a glass of ale each, they returned to the carriage. Tully wasn’t there but two small boys were. They said they were brothers. One said his name was Sam and he was seven. He didn’t know how old his brother William was, but he was younger than him and they were waiting for Mr Tully.

  The carriage door was open so they all piled in. Mikey questioned Sam but couldn’t get much sense out of him, except that Mr Tully knew his uncle and that he was going to look after them. ‘He give ’im five bob,’ he piped.

  ‘Who did?’ Bridget asked.

  ‘Uncle Walter gave it to Mr Tully. It’s for our board and lodgings.’

  Tully came back with a short thickset man who didn’t speak but climbed aboard beside Tully. The journey wasn’t quite as hazardous as it had been before and they guessed the horses were too tired to go any faster with the extra weight. They made several more stops over the next three days, changing the horses once, and eventually reached the outskirts of the capital. Tully stopped the carriage at a tavern and they all trooped in to have more bread and cheese and stretch their legs. The two small boys were almost crying with tiredness and Mikey thought of his brothers and wondered how they were coping with life in the Hull workhouse.

  ‘Next stop London,’ Tully told them. ‘It’ll be dark when we get there and I want you all to be quiet. Do you hear?’ William was snivelling and grousing and Tully frowned at him. ‘Do you hear?’

  Sam nudged his brother and the younger child raised his dark-shadowed eyes to Tully and nodded. Then he put his dirty thumb in his mouth and sucked furiously.

  ‘We’ll stay wi’ a friend for a few days,’ Tully said, ‘and then we’ll go to more permanent lodgings as soon as I’ve made contact with my associates.’ He rubbed his mittened hands together. ‘Then we’ll start work.’

  ‘What kind of work?’ Mikey asked.

  Tully patted his nose with a finger. ‘Can’t say just yet,’ he said furtively. ‘It’s all hush-hush.’

  The friend apparently lived in Whitechapel, which they approached as evening was drawing on. A fine drizzle was falling, which only added to the misery and degradation they saw around them.

  ‘I say,’ Simon whispered. ‘I hope he’s not expecting us to stay round here.’

  ‘It’s worse than ’back streets of Hull,’ Bridget said in a low voice. ‘Far worse.’

  Although they were travelling in on the main road they could see blackened dwelling houses down the side streets, as well as mud-filled courts and alleyways, and in all of them shadowy groups of men, women and children, the men leaning against the walls, the women standing talking in their tattered clothing, their arms folded in front of them and their children, barefoot and half naked, playing in the dirt.

  Mikey said nothing, only stared out of the window. So this is London. Here is where we are going to make our fortune. Doing what? It can only be illegal. This is why Tully’s come here. He’s too well known in Hull. London is so vast he can escape ’law. He’ll hide like a rat in a warren and nobody’ll ever find him.

  The horses slowed and pulled to the left, and they were driving down a dark and narrow street. There were no gas lamps to light the way and Mikey wondered how Tully knew the directions, but then he realized that the friend they were staying with was probably the man riding at his side. Another thief, he thought cynically. We shall be in a den of thieves.

  They drew up outside an unlit dwelling house which had an iron staircase at the front of it. They were ordered out of the carriage and told to wait, which they did, fearful and shivering, the two younger boys crying with wretchedness, whilst Tully and his associate drove the vehicle away.

  Mikey took William by the hand and drew him close. ‘It’s all right,’ he told him quietly. ‘We’ll be inside in a minute.’

  ‘It’s dark.’ Sam came to stand beside him. ‘William doesn’t like it when it’s dark.’

  ‘I don’t like it much either.’ Bridget’s voice came eerily out of the gloom. ‘Where do you think Tully’s gone?’

  ‘Gone to bed down the horses, I should think,’ Simon answered gruffly. ‘This is a rum do and no mistake. I’m beginning to wish we hadn’t come with him.’

  Ten minutes later they heard the sound of boots and the murmur of voices and Tully and the man came back.

  ‘Come on,’ Tully said in a low voice, ‘and no talking till we get inside. ‘Lead on, Gilby.’

  They followed Gilby up the staircase, scrabbling to find their feet on the slippery metal steps and holding on to the handrail, which was cold and wet to the touch, until they came to the top. Gilby fumbled with a key and opened a door, and a moment later lit a match which he put to a candle. They saw the interior of a room rather like a hayloft, with no window but half a dozen or so straw mattresses on the floor.

  ‘You’re not expecting us to stay here,’ Simon began, but Tully hushed him, his finger raised.

  ‘Onny for a night or two,’ he said placatingly. ‘I realize you’re used to summat better, young sir, but good accommodation is hard to find just now. A few days more and we shall have somewhere more to your satisfaction.’

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at Mikey and gave a sly grin. ‘Better’n Kingston Street though, ain’t it, Quinn?’

  Mikey shook his head. ‘Kingston Street was clean,’ he muttered. ‘This is filthy. You wouldn’t keep a dog up here.’

  ‘Well we ain’t got no dogs,’ Tully snarled. ‘So you’ve to mek ’best of it.’

  ‘Where’s ’privy?’ Bridget asked.

  Tully nodded over to a corner where a metal pail was standing. ‘That’s for you fellers,’ he said. ‘And you empty it yourselves in ’morning. You, lassie, come wi’ me and I’ll show you.’

  Bridget bit her lip and looked at Mikey. ‘Come down wi’ me, Mikey, will you?’ she asked.

  Tully leered at them both. ‘How touching,’ he mocked. Then he went to the table where the candle burned, picked up another stub and lit it from the first, then handed it to Mikey. ‘At ’bottom of ’stairs turn left into ’alley and you’ll see ’privy at ’bottom near to ’wall.’

  Mikey took the candle and cupped his hand round the flame to prevent it from blowing out. They went back down the stairs.

  ‘I’m scared, Mikey,’ Bridget whispered. ‘What does he want wi’ us? Or wi’ young bairns?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mikey said. ‘No idea. I onny know that we don’t have to stop. As soon as it’s light in ’morning we’ll have a look round, see where we are, and if we don’t like what we see, then we’ll be off.’

  ‘But what about them bairns?’ Bridget felt about her for the wooden box which held the privy. They knew they were there by the stink emanating from it. ‘What’ll we do about them?’

  A wind suddenly gusted and blew out the flame. Mikey’s low voice echoed in a ghostly whisper as he answered, ‘We’ll tek ’em wi’ us.’

  Only the young boys slept well that night. Mikey, Bridget and Simon tossed about on the prickly straw and whispered to each other, conscious of Tully and Gilby, who had gone out and then come in again at about midnight to sit at a rickety wooden table sharing a jug of ale and muttering and grunting together until the early hours.

  It was raining the next morning. They could hear it rattling on the tin roof of the building and gushing over the broken gutters. Bridget opened the door and peered out and then made a dash down the steps to the privy. By the time she had splashed through the puddles to reach it she was soaked to the skin. The men and boys all used the convenience of the open doorway to save getting wet.

  Bridget shivered and squeezed the water from her skirt when she came back. Tully magically found a piece of dirty sheet which he handed to her and she rubbed at her hair. ‘I’ll g
et my death,’ she sniffled. ‘I wish I was at home.’

  Mikey nodded. So did he. But would he be any better off? Would he still be sleeping under the arch of St Mary’s? It would be as cold and wet there as anywhere else.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It rained for a week. It seeped in under the door and poured in torrents through the roof. Mikey thrust the pail beneath one gushing downpour only to find another spouting through a fresh gap, and then another and another. Tully searched about for bowls and tins and jars to catch the rainwater and they were all kept constantly dashing to throw the contents out of the door into the yard below.

  The two young boys thought this a great game to begin with and it kept them amused for hours, until they could no longer empty the containers fast enough and the water ran in rivulets across the floor, spreading out towards the mattresses and soaking their boots. Then the dampness clung to their thin clothes, their hands and feet were red with cold and they shivered uncontrollably. They were hungry, too. Tully went out once a day and brought back stale bread to share between them.

  We’ll never get out of here, Mikey thought. How can we leave and look for somewhere else to live or work in weather like this?

  The building in which they were living was unoccupied except by themselves, although it was large enough to house half a dozen families. Yet they neither saw nor heard anyone else about. No neighbours, no cats or dogs, no horses or carts.

  ‘Where are we exactly, Tully?’ Mikey asked. ‘How is it there’s nobody else living here, yet we saw crowds of people as we came down the road?’

  He knew that as soon as a house was vacated in Hull it would be immediately occupied again, legitimately or not.

  Tully chewed on his lip. ‘Don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘Gilby found it.’ He glanced at Mikey. ‘Won’t be for long. As soon as it stops raining we’ll be off.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Shut your face, will you? Forever asking questions! You’re in London, aren’t you? Where you wanted to be. You wouldn’t have been here but for me.’

  ‘I know that,’ Mikey retaliated. ‘But we’re not doing owt. We’re just stopping here, twiddling our thumbs, and we’re all hungry. We need to work to be able to buy food. Who’s paying ’rent?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Or are we just dossing here without ’landlord knowing?’

  ‘Might be,’ Tully said. ‘Just mind your own business. We’ll move when we’re good and ready. Tell you what, Quinn,’ he added slyly. ‘You go out and fetch ’bread ’stead o’ me.’

  Mikey could hear the rain on the roof, but he agreed. Anything, he thought, just to get out of here. ‘I’ve no money,’ he said.

  ‘Well, well, well! Fancy that,’ Tully said sourly. ‘So who’s going to pay for it?’ He put his face close to Mikey’s. ‘Same fellow who’s paid for it afore, eh?’

  Mikey nodded. ‘I know,’ he conceded. ‘I know that you’ve paid for it. So what do you want back from us, Tully? You’re not feedin’ ’n’ sheltering us from ’goodness of your heart, are you?’

  Tully patted Mikey firmly on his cheek. ‘Quite right, Quinn. I’m not. But you’ll have to wait ’n’ see, won’t you?’

  Mikey turned up his collar as he went down the steps. It was still raining, a heavy drizzle, though the sky seemed a little lighter than it had been. I’m frozen, he thought. I’d give owt for a bowl of hot soup. I wonder if there are any soup kitchens about. It’s a run-down area. I’ll ask if I see anybody.

  He had only had a bird’s eye view of the street from the loft, and then only a corner of it. It had been dark when they had arrived and so now, when he turned the corner into the street, he was shocked by the filth and dereliction of the muddy sewage-strewn road and the boarded-up, blackened brick buildings.

  ‘There’s nobody about,’ he muttered. ‘Where is everybody?’

  He peered through a gap in a door of one of the buildings. It had obviously been some kind of workroom, for there were bits of machinery scattered about. That could be sold for scrap, he thought. Why has nobody taken it out? He followed the directions given to him by Tully. The houses he passed appeared unoccupied, though as he glanced at one or two of them he thought he saw eyes peering out at him. They disappeared so swiftly that he decided he was mistaken, and it was only his imagination that made him see faces behind the torn and tattered cardboard which filled the window frames.

  Eventually he came to a row of shops which were little more than single rooms, in front of a court of a dozen or so houses. The houses in the court were occupied, or they would have been except that the occupants were standing outside, in spite of the drizzling rain which ran down the walls of their dwellings from broken gutters and rattling drainpipes.

  He went into one of the shop doorways. ‘Have you got any old bread?’ he asked the woman behind the crate which served as a counter. ‘I’ve not got much money.’

  ‘Nor have I,’ she answered, and Mikey blinked at her accent; it was the first London voice he had heard, as even Gilby, on the rare occasions when he had spoken, had a northern voice.

  ‘Where you from?’ she asked. ‘I ’eard somebody talk like you only the other day.’

  ‘We’re in lodgings just along ’street,’ he said evasively. ‘We’re not stopping long. We’re looking for work,’ he added.

  ‘So’s everybody.’ She sniffed. ‘How much bread do you want? I can let you have one of yesterday’s loaves and one of today’s. Penny ha’penny,’ she said, holding out a dirty, wrinkled hand.

  He handed over the money and she thrust the unwrapped bread at him. ‘Where did you say you were from?’ she asked again.

  ‘From the north,’ he said. ‘From Hull. It’s a port,’ he added.

  ‘Aye, I know it is. My old man used to go there when he was in work. On the barges,’ she said. ‘So where are you lodging?’

  He described the street and the empty building. ‘There’s nobody else living round there,’ he said. ‘Place is deserted.’

  She gave a cackle and took a step back. ‘There’s no wonder,’ she croaked. ‘Them buildings have been condemned. They’ll be pulling ’em down any time now. Haven’t you noticed the stink? The stink o’ death?’

  Mikey shook his head. ‘No,’ he gasped. He was used to noxious smells, and wouldn’t have noticed.

  ‘Cholera,’ she stated. ‘Folks round there died of cholera. Dozens of ’em had it. They reckoned one of the dock workers brought it home with him. He’d been handling cargo from Asia.’

  Mikey swallowed. What if someone living in the hayloft had had cholera? Could you catch it from floors and walls? Who had been sleeping on the straw palliasses? He thanked the woman and turned to leave, and then asked in a dazed manner, ‘Are there any soup kitchens round here?’

  She nodded. ‘Later, about four o’ clock, the parson and his wife set up a stall. You’ll need to queue up. There’s always a lot o’ folk waiting.’

  She gave him directions to the nearby church and he thanked her. Then she called him back. ‘Here,’ she said, handing him a currant bun. ‘Take this. It’s yesterday’s and a bit dry but it’ll mebbe fill a corner.’

  He thanked her profusely and bit into it as he walked back. It was dry but the currants were still soft and partially satisfied his craving for something sweet.

  When he got back to the hayloft, Sam and William rushed towards him and Bridget and Simon looked at him eagerly.

  ‘Did you get owt, Mikey?’ Bridget licked her dry lips. ‘I’m that hungry.’

  He shared out that day’s bread between the five of them and the old bread between Tully and Gilby, first tearing off the crust and giving it to William, who he thought didn’t look well. His hands and lips were blue with cold and he shivered constantly.

  ‘There’s a soup kitchen at four o’clock,’ he told them. ‘We’ll all go. We need summat hot to warm us up.’

  Tully objected. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I want you all to wait here. We might have to move off at a minute’s notice.’

&nb
sp; ‘It won’t tek us long,’ Mikey insisted. ‘We’ll come straight back.’ He stared at Tully. ‘Did you know why this place was empty? Why there’s nobody else about?’

  Tully’s lip quivered. ‘Might have done,’ he muttered. ‘My contact said it was all right, we’d come to no harm.’

  ‘What?’ Bridget and Simon spoke together. ‘Why is it empty?’ Simon asked.

  Mikey flashed a glance at Tully. He didn’t want to frighten everybody. ‘It’s going to be pulled down,’ he compromised. ‘The wreckers are due in any time.’

  ‘Crikey!’ Bridget said. ‘Hope they don’t do that while we’re still in it.’

  ‘We shall have gone.’ Tully said. ‘Tomorrow, at ’latest, we’ll be off somewhere else.’ He rubbed his hands together and thinned his lips in what might have been a smile. ‘Then we’ll be off to mek our fortune.’ He tapped his long nose. ‘Mark my words.’

  It began to get dark quite early; heavy clouds hung low and there was not a patch of sky to be seen. Tully and Gilby said they wouldn’t go out in case their contact arrived. Mikey was beginning to think that this contact was mythical, but he and the others decided to set off and be the first in the queue for soup. Sam and William became quite excited at the thought of it and Bridget asked if there would be bread as well.

  ‘I find this very degrading,’ Simon declared. ‘If I’d known—’

  ‘What?’ Bridget was scornful. ‘You’d have done what? You’d have perished,’ she told him. ‘You got beaten up and had your money stolen. You wouldn’t have survived, and none of us would have been anywhere near London wi’out Tully. He’s got some sort o’ plan for us. He wouldn’t have asked us to come along otherwise.’

  Yes, Mikey thought as they trudged down the wet street. But what exactly is his plan? William came up beside him and put his small hand into his. What does Tully want with us? He recalled the police constable in Hull warning him to keep clear of Tully, or he’d be in even worse trouble. He squeezed William’s hand. ‘Nearly there,’ he said cheerfully. ‘And then a bowl of hot soup.’