Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage (4 page)

As he sat, he
noticed one of the floorboards was loose and prised it up without
too much trouble. He blew the dust and cobwebs away and found the
hollow was just big enough to have housed his tin. Typical.
Now I find the perfect hiding spot.
It was a poor substitute for his money tin, but
the pickled eggs fitted neatly in the cache. He replaced the
floorboard; there was scant food in the place and who knew how long
it would take Mrs Donnegan to get back on her feet, let alone
buying groceries and cooking.

Floorboards creaked above. The
light chink of glass. He imagined test tubes, pipettes and
instruments being laid out beside her bed.

Another hour or so passed and
the men appeared in the kitchen, grave and sombre.

‘
How old are
you young man?’ The doctor examined him with severe and precise
eyes.

‘
Not far off
six and ten,’ he answered truthfully.

‘
I shall speak
to you like a man then, for that’s what we need you to be. Your
mother, she’s-’

‘
She ain’t my
mother,’ Perry crossed his arms, ‘she just looks after a few of us,
you know.’

‘
Orphans?’
offered Brumpton.

‘
Oh good,’ said
the doctor, ‘very good indeed.’

‘
Good? What are
you trying to say?’

‘
Oh,’ the
doctor checked himself, ‘only that this will be less traumatic if
the patient
isn’t
your mother. But first, I need to know all your names, you and
the other boys who live here.’

Perry resented this, ‘We’re not
boys. Young men is what we are here, tough fellers.’

‘
Fine,
young
man. What are their
names?’

He’d do in order of eldest,
‘Well I’m Perry. Perry Scrimshaw. Then there’s Peter Collins...why
you writing them down doctor?’

‘
Just give the
rest of the names boy,’ Brumpton cut in sharply.

After Dicken Matthew’s entry,
the doctor snapped the notebook shut and slipped it in his
pocket.

‘
So have you
given her some medicine? Will she be alright?’

The doctor removed his glasses
and breathed on the lenses. ‘Perry,’ he rubbed them with a cloth,
‘I’m afraid I must take Mrs Donnegan away for disinfection at the
Sanatorium.’

‘
Disinfection?’
Perry straightened up. ‘What’s that? Does it hurt?’

‘
No, of course
not,’ he replaced his glasses and gave him an earnest look, ‘it’s
just so we can treat her.’

‘
So she’s going
to be alright then?’

The two men quickly nodded in
unison.

‘
Can I stay
here for now? I’m old enough to look after myself.’

The doctor and Brumpton
exchanged a glance. There was some conversation they’d had
upstairs, deciding what they would and wouldn’t say to him, he was
sure of it.

‘
We think you
should go too. In case you’ve been…exposed.’

Perry nodded slowly, ‘And
yourselves? You’ll have to go as well seeing as you’ve been exposed
too?’

‘
No, Mr
Brumpton and I are immune. I don’t expect you to understand young
man, just know that it is in your best interest.’

‘
Fine,’ Perry
nodded at them, ‘It makes sense.’

The doctor smiled to Brumpton,
visibly relieved. ‘I knew he was a sensible lad, moment I saw
him.’

‘
Just before we
go, I’ve been busting for the toilet for ages,’ he gripped his
crotch with both hands, ‘and it’s in the yard.’

‘
Good Heavens!’
Brumpton pulled the key out of his pocket. ‘Poor lad, holding on
like that.’

‘
I didn’t think
these sorts of places had proper toilets,’ the doctor said,
impressed.

Brumpton let him out into the
tiny yard. Dusk was settling, making it seem like the brick water
butt, the coal shed and the privy were huddling together against
the impending darkness. He crossed to the battered outhouse. Weeds
sprouted through the rotten holes in the door, black green and evil
looking. He swung it open and turned. Through the kitchen window,
he spied the doctor and Brumpton talking.

Mrs Donnegan would be fine, the
doctors said so themselves. He’d be damned if he was going to the
Sanatorium, there was nothing wrong with him. He gripped the roof
of the outhouse. It felt sodden, but sturdy enough to climb.

4

Moss softened his landing. He
batted back brambles and tore through nettles, feeling the burn of
the evening air in his lungs. The passageway ended at Castle Way
where fingers of sea mist hung amidst the dusk. Perry caught his
breath and checked back, hearing no alarm being raised or shouting.
He gave his knees a quick scratch and stepped onto the road.

‘
Oi! Don’t you
come any closer!’

He halted and traced the voice
to a plump woman, a white cloth tied over her mouth and a baby
jiggling in her arm.

‘
Miss, I’m not
meaning no harm,’ he took a step towards her.

‘
I said no
closer!’ the baby wriggled and kicked.

‘
Look, I don’t
know wh-’ Perry took another step.

‘
No! Keep
away!’ she hobbled away from him.

‘
Freak!’ he
hurled the word after her, stupefied by her reaction.

He didn’t have
many options. Ahead, the notorious Blue Anchor Lane mingled with
the dusky darkness. It was the gateway to the Ward and its maze of
backstreet passageways, where the poorest of the poor lived,
slum town
some folk
called it. It was avoided by the law; not even the commission
chasing School Attendance Officers dared venture in. And because of
this, the Ward offered the poverty-stricken labourers, the whores,
street urchins, the rotten-toothed witches and gaunt opium-slaves
alike its ugly protection from the authorities. Perry headed for
it. One thing was sure; nobody would look for him there.

He stepped in; the first
tumbledown houses arched unevenly like huddled mushrooms. The way
was then blocked with a pile of decaying vegetables, hay and
splintered crates. He covered his mouth and stepped onto the
rotting heap. His foot squelched in, the foul mulch wetting his
ankles. He shuddered and leapt down onto the other side. The stench
seeped through his fingers; rot, decay, piss, shit. It was as dense
as a wall and it was all he could do to not throw up. The lane was
used as a public latrine but it was ten times worse than in Mrs
Donnegan’s sick room. He muttered a prayer for her and urged
himself on, covering his mouth with his arm.

It was slippery underfoot.
Lamplights and candles glowed in the windows; halos in the foggy
gloom. He cleared a grubby window with his sleeve and counted nine
mattresses cramped together in front of a fireplace. The room was
even smaller than at Mrs D’s. He gave a thought for the boys,
though they didn’t deserve it. He’d look for them on the morrow,
but he needed to get out the cold and hunker down before darkness
truly turned the thieves and slashers out into the night. Someone
surely would take him in. Perry banged on the next door he came
to.

An old hag stuck her head out
of a window, ‘Piss off!’ she yelled, revealing a mouth with barely
any teeth.

Rubbing his arms as he went, he
passed a tramp too old and too drunk to pay him any mind. He looked
to be adding his own contribution to the sodden walls and cobbles.
Perry was getting used to the smell and that was no good thing. A
little further along he came to the Southampton Gospel Mission, one
of the few attempts to seed goodness into the area. It was barred
shut with a wooden plank and padlock. He gave it a rattle anyway,
but it didn’t give.

‘
Thanks God,’
he said to the sky with all the sarcasm he could muster. A
passageway, barely shoulder-width apart, meandered off to the
right. Teeth-chattering, he took it, tracing his hands against the
walls to steady himself, ducking under a low beam - one of a
labyrinth above him that braced the houses together or kept them
apart. The passageway ended in a narrow square of mud, surrounded
on all sides by the backs of crooked houses. Apart from a few
windows, only one of these houses had a door. A gaunt rat scurried
between his feet and sniffed the air.

‘
What a
palace.’ Perry knocked. As he waited, he realised what a state he
must look, clothes caked in mud and torn by brambles. Mrs Donnegan
would no doubt be licking her finger and smudging the mud off his
face. He took off his cap and combed his hair with his hands and
hoped it would improve his appearance. The door opened. A woman
thrust out a candle and sized him up. He tensed, ready to
run.

‘
You’re a bit
young aintcha?’

‘
Fifteen ain’t
young,’ he replied mechanically.

She moved the candle back in
from the rain. A messy nest of hair, but a fine, almost pretty
face.

‘
I don’t often
get door knocks. Can you pay?’

‘
Depends
really. How much for the night? And food?’ he’d almost forgotten
how hungry he was, ‘have you got any food Miss?’

‘
Where do you
think you are? A bleedin’ Inn?’

‘
Just that I’m
starving, if you had anything to spare, anything at-’

‘
- I got pie
scraps. But it’ll be thruppence for the lot.’

Perry could explain about the
tin if need be, he was good for the money providing she didn’t want
it now. He followed the woman through into a hallway. It was chilly
and smelt of mildew and fish. It would have to do, just for a
night.

He followed her into the
kitchen. At the table, a boy, he guessed a year younger than
himself, was scraping out a tin into his mouth.

‘
Your lad?’
Perry asked.

The boy dropped the knife and
blinked at him.

‘
Blimey no!
That’s just Joel,’ she grabbed the tin off him and handed it to
Perry.

‘
Hey Ma! I was
eating that,’ Joel protested.

‘
Ma’s what all
the boys call me,’ she explained. It was a much smaller space than
at Donnegan’s, how many boys were there?

‘
Well then,’
she nodded to the tin, ‘have at it. My bed’s upstairs. Come up when
you’re ready.’

‘
Oh Miss,’
Perry was taken aback at her kindness, ‘I couldn’t kick you out of
your own bed!’

She gave him an odd look. ‘You
ain’t.’

The silence hung for a second
or two and was broken by Joel.

‘
Ha!’ he looked
from Ma to Perry. ‘He didn’t come here for
that!
He just wanted somewhere to
sleep is all Ma.’

Perry, sudden understanding
flooding his mind, flushed with embarrassment.

‘
The floor’ll
do me.’

Ma looked miffed, ‘suit
yourself, that’ll be tuppence then.’

‘
On my word
you’ll have it on the morrow.’

She scowled, weighing up the
likelihood of him paying against the hassle of throwing him
out.

‘
Fine but let
me warn you. You cheat Ma, you live to regret it.’

There was enough to regret
about the day already, and he didn’t plan on adding this to his
growing list. Ma went upstairs and he was relieved to be left alone
with the boy. In the flickering light it was hard to gauge his
features. Joel had small dark eyes and a straight shock of black
hair that put him in mind of a scarecrow. He was a wiry lad,
thinner than Perry, but on the whole seemed a darn side more normal
than Ma.

‘
Go on,’ Perry
motioned to the pie scraps, ‘let’s share. No point both of us going
hungry.’

‘
Cheers,’ Joel
set upon the food again. Joel chiselled a thick bit of crust from
the corner of the tin and offered it up.

He took it with a nod and
popped it in his mouth and chewed. It was crunchy, burnt and soggy
all at the same time. Certainly not the best thing he’d ever eaten,
but he was so hungry he didn’t really care.

‘
Good?’

Perry nodded, ‘It’s alright.
Did Ma cook it?’

‘
Bought it more
like, she’s hopeless,’ Joel was shaking his head disapprovingly, ‘a
bleedin’ nightmare. Lucky escape you had there.’

Perry licked his fingers, ‘You
don’t know the half of it.’

The following day brought a
great many steamships on the morning tide; Royal Mail, North German
Lloyd and Brazil & River Plate Company had all their charges
docked, nodding with the swell. Pulleys hefted bales of cargo over
the gunnels and eased them gently onto the jetties. Carriers
swarmed around the quay; dockers, blackened coal-porters,
corn-runners, shipping agents, and messenger boys everywhere,
wriggling like maggots over rotten meat.

At the foot of the bell tower
steps, a small crowd gathered awaiting the end of the church
service. An inky paperboy rested on the stone balustrades, cap
pulled casually over his eyes as he kipped. Perry and Joel sat on a
stone post, their feet dangling down, poring over the front
page.

‘
What’s it say,
what’s it say?’ asked Joel.

‘
It’s
con-ta-gious.’

‘
What does that
mean?’

‘
It’s a type of
illness, you know like consumption,’ Perry mumbled and read
on.

‘
The Sick’s
what everyone’s calling it, no feller going to call it con-
whatever it is…’