The Long Walk Home (15 page)

'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 get 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.

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.'

'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.'

There was already a group of people clustered round a wooden stall, where a woman and a man in a shabby overcoat and a clerical collar were attending to a heated brazier with a cauldron on it.

'It's not ready,' the man called out. 'You're all far too early. Now then,' he said on seeing the newcomers. 'We haven't seen you before.'

'We've just arrived in London,' Simon said. 'And we've found ourselves without decent lodgings.'

Some of the people in the crowd nudged each other as Simon spoke and Mikey wished that he hadn't. With his voice nobody would guess that we were down and out. He glanced round at the crowd. There were men, women and children wearing little more than rags; the children were mostly barefoot, their dirty toes curling up against the cold.

'We've come looking for work,' Bridget said. 'There's none where we come from.'

'You'll not find it here,' a woman called out. 'There's no work for us as was born here, let alone foreigners.'

'We're not foreigners,' Bridget objected. 'We're from Hull.'

'That's foreign,' the woman replied. 'Sounds foreign anyway,' she muttered.

'Well, there'll be enough soup for all of you,' the parson said in a forced jolly manner. 'And who knows what tomorrow will bring? The good Lord will take care of us all, and if we pray together He might have work for everyone who looks for it.'

He put his hands together, as did his wife, and they both closed their eyes. 'Shall we give thanks,' he intoned, 'and thank Him for the food we are about to eat.'

Bridget sighed and crossed herself, and the two small boys squeezed their eyes tight and clasped their fingers fervently. Mikey and Simon glanced at each other, and although both made a token gesture of putting their hands together, neither of them prayed aloud as the rest of the crowd were doing. I'll say my thanks when I've eaten, Mikey thought. Not before.

The potato soup was hot and filling and they were given a slice of bread to dip into it. They all rubbed their noses and sniffed as they drank from the bowls, then wiped the bread round them to take up every last drop.

Sam licked his lips. 'Best soup I've ever had,' he said. 'I wish I could have some more.'

The parson heard him. 'Sufficient unto the day,' he said, then bent down towards him. 'Were you very hungry, boy?'

Sam nodded. 'We both are,' he said. 'Me and William.'

'And what are you doing here so far from your home? Who brought you here?' He looked at Mikey. 'Is this your brother?'

'No.' Mikey shook his head. 'The man we're travelling with collected them from Coventry.'

The parson frowned. 'For what purpose?'

Mikey shook his head. 'Don't know, sir.'

'Is he a relative, this man you're travelling with?' the Reverend asked solemnly.

'Not of mine, sir. We met him— well, knew of him.' Mikey baulked at lying to the parson. 'And then he offered us a lift to London and promised us work.'