The Orphans of Bell Lane

by Ruthie Lewis

  ‘Read and write?’ sneered Sara. ‘Why? So he’ll get ideas above his station? Well, I’m bloody well not having that. He’ll know his proper place in life. He’ll go to work down at the docks like his father did, and his father before him, cuz that’s what boys like him do. Now, you stop messin’ with him, and teaching him things he don’t need to know, do you hear? Cuz if you don’t, I’ll batter him! And so help me God, I’ll batter you, too!’

  Her hands had balled into fists at her side. ‘Very well,’ Grace said calmly. She raised her voice a little, so the boy listening inside could hear. ‘If you change your mind, the school is under the railway arches. Jimmy will always be welcome.’

  ‘Get out of here!’ shouted Sara. ‘Piss off! Or by God, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born!’

  Grace turned and walked away. Poor Jimmy, she thought. Age and gin had done nothing to soften Sara’s malevolence, and while Grace was no longer frightened of her, she strongly suspected that Sara bullied her son just as she had once bullied children in the workhouse. She remembered the look on Jimmy’s face – like a trapped animal – and those desperate, appealing eyes, and felt terrible that she had given away his secret. She had only had to deal with Sara for a year before Aunt Edith rescued her and Rosa from the workhouse. Jimmy had known nothing else his entire life.

  I’ve got to help him, she thought. But how do I get past Sara?

  *

  Monday morning brought a raw east wind reeking of smoke. Grace began to cough the moment she stepped outside, and her eyes watered. She wrapped scarves around the necks of the children and covered their mouths, then took Daisy and Harry’s hands. Albert carried the leather satchel that held her plans for the day’s lessons, pleased to be doing something important.

  Another door opened and Rebecca Berton came out to join them, smiling and wishing them good morning. She had made an effort, Grace saw. The hem of her bonnet was frayed and the cloak she wrapped around her to ward off the wind was thin and worn, but she was neat and tidy. Billy Doyle joined them, drawing his hands up into the sleeves of his coat to keep them warm.

  ‘This is exciting,’ Rebecca said. ‘Isn’t it, miss?’

  Grace smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is.’ In truth, she could hardly believe it was happening. Just a few short weeks ago, she had thought the idea of a free school in Rotherhithe was a dream. Now, it was real.

  They walked through a shower of rain towards the railway, where the engines puffed and steamed. A big goods train passed overhead just as they reached the arches, and the roar of iron wheels on rails filled the air. Inside, Grace took a box of matches from her reticule and lit the oil lamps and then the stove. The mellow light of the lamps showed her the school, the neat rows of desks and benches, the slates and chalks, the cabinet and books. The air was chilly and she could see the steam of her own breath, but the coal fire in the stove soon began to warm the room.

  Gradually the others began to arrive; Rufus Jackson, the ironmonger’s son; Gabriel and Isaac from Cherry Gardens; Johnny, the injured docker’s son; Lettice the match girl; the beggar boy, who introduced himself in a soft shy voice as Nathan. He had no coat and was shivering with cold, so Grace made him sit next to the stove. He had no shoes, either, nor did some of the others. Truly a ragged school, Grace thought. Her own three, Rebecca, and Rufus were the only properly dressed ones in the room, and only Rufus’s clothes were new.

  We shall make something of all of you, Grace promised silently. With an education, you can go forth into the world. You need never know such poverty again.

  They waited a while longer, and a few more children arrived. Another train rumbled overhead, shaking the walls of the arch. Nathan pillowed his head on his arms on the desk and slept through the noise. Grace watched the canvas flap that served as a door. She was waiting for Jimmy, but there was no sign of the boy. Sara had won. Jimmy would not be coming to school.

  Her heart bled for Jimmy, but there was nothing she could do. She took up her position, standing at the head of the class as she had so often done at the Clare School. ‘Good morning, children,’ she said smiling.

  ‘Good morning, miss,’ they chorused. Nathan woke and sat up, bleary-eyed.

  ‘This morning we will begin with reading and writing,’ she said. She took some of the reading sheets Mr Raikes had given her and began handing them out. ‘Look at these, for a few minutes, and we shall go through them together. Those of you who can read already, help the others.’

  *

  ‘Jimmy!’ shouted Ma. ‘You little rat! Where the bleedin’ hell do you think you’re going?’

  Even this early, the smell of gin coming off her was horrible.

  ‘I’m going out,’ I said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I dunno. Down the docks, maybe.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Thieving, no doubt,’ said Ma. ‘Well, steal us something for supper. Now, hop it. I’ve got things to do.’

  Things meant the bottle of gin in the kitchen cupboard. There was never enough money for food, but there was always plenty of gin.

  I hurried out before Ma could change her mind. I walked down Hanover Court all quiet-like, hands in my pockets like I was in no hurry, in case she was watching me. Then I turned the corner and started to run, past the market and the church and the glue factory and the engine works towards the railway line, praying I wouldn’t be too late.

  I saw the arch covered in canvas and ran towards it. A big goods train came roaring down the line and sprayed me with soot and cinders, but I didn’t hardly notice. Inside I could hear voices. I was too late.

  I almost turned and ran away again. But I wanted to be part of that school, oh, I wanted it so bad, and I could feel it pulling at me.

  I opened the canvas flap and went inside. They all turned to stare. Albert smiled, and I saw his eyes light up. ‘Look, Aunt Grace!’ he said. ‘It’s Jimmy!’

  And there she was, standing in the lamplight with dark eyes and a serious face. ‘Jimmy,’ she said, and her voice was quiet and gentle. She came over and took my hands. She didn’t smell of gin. ‘I was afraid you might not come.’

  ‘I came as soon as I could,’ I said. ‘Please, miss, I hope I’m not too late.’

  ‘Of course not. Sit down there by the fire. Albert, find him something to read. Now, children, we shall carry on with our lesson.’

  I sat down. I was breathless from running and dirty with mud and soot. But I saw the letters on the blackboard and smelled the chalk and looked at the printed reading exercise that Albert gave me, and I wanted to cry. I felt like I had come home.

  *

  That morning was the hardest teaching Grace could remember, even back when she was a young pupil-teacher just starting out at the Clare School. Mr Raikes had been right. Some of the children were quick learners. Albert, Rebecca and Rufus and especially Jimmy all excelled at reading and even the twins were picking it up. But Lettice had always been slow to learn, and Nathan the beggar boy simply did not understand what she was talking about. The crude scratchings of chalk on his slate bore little resemblance to the letters she had written on the blackboard. When she tried to correct him he simply shook his head wearily. Cold and hunger had ground the boy down to the point where he could barely think. Eventually, he put his head down on his desk and went to sleep.

  Later, she listened to some of the children read aloud. She was particularly impressed by the progress Jimmy had made. His voice was clear and he read without stumbling, and he seemed to really know and feel what he was reading. Grace watched him, rejoicing once more at the progress he was making. A few weeks ago he could barely read at all; now he was probably the best in the class.

  When she sensed they were growing tired, Grace took a book from the cabinet and began to read to them, not the Bible, but the first chapter of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. She had read the book when it was first published two years earlier and had been captivated by it, and now she saw it work its magic on the children. They sat wide-eyed, list
ening with rapt attention, and at the end of the chapter they begged her for more.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Grace promised them. ‘You can have too much of a good thing.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Lettice. She had been one of the ones paying closest attention to the tale. ‘Why would a rabbit have a pocket watch? He wouldn’t be able to wind it with his paws.’

  ‘And he wouldn’t be able to button his waistcoat,’ said Rebecca.

  The other children were giggling. ‘Not in the real world,’ said Grace, smiling. ‘But this is Wonderland, and anything is possible there. Now, my dears, I think it is time to sing. Shall I teach you a song?’

  ‘Yes!’ they chorused.

  Smiling, Grace opened a copy of Hymns for Little Children and began to sing.

  All things bright and beautiful,

  All creatures great and small,

  All things wise and wonderful,

  The Lord God made them all.

  ‘Now I shall sing it again,’ she said, ‘and this time you will sing it with me.’ And all around, treble voices were raised up in song.

  *

  ‘What’s that noise, Mary?’ one of the girls asked.

  ‘They’re singing,’ I said.

  ‘Singing? You mean, like in church?’

  ‘Something like that,’ I said. It did sound a bit like church. I’d stood outside churches sometimes, on Sundays, and heard people sing like that.

  ‘Why?’ said someone else.

  I didn’t have an answer. We stood outside the arch listening to them inside, eight or nine of us girls and Joe. The wind was evil that day. It was cold as iron and black with soot from the mills and trains. Poor little Joe was shivering beside me. We all were. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been warm.

  ‘There’s going to be trouble,’ said one of the girls. She was called Ness.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said.

  ‘You know that boy who went in late? I know who he is. He’s called Jimmy. His dad and brother run with that Bull Head Gang, the Captain’s lot. Murderin’ bastards, they are.’

  ‘Nothing to do with us,’ I said. We took care to stay away from the grown-up gangs, like all the street kids did. We were just trying to survive. They were criminals, proper hard.

  My belly was gnawing at me something awful. It was probably the cold. ‘No point in standing here,’ I said. ‘We need some scran. The baker’s van will be doing the rounds. Missy, Ness, you distract the driver. The rest of us will break into the van. Grab everything you can, and we’ll meet up in the fields.’

  We started to walk way, moving silently in bare feet on the cold ground. I held Joe’s hand. ‘I reckon it’s warm inside there,’ said Missy. She was thin and miserable. ‘They’ve got a fire.’

  ‘You’re going soft,’ taunted Ness. She was a really hard little bitch, Ness. She had a big knife, longer than mine, and now she pulled it out of the sheath at her waist. ‘Come on. Let’s go stick it to that baker.’

  *

  At midday when lessons were over, Grace walked home with Albert, the twins, Rebecca and Billy. Jimmy accompanied them. ‘I’m so glad you came,’ Grace said to him. ‘Did you enjoy the lessons?’

  ‘Oh, yes, miss!’ said Jimmy fervently. ‘I always enjoy lessons with you. I’m learning so much.’

  Grace smiled, but she was also worried. ‘Will you get in trouble at home?’

  ‘No.’ Jimmy was silent for a moment, and then he said, ‘She won’t hardly notice I’m gone.’

  A thought struck Grace. ‘So your mother isn’t expecting you now? No? We are about to have our midday meal. Will you join us?’

  ‘Oh, yes please, miss,’ said Jimmy eagerly.

  Dinner was bacon dumplings left over from last night, bulked out with more potatoes. George joked with the children as usual, while Jimmy sat at one end of the table and ate ravenously in utter silence. ‘How did it go?’ George asked Grace.

  ‘Very well,’ said Grace smiling. ‘The children behaved themselves splendidly.’

  ‘What? Even this little monkey?’ George tickled Daisy, who squeaked and giggled. ‘I can’t believe it of her.’

  ‘Even her,’ said Grace. ‘And Harry was very good at singing. Weren’t you, Harry?’

  ‘I was,’ Harry affirmed. ‘And Albert was good at everything. That’s cuz Albert is clever. He and Jimmy are cleverest of all.’

  At the end of the meal George returned to work, and Jimmy departed reluctantly for home. Grace wondered if she should let him go. You can’t help them all, the voice of reason said in her head. I know, she thought, but Jimmy is special. He has so much promise. If I help him, we might even be able to get him a free place at a grammar school. With a good education he could go anywhere, and do anything he wanted.

  She was still thinking about this when someone knocked hard at the door. Hurrying to answer it, she found the white-bearded figure of Reverend Hobbes, the vicar, standing on the doorstep. The expression on his face was more forbidding than usual.

  ‘Good day to you, Reverend,’ Grace said, as humbly as she could. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘This . . . school of yours,’ said the vicar heavily. ‘I see you have gone ahead.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Grace. ‘I found I did not need the support of the church after all.’

  ‘You are doing these children no good whatsoever, you know. They do not need education. They need correction, discipline, and hard work. They are fit for no other occupation than manual labour for the boys, or breeding in the case of the females. To educate them puts foolish ideas into their minds, teaches them to forget their station in life. What will happen to them then?’

  What had Sara said? He’ll get ideas above his station. It was shocking to hear the Reverend Hobbes saying almost exactly the same thing. But then the vicar, as she already knew, was just another bully.

  ‘I don’t know will happen to them, Reverend,’ said Grace. ‘But helping them to forget their station in life and rise above their background is exactly what I intend to do. These children don’t need to remain trapped in poverty. With education and encouragement, each and every one of them can go on and do great things.’

  ‘Sentimental rubbish,’ snapped the vicar. ‘Who put these ideas into your head? Some agitator, I am certain. Now, listen to me, young woman. This is my parish, and you are interfering in it. You will close this school at once.’

  Reverend Hobbes leaned forward a little. ‘Or else, I will close it for you,’ he said.

  Grace crossed her arms over her chest. ‘And how would you do that, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘That railway arch occupied by your school is owned by the South Eastern Railway. You do realise you are trespassing on their land?’

  ‘But sir, that is waste ground! No one was using it before we came. We are doing no harm!’

  ‘Are you not? Let us see if the railway directors agree with you. One word from me and they will send the railway constables to close you down and evict you.’

  Grace stared at him in horror. ‘Sir, you are a man of God! How can you be so lacking in pity and compassion?’

  ‘Compassion is for those who deserve it,’ said the vicar. ‘Close your school, Miss Perrow, and send those children home, or it will be the worse for you.’

  ‘If you have us evicted, I will find someplace else,’ said Grace, although she was not certain where. ‘But I am not closing my school, Reverend. Not for you, not for anyone.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said the vicar, slapping his thigh in annoyance. ‘We shall see,’ he repeated, and he stalked away down the lane. Sighing, Grace went inside to the parlour, where she sat down at the little table and took up paper and pen.

  Dear Mr Raikes,

  You said I should write to you if I needed help. I am sorry to trouble you so soon, but I fear I do need your advice. The vicar of All Saints, Reverend Hobbes, objects to the presence of my school as he does not approve of education for the poor. He is threatening to close my school. Can
you advise me as to what course of action to follow?

  Yours sincerely,

  Grace Perrow

  Headmistress

  Rotherhithe Ragged School

  Mr Raikes’s reply came the next morning as Grace was just about to leave for school, informing her that he was coming down to Rotherhithe that day. Grace met him at the railway station that afternoon. ‘Thank you for meeting me,’ he said. ‘I have certain things to say to your Reverend Hobbes, and I wish you to bear witness.’

  They began walking towards the church, down roads busy with heavy wagons hauling timber and bricks. ‘All is well otherwise?’ asked Mr Raikes, raising his voice over the rattle of iron wheels.

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ said Grace. ‘But you were right. No matter how ardently they desire to learn, some truly struggle. The spirit in them is willing, but their bodies are exhausted with hunger and cold. Their minds cannot function.’

  ‘I know,’ said Mr Raikes, and she heard the sympathy in his voice. ‘I have seen it myself, many times. Be patient with them, Miss Perrow. Patience and kindness will win the day.’

  At the vicarage, Mr Raikes rapped on the door with the handle of his walking stick. A maidservant ushered them inside, took Mr Raikes’s card and went into the study. She was back in a moment, curtseying. ‘The Reverend will see you now, sir.’

  Reverend Hobbes rose from behind his desk as they entered. The buttons on his flowered waistcoat sparkled in the lamplight. ‘Miss Perrow. To what do I owe the honour of this visit?’

  There was no mistaking the irony in his voice. ‘May I present Mr Solomon Raikes of the Ragged Schools Union?’ Grace said.

  ‘I see,’ said the vicar. ‘How may I help you, sir?’

  ‘Miss Perrow has called on me for assistance,’ said Mr Raikes. ‘I am the secretary of the Ragged Schools Union, and we are supporting Miss Perrow in her endeavours here in Rotherhithe. She has told me, Reverend, of your objections to her school.’

  ‘Then I hope she has also told you of the reasons behind my objections,’ said the vicar. ‘I disapprove of this school, sir, and I disapprove of your Union and your entire movement.’