Two for Three Farthings

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘That is not very sensible, two journeys with a heavy case,’ she said. ‘A boy with a small handcart would have been more practical.’

  ‘The small handcarts are sitting in back yards,’ said Jim, ‘and boys are all at school.’

  ‘I see. Yes, very well.’ She looked, however, as if she did not think he had made a sound point.

  When he turned up again, the case was obviously even heavier. From her opened door, she frowned at him.

  ‘It’s no problem,’ said Jim, ‘and exercise is good for me.’

  A passing neighbour stopped to look.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Pilgrim,’ she said.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Hardiman,’ said Miss Pilgrim, and Mrs Hardiman looked at Jim and his large luggage case.

  ‘He’s not selling things, is he?’ she asked. ‘I ’ad someone call last week, selling combs and ’air-clips and suchlike, would you believe. Gypsy, I thought.’

  ‘No, Mr Cooper is not selling things, Mrs Hardiman,’ said Miss Pilgrim politely. ‘I am letting my upstairs suite to the gentleman and two young wards of his.’

  ‘Oh, my, yes, I ’eard you was renting out, Miss Pilgrim,’ said Mrs Hardiman, avid with interest under her granny bonnet. ‘That’s the gentleman? Mr Cooper, you said? Good morning to you, Mr Cooper, I’m Mrs ’rdiman, I lives farther down. Well, I’m sure they’ll make nice lodgers for you, Miss Pilgrim, and all for the best, as they say.’

  ‘Yes, good morning, Mrs Hardiman,’ said Miss Pilgrim, and closed the door. ‘Here is your door-key, Mr Cooper.’ She picked a key up from the top of the hallstand drawer. Jim put his case down and took it. ‘I hope, apart from your present hours of work, you won’t keep late hours.’

  ‘I can’t afford to,’ said Jim.

  ‘Many of us shoulder the cross of poverty,’ she said, ‘but we are all enriched by nature’s wonders. I do not wish to interfere, it is not my place to, but I should like to know if the children are expected to get tea or supper for themselves while you are at work.’

  ‘Firstly, I’ll take sandwiches to the school for them at midday,’ said Jim, ‘and prepare supper for them before I leave in the afternoons.’

  ‘A cold supper? Sandwiches at midday, and a cold supper?’ Miss Pilgrim was plainly disapproving. ‘Really, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘Well, Horace will heat up potatoes—’

  ‘I should not like a young boy using lighted gas rings, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘He’s very capable,’ said Jim.

  ‘I should still not like it, and am surprised that you have no qualms. Do you not know that most domestic accidents involve children?’

  ‘Is that a fact, Miss Pilgrim?’ Jim looked thoughtful.

  ‘It is, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘I’ll need to think.’

  ‘Please do,’ said Miss Pilgrim, ‘please think about active children and boiling water. I am sure you would not forgive yourself if there were an accident while you were at work.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ said Jim. ‘I think I may have been too casual, and I think I’m going to value any advice you care to give. It’s been my experience that the soundest advice always comes from women. I’ve a feeling you and I will get along fine, Miss Pilgrim, you’re a quite splendid person.’

  A little frown marked her smooth brow.

  ‘Mr Cooper, I am not used to being addressed in that way.’

  ‘You’re not used to being called splendid?’ said Jim.

  ‘We are still comparative strangers, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘You’ve still been splendid to me and the kids.’

  ‘Kids?’ Miss Pilgrim’s crisp blouse quivered. For all that she had lived eleven years in Walworth, she did not like common words to be tossed at her by an adult.

  ‘Horace and Ethel.’ Jim sensed her preference for refined conversation, if it was at all possible. ‘I’m not a City gentleman, as you’ll have noticed, I’m pretty ordinary and inclined to sometimes sing a tune when I open my mouth.’

  ‘Sing a tune?’ Miss Pilgrim looked as if she had let a whistling barrow-boy into her house.

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Jim. ‘So if you do us a kindness – no, if you do us more kindnesses, I’ll probably come up with a cockney eureka, and certainly call you splendid or priceless or even saintly.’

  ‘Really, Mr Cooper, what nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘I have mixed with all kinds and lived among the people here for eleven years. I’ve heard many things I would rather not have heard, but I haven’t heard such nonsense as that. You must excuse me now, I have work to do.’ Miss Pilgrim turned and sailed past the staircase into her kitchen, all canvas rustling.

  Jim went smiling up the stairs, carrying his heavy case.

  About to leave the house at ten to twelve, with sandwiches for the kids, he was detained by Miss Pilgrim.

  ‘Mr Cooper, I hope you won’t think I am interfering, but until you take up your day duties, I am willing to cook a hot midday meal for you and the children. That will leave them only needing an evening tea.’

  Jim, touched by the gesture, said, ‘That’s true Christian generosity, Miss Pilgrim, but I couldn’t put you to such trouble.’

  ‘It is no trouble,’ said Miss Pilgrim, ‘I am accomplished in all the domestic arts, and I cook for myself at midday. Naturally, I must charge you for the food. It will only be until you have finished working a late shift, but until then I do not like to think the children will not have one hot meal a day.’

  ‘What can I say except that I think you—’

  ‘Kindly do not call me saintly. Have the children come home for a hot midday meal from tomorrow. You must let me know if there is any food they dislike.’ And Miss Pilgrim returned to her kitchen.

  Orrice and Effel were at the school gates. Alice, munching an apple, was hovering, and Effel was in a temper about it. So far, however, all little tantrums had had no effect on Alice, whose sweet nature could absorb all stings and arrows.

  ‘Here we are, kids,’ said Jim, and handed a packet of sandwiches to each. ‘Ham and tomato for you, Orrice, ham and pickle for Effel.’

  ‘Ham?’ said Orrice, cap in the boys’ cloakroom, hair tousled. ‘Crikey, me and Effel don’t ’alf like ham, Uncle Jim.’

  ‘Ugh,’ said Effel.

  ‘Did I hear something, Effel?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Don’t like ’am,’ said Effel.

  ‘You sure?’ said Jim.

  ‘Well, a’ right,’ said Effel.

  ‘Horace?’ called Alice, and Jim looked at the hovering girl in a pretty pinafore dress.

  ‘My word, there’s a young beauty,’ he said. ‘Have you clicked, Orrice?’

  ‘’E ain’t talkin’,’ muttered Effel, unwrapping her sandwiches.

  ‘Course I am,’ said Orrice. ‘I got to tell yer, Uncle.’ He gloomed over his own sandwiches, but took a bite at one, all the same. ‘I got to tell yer that I dunno if me life’s worth livin’.’

  ‘Horace?’ Alice was moving slowly up on him.

  ‘You’ve got problems, Orrice?’ asked Jim gravely.

  ‘Well, I got Effel goin’ on at me about running orf and leavin’ ’er yesterday, which I didn’t but which she keeps saying I did, and I got Alice after me to skip with ’er and go and ’ave tea with ’er at ’er mum’s. I dunno what ’arm I ever done anyone to get me life all messed up like this.’

  ‘Poor old chap,’ said Jim. It was new to him, and it was enlivening, having Orrice and Effel to talk to and to listen to. ‘Your brother’s sorely tried, Effel.’

  ‘No, ’e ain’t,’ said Effel, through bread, ham and pickle, ‘’e’s lettin’ ’er sit wiv ’im in class, ’e is. ’E better not do any kissin’ wiv ’er, that’s all, ’e better not, I’ll scratch ’im all over if ’e does. She ain’t ’is sister, I am. She ain’t lost ’er mum an’ dad, I ’ave, an’ she’s got a toffee-apple face, an’ I bet she’s all sticky. Ugh. I’m goin’ to pull all ’er ’air out, you see if I don’t, you Orrice.’

  ‘Lovaduck,’ said
Orrice, ‘don’t she go on when she’s talking? Didn’t I tell yer, Uncle, it’s best when she ain’t talkin’?’

  ‘I can’t deny it, Orrice, you did tell me that,’ said Jim.

  ‘Horace, can you come and skip?’ Alice was close.

  Effel hissed. Orrice turned his head.

  ‘I’m a bit busy, Alice,’ he said, ‘I’m talkin’ to me Uncle Jim, an’ besides, me legs don’t feel very well.’

  Alice laughed and came right up. Jim looked down at her. He saw engaging prettiness.

  ‘Are you Horace’s uncle?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t he a nice boy, he helps me with my sums in class – ouch!’ Effel had trodden on her foot. ‘Ethel, do mind.’

  ‘Ethel?’ said Jim.

  ‘Wasn’t me,’ said Effel, and ate some sandwich.

  ‘Ethel?’ said Jim again.

  ‘Oh, she didn’t mean it,’ said Alice.

  ‘Ethel?’ said Jim yet again.

  ‘Oh, a’ right, sorry,’ said Effel, but looked fiendish. A boy called to Alice, a favourite with many of the young males. ‘Someone wants yer,’ said Effel.

  ‘Oh, I’d rather be with you and Horace,’ said Alice, and looked up at Jim. She smiled. ‘I told my mum what a lovely boy Horace is.’

  Orrice went pale. Effel shrieked with fiendish laughter.

  ‘’Oo’s a loverly boy, then?’ she shouted. Orrice went for her. She dodged around Alice and then ran. Orrice bounded after her, roaring at her.

  ‘Oh, I’d better go and help poor Ethel,’ said Alice, eager to join the fray and to get herself chased by Orrice.

  ‘Yes, off you go, Alice, and give him one in the eye,’ said Jim. He stood at the gates, watching, remembering his years at the orphanage and the discipline that kept high spirits repressed. He saw Alice running with the untrammelled joy of the young. He saw Effel scampering, twisting and dodging, one uneaten sandwich in her left hand, a half-eaten one in her right. He saw Orrice in chase of her, darting around playing boys and girls, and he saw Alice catch him up and get between him and his sister. She danced about in challenge. Orrice halted and clutched his forehead.

  Jim left then, a smile on his face. Orrice had problems.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The school bell, ringing, signalled the end of classes. At a few minutes after four, Higgs and his two friends were waiting at the gates. Effel and Orrice came up, and Alice was not far behind.

  ‘’Ere, you, Wivvers,’ said Higgs.

  ‘Now what?’ said Orrice, cap on, shoulders squared.

  ‘’Ands orf Alice, that’s what,’ said Higgs. ‘And take yer farver’s togs orf when yer get ’ome. Yer got that, Wivvers?’

  ‘No, I ain’t got it,’ said Orrice, ‘I wasn’t listening.’

  ‘Oh, yer wasn’t, wasn’t yer?’

  ‘’Oppit, faceache,’ said Orrice.

  ‘Yer got a way of upsettin’ me, Wivvers,’ said Higgs, he and his two friends forming a barrier.

  ‘Don’t you ‘it my bruvver,’ said Effel.

  ‘Now, Effel, you ain’t goin’ to get worried about ’im, are yer?’ said Orrice. ‘’E couldn’t even damage a bag of monkey nuts.’

  ‘Oh, yer gettin’ me real upset,’ said Higgs. ‘Alice, come ’ere.’

  ‘Shan’t,’ said Alice.

  ‘Come ’ere,’ said Higgs, and grabbed her arm and pulled her. He fell over then. Orrice had landed a right to his jaw.

  Mr Hill came running up a minute later. He separated the contestants, Orrice having become embroiled with Higgs and both his friends. Effel was also embroiled, delivering kicks. So was Alice.

  Miss Pilgrim, answering a knock on her front door, opened it. On the step stood Orrice and Effel. Effel had her head bent, and Orrice was hidden by his cap.

  ‘We’ve come, Miss Pilgrim,’ said Orrice, ‘can we go up?’

  ‘Boy, lift your head,’ said Miss Pilgrim, having remarked a tear in his trousers and dust on his jersey. Orrice lifted his head. Beneath the peak of his cap he revealed, reluctantly, a puffy left cheek, a discoloured left eye and a cut on his chin. ‘Disgraceful,’ said Miss Pilgrim. Effel gulped. ‘Do you hear me, boy?’

  ‘Yes’m,’ said Orrice.

  ‘You’ve been fighting.’

  ‘Yes’m,’ said Orrice. He thought. ‘But not much.’

  ‘On your first day here and only your second day at St John’s, you’ve been fighting?’

  ‘Only a little bit,’ said Orrice.

  ‘Disgraceful,’ said Miss Pilgrim.

  ‘Please, it—’ Effel’s voice collapsed under the stern look of their new landlady.

  ‘You had better come in. Wipe your feet first.’ Miss Pilgrim had placed a rope mat on her front step, to ensure soles were reasonably clean when they encountered the hall mat. Carefully, Effel and Orrice wiped their feet, and under the eye of Miss Pilgrim wiped them again on the hall mat. ‘Take your cap off, young man.’

  ‘Yes’m,’ said Orrice, and took it off. His hair was dusty and awry, his discoloured eye very perceptible.

  ‘Go into my kitchen,’ said Miss Pilgrim, closing the front door.

  ‘Please’m—’

  ‘At once. You too, Ethel.’

  The kitchen was bright because its window looked out on to the little green garden and not the brick wall of a back yard. Light travelled to the window without interference. Pinewood furniture of a simple and practical design looked so freshly scrubbed that it was awesomely clean to Orrice and Effel. The linoleum shone. The range was alight, its fire damped down for the moment. An iron kettle stood on the hob. China cups, hanging on the dresser’s hooks, gleamed. Beyond the kitchen was the scullery with its sink and tap, and its door to the garden. Orrice saw the green of grass and the golden heads of daffodils. Crikey, he thought, it’s like the country.

  ‘Miss Pilgrim, I only—’

  ‘Disgraceful,’ said Miss Pilgrim for a third time. She put a firm hand under his chin and lifted his face. She examined his bruised eye and his puffy cheek. Effel stood nervously on one leg. ‘Sit down, boy,’ said Miss Pilgrim, and drew out a chair from the table.

  ‘Yes’m,’ said Orrice, and sat down.

  ‘What is wrong with your leg, child?’ asked Miss Pilgrim of Effel. ‘Is it hurt?’

  Hastily, Effel put her left foot to the floor.

  ‘Oh, she’s always doing that, Miss Pilgrim,’ said Orrice. ‘She’s always standin’ on one leg. It don’t mean anyfing. She just does it.’

  ‘H’m,’ said Miss Pilgrim. She took up a basin from the dresser, went out to the sink and turned the tap on. She came back with water in the basin, and a clean flannel. ‘Sit straight, boy,’ she said. Orrice straightened his back. Miss Pilgrim dipped the flannel and applied it wet and cold to his bruised eye and his puffy cheek. She repeated the process several times. Orrice found the cold wet flannel soothing. ‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.

  ‘No’m. Well, not much.’

  She cleaned up the cut on his chin, dabbed it dry with cotton wool and applied a little iodine, Effel watching with her mouth slightly open and her lashes flickering nervously.

  ‘Just bruises,’ said Miss Pilgrim. ‘There will be no more fighting, young man, not while you are living in my house.’

  ‘No’m,’ said Orrice.

  ‘Who were you fighting with?’ she asked sternly.

  ‘I dunno,’ said Orrice. You didn’t give names to grown-ups. No-one would speak to you if you did that.

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I never ’ardly ever seen ’em before,’ said Orrice.

  ‘Them?’

  ‘Yes’m.’

  ‘Disgraceful behaviour,’ said Miss Pilgrim. ‘It is not to happen again. Look at your trousers.’

  Orrice regarded the torn knee of his trousers.

  ‘It’s just a tear, Miss Pilgrim.’

  ‘Go upstairs, take your trousers off and get your sister to bring them down to me. That tear must be sewn.’

  ‘Well, I—’

  ‘At once.’
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  ‘Yes’m,’ said Orrice, and left the kitchen with Effel. Upstairs, in their new lodgings, he said, ‘Crikey, Effel, I betcher she ain’t ’alf goin’ to make us jump around. Well, yer better do what she says.’ Orrice pulled his jersey up, unbelted his trousers and took them off.

  ‘Ain’t goin’,’ said Effel.

  ‘Now, Effel, you got to. You said you liked ’er.’

  ‘Didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, yer did.’

  ‘Oh, a’ right,’ said Effel. She took the trousers down, knocked nervously on the kitchen door and waited.

  ‘Come in, child.’

  Effel rushed in, placed the trousers on the chair and rushed out again. Fifteen minutes later, Miss Pilgrim called to them from the foot of the stairs. There was silence for a few moments, then Orrice’s head appeared over the landing banister.

  ‘Yes’m?’ he said.

  ‘Your trousers, boy.’

  Orrice came down the stairs, wearing other trousers. Miss Pilgrim gave him the repaired garment.

  ‘Yer a sport, Miss Pilgrim, honest,’ he said, and she looked into brown eyes earnest with gratitude, albeit the right one was slightly swollen.

  ‘I hope this incident will not repeat itself, young man. You and your sister are to come down to my kitchen at six o’clock, when I will give you your supper. I have discussed matters with your guardian, Mr Cooper. He has left me food to cook for your supper, and from tomorrow you will come here for a hot midday meal and return to school afterwards. This is until your guardian changes his hours of work. Is that quite clear?’

  ‘You’re goin’ to give us an ’ot meal at school break times, Miss Pilgrim?’ said Orrice, gaping.

  ‘One hot meal a day is very necessary for boys and girls.’

  ‘And we’re to come down for an ’ot supper at six this evening?’ said Orrice.

  ‘That is what I said, boy.’

  ‘Crikey, yer a real sport, Miss Pilgrim.’

  ‘Kindly do not address me as a real sport, young man. Be down promptly at six.’

  They were down promptly at six, having in the meantime thoroughly explored their new lodgings. Miss Pilgrim sent them straight back upstairs to wash their hands. When they came down again, she placed their supper before them. Jim had provided Miss Pilgrim with sausages, potatoes, tomatoes and onions, such being a reflection of his masculine tastes and his preference for simple bachelor cooking. Orrice gazed with joy at the fried onion rings and the creamy-looking mashed potatoes. Effel blinked. Miss Pilgrim, seated at the table with them, a pot of tea and bread and butter constituting her own meal, eyed Orrice as he picked up his knife and fork.