by Rita Smith
One time this old gypsy woman knocked on our door and asked if she could use the privy. Now if it was a bite to eat or a drink of tea she would’ve got it gladly, but mother had just got a new toilet and she wasn’t having no stranger sitting on it. So when she said no, this woman said, “Right, you old cow, I’m coming back tonight to shit on your doorstep”. Jimmy’s overheard this and next thing he’s made up a little pile out of brown putty stuff that looked just like the real thing and put it on the step. Blimey, if you’d heard the effs and blinds the next morning from my mother, it was enough to wake the dead. He was a nice fella and part of the family, but the fact that he was taken in when he had nothing wasn’t unusual because everyone did it in the East End in those days.
A story my mother told me happened one summer when she was about ten years old. Her and all the family were in bed and the window was wide open because it was so hot. About five o’clock they heard the lamplighter coming up the road putting the street lamps out and he was shouting: “Don’t go out – Leather Apron’s about ... Apron’s dunnit again.” And her dad jumped up and shut the window. This was that Jack the Ripper, but he wasn’t called by that name then. When they were up and about they found out one of those girls had been found all cut up near Dog’s Lane, just round the corner. They never did catch him and for years she was worried that he might jump out from one of the alleys and get hold of her.
After that if kids played up or wouldn’t go to sleep their mothers would say, “Jack’ll come and get you”. She used to say it to me because don’t forget it was only ten years before I was born. Years and years later when that Elephant Man got well known, when they made a film about him, she told me she remembered seeing posters on a shop opposite the London Hospital in Whitechapel Road showing him with a big long trunk and flappy ears. They were showing him off inside and she wanted to go in and see him but her mother wouldn’t have none of it.
My mother was a bit of a looker when she was younger, and the old man always had a bit of a jealous streak in him. A lot of blokes were like that back then. They did what they wanted to do but the woman’s job was to look after the home, the kids and run around after them.
Mum and me went to the pictures one night to see a film with an actor by the name of Milton Searles. Bit of a heart-throb and all the ladies went for him – tough guy and all that. On the way home Mum got herself a small jug of beer, and when we got in the door the old man’s just going to get stuck into a plate of fish and chips he’s bought himself. Straight away Mum started going on about this actor. “Isn’t he lovely? Handsome. Real romantic.” The old fella got quieter and quieter, then he jumped up shouting, “Milton Searles, I’ve heard enough about that fucking bloke”. And he took up her beer and tipped it on the floor. Now Mother wasn’t one of these women that jumped when the husband said so. She said, “Oh, so I can’t have me beer? Right you ain’t having no dinner.” And she flung his fish and chips in the fire. Then there was fireworks.
There was another fella – and I think he had a fancy for Mother – Bill Elcot, an old-time fighter and a saucy bastard when he wanted to be. He got himself a job with an undertaker as a driver for one of those horse-drawn carriages that carry the coffins. He drove up our road and seeing Mum at the door reigned up outside. Thinking the old man’s at work he said for a lark, “Now then, Mary, have you got him laid out or shall I come in and box him up myself?” She said, “Come in and get him, he’s having his tea”. The old man was sitting just inside the door and he’d heard what was said and wasn’t very happy. So he came flying out shouting, “I’ll box you up when I get hold of you, you flash bastard”. Old Bill didn’t hang about – he gee’d up the horses and flew off.
Father didn’t have a drink. Couldn’t stand the stuff and didn’t agree with anyone else taking it. My mother said that was because he blamed “gut polish” for seeing his own father off. Though another reason was that he’d had a nasty bang on the head same as his own father. He came off a van and fell head first between the shafts and after that the slightest drop of drink made him come over all dizzy. There was just one occasion when he did have a drop, but that was medicine and it done him up proper.
By this time things have moved on and he was driving lorries for a firm at Spitalfields by the name of Miles & Hyams. They sent him all the way up to Lancashire to pick up a lorry and he had to drive it from there to a body-building workshop in Whitechapel. Now this is the middle of winter and he’s got no cab or nothing – just the bare chassis, engine, wheels and all that. By the time he got to London they had to lift him down because he was frozen. The guv’nor got him in the office and gave him his wages and a glass of whisky to thaw him out. On the way home he’s collapsed in the road and just laid there for an hour or more. Somebody must have come across him, but instead of helping him to get out of the frost they nicked his wages and left him.
In the washhouse we had one of those bricked-up copper boilers with a fire under it. When he eventually came to and got himself home he stuck his head in the hole where the hot ashes go, and stayed there all night. Mother said, “Just leave him. He’ll be all right unless his head catches alight.” I suppose whoever robbed him thought he was just another drunk, but he could’ve died. So don’t talk to me about them days when the East End was a safe place and you could leave your door open day and night. It’s a fairy story. The only reason people left their doors open was because they had nothing worth nicking. But if you did you could bet your life someone out there would try to take it off you.
Another time he cycled all the way up to Manchester to see some of the family who had a business that way. This was the middle of winter and when he was having a bit of blow – resting like – he fell asleep and lay there all night. Gave himself pneumonia over that and was lucky it didn’t kill him. He had to stay up there for weeks after until he was fit enough to cycle back.
Even when I was a nipper Mother used to send me round to “Auntie’s”, that was the beer shop, to fetch her a jug of stout. She’d say, “Don’t let your father see you”. Then when I’d get back she’d have a poker waiting in the fire and she’d pull it out red-hot and stick it in the beer – warmed it up and made it frothy.
Later on she got all the grandchildren on the same game. My Joe, the twins, young Rita – they all got a turn but by then it was in bottles and they’d have to tie a string round the neck, then when the coast was clear their nanny would pull it up into the bedroom.
Whisky? I’ll tell you – all the time someone else was buying she was their best friend. There was a Jewish man called Davis who took to drink after his wife died, and he’d go in the Standard in Hemming Street and treat all the women, so of course she latched on to him straight away. He was another one who fancied my mother. I think she liked him more than she should have, but with the way she treated him when he wasn’t buying, it didn’t always show. If the old man had known they had this bit of a spark going he’d have upped the pair of them.
One night I was there and see her taking glass after glass of the stuff, then next morning I was talking to her outside the front door (she spent all day there) and along came this Davis. “Morning, Mother Lee,” he said, all friendly, and she said, “Fuck off out of it, you one-eyed Yiddish bastard. I don’t want to see you.” I said to her, “Cor, fancy you saying a thing like that to ’im after the way he treated you all night.” She said, “Oh, he’s all right, he don’t mind”. Same night she’s in the pub and emptying his wallet for him. She was like that.
She did the same with Dodger Mullins’ woman, not his wife because she’d died, but some other woman. Swaby, I think her name was, and she was in a gang out of the Elephant and Castle that they called the forty thieves, so you can guess what she was up to. On top of that she used to lend out a bit of money so when my mother see her in the pub she became her best friend because this woman stood her whisky all night.
She could be a trial even without a drink inside her. She followed me into the pub one night. She
had a mate with her – both of them done up to the nines. She asked me to buy them both a whisky but I had to tell her no because we were in a beer house which meant they only had a licence for beer and couldn’t sell spirits. Well, she wouldn’t have it and thought I was being a bit tight. In the end she said to me, and this is her son she’s talking to, “Fuck you then – we’ll go to the pub on the corner”. And they charged out.
On the way out in such a hurry they’ve nigh knocked over one of the Starkies, a right mob of a family. As they’ve gone out one of this family said, “Bleedin’ made-up dolls – want sorting out”. I thought if anyone gets sorted it won’t be my mother. I got myself over a bit smartish and we had a right argument. Now, my sister Rose was in there as well but right over the other side standing by the piano – place is packed out being a Saturday. As us lot are having a barney one of them must have raised a hand behind my head and Rose has clocked this. I heard a shout and looked round to see my sister scrambling over the heads and shoulders of people to get to my side and she’s screaming, “You bastards ain’t going to touch my brother”. I was a big fella then and like my father could have a fight with or without gloves, but I honestly didn’t think it was going to come to that – not until Rose arrived. She’s into a couple of these fellas like she was a man herself, belting them this way and that and the air was blue because she took after her mother. Course they weren’t going to have a go at a woman and thought twice about taking me on, so it all finished up quiet in the end. And my mother never knew what trouble she caused, what with her going out in a huff.
When I got home Mother and her mate was already indoors and this mate was trying her best to eff and blind because she’d lost her teeth somewhere, but she couldn’t get the words out proper. I was a bit mad and I said to my mother, “Don’t you ever come in my company again – every time you show your face in a club or pub there’s nothing but trouble”. It got so that I never told her when there was going to be a do on because I knew she would follow me.
Another time she was caught stealing in the dairy opposite. This thieving was regular with her. She’d take two jugs in but only have milk in one. Seems funny now when you think what London’s like, but then this dairy had its own little herd of cows – and funnier still when I recall them being taken for a walk around the streets. Then if there was something that took her fancy she’d pick it up and pop it in the jug. The owners were nice people but they told her not to come in any more.
When she told Rose that she’d been chucked out and banned I don’t suppose she gave the whole story, so Rose’s gone flying over to give them what for – always ready for trouble. The shopkeeper put her right and she knew it was true so she apologized and went back to Mother who’s standing there going, “Well? Well?” as much as to say have you told them off. Rose says, “Don’t give me that ‘Well?’ They was entitled to chuck you out, you’ve been nicking all their stuff.” Mother just said, “Fuck ’em then – I’ll go somewhere else,” like it wasn’t her own fault.
Trouble was she was running out of shops she could go in because she pulled the same stunt in every one of them.
I just came out the door one afternoon and one of the neighbours said, “I’ve just come back from the shops and your mum’s having a right go round there”. I thought, what now? But shot round there quick like. I could hear her before I got to the bakers. She was effing away like a good ’un. I opened the door and she was chucking bread rolls and bagels all over the show. The rolls are all the same but it turns out she’s been picking them up one by one and giving them a squeeze to make sure they’re fresh. Course the woman in the shop has told her to get out so Mother’s turned the place over.
You couldn’t reason with her and once I got her home she told all the others that the effing baker woman was trying to palm her off with stale rolls.
Just before one Christmas the old man brought home a goose he’d got down the lane and put it out the back. I didn’t know because I’d been at work, so as I’m going out there to have a wash in the old bath my mother said, “Mind how you go, there’s a fowl loose out there”. Well, to me a fowl’s a chicken so I don’t care, but I’m no sooner out the door than this bloody great white thing is chasing me all over the place, pecking and flapping.
Anyway, come the time to kill it for the dinner it was nowhere to be found. We searched all over but no, it’s run off or someone’s nicked it. When Johnny, I think it was, went to the outside toilet there was this bird, head first down the pan, drowned. Now this pan must have been a hundred years old, all cracked, and Mother could never get it proper clean, so you can imagine. Still, the old man done the goose all up and Mum cooked it, but when it was ready for the table none of us could look at it. Except father. He was rubbing his hands together and saying, “I ain’t wasting good grub, if you lot are too fussy then it’s all the more for me”. And over the rest of the week he ate the lot.
A little story after that was my mother put into the landlord for a new pan and not long after it was fitted. From that day on, for months and months she left the privy door wide open and the back gate as well, so anybody passing could see this gleaming porcelain toilet.
I suppose when you’ve lived through times like they did, with money short and wondering where the next meal was coming from, you’re not too fussy about what you eat. And apart from that goose, as far as Mother was concerned food was food, however it was dished up, and she did stick some rubbish in front of the old man. He never turned a hair but the years must have taught him something because the first thing he’d do before sitting at the table was take a bite out of the whitening stone women used for doing the front step. Chalk? Pumice? I don’t know. He reckoned it was good for the digestion, but it’s a wonder it didn’t kill him.
On a Thursday she might come across a lump of Yorkshire pudding left over from Sunday. It’s all curled up and rock hard, so Mother would pour a bit of boiling water on it and he’d get it down him without complaint. No doubt the pudding would’ve been a lot bigger but by the time she came across it the rats and mice had most likely chewed off a fair piece because we were overrun by these things.
First thing she’d do when making a cup of tea was get the cups off the hooks and blow the droppings out, or if they ran along the shelf she’d just say, “Get out of it, you little bleeders”.
She was tidying around one day and when she lifted the cushions off the old man’s chair she came across two mice all flattened and mummified. She said to Dad, “Look what you’ve gone and done – you’ve killed them little things”. He just looked and said, “Oh that’s Bernard and Aubrey. I thought I hadn’t seen them for a while”. Didn’t care, see – it was just part of life and all the houses were the same because of the railways and factories.
Spiders frightened the life out of him, as tough as he was, but show him a big rat and he’d corner it and pick it up by the neck. I’ve seen them screaming and trying to bite him, but he’d just take them outside and bash them on the kerb.
Sounds like we lived a bit rough, and I suppose by standards people have nowadays we did, but Mother kept the house tidy. Don’t forget these places were old and falling to bits, but she brought all us kids up well, especially my sisters who she always turned out nice.
They was all lookers and it was only natural that sooner or later all the local boys would be hanging round our door. The old man was pretty easy-going with young Johnny and me, but he kept an eye open where the girls were concerned. They knew they couldn’t take liberties but they was never frightened of him because he never lifted a finger against one of them.
We had a big mirror over the fireplace and before he went out he always stood in front of it and done himself up. He was like a lot of blokes then, very vain. He’d stand there combing his hair and tying the white scarf round his neck, and all the while he’s got his tongue poking out the side of his mouth – like he did when he was concentrating. I can see it now. Rose would stand in the doorway behind him, stick her tongu
e out and mimic everything he did. This would go on a bit and we’re all trying not to laugh, then without turning round the old man would say, “Go on, take the piss,” because he could see her in the mirror, and he’d make out he was annoyed but we all knew he wasn’t because he could see the funny side.
My sisters could twist him round their fingers. I’ve heard it said that our father was real hard on those girls and perhaps that’s how they saw it, what with being young and wanting to be out all hours, but from what I remember as long as they were indoors at a reasonable time he didn’t say too much.
At the time I’m talking about Rose and Violi were always out – over Victoria Park with the lads or dancing at Tottenham or that place up Mare Street. May didn’t go out much because she was only about thirteen or fourteen, and our Johnny was only a nipper.
One night Rose told me that Violi was seeing one of the Kray brothers and I wasn’t too best pleased, especially when I learned it was Charlie, because he was about the same age as me [twenty-six] and she hadn’t even reached sixteen.
We knew the lot of them – flash mob really, like travelling people and our family didn’t have time for any of them. The old man Jimmy had a stall up the lane selling suits and whatever he could get hold of. Then there was five boys who we had a few run-ins with over the years, and three sisters who was nice enough. The only one out of the family I could make any sense of was Jimmy and he was nothing like the others. He worked steady down at Woolwich arsenal and later on the twins got him working in one of their clubs because they did think a lot of him.
I said to Rose, “You better not let the old man know what’s going on else there’ll be murders. I’ll have a word with that Charlie myself, see if I don’t.” But before I could, my Violi’s brought him to our house one Sunday. I can see him now. Bit gyppo looking, but suited up with his hair all plastered back with macassar oil – same as Ronnie wore his years later. I was civil but I didn’t say too much because I didn’t think he was all that. He gave Mother some old flannel and turned on the charm because that was his game, what with him being on the knocker and talking old girls into parting with their dead husband’s gear.