by Betty Annand
Hugh’s condition gradually worsened and he passed away. When Maria could no longer pay the rent and buy food, she was forced into a life of prostitution. The madam who ran the brothel was more than happy to hire her since, in spite of her emaciated condition, she was still strikingly beautiful with a generous head of coal-black, curly hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes.
Toughie was left on his own most of the time and would have gone hungry if the madam and the other girls hadn’t felt sorry for him and kept him busy running errands for them. For his troubles, they sometimes gave him a penny or two, but more often they provided him with food.
Toughie, like other children in the slums, had seen more ugliness by the time he was four years old than most people see in a lifetime. His home was a damp, dark, and windowless basement room, but since his parents had lived most of their lives outside of Old Nichol, and were both literate, they made life tolerable for him by reading him stories and teaching him his letters. Hugh, knowing his days were numbered and that there would be times when Toughie would have to defend himself, had taught the boy to use a hidden weapon that he had made when he worked as a blacksmith.
He had fashioned the weapon out of a small horseshoe bent to go around his fist and small enough to be hidden in his woollen gloves. Toughie never left home without wearing his fortified glove. The first bully that grabbed him by his coat collar and demanded to see what he had in his pocket received more than he bargained for, ending up with a bloody nose. When Maria started working, and Toughie was left alone at night, he began wearing the glove to bed.
The only times that he felt safe, and almost happy, were the times when his mother returned home early in the morning. Although she would still be semi-drunk, she would scrub herself down before putting on her nightdress and crawling into bed to snuggle with him before falling asleep.
On the streets, Toughie soon learned the value of money, and on the days when there were no errands to run and he was hungry, he would help himself to his mother’s cache hidden in one of his father’s old boots. He used the money to buy bread and sausage, or a meat pie for him and his mother to eat when she woke up in the afternoon.
Maria had lost her appetite and for over a month had been living on a diet of mostly alcohol. The madam, who normally would have ordered any of her girls to leave if they couldn’t earn enough, realized that Maria didn’t have long to live, and allowed her and her son to stay for a time without charge.
When she realized she was dying, Marie managed to find the strength to take Toughie as far as the beginning of Nichol Street and back. This she did three days in a row, insisting he memorize the route so he could find his way there on his own. Then she explained to him that she, like his daddy, was going to die very soon, and when that happened, he was to leave her and go to Nichol Street to find a place to stay.
Although he was only five, Toughie was no stranger to death, having witnessed his father’s demise. He’d also seen other bodies that had been left lying on the street to be picked up by the wagon that came once a week to collect the dead. But when he awoke one morning and found his mother had died during the night, his bravado deserted him, and he put his head down on her chest and cried like the little boy that he was. When there were no more tears left, he tried to control the sobs that wracked his little body, and he did his best to make her look nice. Pulling the covers up to her neck, he brushed the curls gently off her face, then kissed her cold lips, and saying, “Goodbye, Mama,” he left.
Toughie pulled his cap down over his forehead and ran as fast as he could until he reached Nichol Street. By the time he arrived, it was past noon, and he felt so lightheaded, he had to sit on the street and lean against a building, or he would have fallen down. After a few minutes, he realized that he was very hungry, and, looking around to see if anyone was watching, he reached up under his jumper and into a pouch he had tied around his waist. Maria had made it for him to hold the few coins she gave him along with a faded portrait of her and Hugh, with their names, the date of their marriage, and Toughie’s birthday written on the back.
He took one of the coins, and, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could, walked along, looking for a baker’s shop. The people he passed were similar to those in his old neighbourhood—just as dirty and shabbily dressed. Still, there was something different about the way they went about their business that Toughie felt, but couldn’t identify. It was a good feeling, and he began to believe his mother was right about the place.
When he came to a bakery, he went in, and pointing to some scones on a shelf, he asked for two. The proprietor, whose generous size gave credence to his wares, threw back his head and laughed.
“I’ve no doubt you would, lad, you and all them other beggin’ buggers out there.”
Toughie held out his hand and showed him the coin.
“Well now, me boy, why didn’t you say you ’ad the price?”
Toughie just shrugged.
“’Ere, I’ll wrap them up in this paper so no one will see them and pinch them off you.” He took two scones and wrapped them in newspaper then handed them to Toughie. When the lad made no move to go, the baker said, “Go on now, boy, off you go.” Toughie shook his head and pointed to the sign under the scones on the shelf.
“Excuse me, sir, but you owe me three pence.”
The baker was taken aback. This lad spoke like a young gentleman, and damned if the lad couldn’t read and count as well.
“By gore, if you’re not right! And what a clever little lad you are.” He counted out three pence into Toughie’s hand, and added, “What’s your name, boy? I don’t think I’ve seen you round ’ere afore.”
“Toughie,” was the only answer he received, as the boy hurried out the door.
After leaving the shop, Toughie walked until he found a place behind a couple of rain barrels where he wouldn’t be noticed, sat down, and greedily gulped down the scones. They were very filling but made him thirsty, so he helped himself to a drink out of one of the barrels before resuming his search for a home. By the afternoon the task seemed hopeless, so he began looking in the alley beside the sewer and the outhouses for a place to rest.
Finally, he lifted up the lid on an old coal bin and discovered that it was empty except for a couple of old blankets. He decided he would sleep there for the night and in the morning start looking for a nice family like his mother had told him. He curled up on top of one of the blankets while covering himself with the other one, and was sleeping soundly in a few seconds.
“Oi, Mick, look what we got ’ere!”
“It’s a bloody squatter, Billy boy,” Mick said as he picked up a stick and began poking Toughie with it. “Come on now. Get out of it!”
Toughie woke with a start and a pain in his ribs. Still half asleep and forgetting where he was, he cried out, “Mama!”
“’E wants ’is mama. Ya ’ear that, Billy boy? ’E wants ’is mama. Come along now get your dirty arse out of my bin.”
Toughie crawled out and apologized, “I am sorry; I didn’t know it was yours.”
“Coo, ain’t ’e the fancy boy? Just moved ere ’ave you, your lord-shit?” This started Billy laughing, and, in between bursts of laughter he kept repeating “your lord-shit” until Mick ordered, “Shut your gob.”
By the sharp tone of Mick’s voice, Toughie was beginning to feel wary and was glad he had kept his gloves on before he fell asleep. His fist tightened around his weapon as he said contritely, “I was just looking for a place to stay.”
“You an orphan boy?” Mick asked. Toughie nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Toughie.”
This brought on another fit of laughter from the boy called Billy, but Mick’s lips only formed a smirk. “You don’t look tough enough to whip a baby. Let’s see just how tough you are,” he said. Then, taking Toughie by surprise, he punched him in the stomach. Toughie cried out, but as he bent ove
r in pain, he made sure he had a good grip on his horseshoe. “That’ll teach you to stay ’way from my bin!”
Toughie was hoping he could go on his way without any further trouble, but Billy had other plans and came at him shouting, “It’s my turn now, your lord-shit!”
“Leave ’im alone,” Mick ordered, but it was too late.
Billy took a swing at Toughie’s face, but Toughie was ready for him and knocked Billy on the ground before his fist reached its target. “Ow, that ’urt like ’ell. ’E’s broke my jaw, Mick,” Billy cried.
Mick ignored him as he looked at Toughie with sudden respect and, holding out his hand, he said, “My name’s Mick, and this ’ere’s Billy.”
Making sure to use the hand without the weapon, Toughie shook hands, and suddenly, he didn’t feel quite as lonely.
There wasn’t room in the coal bin for another boy, but Mick said that maybe one of the outhouses would be empty. Then he warned Toughie that if there was one, it would be “the one that stunk the worst.” There were so many orphaned children looking for a dry place to sleep every night that almost all the doorways and outhouses were taken.
After Toughie left the two boys, he managed to find a vacant outhouse, but Mick was right; he could only stay in it for a few minutes before the sickening stench forced him to leave. As the evening turned into night, it grew chilly, and the strange noises coming from the black shapes leaning against the buildings frightened him. Some sounded like moans and others like growls. Toughie desperately wanted to run home to his mother, but he could still picture her lifeless body and knew he could never return.
Tears began running down his cheeks, as he noticed a man shovelling something out of a building. A lantern hanging in the doorway gave off such a warm and welcoming glow that he was drawn to like a moth. He startled the man when he timidly, said, “Pardon me, sir.”
“Saints alive! Where in God’s name did you come from?”
Toughie wasn’t exactly sure, but he remembered his father saying that they lived in hell, so he answered, “Hell, sir.”
This rendered the man speechless, and he stared at the boy as though he was the devil himself.
“I’m looking for work, sir, and a place to stay.”
The man shook his head, then, half afraid of what the boy’s answer would be, he asked, “What’s your name, lad?”
“Toughie, sir.”
“Be you an orphan then?”
In spite of Toughie’s brave efforts, his voice broke and a tear ran down his cheek as he answered, “Yes, sir. My father’s dead, and Mama died last night.”
“Well if I’m about to let you sleep in my barn, I’ll have to know their names.”
Toughie wanted to stay in the barn so badly, he didn’t hesitate to answer.
At first the man appeared shocked, then he smiled and said, “Why, I remember your daddy well. That was when you lived just down the street a mite. Sure an’ your daddy was a proper hero, he was.”
Toughie’s mother had told him all about his father’s bravery, but he was too tired to talk about it. “Can I stay, please, sir?”
Mr O’Brian had allowed orphans to stay in his barn before, but they always stole whatever they could lay their hands on, so he had stopped doing it, but he recalled how Hugh Matthews had risked his life to save a little girl and what tragic results had come from it. He smiled at the boy, and said, “Well now, there’s no room for more upstairs, but let’s see what we can fix up down here, shall we? How about if we use this little space between old Knicker’s stall and the hay bin? I can put some nice hay down here for a bed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the missus can find something to use for a blanket. How’s that suit you, Toughie?”
Looking up into the man’s eyes, Toughie knew that he had found a home.
Mr O’Brian didn’t regret his act of kindness. Toughie was no trouble, and he even lent a hand when it was needed. Most days he earned enough on the street to feed himself, and on the days when he had no food, Mrs O’Brian always managed to have enough stew in the pot for one more bowl.
The barn was not an actual barn, but the gutted-out bottom floor of a building that Mr O’Brian rented to house his animals. He and his family lived on the floor above. The O’Brian’s animals consisted of “Knickers,” a very old horse that earned his keep by pulling a wagon used to deliver manure to the houses on the outside of the slums, a scrawny sow with a litter of piglets, a boar, and the family’s dog: a black and white bitch of mixed breeds called Sheba.
Not long after Toughie moved in, Sheba gave birth to a litter of pups, which was quite a surprise, since she was very old, and no one had noticed any male dogs sniffing around her for a few years. Mr O’Brian couldn’t afford to keep the puppies and intended to give them to the poorest families he knew—families who were forced to eat rat meat in order to survive and would consider dog meat a treat.
He was in the process of gathering them up for disposal one afternoon when Toughie reached over, grabbed the scrawniest of the litter, and ran. O’Brian didn’t give chase, but that evening he hid and was waiting when Toughie tiptoed into the barn and gently placed the little pup beside its mother. O’Brian was all set to jump out and seize the dog, but the look on the little lad’s face as he laid the puppy down beside Sheba to be fed was so moving, he couldn’t do it.
Quietly, he approached the boy, and said, “Easy now, Toughie, sure I’m not about to take him. You can keep the little mutt. There’s too little meat on his bones anyways. You’ll have to look after him now.” Toughie merely nodded his head, but the look in his eyes portrayed his gratitude. “An’ now, me lad, what would you be naming him?”
“My Dog!” was his answer. My Dog grew to be as protective of Toughie as Toughie was towards the dog, and the two became inseparable. By the time he was six, Toughie had learned to be as proficient at begging and scrounging as any beggar on the street. All the street venders admired his fortitude, and because he never stole anything he didn’t need, they seldom complained when he did.
Toughie had never known what it was like to have friends until he met Mick and Billy, and it wasn’t long before he befriended a few more orphans. They seemed more like siblings to him since they all looked out for one another. Although they found it necessary to filch whenever they could get away with it, they had made a pact never to steal from each other.
Some, like Toughie, enjoyed working when they had the chance and soon learned how to pool their meagre earnings. One or two would use the money to demand a clerk’s attention, while others did the pilfering. Except for Toughie, none had been taught to read or write, but they all had street smarts and were most adept at running and hiding when they had to. They were also clever at picking pockets, though most pockets in the neighbourhood weren’t worth picking.
One day, they managed to make off with three large sausages from a butcher shop, making their way to the nearest café where they ordered a pot of tea and sat down to a feast. As Toughie was eating his share of the sausage, he noticed a little girl standing outside, looking in the window.
Gladys was so very hungry that she couldn’t help but stare at the boys as they ate. Bert and Tonnie had been drinking heavily all during the previous day and evening and hadn’t bothered to feed her or give her money for food. Every time Toughie took a bite and swallowed, she would swallow too.
He couldn’t help but smile. Holding a piece of his sausage up, he offered it to her. When she nodded her head enthusiastically, he motioned for her to come and get it. Seeing how she devoured it, he knew that she hadn’t eaten for a while and generously gave her the rest of his share. He didn’t see her again for two days, until she showed up with a bundle of fresh buns for him and his friends.
There were times, albeit very few, when Bert and Tonnie were sober and feeling guilty for neglecting Gladys, that they would give her a few pence if they had it to spare. Since she always s
hared it with Toughie and his friends, he began to look out for her and taught her how to survive on the street. Gladys thought he was the most wonderful person she had ever met, with coal-black eyes framed by thick, long eyelashes. And not only could he count, but read as well. She adored him.
Having friends made life for the orphans who lived in the ghetto a little easier, but they still had to struggle just to stay alive, and there were many days when they went hungry. The filth and lack of nutrition caused a lot of them to become very ill. Gladys and Toughie were two of the most fortunate, in that they had a roof over their heads. Some of their friends, especially the youngest ones, suffered with open sores, weak lungs, and nameless other ailments. Many died during the cold nights. Often the friends would take turns guarding the body until the wagon came and took it away.
Tragedy was taken for granted, and they seldom shed tears. Like little soldiers, they accepted their fate, and seldom complained.
__________
One day, Toughie and Gladys were together in Scott’s butcher shop, hoping the butcher would take pity on them and spare a sausage or two. Jude, the butcher’s son, was filling a jar with pickled cucumbers when the jar slipped from his wet hands, fell to the floor, and broke into pieces. Before anyone realized what was happening, Toughie and Gladys scooped up as many of the pickles as they could carry from the rough wooden floor and ran out the door.
Once out of sight of the butcher shop, they stopped to enjoy their loot. Suddenly, Toughie, noticing that the brine dripping down Gladys’s chin was red instead of yellow said, “What in bloody hell are you eating?” Gladys looked down at her hand and became mesmerized by the bright red blood that was oozing from a deep gash in her palm and running down her wrist.