Potato Factory

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘And a double o’ yer best brandy, love. I’ll pay fer the lad’s.’

  The boy looked up at Bob Marley. ‘You a turd burglar, mister?’ he asked, swiftly taking up the two pennies on the counter and dropping them into the pocket of his coat.

  Bob Marley enquired if the urchin knew Sparrer Fart.

  ‘Maybe I does and then maybe I doesn’t,’ the boy replied cheekily.

  ‘Tell ‘im I wants to see ‘im, two o’ the clock termorra, in ‘ere. Tell ‘im no ‘ard feelin’s, I wants a job done, Bob Marley wants a job done. Got it?’

  The boy nodded.

  Marley lifted his head and called to the barmaid. ‘Another gin fer the lad, love!’ Then he placed a shilling on the counter and without a further glance at the boy he left the tavern.

  Sparrer Fart was waiting for Marley when he entered the Hare and Hounds the following day. He was wearing a slightly battered top hat, coat and breeches all of which fitted him surprisingly well, though his entire outfit, including his shirt, neckerchief and scuffed boots, bore the signs of having been placed upon his tiny body some months previously and not having since been removed for the purposes of laundering. His face seemed also to have missed this opportunity to wash. Sparrer looked somewhat apprehensive as Bob Marley approached, backing into the safety of a group of men standing at the bar and glancing quickly over his shoulder to ascertain the shortest escape route should he have to make a sudden dash for it.

  Bob Marley pushed into the group and extended his hand, smiling. ‘I oughta beat the livin’ shit out of ya, Sparrer!’ Sparrer Fart backed away, ready to make a run for it. The barmaid looked at Marley questioningly. ‘Brandy, love, the best o’ the ‘ouse!’ Marley turned back to Sparrer, who now stood alone. ‘What’s your poison, gin is it?’ The urchin nodded.

  ‘C’mere, I’m not gunna ‘arm ya,’ Marley said, walking over to where Sparrer stood. The barmaid brought their drinks over. ‘ ’Ow’s the fingers?’ Marley enquired. ‘Not drinkin’ too much is ya? ‘Aven’t lost yer touch, I most sincerely ‘opes?’

  Sparrer Fart took the gin the barmaid placed in front of him, then he looked up at Bob Marley, his eyes large, his expression most contrite. ‘I’m sorry what I done, Mr Marley,’ he said tentatively.

  Bob Marley lifted his drink and held it up. ‘Cheers! Never say you is sorry, boy! Sorry be the sign o’ a weak man!’ He up-ended the glass and swallowed its contents in one gulp. ‘Ahh! Same again, love!’ he shouted to the barmaid.

  ‘I wouldn’t ‘ave! I swear I didn’t know she was gunna shop Ikey!’ Sparrer said.

  ‘ ’Course ya didn’t! ‘Ow much she give ya?’

  ‘Four quid,’ Sparrer lied.

  ‘Ya was robbed! Sovs or what?’

  Sparrer shook his head. ‘Soft. It were good paper though, not fake.’

  Marley clucked his tongue. ‘Never take no paper money, boy! Gold! Don’t never take nuffink else, that is, if ya wants respect.’

  ‘I don’t think as I can afford respect what’s always gold,’ Sparrer said softly, taking a tiny sip from his gin.

  ‘Lemme see yer ‘ands. ‘Old ‘em out, spread yer fingers.’

  Sparrer held his hands out and spread his fingers. They were tiny, dirty and beautiful, and they remained perfectly steady.

  ‘Nerves! ‘Ow’s yer nerves?’

  ‘I’m still the goodest, still the best o’ everyone!’ Sparrer boasted.

  ‘Oh yeah? ‘Ow does I know that?’ Bob Marley challenged, amused at Sparrer’s confidence.

  Sparrer Fart dipped into the side pocket of his jacket and produced Bob Marley’s gold hunter, handing the watch back to him.

  ‘Jesus!’ Marley exclaimed. He shook his head admiringly. ‘Didn’t never feel ya touchin’ me! You’re good, Sparrer, I’ll give ya that!’

  Sparrer shook his head. ‘Nah! If ya was Ikey, he’d o’ caught me. We don’t get ‘nuff trainin’ since ‘e’s gorn away.’ He took a sip from his gin and looked up at Bob Marley with big eyes. ‘Academy’s fucked!’

  ‘You’ll do nicely, lad,’ Marley said, giving Sparrer’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. ‘Very nicely.’ He explained what he required. ‘There’s three sovs in it fer ya, plus the worf o’ the lift, three sovs in gold, what’s got the King’s ‘ead on it,’ he emphasised. He stabbed a finger at Sparrer Fart. ‘But mind ya bring me silver, a good ‘un!’

  Marley met Sparrer in the Hare and Hounds at ten the following evening. In a leather satchel he carried the one hundred fob watches Isaac Isaacson had obtained for him.

  ‘Well then, lad, ‘ow’d ya go?’

  Sparrer dug into his pocket and produced a silver hunter which he handed to Bob Marley.

  ‘Like ya said, Mr Marley, not too cheap not too ‘spensive, sterlin’ silver, worf fifteen sovs new!’ Sparrer declared expertly.

  Bob Marley examined the watch. ‘Jesus, Sparrer, it be monogrammed! Look, J.R., that be the ‘nitials o’ the cove ya nicked it from!’

  Sparrer shrugged. ‘Ya didn’t say nuffink ‘bout that. Do I still get me five sovs then?’ he asked hopefully.

  Bob Marley counted five gold sovereigns into Sparrer’s tiny hand, then added three more.

  ‘Ya done good, lad. I didn’t say nuffink ‘bout no ‘nitials.’

  Sparrer looked pleased. He was rich enough to eat and get drunk for a week and sit in on an endless game of cribbage. ‘Thanks, Mr Marley, I done me best, sorry I fucked up.’

  ‘Got a yack o’ yer own, then?’ Bob Marley asked suddenly.

  Sparrer shook his head in alarm. ‘Too dangerous in me profession! Pigs might find the cove I nicked it from, it’d be the boat fer me, fer sure!’

  Bob Marley’s hand went into his pocket and produced a handsome nickel-plated fob watch which he placed on the bar counter. Then he pulled out a watch chain and dropped it beside the watch.

  ‘Take it, it be your’n.’

  Sparrer looked confused. ‘Huh?’

  Marley laughed. ‘A present, fer yer birfday!’

  ‘I don’t ‘ave no birfday,’ Sparrer said quietly, still bemused. ‘Ya didn’t nick it, did ya? Cos, if ya nicked it I can’t ‘ave it.’

  ‘Nah, it were a bonus for doin’ a job, a little favour fer a friend like.’ He pushed the watch over to Sparrer. ‘G’warn, take it, everybody’s got a birfday even if they don’t know when it be.’

  Sparrer picked up the watch in one hand and the chain in the other, appearing to weigh both in his hands. ‘I ain’t never before seen a new one what’s not nicked.’

  ‘Guaranteed, honest to Gawd nab proof that is. Pig come up to ya, ask ya where ya got it, tell ‘im it’s kosher, Isaac Isaacson o’ Drury Lane, “Jeweller to Thespians and Gentlemen, Established 1792”!’

  Sparrer’s eyes shone as he realised that the watch was safe for him to own. ‘Thanks, Mr Marley, thanks a lot!’ he said clicking open the lid and looking at the pristine face of the watch. Then he closed it and clipping the watch onto the chain placed it into his fob pocket, looped the chain over his tiny belly and fitted the crossbar at its other end into its appropriate buttonhole. The chain was much too long for his narrow torso and dangled in an arc to below his crutch. ‘I never ‘ad a watch o’ me very own,’ Sparrer said excitedly.

  ‘Mazeltov!’ Bob Marley said, patting him lightly on the shoulder. ‘One good turn deserves anuvver!’ He pointed to Sparrer’s fob pocket. ‘What’s the time then?’

  Sparrer took the watch from its pocket and expertly clicked it open again. ‘ ’Arf past ten o’ the clock,’ he said proudly.

  ‘Read what it says,’ Marley demanded.

  The boy looked up at Bob Marley, then down at the inscription inside the watch cover as though he had seen it for the first time. He touched it lightly with his forefinger tracing the words inscribed into the metal as though by feeling them they might reveal their meaning to him. Bob Marley cleared his throat.

  ‘No, don’t read it, Sparrer! Lemme tell ya what it says,’ he said quickly, rescuing the u
rchin. ‘I sort o’ composed it meself, see. So it be better said than read, knows what I mean?’ Bob Marley leaned back as though thinking for a moment. ‘It says: “To S.F. - A man’s repitashin be more valiable than gold! B.M.” ‘

  ‘What’s S.F. and B.M. mean?’ Sparrer asked.

  ‘S.F. stands fer Sparrer Fart, that bein’ you. . .and B.M., why that’s yers truly, the same what’s talkin’ to ya and whose repitashin be more valiable than gold!’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Marley.’ Sparrer touched the inscription again with his forefinger. ‘S.F., eh? Blimey, that be me!’

  Marley laughed and pointed to the watch. ‘Tempus fugit, that means “Time flies”, I gotta scarper.’ He threw down what remained of his brandy. ‘Ya done good, Sparrer, cheer’o then.’

  Sparrer didn’t quite know why, but as he watched Bob Marley’s back retreat out of the tavern door he wanted to bawl.

  At near enough to ten o’clock the following morning, Bob Marley knocked on Hannah’s door. Hannah’s expression was at once anxious when she saw who it was.

  ‘Bob!’ Then she added quickly, but in a whisper, ‘You ‘asn’t got ‘em, ‘as ya?’

  Marley grunted and held up the bag.

  Hannah, unable to conceal her excitement, invited him into the parlour. ‘Wait, I’ll get brandy! ‘Ere, sit. ‘As ya eaten?’ She didn’t wait for Marley’s reply but left the parlour and moments later appeared with a large biscuit tin, a glass and a bottle of brandy. ‘ ’Elp yerself, love, I’ll fetch yer money,’ she said, leaving the room once more.

  Half an hour after Marley had left the police arrived at Hannah’s house with a search warrant, discovered the watches and arrested her on suspicion of obtaining stolen property. She arrived at the watchhouse where she was to be retained overnight to hear that Bob Marley was also being held by the police.

  Both of them were arraigned before a magistrate the following morning, Hannah being the first to stand in the prisoner’s dock, where she pleaded not guilty. She asked for the clerk of the court to bring her Ikey’s letter which she’d caused to be held in evidence. ‘See ‘ere, yer worship, where it says in me ‘usband’s letter,’ she commenced to read the lines ‘. . .“I charge you to send me none but ‘righteous’ watches and not to touch even one what has been gained ‘on the cross’. I shall require these to be of an assortment of nickel plate, sterling silver and gold. I believe these will here obtain up to six times the price of the watches purchased by you on the straight.” ‘

  The magistrate read Ikey’s letter for himself and then looked up at Hannah. ‘Hmm, I see that we shall not have the privilege of supplying your husband with accommodation in one of His Majesty’s antipodean hostelries. We can only hope that the Americans may prove more successful at this task, eh, madam?’

  Hannah smiled weakly at the judge. ‘Yer worship, I ‘as always been a good and obedient wife and I would not think to go against me ‘usband’s wishes and commands.’ She dropped her gaze, wringing her hands piteously. ‘I’s a poor woman with four brats to feed and ‘ousework to do.’ She looked appealingly at the magistrate. ‘What does I know about findin’ one ‘undred watches what’s been nicked?’

  ‘And how do you suppose these watches came into your possession then, madam?’ the magistrate asked sternly.

  Hannah pointed to Bob Marley, manacled and seated between two constables in the court. ‘ ’Im! I asks ‘im to purchase on be’arf o’ me ‘usband one ‘undred watches what’s kosher, what’s not nicked, but what’s bran’ new. ‘E said ‘e done it, but ‘e didn’t, did ‘e? ‘E gorn and got ‘em on the cross!’ Hannah suddenly clasped her hands together in front of her breasts and burst into tears. ‘Oh, what shall become o’ me children?’ she wailed.

  ‘You may stand down, Mrs Solomon.’ The magistrate was not in the least affected by Hannah’s tears. ‘I shall presently call you to stand before me again.’ He nodded at the clerk of the court, who rose from his seat and proclaimed.

  ‘Robert Matthew Marley will take the stand!’

  Hannah listened with increasing bemusement as Marley proved conclusively that the watches he’d obtained for her were unencumbered and purchased legitimately. To further support his case the respectable Haymarket jeweller, Isaac Isaacson, appeared as a witness for Marley, showing the number and names of the watches purchased by the accused as matching exactly the wholesaler’s invoice. Bob Marley then produced in evidence Isaac Isaacson’s own receipt to him. Furthermore, the Crown now admitted that none of the watches matched the serial numbers of those taken in the notorious Cheapside robbery.

  The charges against Marley were summarily dismissed and the magistrate called for Hannah to appear before him again, whereupon he commenced to remonstrate severely with her for accusing the said Robert Matthew Marley, a man who had never been before the courts and whose reputation she had needlessly and maliciously impugned.

  Hannah protested vehemently. ‘Yer worship it were the police! They said them watches was stolen! I ‘mediately supposed they was! I supposed that Mr Marley’d gorn an’ nicked ‘em, ‘oping to profit from chargin’ me the full price while ‘avin’ got ‘em at a thief’s rate!’

  ‘And you did not think to ask Mr Marley for a receipt as proof that he’d made a legitimate purchase as you requested?’

  ‘Yer worship, I were most pleased what Mr Marley ‘ad done, knowin’ as ‘ow I ‘ad served me ‘usband’s request wif promptness and exactitude. I am not accustomed to the ways o’ doin’ business, bein’ a poor woman what knows nuffink about such things as bills and receipts and the general goin’s on o’ commerce!’

  The magistrate snorted loudly. Hannah’s reputation as a businesswoman was well known to the court.

  Hannah, though appearing distraught, was delighted with the altogether surprising outcome. She had considered herself already bound for Botany Bay, but now Bob Marley’s innocence conclusively proved her own. She waited impatiently for the miserable beak to conclude his tirade and to dismiss the case.

  Finally the magistrate picked up a document and began to read.

  ‘Hannah Margaret Solomon and Robert Matthew Marley you have been jointly charged with having obtained and, or, being found in possession of, a consignment of one hundred watches thought to have been stolen from an establishment in Cheapside. This has subsequently been proved to be incorrect and you, Mr Marley, have been cleared by this court of any charges relating to that robbery.’ He looked up at Hannah, who smiled back at him. ‘You too, madam, are free of this charge.’

  ‘Thank you, yer worship,’ Hannah said primly, preparing to step down from the dock.

  But the magistrate held up his hand to stay her. ‘If you please. . .’ He picked up another document and began to read again. ‘Hannah Margaret Solomon, you are further charged with being in possession of a sterling silver watch known to be the property of Joseph Ridley, the said watch being discovered concealed in a biscuit tin in the pantry of your home.’ The magistrate looked up sternly. ‘How plead you to this charge, guilty or not guilty?’

  Hannah’s mouth opened in astonishment and she glanced quickly to where Bob Marley sat, but all she could later remember seeing was the dark gap between his two shining gold teeth as he grinned at her.

  ‘Not guilty, yer worship,’ she said, then added in a whisper, ‘Oh, me Gawd!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The first of the autumn leaves were starting to turn in Hyde Park and the geese on the Serpentine, plump with summer feeding, were increasingly feeling the primal urge to migrate to a warmer clime. On the 13th of September 1827, Hannah, a bird of a quite different feather, was sentenced to a less voluntary migration, though also to a warmer climate.

  If her sentence at the Old Bailey to fourteen years’ transportation appears rather too harsh for a crime so small, it may be supposed that much frustration had gone before it in the many unsuccessful attempts to trap both Hannah and Ikey. The law has a duty to be both parent and teacher and sometimes, in order to wipe the slat
e clean, a recalcitrant child must be dealt with more harshly than a particular crime seems to merit, in order to compensate for successful crimes which have gone unpunished. Hannah’s conviction may well have rendered an opportunity to balance the scales of justice.

  Ikey’s escape to New York, as proved by the evidence of his letter to his wife, was reported in The Times and was blown up to exaggerated proportions in the penny dailies, where it created much merriment in the rookeries and even some grudging admiration among the lower classes. The law is blind only when it does not wish to see and the embarrassment to the City police and directors of the Bank of England caused by Ikey’s gaolbreak may well have condemned Hannah to a harsher sentence.

  To Hannah’s fourteen years’ transportation was added the condition that she never be permitted to return to her native land.

  On hearing her sentence Hannah brought her hands up to her face and wailed, ‘Oh! Oh! What shall become o’ me precious mites?’

  Whereupon the judge, to prove that the severity of the law may be tempered by compassion, gave permission for her children to accompany her to Australia so as to be under her fostering care.

  The Mermaid, carrying Hannah and her four children together with ninety other female convicts, some also with children, sailed from Woolwich on the 10th of February 1828.

  The voyage proved no better or worse than most. There was the usual sea sickness, bouts of catarrh and rheumatism brought about by the dampness between decks on the voyage to Tenerife. These ailments soon yielded with the coming of the sun, though an obstinate form of constipation remained. This was thought to be due to the fact that the Irish women on board, as was the custom in Irish prisons, received only gruel and milk. Now the introduction of salt and beef and pork to their shipboard diet proved most deleterious to their unaccustomed stomachs.

  As is always the case, bickering, fights, bad behaviour and thieving among the women prisoners were much in evidence. In the matter of whoring, though, which was known to plague even the most watchful of voyages, Hannah was to play a part so skilful that the surgeon-superintendent would state in his report that the prisoners had co-operated well and had shown little pernicious disruption and almost none of the moral turpitude so commonly experienced on a convict ship carrying female prisoners.