Lolly, who said she was twenty-three but looked much older and stood at about four foot six inches tall, told me she’d been born into the theatre. Her parents were part of a travelling troop which provided all types of entertainment, from jugglers to tightrope walkers, from acrobats to small plays performed by just two or three actors. Her father was a big man and from as far back as Lolly could remember, he’d performed a short play with her mother, telling the story of Samson and Delilah. It had been of great relief to her father when Lolly was old enough to join them on stage and they could change their act. Up until then, he’d needed to keep his head shaved and wear a wig on stage so that her mother could appear to cut it off whilst he slept. But then when Lolly was still young enough to be able to play a small boy, they played many stories, some from the Bible, others they made up, about Mary and Joseph and the young Christ. Although not as popular as Samson and Delilah, most of these stories had still been well received.
But as she became older and just as luck would have it, buxom, she could no longer get away with playing these roles even to the most drunken and boisterous crowd. They struggled to find or invent successful plays for an elderly couple and a young woman. After being booed off the stage yet again, they were in despair when Charlie Hamlet knocked on their caravan door. He told Lolly’s father he’d done a bit of acting down in London; as he said, with a name like his, how could he do anything else. He said he’d seen the trouble they’d had on stage and wondered if they might do better as a foursome. Lolly said that her father had liked his boldness and had agreed to give him a try. Charlie was three years older than Lolly and she couldn’t help a rueful laugh when she told me she’d liked him as well, but not for the same reason as her father. At twenty, he was dark, tall and handsome, but most of all he had a way with words, and as Lolly said, ‘She didn’t stand a chance.’
Charlie had been with them for only six months when Lolly fell pregnant and three months later they were married. She never knew if he was telling the truth about having done some acting in London, but it didn’t matter she said, because he was a natural. They were doing well again. So after the baby was born, they decided to try some Shakespeare. They tried several scenes with all four of them, but by far and away the most successful ones were those Lolly and Charlie did on their own. In fact, so successful were their extracts from Romeo and Juliet, especially their balcony scene and their final deaths, which had drawn standing ovations from three full houses, the troop agreed to give them a benefit night. Coming just before Christmas, the extra money meant they had a fine old time and Lolly told me Christmas that year was the best she’d ‘ever ’ad in all me days’. But, she said, all that success went to Charlie’s head and he decided that Lolly and the baby, who they’d called Charlie like his dad, should go with him to London and see if they couldn’t find some theatre work there. So leaving her parents behind to do the best they could without her, Lolly and the baby went with Charlie to London. Charlie soon found work for them both – made sure of by the reviews he’d kept of their Romeo and Juliet.
Problems started when Lolly fell pregnant again; no theatre owner wanted an obviously pregnant Juliet. Later other members of the cast were willing to look after young Charlie when his mother was on stage, but were much less willing to look after him as well as his new baby sister. When only three months later she became pregnant for the third time, Lolly was told she would no longer be required by the theatre; Charlie could still play Romeo but they would have to find a new Juliet for him. Lolly didn’t mind, Charlie was earning enough to keep all of them and expecting their third child so soon after the other two, she was weary enough without working in the theatre every night. But when one night Charlie didn’t come home and was still missing the next morning, she minded. Lately he’d been coming home later and later, telling her how the show was so successful that the curtain calls were making him late. But Lolly had her doubts and so now, carrying the two babies and with young Charlie toddling along beside her, she went straight to the theatre where her husband worked.
When she got there, the place was in disarray. The theatre owner showed her a note; she recognised Charlie’s hand, but when she went to take it from him, he snatched it back.
“Romeo and Juliet have run away together and this note from ’im says they’re not coming back. I ask you, what can I do?” He looked at his pocket watch. “I’ve got a show to put on in less than six hours and my main act has run away.”
Though she knew it was pointless, Lolly did ask if the note said, or if anyone knew, where they’d gone. Tight-lipped, the owner had told her that if he knew that, he would have found and throttled them himself.
But Lolly wasn’t interested in the theatre owner’s troubles because she knew that without Charlie she was going to have enough problems of her own. Charlie had gone, taking that eighteen-year-old childless floozy with him. Even though she could see the draw, Lolly couldn’t hide the bitterness when she told me the girl had obviously been playing Juliet to his Romeo off stage as well as on. She wished the girl good luck because, as she said, Charlie would no doubt do the same to this foolish girl as he’d done to her and Lord knows how many before her.
Although she’d been left with three small children and no income, Lolly knew she had a small sum saved and hidden, enough to feed the four of them for a couple of days. So, heading home she promised little Charlie, who, like her, hadn’t had any breakfast, they’d have some bread and drippin’ as soon as they got back home. Of course, when she got home, the money, like her husband, was long gone and she had nothing to give her son to eat other than a couple of crusts. Unable to feed herself at all, she worried that unless she ate soon, her milk would dry up, leaving her with nothing to give her babies. So, that evening, in desperation and hoping they wouldn’t stir, she left the children sleeping and went to the local tavern where the innkeeper allowed her to sing as long as there weren’t any complaints from his regulars. He said she could keep any money they threw.
Lolly sung herself hoarse, but at the end of the evening, though there had not been any complaints, she had barely enough for a loaf and maybe a little tea and she still had to find the money for the rent which was already three weeks overdue. So when a man she didn’t know made her an offer, she had little choice but to take him back to her place. Fifteen minutes after she’d got him home, the man had paid her what they’d agreed, finished what he came for and with barely a word, adjusted his dress and left. In quarter of an hour, Lolly had made twice the money she’d worked all evening to earn.
So, though she didn’t like it and despised the men who bought her favours, it became her business. Walking them quickly home, their money already safe in a hidden pocket in her dress, by encouraging their eagerness with promises of what was about to be, she found that if she applied herself, they would be leaving again barely ten minutes after she’d got them home. She found the daughter of a neighbour willing to look after the children while she was out, a girl who was ready to disappear the moment she heard Lolly and that night’s companion approaching the door.
Now she could afford to feed the four of them and keep a roof over their heads and Lolly’s life remained tolerable until the night she took home what she called a ‘posh’en’. Tall and thin, he wore a kid-skin waistcoat above brown pantaloons, white stockings and over all, a close fitting blue jacket trimmed with gold braiding. All of this was topped, she said, by a powdered wig which stood like an oversized meringue a foot above his head. Standing close to him, as he obliged her to do, Lolly could see below the white powder that caked his face. His skin had been deeply scarred by a calling card left by a smallpox visit. To complete this handsome vision, when he smiled, most of his teeth were missing, while those that remained were in the last stages of decay.
But he’d given her a crown, one of good quality according to Lolly, so he could spend the whole night with her. Lolly didn’t like men to stay the night, not with the children there, but as she said a crown’s a crown, so
this night she made an exception. She said there was no need for her to warm this one up, because he spent the walk to her door telling her of his plans for her. Lolly had begun to wonder whether she really did want this man’s money, but the truth was he was so drunk that by the time she got him home, he just fell unconscious on her bed. He stayed that way until morning when, murdered by a hangover, he had no desire to trouble Lolly any further.
Just like her very first customer, he said almost nothing before leaving. Instead, he headed straight out with, he told her, the single intention of finding a cab. Lolly was left to muse over what she thought was the easiest crown she’d ever earned. But she couldn’t have been more wrong, because less than half an hour later, there was a loud knock at the door. She’d just given Charlie his breakfast and was getting herself ready to feed the babies who were already crying out their hunger. So covering herself again and ignoring the babies’ protests, she opened the door. Standing there, still looking the worse for wear was her visitor from the night before and next to him was a Bow Street Runner. Looking expectantly at the Runner, her visitor instructed,
“That’s her constable. That’s the woman who stole my money; I want you to arrest her.”
Stunned, Lolly didn’t understand. She assumed he wanted his crown back, so she reached inside her skirt and took it from the pocket where it was still hidden and tried to give it back to him. But he refused to take it, telling her that was the only money she’d actually earned and as she knew, it was his purse containing five sovereigns she’d stolen.
Lolly protested her innocence, she was innocent, but the Runner had been paid to arrest her and he wasn’t about to lose his money. So he gave her just long enough to ask the girl who’d sat with the children, whether she would look after them until she returned, before he marched her away and put her in front of the magistrate. Whilst of course, her guilt couldn’t be proven, once he learnt her profession, the magistrate didn’t hesitate in pronouncing her guilty.
She didn’t know why, but no one took the crown from her and it remained safely hidden in her pocket. Which was just as well, because when the girl who had the children visited her, she was able to give her the coin and ask her not only to send a message to her parents, but also to look after the children until her parents arrived. She missed her children. She had tears in her eyes as she told me this part of her tale, but she knew they’d be safe with the girl until her parents arrived and that they’d look after them until she was released.
She was sent to the Brunswick long before her parents would have got her message and even when they did, she didn’t know when they’d be able to travel to London – if at all. Still, as she ruefully told me, they had seven years to travel. In the meantime she’d decided to concentrate on survival on the hulk and that was dependant on her learning the rules, both official and unofficial, as quickly as possible. Because she’d learnt them quickly, she was able to tell me how to survive the night down on the orlop deck and a lot more besides.
“The trick is to be still. Take your clothes off and roll ’em up to make a pillow. Get in your bunk and try not to move. The less you move, the less you have to breathe and the less you breathe, the less air you’re going to need. If you’re lying on your clothes, it’s a whole lot harder for the thieves we’ve got on here to steal ’em.”
She looked down at my feet and then added,
“But whatever else you do, only take those boots off if you want to lose them. Boots, especially good ones like those, are worth more than gold here; they’d grab a pair of those even before they took your food. In fact, you better sleep with one eye open or one of them dippers will take them off your feet while you sleep.”
So that’s what I did. Every night, most of the others (except those who rushed to claim a bunk by a porthole) only went down into the darkness reluctantly. But when they commanded us to go below I went straight down, stripped to my boots and undergarments and then, having rolled my clothes into a tight ball, took the ball as my pillow and got straight into a bunk. I lay there motionless, in a place just either side of that line which separates sleep and wakefulness. This way, although it was unbearably hot and breathless, each night I survived until morning and it was thanks to Lolly’s advice that only once did someone try to steal from me.
I’d been sleeping down below for about a week when I was wrenched into full wakefulness by someone trying to remove my boots. Feigning sleep, I remained motionless and waited whilst the thief undid the lace on the left one. It was in the moments between when one lace was untied and before the thief began to untie the second, I struck out. I kicked as hard as I could with my right foot. Although I didn’t know what my boot connected with, I heard a satisfying cry of pain and whoever it was, shuffled hurriedly away.
I never discovered for certain the identity of the failed thief, but I did notice that one of the captured French soldiers, who’d increased our number in the past week, had a fresh bruise over his left eye. Of course, I knew I couldn’t prove anything, but of far greater importance, the bruise served as a deterrent for others and I never again had any problems with thieves; thanks to Lolly, there were easier targets than me.
Damp and cold in the day, cramped and airless at night.
These conditions, combined with the need to be continually on the look-out for thieves, amongst the crew as well as the other convicts, were beginning to take their toll. But then the chance of blessed relief came.
One morning, when there was a sharp wind blowing from the sea straight down the Medway, I’d managed to find a little shelter on the lee side of the wooden stump that was all that remained of the mainmast. It was because I leant against the mast with my back to the wind that I didn’t see the naval clerk until he was upon me. These clerks were as untrustworthy as any of the convicts, ready to take advantage, particularly of someone who had fallen foul of the maze of rules that governed life on the hulks.
But these men were also known for being able to arrange anything – at a price. Not only did they control the black market on the ship, they could also make a convict’s life a little easier in other ways. The easement of irons was favourite, whilst supplements or improved rations were almost as popular. Even if a man wanted to be taken off a work party – or put on one (Boredom was one of the hulks’ worst punishments.), that was also something the clerk could arrange. So, though he startled me, it came as no surprise when this clerk whispered to me.
“So what do you want for them boots?”
Once it was realised that attempting to steal my boots was likely to end painfully, I had been asked this question many times. The difference now was that this man could get me what I really wanted. What’s more, one glance at his feet, the remains of his shoes held on with strips of rag, told me he really needed my boots. I guessed he was due an inspection and I knew that if he wasn’t reasonably attired, including his feet, when the inspection took place, he’d lose his job.
I didn’t need to think about my reply.
“The next consignment going to join a Transportation ship leaves in four days. Make sure my name’s on that Bay draft and you can have my boots.”
Now it was his turn to be startled.
“But the list is complete. No more names can be added.”
I knew he might have to bribe one or two to achieve it, but it was always possible to add a name to the Bay draft. I had known names to be added as late as the night before a draft left, so I said,
“I’m not interested in anything else. You get me on that list or you can forget about the boots.”
He tried to argue, but I could see his heart wasn’t in it; he really wanted my boots.
Begrudgingly he said,
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The next day I asked around and confirmed the clerks were due an inspection. Now having complete confidence that the clerk who wanted my boots would make sure I was on that ship, I traded a chemise and one of my shifts for a passable pair of shoes.
In the m
orning, the clerk caught me.
“Don’t ask me how, but I’ve got your name added to the list.”
I didn’t need to ask. I knew exactly how he’d got me on the list. The only thing I didn’t know was how much he’d had to pay.
“So are you goin’ to give them to me, then?”
Four months on the Brunswick had taught me a lot, so I said,
“Make sure you’re by the gangplank when they take us off. I’ll give them to you then.”
He wasn’t happy.
“But how do I know you won’t just leave the ship still wearing them?”
Of course, there was no possibility I would take any risk that might delay my departure, something, if he wasn’t so anxious, he probably would have realised. But I had seen him and the other clerks take advantage of so many who had nothing to bargain with, so it gave me great satisfaction to see him suffer.
“You’ll just have to trust me and make sure you’re close by the gangplank when we leave.”
The next day crawled by as I worried someone would notice that my name should not be on the list. I needn’t have been concerned because nothing was said and the day passed as monotonously as had most of the others.
Admonition Page 28