by Anne Moore
'And are you fully occupied each night?’ asked Scrooge.
Mr Carrow laughed shortly. ‘More than fully. And there are those who would wish to stay for a month, if they could. For the more pathetic of them I sometimes bend the rules, but if I do so it causes disputes. And any man who owns even a decent pair of boots is likely to have them stolen unless he is careful. That, I understand, was the cause of last night's death.'
After the tour Scrooge gladly accepted the offer of a cup of tea in the kitchen at the rear of the house.
As he sat and listened to Mr Bannister and his friend talking over the problems of running the hostel, Scrooge groaned inwardly and tried not to feel depressed. But how could he not be depressed by circumstances such as these?
He was sitting in a dark, decaying mansion, full of the ghosts of a no doubt glamorous and glittering past. But now, in this kitchen where once there had been a blazing hearth, the air was freezing cold, the walls were cracked and peeling, and much of the woodwork was scarred and rotted.
Through the window, the sky was dark blue with the threat of rain or worse. Beyond, in the street, he could hear the cries of young boys bickering over some pathetic trophy, an apple core or a slice of bread perhaps. And across the table from him was an earnest, dedicated young man who had apparently decided to devote his life to helping those who had fallen to the very bottom of the pit of poverty.
Scrooge yearned to be gone, and he signified his wish, silently, by taking out his check book. This was a process which, he had noticed, usually secured the attention of others present in a room, and so it proved in this case. Mr Carrow stopped talking to the Vicar, and asked whether there was anything else which Scrooge wished to know, or to see.
'No,’ said Scrooge. ‘Nothing else. I salute you, Mr Carrow, for your nobility in undertaking this work. It is work which I could never do in a thousand years. I can assist you in no way other than by providing money, and that I gladly do. I can, after all, afford it. Can't I, Billy?'
'You can, sir,’ grinned Billy. ‘You can afford it definite.'
A pen and ink were hastily provided, and Scrooge wrote his second check for 100 in two days. Effusive thanks were offered.
In the cab, on the way home, Scrooge was quiet again, but eventually he asked Mr Bannister to tell him something more about Mr Carrow's background.
'He is somewhat younger than myself, Mr Scrooge. He was junior to me at school but I knew him slightly. In his twenties he took up missionary work in Africa, but his health broke down and he was forced to return home. When he recovered, he decided to take up the work which you have seen.'
'How long did you say he had been at it?'
'About five years.'
'And how long will he be able to continue, do you think?'
The Vicar pursed his lips. ‘Not for ever, certainly. It is work which drains the energy from a man's soul. But your money will help, Mr Scrooge. Your money will help.'
The day of Scrooge's visit to the men's hostel was in fact New Year's Eve, and that evening Scrooge took his housekeeper, Mrs Molloy, and Billy out to dinner. He chose a tavern which provided excellent fare and clean linen, but which was not so sophisticated that his guests would feel ill at ease.
Scrooge liked a good wine with his meal, but Mrs Molloy, with her inevitable giggle, reminded him that she had signed the pledge years ago.
'Though I likes to go in pubs,’ she said. ‘I likes the chat, do you see, and I tells fortunes with the cards, for a penny.'
'Will you tell mine?’ asked Scrooge.
'Oh yes.’ Mrs Molloy fairly cackled.
'I'll give you sixpence.'
'Oh, it won't cost you anything, sir. I done yours already, Mr Scrooge. I does yours fairly reg'lar, so as to be sure I'm still in a job.’ This last remark caused her so much mirth that she almost doubled up.
'And what does my future hold?'
'Ah.’ Mrs Molloy tapped the side of her nose with a finger, a most mysterious gesture. ‘That would be telling.'
'Well, I can tell you what I've been doing in the recent past,’ said Scrooge, and he described to her the visits he had made in the last two days.
'Why,’ said Mrs Molloy, ‘if you are seeking to help the poor and needy, Mr Scrooge, you will spend your whole life at it and never reach the end. If the poor was to form a line it would stretch all around the world.'
Scrooge nodded sadly. ‘That is rather the conclusion I have reached myself,’ he said.
After their meal the three of them went out into the streets. The occasion being what it was, the pavements were full of revelers, many of them none too sober. Lamps shone in the windows of every house, and streetlights powered by gas flared brightly at intervals along the pavements.
In a square near the Bank of England they found a substantial crowd gathered; many of those present were eminently respectable residents of the high-class property nearby, but there were numbers of serving-girls and apprentices mixed among them, together with tradesmen, housewives, and no doubt pickpockets and knaves as well.
To serve all these new-year celebrants there were food stalls and sideshows set up, just for the occasion. There were jugglers and men on stilts; girls with trays of matches; costermongers selling fruit even at this hour; and the baked-potato men offered cheap hot grub on a cold frosty night.
Three separate groups of street musicians paraded up and down, and people sang along to the tunes they played. Some of them, Scrooge noticed, were regrettably vulgar versions of well-known songs, but Mrs Molloy and Billy seemed to know them all, rude words included, and joined in heartily.
In past years, on this very night, Scrooge would have been in bed long since. ‘Humbug!’ he would have replied, to those who suggested that he might be out with friends. ‘Why should I celebrate?’ he would have snarled. ‘It is just the end of yet another perfectly ordinary day.'
But now he found himself wandering the streets with two very odd companions—the one a mere boy who found everything a source of wonder and excitement, and the other an elderly lady who smiled constantly. He wondered, just now and then, how and why it was that he found himself in such company. But would he rather be anywhere else? No, he decided, he would not.
When midnight struck there were cheers on all sides. The church bells rang and complete strangers shook each other by the hand. Goodwill filled the air, and much to his surprise Scrooge found himself cheerful again, after a tiring day.
'A happy new year to you, Mrs Molloy,’ he cried. And by golly he meant it.
'And to you,’ chortled Mrs Molloy in reply. ‘And I do reckon, you know, as how the new year is going to bring a good few changes in your life, Mr Scrooge. It's in the cards, my dear. In the cards.’ And she laughed and laughed and laughed.
Now what, Scrooge thought, did she mean by that?
CHAPTER 13
On the first of January, despite having been up late the night before, Scrooge was in his office at the usual time (for in those days New Year's Day was not a public holiday).
He had been at his desk for just over an hour when the Vicar knocked on his door and asked politely whether he had forgotten that they had arranged to go on another visit.
Scrooge leaned back in his chair and looked at the clock.
'No,’ he said with a sigh, ‘I had not forgotten. But I did mistake the time, Mr Bannister, and my apologies for that....'
He rose to his feet and came round to the front of his desk.
'The truth is, you see, I have not been looking forward to this third outing of ours. I must confess that what I have seen so far has left me feeling mighty depressed.'
The Vicar was quite unperturbed. ‘Well, there is no compulsion on your part, of course. If you would rather we canceled it ...'
'No,’ said Scrooge slowly. ‘No, it is not so much a question of canceling. I shall be quite happy to write you a check, and if me hand hesitates I am sure that Cratchit and Billy will remind me that I can afford it. But I am not sure that I hav
e the heart to make yet another close acquaintance with grinding poverty and deprivation. What was it you had in mind to show me today?'
Mr Bannister smiled. ‘Well, I think you will find it relatively painless. I have a friend who sings in my church choir. He is a doctor, and holds a senior post in a children's hospital.'
'A doctor?'
'Yes.'
'In a hospital.'
'Yes.'
'And it is for children, you say?'
'That is correct, Mr Scrooge.'
Scrooge hesitated. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I am beginning to understand that there is no end to the good causes which you could take me to view, Mr Bannister. But perhaps, since children are involved, perhaps I ought to force myself to make yet one more visit. But this one will be the last, I think.'
'I understand,’ said the Vicar.
Leaving Billy in the care of Cratchit this time, Scrooge and the Vicar set off as on the previous two days.
Within twenty minutes they had arrived at a large building in a more prosperous area than the ones they had ventured into in the past. The hospital was a tall, imposing edifice at one end of a square. In the center of the square was a garden for the residents, and although the trees were black and wet at this time of year, they looked as if they would provide a pleasant refuge in summer.
Unlike the buildings to which the Vicar had taken Scrooge earlier, this one was in good repair, and as they went up the steps Scrooge noticed the name of it: Campbell Street Hospital for Sick Children.
Inside there were nurses, and one or two male staff, who wore uniforms and had a professional air about them. The corridors were decorated in pale colors, the floors were polished, and it was possible to breathe the air without being tempted to hold one's noise. Scrooge was impressed.
In due course, Scrooge was introduced to this third friend of the Vicar's, by name a Dr Benjamin Dearing. He was an amiable, friendly fellow, wearing a pair of rounded spectacles which gave him an owlish air. He beamed cheerfully at Scrooge, pumped his hand, and bade him welcome.
No doubt, Scrooge thought, Dr Dearing had been told that if he played his cards right the hospital might benefit from a handsome donation; but he would, Scrooge suspected, have been a friendly and outgoing man even without that happy prospect in front of him.
After the briefest of preliminaries the three men embarked on a rapid tour of the premises. They started at the top of the hospital and worked down, calling in on a number of wards on the way. Each ward was staffed by at least one nurse, and although Scrooge had expected to witness harrowing sights of dreadfully sick children, he found that a fair number of the young patients were evidently well on the way to recovery. The noise level was often high, little hands sometimes grasped his trouser leg, and round eyes stared up at him as piping voices demanded to know who he was.
'There are few experiences in this life which are worse than being the parent of a young child, and then to have that child taken away by illness and death,’ Dr Dearing reminded Scrooge. ‘But we do our best here to ensure that death and disease are defeated whenever possible.'
Scrooge could see that the doctor and his colleagues were very often succeeding in their objective. The building was warm, well lit, comfortable, and clean. In one room, the nurses had even organized a choir of small patients, grouped around a piano.
No doubt, from time to time, some of the patients were lost; but Scrooge could see for himself that a great number would survive their illness and be sent home before long to their rejoicing parents.
At the end of his tour, Scrooge congratulated his guide on being associated with such a splendid institution.
'It has never been my good fortune,’ he said, ‘to be the father of a child of my own. I was once engaged to be married, years ago, but it came to naught. However, if I were a father, and if my child fell ill, I can think of nowhere better to send him than here. Nowhere which could do a better job of saving his life, if it were at risk. And your hospital is, I take it, supported very largely by voluntary contributions?'
'Very largely,’ agreed Dr Dearing.
'Allow me then,’ said Scrooge, ‘to give you a small donation.'
He wrote out a check for the same amount that he had given to the other two causes to which the Vicar had introduced him. He did think about making it a larger sum, but he decided that might be unfair.
On the way out, he came across a child, very young, sitting in a perambulator near the front door. The nurse in charge was talking to a colleague nearby.
On an impulse Scrooge leaned down and tickled the child under the chin. To be honest, he didn't know whether it was a girl or a boy, for the woolen bonnet and colored blanket gave no real clue.
Scrooge's reward for a moment's cootchy-cootchy-cooing was a loud chuckle and a smile, revealing only two teeth.
Scrooge was so astonished that he laughed out loud.
'My word,’ he said to the Vicar. ‘It has been a long time since a child smiled at me like that. Worth every penny of my check!'
As they rode home in a cab, Scrooge felt greatly relieved that he had seen sights which lessened, rather than deepened, his depression. And he was also cheered when the Vicar told him that he had no further visits in mind.
'I have shown you a selection of activities which are in real need of philanthropy, Mr Scrooge, and you have been kind enough to bear with me and to assist them with their funding. For that I am very grateful. But now that you have seen a cross-section of charitable bodies, so to speak, you are going to have to sit down and reflect upon the situation. If I understand our discussions correctly, you have a large amount of money at your disposal, and you are thinking of putting it to some use other than investment in commerce and industry. So you will have to ponder upon what you have seen, and come to some conclusion. In the meantime, if I can be of any further assistance, please don't hesitate to ask.'
Scrooge nodded but did not reply.
The Vicar was quite right, of course. He was going to have to think hard about what to do with his money.
CHAPTER 14
Two days later, Scrooge was brought a second summons from Mrs Bannister, the Vicar's wife. Could he, she asked, see his way clear to calling upon her at three p.m. that afternoon?
Scrooge could, and did. But as he made his way to the vicarage he found himself wondering, with some trepidation, what it was that the lady had in mind to ask him this time.
A few minutes later, Scrooge was comfortably settled in Mrs Bannister's front room, in the same chair that he had occupied a week earlier.
When they were both seated, his hostess resumed her sewing and commenced to make small talk—or, to be precise, her own peculiar version of small talk.
'Tell me, Mr Scrooge,’ she began, closely examining her stitches, ‘have you kicked any good dogs lately?'
An earlier Scrooge might have been taken aback, but he was wise to the lady now. He had long since realized that she was seriously unorthodox in her manner, and he batted this ball straight back.
'Oh no,’ he said equably. ‘No, the dogs all slink off when they see me coming.'
'Indeed.’ Mrs Bannister seemed unsurprised. ‘And you have, I understand, seen something of the less fortunate side of life in the early part of this week?'
Scrooge acknowledged that this was correct, and they discussed the visits which he had made in the company of Mr Bannister. And while that discussion was proceeding, the young maid, Sasha, came in with a trolley and served them cups of tea and fruit cake.
'As far as I can see,’ said Scrooge, ‘there is a sort of deep mine-shaft of suffering and poverty, into which one could pour the entire nation's resources and still not achieve a reasonable level of provision overall.'
Mrs Bannister thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I think you are broadly right. But that is no reason or excuse for doing nothing. What we have to do, I would argue, is work away at the edges of the problem. Do one thing at a time. And improve the circumstances of one person at a time. Ta
ke your young lad Billy, for instance. I think you will agree that he has made much progress since you first set eyes on him. He is better in health, better dressed, and better mannered. He is better housed and fed.'
Scrooge nodded. ‘Yes, true.'
Mrs Bannister remained silent for a few moments, while Sasha completed her duties. But when Sasha had left the room, Mrs Bannister put down her cup and turned to the matter which had caused her to invite Scrooge to meet her for a second time.
'You will remember, Mr Scrooge, that on the first occasion when you came here, I suggested that you might take note of my maid, young Sasha.'
'I do remember,’ said Scrooge in a neutral tone.
'Well now, I have been making some inquiries about your circumstances, Mr Scrooge, and it seems to me that you are a single gentleman, possessed of a good fortune, and in pressing need of a maid of your own.'
'Am I?’ Scrooge was genuinely surprised to be told this.
'Oh yes.'
'But I have a housekeeper, Mrs Molloy, who does all that sort of thing for me. She does all my domestic work. And very well too.'
'Yes, you have Mrs Molloy, and she is a hard worker,’ agreed Mrs Bannister. ‘I know her well, and she and I have discussed the matter. But the fact is, Mr Scrooge, that the building you live in, and which you expect Mrs Molloy to keep clean and tidy all on her own, is far too big for one person to manage. And besides, Mrs Molloy is no longer as young as she was. The lady naturally gives you first priority, since you are her employer, but I think you will acknowledge that your tenants complain regularly that she is not able to give them the service which they expect.'
'Oh well,’ said Scrooge, ‘tenants always complain. It is in their nature.'
'No doubt. But the fact remains, Mrs Molloy would dearly love to have a young assistant. And, as it so happens, Sasha has been with me quite long enough now, and it is time she went to another household, to put into practice the skills that I have taught her.'
Mrs Bannister gave him a beaming smile, and Scrooge knew that he was doomed. If Mrs Bannister and Mrs Molloy had been colluding behind his back, then there was no chance whatever that he would be able to undo such arrangements as they had jointly agreed.