by Sam Selvon
It had a big picture hang up on the wall of the shop, with two fellars in it. One is Mr Credit, and he surrounded with unpaid bills and he thin and worried, with his hand propping up his head. The other is Mr Cash, and he have on waistcoat with gold chain and he have a big belly and he laughing and looking prosperous. Tanty used to look at the picture and suck she teeth. One day she ask the shopkeeper if he don’t know about trust.
‘Trust?’ the shopkeeper say.
‘Yes,’ Tanty say. ‘Where I come from you take what you want and you pay every Friday.’
‘Oh, credit,’ the shopkeeper say, as if he please that he understand Tanty. ‘We don’t do business like that in this shop.’ And he point to the picture on the wall.
‘But you should,’ Tanty say. ‘We is poor people and we don’t always have money to buy.’
Tanty keep behind the shopkeeper to trust, but he only smile when she tell him. Then one day Tanty buy a set of message and put it in she bag and tell him: ‘You see that exercise books you have in the glasscase? Take one out and put my name in it and keep it under the counter with how much I owe you. Mark the things I take and I will pay you on Friday please God.’
And Tanty walk out the white people shop brazen as ever. When the Friday come, she pay what she owe.
‘I will only give you credit,’ the shopkeeper say, to humour Tanty, but before long she spread the ballad all about that anybody could trust if they want, and the fellar get a list of creditors on his hands. However, every Friday evening religiously they all paying up, and as business going on all right he decide to give in. He take down the picture and put up one of the coronation of the Queen.
Everybody in the district get to know Tanty so well that she doing as she like. You know how them greengrocers and barrow boys don’t want you to touch their goods at all because they put all the good things in front to make show and behind, from where they selling, they give all the rotten and bad ones. With Tanty it ain’t have none of that.
‘I want that cabbage,’ Tanty does say, and pull a big one out from in front, and all the others it was propping up fall down.
‘No no, give me tomatoes from in front,’ she say, when fellars taking rotten ones from behind to sell. If anybody else get on so, even English people, is big trouble, but with Tanty is all right. She try to spread the credit business on the Harrow Road, but them proprietors was different than the fellar in the back street.
In them bakeries in London, if you buy a bread they does hand it to you just like that, without wrapping it in paper or anything. But not Tanty.
‘Where I come from,’ Tanty tell the bakery people, ‘they don’t hand you bread like that. You better put it in a paper bag for me, please.’
She used to get in big oldtalk with the attendants, paying no mind to people waiting in the queue.
‘If I know Montego Bay!’ she say. ‘Why, I was born there, when I was a little girl I used to bathe in the sea where all those filmstars does go. If we does have a winter there? Well no, but it does be cold sometimes in the evening. Not like this cold! Lord, I never thought in my old age I would land up in a country like this, where you can’t see where you going and it so cold you have to light fire to keep warm! Why I come to London? Is a long story, child, it would take up too much time, and people standing in the queue waiting. But I mind my nephew from the time he was a little boy, and he there here in London, he have a work in a factory …’
Like how some people live in small village and never go to the city, so Tanty settle down in the Harrow Road in the Working Class area. When Ma come home from work she used to ask about the outside world and Ma would tell she about tube train and Piccadilly Circus, and how the life so busy that if you don’t watch out a car knock you down and you dead in the road.
‘Why you don’t take a tube and go and see the big stores it have in Oxford Street,’ Ma say, but Tanty shake her head.
‘I too old for that now,’ she say, ‘it don’t matter to me, I will stay here by the Harrow Road.’
But all the same it rankle Tanty that she never travel in tube or bus in London, and she make up she mind secretly to go if she get the chance and she have a good reason.
Ma had this work at a Lyons Corner House, and she had to go out early every morning and come back late in the evening. She wash cup and spoon and dish and glass for five pounds a week. Ma work in the back, in the kitchen, but she was near enough to the front to see what happening outside of the kitchen. She get to know the regular faces, and she get to know cup and dirty dish and spoon like she never know before. All the wares used to come from a square hole where the attendants push them. Only from the washing up Ma form a idea of the population of London: ‘I never see so much dirty wares in my life,’ she tell Tanty, ‘it does have mountains of washing coming in. Where all these people come from?’
Sometimes in the evening Ma go to see Agnes, but mostly she and Tanty sit down before the fire knitting and talking about Jamaica.
Well one morning Ma forget and went to work with the key to open the cupboard what have all the rations in it, and Tanty didn’t know what to do. Tolroy was out, and the children was spending time by Agnes, and she alone in the house. She try to pick the lock but is one of them Yale lock and she couldn’t manage. Tanty was waiting for a good excuse to travel out of the district, and she decide to brave London and go to this place where Ma working to get the keys.
She put on the old fireman coat that Tolroy did get for her, and she tie a piece of coloured cloth on her head, and she went out to the Harrow Road. Tanty did hear how everybody saying that if you want to find out something you must ask a policeman, so though she see plenty people that she could ask she ignore them and look for a policeman. She didn’t see one till she reach by the Prince of Wales.
‘You could tell me where Greatport Street is, please,’ Tanty say.
The policeman look at her close and say: ‘Where?’
‘Greatport Street,’ Tanty say.
The policeman scratch his head. ‘Are you sure of the name?’
‘Something like that,’ Tanty say, sure that the policeman would know.
‘You don’t mean Great Portland Street?’ he say.
‘Yes, that is it!’ Tanty say. ‘I thought it had a “land” in it.’
‘The number 18B bus goes there,’ the policeman say. ‘The conductor will tell you where to get off.’
‘I don’t like these buses it have in London,’ Tanty say. ‘They too tall, I feel as if they would capsize. What about the tube train?’
‘You could walk down to Westbourne Park Station,’ the policeman say smiling.
‘I won’t have to change?’ Tanty ask, getting frighten now at the idea.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Tanty say.
Though Tanty never went on the tube, she was like those people who feel familiar with a thing just by reading about it and hearing about it. Everybody does talk about the tubes and take them for granted, and even Tanty with she big mouth does have something to say: ‘How you come? By tube? You travel on the Bakerloo Line? And you change to the Central at Tottenham Court Road? But I thought it was the Metropolitan Line that does pass there!’
But was plenty different when she find sheself in the station, and the idea of going under the ground in this train nearly make she turn back. But the thought that she would never be able to say she went made her carry on.
Eventually Tanty did get to the place where Ma working after asking questions all the way. She went straight into the place, and she peep through the square hole and she see Ma washing dish.
‘Ma,’ she call out, ‘you had me in one set of confusion this morning. You left with the key to the cupboard and it ain’t have nothing to cook.’
‘Come round here in the back,’ Ma say, frighten that Tanty stand up there talking so loud, and all the customers looking at she.
‘No child,’ Tanty say. ‘Just give me the key and I will go, you best do the
white people work and don’t stop.’
Ma come and give Tanty the key, and ask she how she get to the place.
‘I come by tube,’ Tanty say cool, as if she travelling every day. ‘How else you think? But I going back by bus.’
‘Stay and eat a food as you here already,’ Ma say.
‘What!’ Tanty say, ‘eat this English food when I have peas and rice waiting home to cook? You must be mad! But don’t let me keep you from your work.’
And Tanty went away, feeling good that she make the trip from Harrow Road at last.
‘I hope this bus don’t turn over,’ she tell the conductor, because it didn’t have room below and she had to go upstairs.
She was so frighten that she didn’t bother to look out of the window and see anything, and when she get off at the Prince of Wales she feel relieved. Now nobody could tell she that she ain’t travel by bus and tube in London.
When that first London summer hit Galahad he begin to feel so cold that he had to get a overcoat. Moses laugh like hell. ‘You thought you get away from the weather, eh?’ he say. ‘You warm in the winter and cold in the summer, eh? Well is my turn now to put on my light suit and cruise about.’
‘I don’t know why I hot in the winter and cold in the summer,’ Galahad say, shivering.
But for all that, he getting on well in the city. He had a way, whenever he talking with the boys, he using the names of the places like they mean big romance, as if to say ‘I was in Oxford Street’ have more prestige than if he just say ‘I was up the road.’ And once he had a date with a frauline, and he make a big point of saying he was meeting she by Charing Cross, because just to say ‘Charing Cross’ have a lot of romance in it, he remember it had a song called ‘Roseann of Charing Cross’. So this is how he getting on to Moses:
‘I meeting that piece of skin tonight, you know.’ And then, as if it not very important, ‘She waiting for me by Charing Cross Station.’
Jesus Christ, when he say ‘Charing Cross’, when he realise that is he, Sir Galahad, who going there, near that place that everybody in the world know about (it even have the name in the dictionary) he feel like a new man. It didn’t matter about the woman he going to meet, just to say he was going there made him feel big and important, and even if he was just going to coast a lime, to stand up and watch the white people, still, it would have been something.
The same way with the big clock they have in Piccadilly Tube Station, what does tell the time of places all over the world. The time when he had a date with Daisy he tell her to meet him there.
‘How you don’t know where it is?’ he say when she tell him she don’t know where it is. ‘Is a place that everybody know, everybody does have dates there, is a meeting place.’
Many nights he went there before he get to know how to move around the city, and see them fellars and girls waiting, looking at they wristwatch, watching the people coming up the escalator from the tube. You could tell that they waiting for somebody, the way how they getting on. Leaning up there, reading the Evening News, or smoking a cigarette, or walking round the circle looking at clothes in the glasscase, and every time people come up the escalator, they watching to see, and if the person not there, they relaxing to wait till the next tube come. All these people there, standing up waiting for somebody. And then you would see a sharp piece of skin come up the escalator, in a sharp coat, and she give the ticket collector she ticket and look around, and same time the fellar who waiting throw away his cigarette and you could see a happy look in his face, and the girl come and hold his arm and laugh, and he look at his wristwatch. Then the two of them walk up the steps and gone to the Circus, gone somewhere, to the theatre, or the cinema, or just to walk around and watch the big life in the Circus.
Lord, that is life for you, that is it. To meet a craft there, and take she out some place.
‘What you think, Moses?’ he ask Moses.
‘Ah, in you I see myself, how I was when I was new to London. All them places is like nothing to me now. Is like when you back home and you hear fellars talk about Times Square and Fifth Avenue, and Charing Cross and gay Paree. You say to yourself, “Lord, them places must be sharp.” Then you get a chance and you see them for yourself, and is like nothing.’
‘You remember that picture Waterloo Bridge, with Robert Taylor? I went down by the bridge the other night, and stand up and watch the river.’
‘Take it easy,’ Moses say wearily.
But Galahad feel like a king living in London. The first time he take a craft out, he dress up good, for one of the first things he do after he get a work was to stock up with clothes like stupidness, as if to make up for all the hard times when he didn’t have nice things to wear.
So this is Galahad dressing up for the date: he clean his shoes until they shine, then he put on a little more Cherry Blossom and give them a extra shine, until he could see his face in the leather. Next he put on a new pair of socks – nylon splice in the heel and the toe. He have to put on woollen underwear, though is summer. Then the shirt – a white Van Heusen. Which tie to wear? Galahad have so much tie that whenever he open the cupboard is only tie he seeing in front of him, and many times he just put out his hand and make a grab, and whichever one come he wear. But for this date he choose one of those woollen ties that the bottom cut off. Before he put on trousers and jacket he comb his hair. That is a big operation for Galahad, because he grow the hair real long and bushy, and it like a clump of grass on the head. First, he wet the hair with some water, then he push his finger in the haircream jar and scoop out some. He rub the cream on his hands, then he rub his hands in his head. The only mirror in the room is a small one that Galahad have tie on to the electric light cord, and the way he have it, it just a little bit higher than he is, so while he combing the grass he have to sort of look up and not forward. So this comb start going through the grass, stumbling across some big knot in Galahad hair, and water flying from the head as the comb make a pass, and Galahad concentrating on the physiognomy, his forehead wrinkled and he turning the head this way and that. Then afterwards he taking the brush and touching the hair like a tonsorial specialist, here and there, and when he finish, the hair comb well.
When Galahad put on trousers the seam could cut you, and the jacket fitting square on the shoulders. One thing with Galahad since he hit London, no foolishness about clothes: even Moses surprise at the change. Now if you bounce up Galahad one morning by the tube station when he coming from work, you won’t believe is the same fellar you did see coasting in the park the evening before. He have on a old cap that was brown one time, but black now with grease and fingerprint, and a jacket that can’t see worse days, and a corduroy trousers that would shame them ragandbone man. The shoes have big hole, like they laughing, and so Galahad fly out the tube station, his eyes red and bleary, and his body tired and bent up like a piece of wire, and he only stop to get a Daily Express by the station. For Galahad, like Moses, pick up a night work, because it have more money in it. He wasn’t doing electrician, but with overtime he grossing about ten so why worry? So while other people going to work, Galahad coming from work. He does cross the road and go by the bakery and buy a hot bread to take home and eat. This time so, as he walking, he only studying sleep, and if a friend bawl out ‘Aye, Galahad!’ he pass him straight because his mind groggy and tired.
But when you dressing, you dressing. Galahad tailor is a fellar in the Charing Cross Road that Moses put him on to and the tailor surprise that Galahad know all the smartest and latest cut. He couldn’t palm off no slack work on the old Galahad at all. And one thing, Galahad not stinting on money for clothes, because he get enough tone when he land up in tropical and watchekong. Don’t matter if the test tell him twenty guineas or thirtyfive pounds, Galahad know what he want, and he tell the fellar is all right, you go ahead, cut that jacket so and so, and don’t forget I want a twenty-three bottom on the trousers.
And the crowning touch is a long silver chain hanging from the fob, and comin
g back into the side pocket.
So, cool as a lord, the old Galahad walking out to the road, with plastic raincoat hanging on the arm, and the eyes not missing one sharp craft that pass, bowing his head in a polite ‘Good evening’ and not giving a blast if they answer or not. This is London, this is life oh lord, to walk like a king with money in your pocket, not a worry in the world.
Is one of those summer evenings, when it look like night would never come, a magnificent evening, a powerful evening, rent finish paying, rations in the cupboard, twenty pounds in the bank, and a nice piece of skin waiting under the big clock in Piccadilly Tube Station. The sky blue, sun shining, the girls ain’t have on no coats to hide the legs.
‘Mummy, look at that black man!’ A little child, holding on to the mother hand, look up at Sir Galahad.
‘You mustn’t say that, dear!’ The mother chide the child.
But Galahad skin like rubber at this stage, he bend down and pat the child cheek, and the child cower and shrink and begin to cry.
‘What a sweet child!’ Galahad say, putting on the old English accent, ‘What’s your name?’
But the child mother uneasy as they stand up there on the pavement with so many white people around: if they was alone she might have talked a little, and ask Galahad what part of the world he come from, but instead she pull the child along and she look at Galahad and give a sickly sort of smile, and the old Galahad, knowing how it is, smile back and walk on.
If that episode did happen around the first time when he land up in London, oh Lord! he would have run to the boys, telling them he have big ballad. But at this stage Galahad like duck back when rain fall – everything running off. Though it used to have times when he lay down there on the bed in the basement room in the Water, and all the experiences like that come to him, and he say ‘Lord, what it is we people do in this world that we have to suffer so? What it is we want that the white people and them find it so hard to give? A little work, a little food, a little place to sleep. We not asking for the sun, or the moon. We only want to get by, we don’t even want to get on.’ And Galahad would take his hand from under the blanket, as he lay there studying how the night before he was in the lavatory and two white fellars come in and say how these black bastards have the lavatory dirty, and they didn’t know that he was there, and when he come out they say hello mate have a cigarette. And Galahad watch the colour of his hand, and talk to it, saying, ‘Colour, is you that causing all this, you know. Why the hell you can’t be blue, or red or green, if you can’t be white? You know is you that cause a lot of misery in the world. Is not me, you know, is you! I ain’t do anything to infuriate the people and them, is you! Look at you, you so black and innocent, and this time so you causing misery all over the world!’