The Cockney Girl

by The Cockney Girl (retail) (epub)

  ‘I asked a question. Is no one going to answer me?’ He pointed at Jessie. ‘You. You can talk, I know that, I could hear the noise from right across the fields.’

  The man who spoke to them was sitting on a tall chestnut horse. He was accompanied by another, slightly younger man riding a less impressive bay animal. A little rough-haired terrier trotted along behind them, trying to catch up with the horses.

  ‘Yer dog looks thirsty,’ said Jess, chin in the air. ‘She needs a drink.’

  ‘My animals are my concern,’ he said unpleasantly, ‘and so is this farm. Now what are you up to?’

  ‘We didn’t mean nothin’, mister,’ said Albert, wide-eyed with fear. He recognised trouble when he saw it; he and his twin were experts. ‘We was only playin’. Truth.’

  ‘You’re not here to play. You’re here to work. Now get back to those hops.’

  ‘’Ow do you know we’re ’op pickers?’ Lil demanded. ‘We could be anyone. We could be visitors, or someone. Or…’ Lil ran out of possible explanations for being on the farm.

  ‘Speaking the way you do? And in those clothes? You’re not exactly dressed to visit the Hall, now are you? Oh, let’s see, maybe you’ve come for the job of scarecrow.’ The man addressed his companion. ‘Can you imagine Mother’s face if they turned up at the house for afternoon tea?’

  The other man laughed out loud at the idea of these ruffians meeting his refined mother.

  Jess hid her hop-stained hands behind her skirt. ‘There’s no need to worry about us. We wasn’t doin’ no ’arm to no one. An’ we was just goin’, anyway. Come on you lot, let’s get back. We’ve got work to do.’

  The five Londoners, now considerably more subdued than before, walked back towards the hop gardens, through the plum-laden orchards.

  ‘Wait,’ the man on the chestnut horse called. ‘You, the tall one with the red hair.’

  Jess stopped and turned round. ‘Yer talkin’ to me?’

  ‘Yes, you. Come here.’

  ‘Now yer for it,’ said Lil.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Lil,’ Jess said quietly. ‘Go on, all of yer, get back. Go on. It’s bad enough one of us bein’ in trouble.’

  ‘All right, Jess,’ said Lil, her head down. ‘But be careful. Don’t own up to nothin’. He ain’t got no right to tell yer off, we never did no ’arm.’

  Glad to be free, Lil, Win and the twins ran off back to the safety of the hop gardens.

  ‘I’m waiting.’ He beckoned to Jess with his riding crop.

  Jess took a small step towards the man, then stopped. ‘I can ’ear yer from where I am, thanks.’

  ‘You were worried about my dog,’ he said.

  ‘Robert, why are you bothering with her?’ asked the other man impatiently. ‘Don’t start anything. Come on. Let’s go.’

  ‘Don’t interfere, Paul. You go on. I’ll catch you up.’

  The younger man shrugged and urged his horse forward, ‘You know best.’

  ‘Now,’ said Robert, leaning down from the saddle towards her. ‘My dog?’

  “Er tongue’s ’angin’ out,’ said Jess. She hoped she sounded calmer than she felt. ‘She wants a drink. It’s ’ot out ’ere.’

  ‘You like dogs, do you?’

  ‘I like all animals,’ said Jess. ‘I’ve even got a canary of me very own.’ She blushed, not knowing why she was talking like this to a stranger. A stranger who could send her and her mother back to London just because he felt like it.

  ‘A canary. Have you now?’ The man looked her slowly up and down, appraising her openly with no intention of concealing his interest. ‘Tadger here had puppies a fortnight ago. How would you like to see them?’

  ‘I can’t. I’ve gotta get back to me mum. She’ll be wonderin’ where I am.’ She half turned to go, then, ‘But I do like puppies.’ Again she didn’t know why she had spoken out in that way. She could have bitten off her tongue.

  ‘Right, later then.’ Robert signalled his horse to move off in the direction of the house, the way the other man had ridden.

  Jess walked off in the opposite direction, back to her work. She had almost reached Rose when the sound of horse’s hooves pounding on the hard earth made everyone in the hop garden stop and look round.

  ‘You. You there. You never told me. What’s your name?’ Robert called to her from the end of the row.

  ‘Jess. Jessie Fairleigh.’

  ‘Later then, Jessie Fairleigh.’ The man spurred the chestnut horse and was gone.

  Rose looked along the row at the gawping faces of her neighbours. She started plucking the hops from the stems more quickly than Jess had ever seen.

  ‘That was the farmer’s son, Robert Worlington, wasn’t it?’ Rose said flatly, throwing the stripped bine to the ground.

  ‘Yeh, I think so,’ said Jess. She half-heartedly plucked at the hop cones, her attention still on the man on the big chestnut horse. ‘’E seemed all right. Nice. ’E said ’e’d show me ’is puppies.’

  Rose exhaled loudly. ‘We’d better ’ave that little talk sooner than I reckoned, me gel,’ she said. ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Are yer upset with me or somethin’, Mum?’ said Jess, sounding surprised.

  ‘It don’t matter,’ snapped Rose. ‘I’m too busy to chat. Now go and ’elp Mabel.’

  ‘I thought I was gonna ’ave me own bin.’

  ‘That’s what I…’ began Florrie.

  ‘I don’t ’ave to tell yer twice do I, Jess?’ Rose stared down into the bin, not trusting herself even to look at Florrie. ‘Now do as yer told. Go and ’elp Mabel, will yer.’

  ‘Yeh, sorry, Mum. Course I will.’

  * * *

  Robert cantered up to his brother and checked his horse to a walk. They rode in silence until Paul eventually spoke.

  ‘Julia said she wanted to ride this afternoon, Robert. Said she’d like to see the rest of the estate.’

  ‘I won’t have time for Julia, I’m afraid. I’m far too busy.’

  ‘Too selfish you mean, Robert. The poor girl’s all alone now her parents have gone back.’

  ‘If you’re so concerned, little brother, why don’t you take her out?’

  ‘If you like, but she is your fiancee.’ Paul could hardly believe his luck; an afternoon alone with Julia and with Robert’s permission. He did his best to hide his delight. ‘What’s so urgent anyway?’

  ‘I’m going to be busy following Father’s instructions,’ said Robert, speeding up to a trot. ‘In fact, you’d actually be doing me a favour if you would entertain Julia.’

  ‘What instructions?’ Paul frowned. What was going on? Perhaps things weren’t so simple after all; he certainly knew better than to trust his big brother. ‘Father was still sleeping off last night’s port when we came out this morning,’ he said warily. ‘He couldn’t have given you any instructions.’

  ‘No, you’re right, Paul. He didn’t leave any. Not this morning, anyway. It was last night. Remember? Or were you as drunk as Father?’

  Paul snorted in reply.

  ‘He told me to leave Garnett’s daughter alone. Yes? Told me to get myself a hopping girl?’ Robert dug his heels into his horse’s side and surged forward into an extended gallop, leaving his brother far behind. ‘Well, I think I’ve found one,’ he shouted back into the wind.

  * * *

  The women had finished their day’s work in the fields and were now chatting and laughing as they sat outside their huts, chopping vegetables and stirring pots, getting food ready for their evening meals.

  ‘Way yer talked to that measurer, Rose,’ said Elsie. ‘I couldn’t believe it was you.’

  ‘I never said nothin’ that wasn’t the truth,’ said Rose.

  ‘Well, yer’ve got some guts, and that’s the truth an’ all. I was proud of yer.’

  ‘Someone ’ad to say it, Elsie,’ said Rose. ‘’E’s always been a real demon for doin’ us out of the full measure, that one. I thought it best to clear the air while the bailiff was around, that’
s all.’

  ‘Yer right, Rose,’ agreed Elsie. ‘Mr Audley’s not soft but at least ’e’s fair. ’E’d never do us out of nothin’. Not like that bloody Feobald or whatever ‘e calls ’imself. Feobald! What sort of a bleed’n’ name’s that when it’s at ’ome?’

  The talk continued as the women stirred and chopped, scraped and boiled, making the few ingredients stretch to feed their families. There was not much meat in evidence in the women’s pots, but they all had their own ways of making a dinner out of what they did have. They scraped out the insides of marrowbones, collecting the fat to make suet puddings. Then the bones could be boiled and the fat skimmed from the top of the water. When it was cold it would set into creamy white dripping with rich brown jelly ‘bottoms’. They still had use for the marrowbones; they were boiled up again and the water was used as stock, a tasty base for vegetable soup.

  ‘Seen me boys, anyone?’ asked Florrie as she threw sliced onions and potatoes into her pot. ‘They need more eyes watchin’ them than I’ve got. Drive me blinkin’ barmy, them twins. All day long they’re on the go. ’Ere, there and everywhere. In and out of everythin’.’

  ‘They went off with the gels,’ said Elsie. She was sitting on the grass by her fire, sucking on her pipe and idly stirring the stew that bubbled away in her pot. ‘They went to get a few apples to bake in the ashes.’

  ‘I ’ope my Jess ain’t gone with ’em if they’re scrumpin’,’ said Rose, looking up from her chores. ‘The Fairleighs ’ave never ’ad the name of thievin’, an’ never will if I ’ave anythin’ to do with it.’

  “Old yer ’air on, Rose,’ said Elsie. ‘They’re after windfalls, that’s all.’

  ‘So long as that is all. I was disgusted enough when Worlington asked us for that two-bob deposit. We don’t want ’im chargin’ us even more next year to cover what’s been nicked from ’is orchards. I don’t want my Jess involved in nothin’ like that.’

  ‘D’yer really think ’e might charge more deposit, Rose?’ Mabel sounded worried. ‘I know we get it back after, but I wouldn’t be able to find it in the first place if ’e put it up.’ She patted her fretful baby as it snivelled into her skinny shoulder. ‘If ’e does charge more I wouldn’t be able to come, and that’s that.’

  ‘Course yer would, Mabel,’ said Elsie loudly. ‘We wouldn’t ’ave yer stayin’ ’ome at ’opping time, would we, gels?’ Elsie addressed her neighbours, but she continued before they had a chance to reply. ‘Mind yer, we could all go to Fanshawe’s if ’e starts gettin’ too saucy with ’is deposits an’ that.’

  ‘Yer’d be by yerself if yer went there,’ said Florrie, butting in. ‘Soapy load of buggers they are. Ain’t never ’ad a wash most of ’em. Never even seen a bar of Sunlight. From south London, see? Not like us East Enders. Once yer gets south of the river, London ain’t the same.’

  ‘Oh! Hark hat her highness. Reckons ’ow she’s better than the south Londoners,’ jeered Elsie in a mock-posh voice. ‘Tell yer what, yer could go down Uncle’s an’ pawn one hof yer tiaras from the crown jewels, me lady. Then we could hall come down ’ere no matter ’ow big the bleed’n’ deposit was!’

  ‘I bet Uncle misses us lot from Burton Street going down there with our bits an’ pieces,’ said Rose.

  ‘I don’t think Feldman depends on our couple of bob for ’is livin’,’ said Florrie nastily. ‘Got ’undreds ’idden away, I’ve ’eard. Money’s nothin’ to the likes of ’im.’

  ‘No, Florrie, yer wrong there. What Rose said’s right,’ said Elsie. ‘You add all our two an’ three bobs up an’ yer’ve got a good few pound.’

  ‘I dunno about that,’ said Florrie, ‘What I know I ain’t never seen a poor pawnbroker. An’ I bet none of you lot ’ave neither. That upstairs room of ’is, I bet it’s’ with gear.’ She paused for breath. ‘An’ them Neaveses round Chris Street, they’re rollin’ in it, an’ all. I’ve ’eard tell that they …’

  ‘Aw look. ’Ere comes the kids,’ said Elsie, managing to interrupt what threatened to become one of Florrie’s marathon discourses on the ways of the world. ‘Looks like they’ve found plenty of apples an’ all. The girls ’ave got their aprons full of ’em.’

  ‘I ’ope yer found them under the trees an’ not still on the branches, Jess,’ said Rose, leaving her cooking and walking over to her daughter. She wanted to know what was going on. ‘Yer ain’t been scrumpin’, I ’ope.’

  ‘What, Mum?’

  ‘The apples, dopey. Blimey, yer in a dream.’

  ‘She’s thinkin’ about Jacky boy,’ teased Albert. ‘’Oo loves Jacko Barnes then?’

  ‘The farmer’s boy, more like,’ chanted his twin. ‘That’s ’oo she loves. She loves the farmer’s boy. Rode right by us again in the orchards, ’e did. Kept starin’ at ’er. Like this, ’e went. All soppy.’ Sid fluttered his lashes coquettishly. ‘An’ never said nothin’ about us bein’ there neither. Not a word.’

  ‘You shut up, Sidney, an’ you, Albert. Stop gettin’ busy, the pair of yer,’ said Lil, shoving the nearer twin with her elbow. ‘Come on, Jess, Win, ’elp me dig the worms out of these apples.’ Lil looked over at her mum who was still sprawled happily on the grass, half-heartedly attending to the cooking. ‘They’re better’n the specky ones they give yer down the market, Mum, but there’s still plenty of crawlies in ’em.’

  The three girls went and sat outside the Dorkins’ hut and set about cleaning the windfalls.

  Rose shook her head in disbelief and addressed no one in particular. ‘To think a little while ago I was worried I’d never get ’er settled an’ off me ’ands. ’Ad no interest in boys, she didn’t. Now she’s got them round ’er like flies.’

  ‘Least she ain’t like that tart from ’Awerley Street,’ said Florrie, gesturing with a sideways nod along the Common. ‘Yer know the gel. The family’s in the last ’ut on the end. Right little madam. No better than she ought to be, that one. She’ll wind up with a red ’at an’ no drawers, mark my word. I never would ‘ave dreamt of behavin’ like that when I was a girl. Never allowed to, anyway. An’ I knew what was right from wrong.’

  ‘For Gawd’s sake leave the gels alone,’ Elsie Dorkin said, surprising everyone with her sudden animation as she dashed her spoon into her pot. ‘Blimey, don’t yer remember when yer was young yerselves? They’re only gonna be young once. ’Ow can yer begrudge ’em a bit of a laugh? Won’t be long before it’s a baby a year an’ their old man off down the pub every night. Thinkin’ ’emselves lucky if ’e’s too drunk to bother ’em for a bit of the other when ’e gets back ’ome. Washin’, scrubbin’, doin’ what yer can to feed yer kids an’ flightin’ off the bloody rats an’ bugs all the time. Why don’t yer let ’em alone. Let ’em ’ave a laugh an’ a few dreams.’

  ‘Elsie’s right,’ said Mabel, looking at Rose with her deep-set, sad eyes. ‘It won’t last long.’

  Chapter 6

  A Bit of a Lark

  ‘Sammy. Sam, wake up. Sam, what’s that noise?’ Ted shook his big brother, trying to rouse him.

  ‘What? What’s the matter?’ Sammy sat up in the single bed that stood next to the double bed shared by his two younger brothers.

  ‘Listen,’ Ted whispered. The noise came again. Not quite a rattle and not really a scratching. ‘I thought it was rats, but it ain’t, it’s out there.’ He looked towards the small, curtained window from the safety of his brother’s side.

  ‘I know what that is,’ fumed Sammy.

  He threw back the grey wool blanket and straightened the baggy crotch of his dingy long-johns. Then he climbed first across his own bed, then his brothers’ bed, the only route in the crowded little room, to the window. He pulled the threadbare material back from the glass and forced up the window on its sash.

  ‘What the bleed’n’ ’ell do yer think yer doin’ down there?’

  Down below in the street stood Jack, just about to throw another handle of stones at the bedroom window. ‘Tryin’ to wake you lot up,’ he shouted. ‘Yer’ll be
late for work if yer don’t move yerselves.’

  ‘An’ what business is that of yours?’ demanded Sam. ‘Yer nosy bleeder. Bugger off an’ leave us alone.’

  ‘Shut up, you mob out there,’ shouted a disembodied voice from somewhere along Burton Street. ‘People are tryin’ to sleep.’

  ‘Me an’ all, moosh, if I ’ad the chance,’ replied Sam, leaning over the windowsill in the general direction of the complaint.

  ‘Now yer listen to me, Sammy.’ Jack lowered his voice but he couldn’t conceal the anger behind his words. ‘I promised Rose I’d keep an eye on the three of yer. Come on, get up. Don’t mess about.’

  ‘I’m up, Jack,’ called Ted from the bedroom. ‘I’m gettin’ ready right now.’

  ‘It ain’t you I’m worried about, Ted, it’s yer big brothers what need lookin’ after.’

  ‘Who’s that ’ollerin’ out there?’ Charlie was awake now. He yawned luxuriously, stretching like a cat.

  ‘It’s Jack, Charlie. ’E’s out in the street ’avin’ a row with our Sammy in ’ere.’

  ‘Gawd ’elp us, it’s like a soddin’ mad’ouse round ’ere. I’m goin’ back to sleep.’ Good as his word, Charlie turned on to his side and pulled the covers back over his head.

  And so it became a morning routine: Sammy cursing Jack through the open window, Charlie burying himself under the blankets and Ted rushing around getting himself ready for work. And the neighbours adding their two penn’orth of complaints at all the row.

  Eventually Sammy and Ted would leave the house and Charlie would stay in bed. Jack wasn’t too unhappy; two out of three getting to work wasn’t bad, and nobody had ever been able to do much with Charlie anyway.

  In the evenings Sammy and Ted would walk home from the woodyard eating trotters and pease pudding, or fish and chips, or saveloys and mash from thick cones of newspaper. They would make a cup of tea when they got in, and then plan their evening’s entertainment. The beginning of the week had been a real laugh. They had been to the music hall to see the turns, and the picture palace, and even to Premierland to see the fights, but by Wednesday they had run out of money.