Shadows of the Workhouse

at Frank and his masculine vanity acknowledged that the boy was taking in his elegance. “You gotta look sharp in our trade, titch. No use lookin’ like a bag ’o dirty washin’. The ladies don’ like it. An’ it’s the ladies as wha’ does the buyin’, see? So you gotta please the ladies. That’s rule number one. We’ll ’ave to get you some new clobber. Can’t ’ave you goin’ round lookin’ like vat, queering my pitch. The ladies would run away fritted, vey would. I knows of a Jew as what can fix you up cheap and natty like.”
    Tip had started the sentence in his baritone voice, but as he came to the end of it, the words came out in a series of high, unexpected squeaks. Aware that Frank was listening with puzzled attention, he explained.
    “It’s the toobs. The toobs what wears out with all that ’ollering. They gives out if you’re a good coster, like what I am, ’cause they’re too delicate to stand all that ’ollerin’. Vat’s what I needs a boy for, to ’oller, along with other fings, lots of other fings, all of which I’ll teach you, but ’ollerin’ will be one of your first jobs. Now let’s ’ear you ’oller. See vat li’l lad over there, playing in vat puddle? Well, you call out, loud as you can now, ‘Hey, mucky, your mum’s comin’.”
    Frank caught the spirit of things, and bellowed the words out with all his strength. The boy jumped up and ran round the corner like a greyhound.
    Frank roared with laughter, and squeezed Tip’s hand. “Vat’s what I needs,” said Tip. “Reckons as how you’ll suit me, an’ if you can pick up ve other tricks of the trade quick like, we’ll get on famous. Now we’re gettin’ to my lodgings, an’ my doxy’s Doll see, and Doll, she’s a rare ’un, but she won’ stand no lip from boys, see, so don’ you give her no lip an’ you won’t feel the back of ’er ’and.” Tip rubbed the side of his chin reflectively and muttered, “An’ you don’t wanna feel the back of ’er ’and, I can tell yer.”
    They climbed a dark and foul-smelling staircase to the fourth floor. A large and shapely woman ambled towards them. She wore a red skirt, frayed and dirty at the hem, and a purple blouse, high at the neck, with a row of jet buttons down the front against which a full bosom pressed, screaming for release. Black jet beads hung to her waist, and heavy black hair hung down around her shoulders. When she smiled, her teeth were also black, as though they had been painted to match her outfit. She looked at them both, then cried out, “Is vis the li’l workhouse kid, ven? Oh, look, he’s thin, the pet,” and she pressed Frank’s head to her bosom, an experience which he found to be not unpleasant, though the smell could have been sweeter. “We’ll ’ave to give ’im some pie dahn Dill’s, eh Tip?”
    “Let’s ge’ goin’ ven,” said Tip with a leer.
    Doll twisted her hair up on top of her head in a fashionable coil (Frank watched, fascinated) and stuck several pins in. One of them had a bird on the end and this she settled on the top of her head.
    “You bet, squire,” she said with a wink. Then she leaned down to Frank. “He’s a nice-lookin’ li’l lad, bu’ thin like. Oh, I don’ like ’a see ’em so thin. What’s yer name an’ all, eh? We’ll ge’ choo some pie, ven. Howzat?”
    It was nearly seven o’clock and the streets were filled with people. Apart from marching to school in a crocodile, Frank had not been outside the workhouse gates for years. He was filled with wonder and to linger was irresistible. Here, a family was fighting, the man and woman threatening each other with equal fury; there, some boys were playing skittles; yonder a woman was fetching water from the pump whilst a crowd stood around with their buckets, gossiping as they waited. Frank had not seen women for years, and couldn’t take his eyes off them, until he realised with alarm that Tip and Doll were almost out of sight, and he had to run to catch up with them. They sauntered along, greeting people, chaffing children, Tip pinching the cheeks of young girls, Doll screaming across the street to another woman. They both dressed in a more gaudy fashion than any of their neighbours, and Frank felt proud to be with them, although neither looked round to see if he was still there.
    They entered a beer shop, high-ceilinged, bare-walled, with a wooden floor. The serving counter was at one end next to a raised platform with a piano on