Shadows of the Workhouse

more. He touched his face and felt tiny soft arms around his neck. He breathed in and could smell the lovely scent of a baby’s hair. Stunned, he wanted to run after the boy and the little girl, to find out who they were. But they had gone. Had he really seen them – a boy in baggy trousers and a tiny girl with blonde hair – or were they ghosts? He shivered and rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to recall something. But the mists of forgetfulness swirled around, and he could not remember what it was.
    He made his way back to the lodging house, his mind in turmoil. He was Frank the coster; Frank the rising man; Frank the desperate gambler, feared by all. What did those kids in baggy trousers and nappies mean to him? Nothing! He tried to shake off the image. All right, he had a sister and she was in the workhouse. So what? That wasn’t his fault, was it? Let her look after herself, like he’d done. Anyway, he hadn’t thought of her for years, and, likely as not, she’d forgotten all about him. He hadn’t asked his father and mother to die, that was their lookout, he’d got on all right without them. He shook off the thought of the boy and girl, and whistled his way back to his lodgings. He’d had nothing to eat all day, because he had lost his money, but he wrapped himself up in his blanket in defiance of hunger, and lay down on his palliasse. Sleep evaded him, however.
    He heard the other men coming into the lodging room. He heard their cursing and swearing, their belching and farting, and he hated them. How could they be like that? A ghost of a man crept up to his bed, a big man who was strong and gentle. This man looked after his wife, who was frail and coughing. The ghost merged into the farmyard sounds and smells of the men around him, and Frank fell into a light sleep. For the first time in years he dreamed of his mother, whom he had loved so passionately. She was leaving him to go to work. With a cry of anguish he sat up in bed. He felt all over the bed for her, but she wasn’t there, and then he remembered where he was and wept bitterly. He remembered now that terrible night when she had not returned, and he remembered holding little Peggy in his arms until the next day when they had been taken to the workhouse.
    Memories came flooding back as he lay staring into the darkness: the court where they lived, the room they shared, his mother laughing and singing to him, or his mother coughing and his father anxious. The big ghost hovered over the place, but never quite materialised. He remembered the tiny baby, born not much bigger than a teacup. He thought of the times they had washed her, he and his mother, and put baby clothes on the little creature that were far too big for her. He remembered his mother feeding her, and he wept afresh at this strange and beautiful memory. He buried his face in the straw palliasse, as he had done so often in the workhouse, to muffle the sounds of his sobs. The ghost came nearer and seemed to want to speak to him but did not.
    Frank woke at the sound of the other costers getting ready to go to market. What a crazy night! What had been going on? This was the real world. He threw a boot at his mate, and asked him for the loan of some stock money for the day. He knew that costers always helped each other out when one of them hit hard times.
    At Billingsgate he was the cool, hard, professional buyer again. His eyes never missed a trick. His ears didn’t miss a sound. He hollered his way through his round with double the usual energy and was sold out by 2 p.m. He found his mate to repay the loan. It was a point of honour for costers to repay a debt.
    He counted his earnings. There was enough for stock money for tomorrow, and a tightener [ dinner ] today. He went to Betty’s and ordered the best Kate and Sidney [ steak and kidney ], with spuds and two doorsteps [ thick lumps of bread ], followed by spotted dick [ currant pudding ] and custard, and a pint o’ reeb [ beer ]. No. He thought again. Make that two pints o’ reeb.
    That’s what a man needed inside im, some good grub. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, what with the game, and queer goings on. No wonder he’d felt funny. A man couldn’t keep goin’ without a good lining to his stomach. He sat down with his back to the door. Betty brought his food and pinched his ear, but somehow he didn’t feel like responding and she retired, offended.
    A big man came in. He had hired a boy to hold the bridle of