Shadows Of The Workhouse: The Drama Of Life In Postwar London Read online

  Peggy was in the washhouse, helping to prepare the younger girls for bed. It was a duty she loved – better than scrubbing the greasy old kitchen floors, or putting out smelly dustbins. She could play with the little girls, and there was always laughter when Peggy was putting them to bed. They had to laugh quietly, so as not to get into trouble, but, somehow, a bar of soap slithering across a stone floor seemed even funnier if you had to stuff a towel into your mouth to stop shrieks of laughter. Suppressed giggles double the fun for young girls.

  Peggy was flushed with the steam and the laughter. Her blonde hair was damp and the wispy bits around her forehead curled upwards. Her apron was wet, and her arms soapy.

  An officer came in. “The Guardians want to see you. Come with me.”

  She didn’t know what the summons meant and had no time to feel alarm. She was shown into the big boardroom, where a group of gentlemen sat around an oval table.

  Frank, standing inconspicuously by the window, watched her every step. She was taller than he had expected. He had imagined a tiny creature, because he remembered a tiny baby. But this was a grown girl in early puberty. He liked her dishevelled hair and laughing features, still damp from the washhouse. He saw, with a stab of pity, the fear and uncertainty as she stepped towards the oval table.

  The Chairman said, not unkindly, “Your brother has made an application to remove you from the workhouse.”

  “My brother?” Peggy looked bewildered.

  “Yes, you have a brother. Didn’t you know?”

  She shook her head. The anguish inside Frank made his legs turn to jelly. He leaned against the wall.

  “Well, you have, and he asks permission to take you out of our care and to look after you himself. Do you wish to go with him, or do you prefer to stay here with your friends?”

  Peggy didn’t say anything, and a member of the Board said sharply, “Speak up, child, and answer the Chairman when he is good enough to speak to you.”

  Peggy’s lip trembled and she began to cry, but still she said nothing. Frank’s anguish had turned to dread. What if she did not want to come? It was a possibility he had not even considered.

  The Chairman, who was kindly, with daughters of his own, said gently, pointing to Frank: “This is your brother Frank. It is to be regretted that you have not seen him since you were three years old, but now he has applied for your discharge and we, your guardians, are satisfied that he can provide for you. Do you wish to go with him?”

  Peggy looked over towards the window, and saw a tall stranger. He did not mean a thing to her. Insecure children are terrified of change. She thought of the happy laughter in the washhouse, and her friends at school and in the dormitory. She stared at this unknown, unknowable young man, and her heart was set on her friends and the routine she had always known.

  Frank saw rejection in her eyes and panic spurred his movements. Before she could speak, he stepped swiftly across the room.

  “Stay where you are, you have no right—” shouted the Master.

  Frank took no notice. He walked straight up to Peggy and stood looking down at her. Everyone in the room was hushed as brother and sister looked at each other for the first time in nine years. Then, slowly, he extended the little finger of his right hand and curled it round the little finger of her right hand. He held it close and grinned. “Hello, Peg.”

  The action stirred her memory as nothing else could have done. Holding little fingers was a special and intimate gesture from a childhood almost lost to her now. No one else had ever done that to her. She had forgotten all about it, but now she remembered. A dim, far-off memory of loss and longing stirred within her. She looked at this tall lad and the love that she had not known for years flooded her heart.

  She squeezed his little finger in return, and smiled a smile of secret understanding. He saw the dimples in her cheeks, and knew that he had seen them before. Then with sudden, impetuous warmth, she threw her arms about his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder. The Guardians watched with breathless wonder. Even the Master was silent. The intoxicating smell of her hair sent a thrill through Frank’s tense body and he relaxed, knowing that she was his sister, and that all would be well.

  She did not hold him for long, but turned to the Chairman and curtsied. “I will go with my brother, if you please, sir.”

  Memories of early childhood dwell in a limbo that is neither forgetting, nor quite remembering. As Peggy danced along the pavement, looking up at Frank, she tried desperately to recall him, but could not. She looked up at his face, his hair, his smile, and tried to persuade herself that she knew him and could remember him when they were little, but she had to admit to herself that he was a stranger. Yet somehow he wasn’t. His big, rough hand grasping her own felt familiar, his arm round her shoulders as he led her down a dark street was familiar too. Something in his touch struck a chord within her that she knew and responded to.

  Frank was jubilant. He felt like a king. None of his mates could have done what he’d done. He had got her out of that place, his little sister, and he would never let her go back. She did not look as he had imagined, but that did not matter; she was better than he had imagined. He greeted several of his friends, who nudged each other and shouted, “Who’s yer tart? Where’d ’ja find ’er? Any more like ’er fer us?”

  Frank replied, good humouredly, “She’s my sister, and there’s no one in the whole world like her.”

  He took her back to the lodgings – in a respectable street, he pointed out. He was proud to show her the facilities of the house. He led her up to the second floor and showed her the last word in luxury: the gas stove on the landing, where she could cook. They climbed two more flights of wooden stairs, and he proudly flung open the door.

  It was a small attic room with a sloping roof and a garret window, in which a broken pane had been patched up with cardboard. The walls were unpainted and bits of plaster were falling off. The ceiling was yellow and stained with damp. The furniture, rented for two shillings a week, consisted of a rough wooden table and chair, a narrow iron bedstead with coarse grey army blankets, a wooden box, a candle stuck in a milk bottle, a jug and washbowl and a chamber pot. It looked fairly bleak, but children like small rooms, and to Peggy it seemed like heaven.

  She threw her arms around Frank. “It’s lovely, lovely. Are we really going to live here?” Her eyes filled with uncertainty. “Will I have to go back? Don’t let me go back. I want to stay here with you.” He folded her in his arms and said fiercely, “You’ll never go back. Didja hear me? Never. Not as long as I can see to it. We’ll be together, always. Vat’s a promise, an’ all. Now, let’s see vat smile o’ your’n, so I can see them dimples.”

  She smiled with trusting confidence, and he put his little fingers into the dimples.

  “You’ll ’ave to smile a lot more offen, yer know.”

  He brought in some wood and lit a fire in the narrow grate. Red and yellow flames leaped up, filling the little room with colour. He had bought some muffins and some real butter, and they sat on the floor by the fire, toasting the muffins on the end of a knife. They were so delicious she couldn’t stop eating them and the butter ran down her chin. He chuckled and wiped it off with his finger. She took hold of his hand and licked the butter off his finger, looking up at him with melting eyes. A thrill ran through him, and he did not know what to say.

  She murmured, “Muffins. Muffins and butter. Better than nasty smelly old bread and margarine. Can I eat muffins for evermore, Frank?”

  “Course you can. Thousands of ’em. I’ll see to that, you’ll see. Muffins every day, if you wants ’em. An’ candy, an chocolate, an’ cakes an’ all.”

  “And can I have jam and honey and cream?”

  “Wha’ever you wants, my li’l sister, you can ’ave. You’ll see.”

  “And pretty dresses?”

  “Loads of ’em.”

  “And a carriage with four horses?”

  “Of course. Six ’orses, and a coachman, an’ all.
”

  Peggy sighed with happiness. But something inside her stirred, and she clung to him. “But you won’t go away? You won’t let them take me away from you again, will you?” Her eyes were wide with terror. His eyes were serious and his voice firm. “No one can take you away from me, not no one, never. I’ve promised, haven’t I? We’ll be together always.”

  Satiated with muffins and warmth and the emotion of the day, her eyes began to close. Frank watched her closely, thinking he had never seen such a pretty face. She was so much prettier than the coster girls most of his mates had. They were rough-looking girls with loud voices and dirty hair. He leaned forward and touched her hair. It was like silk, and so fine he had to blow it, just to watch it move. She felt his breath on her face, and opened her eyes.

  “Come on, little girl, it’s time for you to go to bed.”

  Frank used the words he had used when he was six and she was two. A distant memory stirred and she giggled, and leaned back against the wall, kicking her heels against the floor.

  “Can’t make me.”

  He leaned towards her and took off her boots and socks, saying as he did so, “This little piggy goes to market. This little piggy stays at home.”

  She caught the rhyme and finished, “And this little piggy goes wee, wee, wee, all the way home. Home, Frank, not the workhouse but home, with you.”

  He undressed the sleepy young girl just as he had done nearly ten years before. He put her into the bed and she fell asleep straight away, snuggled into the warm blanket that he pulled around her.

  He threw another log on the fire. He did not feel sleepy. He felt wide awake, teeming with emotions that tumbled into his conscious and subconscious mind. He had done it! He’d got her out. Out for good an’ all. Hadn’t that stinking workhouse master sat up when he’d showed him the Post Office book, and told him there were respectable lodgings to take her to? Frank looked proudly round the little room. This was real swell, this was.

  He stroked the hair of the sleeping child, and a wave of tenderness swept over him. This was his sister. Was she really like their mother? He couldn’t say. Already the shadow of his mother was fading as the reality of Peggy grew more distinct. How soft and pretty girls were. He stroked the smooth white skin of her arm and compared it with his own, all covered with black hairs. He took up her hand, then noticed with fury that it was all red and rough, her nails short and broken, with little cracks at the fingertips. The bastards. They’d got her scrubbing and doing heavy washing already! They’d better not come his way again, or he’d murder them! No – that was too good for them. He’d get the Master and the lousy officers scrubbing the floors themselves. They could scrub for years. That’d learn ’em! He swore angrily to himself, and vowed that Peggy would never have to work so hard again.

  He got up and turned the log with his boot. Sparks shot up the chimney and the embers glowed red, making the meagre little attic look cosy. He looked around, and thought of the squalid men’s doss-house on the waterfront where he had lodged for two years. Disgusting! Men were always coughin’ an’ spittin’. Men were always fartin’ and belchin’ an’ swearin’. Always fightin’ over nuffink, they were. It wasn’t just Peggy who’d been rescued. Rescuing her had rescued him from that lousy, flea-ridden dump, and he was never going back. Never.

  He sat down again beside her and listened to her quiet breathing. Men snored! Leastwise, all the men he’d ever known had snored like elephants. Enough to keep a person awake all night. Peggy let out a tiny puff as she moved in her sleep, and he held his breath. Was that how girls snored? The workhouse dormitory with seventy boys and an officer came to his mind, and he shut the thought out quickly. He didn’t ever again want to think of it. It was too awful. They were both out now and they’d stay out. They belonged together. His jaw was set with determination as he looked into the future.

  She would have to go to school. His sister was going to have a good education and grow up to be a lady. He’d see to it, he would. His sister wasn’t going to be a common coster girl, like them poor little kids. Half-starved, half-frozen, unwanted kids, sent out for hours and hours to sell a few lousy apples or rotting pears that no one would buy and then they’d get beaten because they hadn’t sold a thing. His sister would be a lady with book-learning and a posh accent.

  The log shifted on the fire, and the sound broke his train of thought. Perhaps he’d better get some shut-eye. He’d have to be up at three to go to the market. It was more important than ever that his trading showed a profit. He could think about schools tomorrow. But he didn’t want to disturb the magic of the moment. The firelight was fading, but he could see the dark curve of her lashes against her pale skin. He could see the slender white shoulder against the grey blanket. He leaned over and kissed it, very gently, so as not to disturb her. This was the best day of his life.

  Quite suddenly he felt really tired. The excitement of the day had caught up with him at last. He pressed the log down into the ashes, undressed, and crept into bed, hoping not to wake her. But the bed was so small that he had to push her over to make room for himself. She sighed, and stretched out a sleep-warmed arm, which, feeling his body, curled around his neck and drew him towards her. She murmured: “Is that Frank? Is that really Frank, my lovely brother? Oh, I love you so much.”

  He kissed her eyes, her hair, her face, her mouth. He passed his hands down her slender body, and fire ran through him as he felt the circle of her tiny firm breasts and buttocks. She was neither asleep nor awake, but she loved him with all her heart and mind, with all her soul and her body. Their union was as inevitable as it was innocent.

  TILL DEATH US DO PART

  Peggy was singing her way through her scrubbing and polishing at Nonnatus House. It was always nice to hear her. Sister Julienne casually remarked, “You sound happy. How’s Frank these days?”

  “Frank? Well, he’s had a bit of a stomach ache recently, but a dose of Epsom Salts will soon see that off.”

  A few weeks later she confided to Sister, “Frank’s still got the stomach ache, Sister. Salts don’t seem to do him any good. What else can I give him?”

  Questioning revealed that Frank’s stomach ache had lasted for six weeks. Sister advised seeing the doctor, but Frank would not go to the doctor. Men like Frank never do.

  “I’ve never bin to a sawbones in me life, an’ I’m not startin’ now. I’ll work it off, you’ll see.”

  But he couldn’t work it off, and a couple of weeks later he had to shut up his stall in Chrisp Street Market at 11 a.m. leaving half the fish unsold – something unheard of. He took a couple of codeine and slept when he got home, and felt sufficiently well to go to Billingsgate at 4 a.m. the next morning.

  “There, I said I’d work it off, didn’ I?” he said as he kissed Peggy goodbye.

  But some of his mates brought him home at 7 a.m. The pain had got so bad that he couldn’t continue. Peggy put him to bed and called the doctor, who examined him and advised hospital. Frank refused. The doctor assured him it would only be for a few days for tests. Peggy insisted and finally Frank acquiesced. Tests revealed the early stages of carcinoma of the pancreas. They were told it was inflammation of the pancreas and radium treatment was advised.

  At Nonnatus House Peggy sought reassurance. “It’s only inflammation, and what’s the pancreas, anyway? It’s only a tiny organ in the body, they tell me; it’s not like the liver or the stomach. The radium treatment will get rid of it in no time, I suppose. After all, the pancreas is not much bigger than your appendix, and thousands of people have their appendix out, don’t they?”

  We reassured her. What else can you do? We did not say that, in those days, no one had ever been known to recover from cancer of the pancreas. Frank was given the choice of hospitalisation for the radium therapy, or an out-patient visit twice a week. He stayed at home. He handed over the lease of his stall to a mate of his for three months, saying he would want it back when he had had a good rest and was better. He told Peggy not to give
up any of her work, because he didn’t want to be fussed. However, Peggy did give up most of her work, arguing that this would be the only time in their lives when he was not working six days a week, and they could treat it as a holiday. A bit of radium therapy would hardly get in the way and they could go out and about on the other days and have a good time.

  However, Peggy continued her work at Nonnatus House. Perhaps she needed the proximity of the Sisters for reassurance and advice. She did not appear anxious, saying things like, “He’s getting on nicely now, thank you, Sister,” or, “We haven’t been out anywhere, really. The radium seems to make him tired, so we stay in, and he likes to hear me reading to him. It’s better than going out, we reckon.”

  One day she said, “He seems to get pain at night, but they’ve given him some tablets, and that’ll do the trick, eh, Sister?” Another time she said, “He’s lost a bit of weight. Good thing too, I tell him. ‘You were beginning to get quite a paunch on you,’ I said, and he laughed and said, ‘You’re right there, Peg.’”

  Within a few weeks we were requested to take Frank for home nursing. Sister Julienne and I went to assess him.

  Peggy and Frank lived in a prefab on the Isle of Dogs. These were small, ready-made buildings erected in huge numbers after the war, to house some of the thousands of people whose homes had been destroyed. The prefabs were put up as an emergency measure and intended to last only four to five years, but many of them lasted forty to fifty years. They were very pleasant, cosy and greatly preferred to the terraces that had been destroyed by the bombs. As we approached the prefab estate in the morning sunlight, it looked charming, with the low buildings, leafy trees full of sparrows and the river lapping in the background. It always surprised me that only a short distance from one of the biggest commercial ports in the world such quietness and peace could prevail.