“Papers! Get your
newspaper! Only a shilling! You there Madame, have you heard the latest about
the young woman who chained herself to government gates? Read all about it
here!” London was waking up and opening a tired eye as business men began out
of their homes, and scruffy children were sent to collect fruit from the
market. The city’s atmosphere of urgency and optimism in equal measures started
turning the usual clockwork of the working day. Great looming grey towers rose
up from the ground, like trees from soil and glazed the hazy morning light with
reflections and refractions of beams and rays of sunlight from windows and
glass. Street sides were littered with shops: Bakeries, butchers, fabric shops selling
soft, comforting cotton sheets and the finest of green silk. The early morning
scent, of brittle specks of rust, mixed with frost shrouded the air and weighed
down heavy on morning commuters. Dawn was just breaking, but London was already
awake- beckoning the day to catch up with its eagerness, so the city can begin
its familiar routine, like always. London
is a bustling place; filled with every aspect of a major location. Everyone
here has aspirations, even if it’s the simplest need of an alcoholic for
another shot of whisky. Everybody seems to be drawn to London, for the hopes it
offers them; people from all different social levels and wealth, or lack of,
wants to be here. The beautiful
actresses, singing theatre stars, even budding government members of high
rankings from country shires all turn up to visit London- there is always
something new to see. And for the last 7 years the main attraction and local
hot point has been Donoghues department store. Women crave the newest fashion
designs here, seeming to flock, after a telepathic message has been sent to
them, in front of the doors before opening times, determined to be victorious
and own the single most desirable accessory out there. 1914
is the year things are changing for not only Donoghues, but London, Great
Britain and Europe entirely. “I’m signing
up when the war breaks” or “It’s only a matter of time now” people keep saying
to their friends and family. Utterly proud, their loved ones are elated that
their sons, brothers, husbands, uncles or cousins are joining the war effort.
Thinking that they’re going to be so lucky- getting the opportunity to travel,
fight the enemy, gain some medals and come home and suddenly be welcoming all
of the attention from the women; all while doing their part for Great Britain.
The air is filled with anxiety and slight patient torment.
Considering it’s only a few weeks after Christmas the roads are extremely busy
once more, there’s yelling from journalists, seeming to be around every corner
looking for a story. Laughter of teenagers and children breaking through the
air and their innocent voices linger on the ears of everyone. Although, perhaps
not as out of the ordinary is the hustle of the below streets- where poverty
thrives. The daily routine of hunger,
disease and living on the brink of society, mixed in so delicately with people of
power and authority, begins again. Yet, the children who run around covered in
dirt and dried mud caked on their skin, are still happy. They’ve never known
anything besides the life they’re living, and don’t realise what they’re
missing out on. It’s just the adults and parents of these children who all seem
to understand how children will have to cope with the looks and whispers from
others. The sad glimmer glazed across their fragile eyes, their delicate hands
that tend to their children’s cuts and bruises as best they can, are worn and
weathered after years of selling, cleaning, polishing and doing everything they
can to earn some money to support themselves and their families. Just to be
able to feed their children, often hungry themselves- know that the young and
the elderly are still very weak and won’t be able to gain any strength on the
poor diet they’re forced to abide by. The average passer by won’t notice how
their words quaver as these paupers are subjected to stand up to the remarks
that are being thrown at them with such hatred. How the apparently
‘gentlemanly’ praised men can steer well clear, but yet abuse the women here whenever
they feel the urge, slapping them and bounding them for their own sick sexual
fantasies. Leaving behind a few coins for their services, and going home to
their wives and children, all while forcing these women to keep an unspoken,
but blatantly obvious law: ‘You do not mention what the scumbags do to you,
because they can always do worse.’ Perhaps if one of the below street women are
overheard, one day a child is briskly swept up from the area- that child
doesn’t have a home so nobody realises for hours, but when they do, nothing can
be done to find the child. They’ve suddenly ended up in an orphanage. Placed
there by the ‘gentleman’ who his mother served, to try and send her child to
school; no one will ask questions because of course, there’s another unspoken
law. “Adaline!
Adaline!” called an elderly gentleman, who was sitting in the gutter of one of
the below streets. Like a below surface network of stalls and stands the
streets were curved and bent to produce a winding passageway, road shape.
Except nobody down here can afford a vehicle, so the ‘road’ is just a large
pathway etched with hurried people, sorting out all of their stock and
arranging it accordingly. A slowly diving pathway around 4 metres wide stoops
into the maze of streets- levelling off some 2 and a half metres in height
below the rest of the city. “Adaline!”
the man called again, his crooked hand raised in the air, as if summoning her
to his side. He sounded frail and feeble, coughing when she stopped and turned
around to face him; the effort it took for this weak, white haired man to even
whisper was too much, let alone raise his voice. This time she heard him and walked across
to greet the man. Her dark brunette hair smoothly pinned up loosely to her head,
with a deep ivy colour rounded, capeline hat placed on the top of her hair-
slightly leaning on her right. The black ribbon wrapped around her hat,
coordinated with her long dark skirts and matching bodice, swishing gently as she
stepped briskly over. “Hello
George, what can I help you with?” There was gleefulness in Adaline's voice.
Even though she hated being called Adaline, demanding when she was young that
no one refer to her as this. Though, the pushed back the resentment for the
name when one of the elderly people use it, because she adored them so- if not
taking pity on them. After all when she was a child they were her support
system. “I
haven’t seen you around here much lately and was just a bit concerned” enquiry
in his tone. “I
know I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve been trying to get those job interviews
completed at Donoghues. I think I might actually have a shot” she said along
with a nervous laugh with partial urgency and partial forced light heartedness.
Brought up here, George knows
how determined Adaline can be, especially when it comes to changing the way she
and her makeshift family lives. Altering an ever changing persona to people she
does not yet know fully; worried that if they knew her background her chances
of being accepted- both physically and socially may be hindered. “You’ve
always been so intent on following your heart dear, that maybe you’re beginning
to forget your old life here. I know that you wouldn’t purposely do that, but
sometimes please try to slow down a bit and just say hello every now and then?”
George proposed softly. “I’d
never forget this place George it’s the closest thing I have to a home, and how
about if I pop back after work yeah? It’s been too long since I’ve had a proper
catch up with everyone here.” Noticing the steady flow of workers that had been
entering Donoghues’ large spinning glass doors up and across the street begin
to slow and come to a stop, Adaline realised that now she was pretty late.
“Sorry, but I’ve really got to get to work, I’m already late, so I’ll see you
later on” raising her voice gradually as she backed away from George hurriedly.
“Alright
Adaline, I hope to see you then my dear” George called after her. Waving a hand behind her Adaline began a
brisk skip- step type routine to attempt to get to work through the masses of
people on the street. Her hands seem to attack the air as they moved in
floundering movements, while she was stating “Excuse me. I’m sorry Sir, excuse
me” on a loop. Children and adults
alike recognised her and greeted her with “Fay, how are you?”, “Long time no
see, Fay” shouted one middle-aged gentleman and several children called her
name on repeat “Fay! Fay! Fay!” Although
she was in a rush Adaline was visibly pleased that she was being called by her
preferred name again and gleefully returned kind words, smiling and laughing as
she glided past them. Once she’d reached the higher street again Fay was almost
running; she could see the massive department store edging closer and her new
reputation at Donoghues quickly following on her heels. Skirting around
important looking men with top hats gripping briefcases and careering past
mothers with prams, she was very nearly there. Clutching her hat desperately
onto her head she maneuvered the final surge of people- darting through them after
deliberating a while; not noticing before she took her chance that there was
someone on the other side…And she fell right into him. “I’m
so sorry Sir... I was just trying… You see…” Fay was completed flustered; aggravated
by the misfortune of being late; and then even more late. As she bent down to
help pick up all of the fallen pieces of paper the gentleman was holding in his
hands, still not looking up she understood that even though she was going to
get questioned by Mr. Cronin (head of staff) that this man had done nothing to
have some frantic young lady crash into him. She understood that this was her
fault and she shouldn’t blame him. “It’s
quite alright, there’s no need to be sorry. I shouldn’t of stepped out right in
front of you like that” said a soft French voice full of concern. Tall, dark
and handsome in a stylish deep chocolate coloured waistcoat and dark blazer he
began to stand up straight again. Realising
she recognised who this man is Fay backed away tentatively. She’d just rushed
into the head of design and windows. Like
being a top student at 15 in school and then getting a little tipsy and
loud at a bar one evening, spilling out of the club and coming face to face
with the schools headmaster, that type of deadly embarrassment and agony. “I’m
sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to assault you with my flailing arms” Fay dared a
slight schoolgirl smile “ And I didn’t mean to be late, it was just I got a
little caught up in something- but there’s no excuse for my tardiness and I’m
extremely apologetic.” “Adaline
right?” spoke the gentleman. “Yes, Sir” Fay said as she
instinctively lowered her head in disgrace. “I’m
Henri, I’ve seen you around the store Adaline, and noticed your sketchbook on a
chair in storage every now and then when I look for supplies.” Informed Henri,
his name pronounced with a missing H at the start, aligning the fallen papers
in his hands. “Sir,
I know I shouldn’t leave it down there, it’s just I don’t really believe I can
leave by the counter, in case someone found it, I won’t leave it in storage
again, I’m sorry” Rambled Fay, surprised and feeling slightly violated that
Henri had looked through her drawings- her own version of a journal, almost
wanting to rush the conversation because she was aware of the numerous shades of
red Fay’s cheeks had just deepened. “Adaline,
please, don’t worry” he cut her off. “They’re good drawings, you have a talent”
His French accent adamant. “Huh,
what? Thank you Sir, but shouldn’t you be telling me to not do it again or
rethink the way I’m going about things, or else I’ll end up having my last
conversation with Mr. Donoghue quicker
than I thought?” Fay said with declaration, trying to achieve the perfect
strict tone, although failing slightly to sound a bit humorous. “Probably I should be; instead
how about you help me out with my Forget
me not window? Have you ever used a camera before Adaline?” Turning his
posture toward the great glass doors Henri implied they enter the department
store. Shocked beyond comment Fay followed Henri’s lead.
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