THE DEPRIVED...Part 14.

A continuation of my story.

Coming through to London Bridge the family stopped to marvel at the river traffic, now swollen to life size with crafts hooting and tormenting the air with the wailing of sirens and whistles as they steamed up and down on the swollen tide. The docksides were full of scurrying men,
dockworkers who carried bags of sugar and planks of timber from ships which has come from the Indies and the America’s, men taking off loads and filling the cargo holds with goods from this Isle. The River Thames was certainly a hive of industry as was the road traffic which cluttered the bridge. Four horse carriages with coachmen in black and scarlet livery passed in grand style while the one and two horse carts and carriages along with the minor scurry of handcarts and barrows pushed and pulled along the thoroughfare, all busy running this way and that. Michael and his family had never seen such a sight and their eyes bathed in it while their nostrils tried to close themselves against the overpowering smell which polluted the air. Crossing the old bridge Michael stopped a man and asked where he might find some work.
“Turn left at the end of the bridge and keep going till you reach Aldgate. When you get there then keep going till you get to Whitechapel. That’s where the poor are and the work for Gypsies and vagabonds. That’s if the Bobbies don’t catch you first!” said the man, holding a handkerchief up to his nose which smelt of perfume.
Michael accepted what the man had said. As someone newly arrived in England he thought it better to leave well alone and say nothing.
Taking the man’s advice, Michael came at last to Whitechapel.
Whitechapel in London’s East-End was a God-forgotten hole of filth and misery. One imagined that God had scraped up all the dirt and filth, all the leftovers after Creation and put them all into a jug and shaken it, to spill the squalor from the Heavens onto a wasteland and then as an afterthought decided to name it Hell and populate it with the scum, the evil who were not allowed to share the joys of creativity with the rest of the world. And it was to Whitechapel that He set down the dregs, the Jews who had stolen out from another hell, from Poland and Russia, from the hell of their homeland to face a worse hell, to face the animosity of the inhabitants who spat on them. And it was to the East-End of London that He also sent the starving Irish to swell the human flood. From Bedlam came the flotsam and jetsam, arriving in desperate measure, the poor who came in small boats down the River Thames and crept ashore like the dark rats to hide in the pits and sewers of Whitechapel and swell the tide of effluence. This is where Michael had brought his family, but with the fortitude of an Irishman he was determined to make the best of it and this is what he said to Mary.
“At least we won’t all die of starvation!” replied Mary.
Michael pulled the cart through dark and dingy streets, the wheels bouncing and rocking in the pits and ruts where cobbles had been lifted and taken for those who needed them as ironing stones. The houses were dingy and dirty, tiredly leaning against each other, most with no doors or window glass and many with shadowy faces that peered out at them from the doorways as the family passed. At last they came to a house which had a notice flapping in an open downstairs window which read ‘Room to Let’. Michael set the barrow down to rest and entered the house.
“Three shilling a week!” cried Michael. “The place is no more than a pig-sty!”
The landlord was a middling man of sneaky nature, who dripped words out like a leaky oil tub, dripping sentences as he dry-washed his hands.
“But you’ll find no better in all of the East-End. Look here, do you see that fire all burning bright and there’s a tin bath for the washing and cooking to put over it. There’s no mice or rats, well not that you’ll see in the daytime and there’s glass in all the windows except for the front window which has paper covering to stop unwanted others as can look through to see you in times when you want privacy.”
The landlord was one Eli Dolsman, a man who only had one eye so that the other eye, a muddy brown in colour, seemed to continually blink as he spoke, an eye which also accentuated his words with a sharp nod of his head. And he did this now as he extolled the worth of this one-roomed apartment on the first floor of the large lodging house.
“I can’t afford three shillings a week.” said Michael. “I’ll look elsewhere.”
Eli Dolsman shrugged at the protest.
“You’ll find no better in the East-End of London. But if you want to go away and look, do so!” he said.
Michael began to walk away.
“Wait a minute!” called the landlord. “I am denying myself a decent living but I can let you have it for two bob a week and your wife and daughter can do my cooking and cleaning for me.” he offered, accentuating the offer with some definite nods.
“I’ll pay one shilling a week and no more!” demanded Michael, this time reaching into his knotted cloth and holding out the shiny coin.
“That’s daylight robbery!” exploded Eli Dolsman. “A week’s lodging in one of my finest dwellings for a bob!”
“Take it or leave it.” said Michael.
“And your wife and daughter does my cleaning and cooking? While the boy will light my fires and clean the grating?” sniffed Eli, seeing as there was no more haggling to be done.
“My wife and children will take on your cleaning duties and no more.” determined Michael, letting the coin drop into the landlord’s hand.
“You Gypsies are vagabonds and thieves.” moaned Eli Dolsman as he put the coin into a small tin box, secreting the tin away in a vest pocket before going down the stairs, to leave Michael and his family to stare round the room.
In the middle of the room sat a rickety wooden table and two chairs, while an old wooden bedstead set itself tiredly to the far wall.
“But it’s home.” said Mary, efficient and positive as ever as she moved the tin bath out of the way and began to clean up.
“Come along, Beth.” she said. “Let’s get this room clean and then see what we can make for supper.”
Beth took to the mission with some acceleration, grasping a twig brush and beginning to sweep with an urgency so that the dust flew.
“Sprinkle some water round, Sam.” said Mary.
Michael set a fire going before donning his coat.
“I’m going out to find my way about and see if I can find some work.”
“Don’t you want to eat first?” asked Mary.
“If I don’t find work, Mary, we won’t be able to eat.” he replied before leaving.
“Don’t forget.” said Eli Dolsman who had seen Michael descending the stairs and waylaid him. “I expect your wife and brats to be down here to my place early in the morning to start work.”
Michael gave no answer, his dark eyes flashing an anger which made the landlord jerk back, to mumble his excuses before going back into his room.