The Pearly Queen (12 page)

‘Really,' said the lady, offended, and lost herself in the clamouring crowds.

Then there was the flashy young woman who, having read the pamphlet, or some of it, said to the two Repenters, ‘Doin' this for a livin', are yer, dearies?'

‘For the Lord,' said Mother Mary.

‘I've 'eard about 'Im, I'm Gloria Mayfair.' She was actually Gladys Higgs. ‘'Ow much d'yer get paid?'

‘We ask for no payment, only for the Lord's blessing,' said Mother Verity, and Gloria looked her over, and Mother Mary too.

‘Well, yer can't live on that, duckies. I've 'ad blessings meself, from all sorts, but I can't say they've done me as much good as fried cod'n chips. Look, dearies, 'ow would yer like to come to a knees-up tonight? I can see yer both nice ladies, an' there'll be some obliging gentlemen present that'll pay gen'rous. Course, you both need to do yer faces up a bit, then could yer do a good knees-up an' some of the other for gents that's gen'rous? You'd like a bit of 'ard cash on top of the Lord's blessin', wouldn't yer?'

‘'Ere, what d'you mean?' asked Mother Mary in sudden dreadful suspicion.

‘That's it, love, you've got it,' said Gloria, and winked.

‘Oh, 'ow dare you, that's disgustin',' said Mother Mary, outraged.

‘'Ere, mind that umbrella,' said Gloria.

‘I'll give you mind it,' said Mother Mary.

‘Well, there's gratitude, I don't think,' said Gloria, pushing the point of the umbrella away from her valuable bosom. ‘'Ere's me tryin' to do both of yer a good turn—'

‘Please go away,' said Mother Verity gently, ‘and leave us to pray for you.'

‘Bless yer, duckie, but don't do that, the last time someone prayed for me, me gentleman friend 'opped it while 'e still 'adn't paid me.'

‘Disgustin',' said Mother Mary.

A policeman arrived, bringing ponderous but benevolent authority with him. ‘What, might I ask, is all this 'ere, ladies?'

‘We're giving out the Lord's pamphlets,' said Mother Verity, her banner at rest.

‘Well, that's as maybe,' said the arm of the law, ‘but it's me duty to advise you ladies you're causin' an illegal hobstruction.'

‘Not me, dearie,' said Gloria, and whisked away.

‘I don't see 'ow we're an obstruction here,' said Mother Mary. ‘It's all obstruction.'

‘No standin' impediments allowed,' said the constable, ‘I'll 'ave to hask you ladies to move along.'

‘May we give out pamphlets while we're moving?' asked Mother Verity.

‘I don't see as you can't do that,' said the officer, ‘as long as there's no stoppin', loiterin' or hobstructin' for the purpose of makin' a gatherin', which if there is will require me to arrest both of yer.'

‘What impudence,' said Mother Mary. ‘I never been arrested in all me life, I've a good mind to teach you 'ow to talk proper to respectable ladies.' She shook her umbrella threateningly.

‘Now, missus, that won't do, yer know,' said the constable. A small crowd was collecting.

‘Go it, missus,' called a boy.

‘No riotin', incitin' or shoutin' the odds, me lad,' said the policeman, ‘or I'll 'ave you down at the station, too.'

‘'Ow dare you threaten that young boy,' said Mother Mary, ‘'e's a child of the Lord.'

‘No, he ain't,' said a man, ‘'e's a bleedin' rip, and 'is dad's Albert Cope.'

‘Move along, move along,' said the constable.

‘Obstructin', well, I don't know,' said Mother Mary.

‘Come along, sister,' said Mother Verity, and took her gently by the arm and led her away. ‘You have a wonderful enthusiasm, and no fears. How weak I am, I'm all fears. I fear for the world and for that misguided man who crossed my path in such a bruising way yesterday and Friday. I must do what I can to save him from his godless waywardness.'

‘I'll save him,' said Mother Mary as they threaded their way in and out of the crowds. ‘I'll give him the sharp end of my umbrella.'

‘You're a tower of strength, sister,' said Mother Verity, ‘but I don't feel that's quite the right way to help him.'

A bell tinkled cheerfully in the street. ‘That's the muffin man, Dad,' cried Betsy.

They were all in the parlour, except for Patsy, who was out with friends. Aunt Edie, who had served up a lovely roast leg of mutton for dinner, with apple pie for afters, was now doing some invaluable darning for the family. Jimmy was making a list of firms and factories to call on about a job, and Dad was reading the Sunday paper. He'd informed Aunt Edie that to give her a break, he and Patsy would get the tea later on. Aunt Edie said she was obliged by the offer, but was looking forward to getting it herself. The bell of the muffin man alerted the family to his wares.

‘He won't have crumpets, not in August,' said Jimmy.

‘But 'e'll 'ave shrimps an' winkles,' said Betsy, who adored both.

‘All right, me pickle,' said Dad, ‘we'll have some, shall we?'

The bell tinkled again. ‘I'll go,' said Jimmy, and Dad gave him enough money for a pint of winkles and a pint of shrimps. That would make Sunday tea a real cockney treat.

Jimmy caught the muffin man up on the corner of Crampton Street, where he was serving a small boy with a pint of winkles, their blue-black shells moistly shining. In the winter, a muffin man's baize-covered tray was laden mainly with crumpets. In the summer, toasted crumpets usually gave way to shellfish.

‘There y'ar, little 'un,' said the Walworth muffin man, and added two extra winkles to the pint pot. He emptied them into a bag. ‘'Ow about a tanner for that lot?'

‘Mum's 'ad an 'ard week, mister,' said the boy, ‘so she says d'yer mind ten ‘apennies an' four farvings?'

‘Not if it all comes to a tanner,' said the muffin man, which it did, and off went the small boy with his bag of winkles. ‘Now, me lord,' said the muffin man to Jimmy, ‘what can I do for you?'

‘Pint of shrimps and a pint of winkles, if you'd be so obliging,' said Jimmy.

‘If I wasn't obligin', where would I be?' said the genial street purveyor. ‘In the work'ouse. Same the other way round. If you wasn't obligin' by not buyin' me perishables, I wouldn't 'ave the pleasure of sellin' 'em to yer, would I? And if no-one else obliged me likewise, it 'ud be the work'ouse again, wouldn't it? There y'ar, young feller, pint of winkles in a bag, and now for yer shrimps.' The muffin man heaped shrimps into the pewter pot. ‘Got a basin? No, I see you ain't. Shall I tip 'em into yer pocket?'

‘D'you mind if you don't?' said Jimmy. ‘Me Sunday suit'll smell fishy if you do, and people'll think I was born under a Billingsgate stall.'

‘Well, some young fellers might not mind,' said the muffin man. ‘Some young fellers might be proud, 'specially if they liked kippers.' He poured the shrimps into a paper bag. ‘Me Uncle Stan was born under a mulberry bush, so I 'eard, so of course 'e 'ad a mulberry 'ooter when 'e grew older. There y'ar, yer young comic, and that lot'll cost yer a bob. 'Aving a party, are yer?'

‘No, just Sunday tea with Aunt Edie.' Jimmy handed over the bob.

‘Who's yer Aunt Edie?'

‘A pearly queen.'

‘Ah, that's a lady after me own 'eart,' said the muffin man. ‘Give 'er me love.'

Jimmy carried back the shrimps, the winkles and the message. ‘What?' said Aunt Edie when the message was delivered.

‘Yes, sent you his love,' said Jimmy. ‘You're a lady after 'is own heart, he said.'

‘Saucy devil, I don't even know 'im,' said Aunt Edie.

‘No, but I told him you were a pearly queen,' said Jimmy. ‘His eyes lit up like fireworks and he nearly dropped all his winkles. I thought about tellin' him you were rollickin' good at doin' a pearly knees-up, and that you were goin' to do a turn at a pearly concert next Saturday week.'

‘Jack Andrews,' said Aunt Edie, ‘I'm goin' to 'ave to box your son's ears.'

‘All right, Edie, help yourself,' said Dad. ‘Mind, I'm not sayin' I disagree with 'im, or that I don't 'ave hopes of seein' you performin' a rollickin' knees-up, which pleasure 'asn't come my way before.'

Aunt Edie looked at him over her darning. Dad hid himself behind his paper. Aunt Edie smiled. ‘You're a pair together, you and Jimmy,' she said, ‘aren't they, Betsy?' Betsy giggled.

‘Tell you what, Betsy love,' said Dad, ‘let's all go and see Aunt Edie doin' her turn at this concert, shall we?'

‘Crikey, could we, Dad?' asked Betsy.

‘Now look 'ere,' said Aunt Edie, ‘I didn't tell Joe Gosling I'd do a turn for certain.'

‘Joe Gosling?' said Dad. ‘I've 'eard of him. Is he the pearly king of South Camberwell?'

‘He's Aunt Edie's lovin' admirer as well,' said Jimmy.

‘Well, is that a fact?' Dad smiled at Aunt Edie. ‘Good on yer, Edie, and good luck, time you got fixed up in romantic style, old girl.'

Aunt Edie didn't seem to like that at all. In fact, she got quite shirty. ‘I'll please myself about that, Jack Andrews, if you don't mind. I don't 'appen to be the sort that gets fixed up with any man just because 'e fancies me.'

‘I know you're not, Edie,' said Dad, ‘I only—'

‘Kindly mind your business,' said Aunt Edie.

Betsy cast a look at her dad. He gave her a wink. ‘Someone's knocked over the milk bucket, me pickle,' he said.

‘Yes, I fink it was you, Dad,' said Betsy.

‘What a life,' said Dad.

Aunt Edie bent her head to her darning. A little sound escaped her. Jimmy knew she was trying not to laugh. Aunt Edie never had the rats for longer than a few minutes.

When Patsy arrived home, Aunt Edie was beginning to get the tea. Patsy went upstairs, then called down, ‘Can you come up a minute, Jimmy?' Jimmy went up. He and Patsy were pals.

‘What's up?' he asked.

‘That Lily Shaw,' said Patsy, wrinkling her nose. ‘D'you know what she's just been sayin' to me?'

‘Well, no, I don't,' said Jimmy. ‘I wasn't there, was I?'

‘That's it, talk barmy,' said Patsy. ‘She said she'd 'eard that our mum 'ad gone away, and that our Aunt Edie 'ad come to take 'er place. Honest, the way she said it, I bet she's been listening to 'er mum an' dad, you know 'er dad thinks Mum's a loony. I said Aunt Edie was just thinkin' of visitin' at weekends, and she gave me one of 'er clever looks and said she'd 'eard that when the cat's away the mice start playin'. I bet that's what she 'eard her mum say.'

‘Well, Dad's not a mouse,' said Jimmy, ‘he's an old soldier, he's got rules.'

‘But Aunt Edie's still ever so good-lookin',' said Patsy, ‘and she's lively as well, and Mum's not been much fun for ages.'

‘No, Dad won't play games with Aunt Edie,' said Jimmy. He thought. ‘Anyway,' he said, ‘it's against the law.'

Patsy gave a muffled little yell of laughter. ‘Ain't you a scream?' she said.

‘Not as much as you are,' said Jimmy. ‘Here, Patsy, did you know the Walworth muffin man's uncle was born under a mulberry bush?'

‘No, course I don't know, and 'ow do you?'

‘He's got a mulberry nose. That's a sign of bein' born under a mulberry bush, didn't you know that, either?'

Patsy, shrieking with laughter, chased him down the stairs.

Tea, with the shrimps and winkles, was served in the parlour, with Aunt Edie presiding as if she'd been born to the role of a warm-hearted cockney mum. Jimmy mentioned the forthcoming pearlies concert again, and Patsy couldn't wait to hear more when Aunt Edie said yes, she probably would do a turn. She could sing a bit, she said, and often had at a pearly concert for charity.

‘I don't remember us ever seein' you, Auntie,' said Patsy.

‘Nor can I recollect you ever invitin' us, Edie,' said Dad.

‘I was not encouraged to be invitin',' said Aunt Edie.

‘Ah,' said Dad, knowing that Mother considered the pearlies common and a knees-up vulgar, even though she'd been born a cockney. Mind, she'd only started to think like that in her twenties, when religion was getting a real hold on her. ‘Anyway, we'll all come and see you this time, Edie.'

‘Honoured, I'm sure,' said Aunt Edie.

‘Lovely,' said Patsy.

‘Spiffin',' said Betsy.

‘Knees-up?' said Jimmy.

‘Not likely,' said Aunt Edie, ‘not with you and that dad of yours lookin'.'

‘Edie,' said Dad, ‘did I ever tell you about me old sergeant-major givin' a turn at a battalion concert in Kut?'

‘'Ere we go,' said Aunt Edie.

‘You ain't ever told me, Dad,' said Betsy.

‘Well, me pickle,' said Dad, ‘it was a soldiers' concert, and we fixed up a stage and so on, with a joanna. The sergeant-major did 'is turn, he sang “The Road To Mandalay”. Fav'rite with soldiers, that is. There he was, singing away and marchin' up and down in 'is boots, and what 'appened? The stage fell apart, the joanna fell through it and so did the sergeant-major. “Who done that?” he roared up from down below. And someone hollered, “You done it yerself, sergeant-major, you made a hole in the road to Mandalay and fell through it.” You ought to 'ave heard what come up from down below then, I couldn't even tell it to sailors, and most sailors 'ave heard everything. Still, he was all right once we'd lifted the old joanna off him.'

‘I don't know who's the real turn at this table, Jack Andrews,' said Aunt Edie, ‘you or that chronic sergeant-major of yours.'

‘Dad's funny, though, ain't 'e, Aunt Edie?' said Betsy.