POLISHED and READY for SCHOOL
It would have been soon after
my third birthday, when elder brother John
took me to the Ben Jonson primary school. Not being blessed with my
eldest sister's remarkable memory for dates, would hazard a guess at
about late 1923 or early 1924. What I do know and remember was that I
was wearing a few of brother John’s cast off's, such as hand
knitted woollen shorts and top all too big.
The short trousers were tucked
up above the knee and refused to stay up and they made my legs itchy.
But worse, much worse, were the boots that I had on. I can remember
my father drawing an outline of my feet onto some pieces of stiff
cardboard then cutting out the shape’s then placing them inside the
boots to take up some of the empty space as my feet were to small, or
to put it another way the boots were quite a few size’s too large.
The boots, were the type that
came up well above the ankle, an inch or so more they would have
nearly reached my knee’s, they were fastened by lace’s criss
cross fashion round brass tabs then round the leg a few time’s and
tied in a bow or knot,
I must have had, or worn this
attire for some time as some school photograph’s show. (and will
remain out of sight for some to come) my mother must have been quite
proud of me, of how well that I polished up and with my long girlie
curls, I still wonder just what she was thinking of at that time?
School day’s
About the age of seven it was time for me to move on, upstairs with the other boys, to the junior school. We were led into a class to see our new master Mr, Poulson or
(Polly Poulson) as the lads called him. “Polly” was a large
barrel shaped figure of a man, who gave the impression that he was
half asleep as he sat in his chair, with his chins all, three of them
resting on his chest, many of us were caught out by that false dozy
look of his, until it dawned upon us that he did indeed have eye’s
in the back of his head.
It would not be an
exaggeration to say that “Polly” was an absolute nutter!! With a
wicked streak inside him which surfaced regularly when somebody or
something riled him. His favourite form of torture was to take the
poor unfortunate victim by the ear to the corner of the room then
place two glass marbles on the floor where the culprit had to kneel
on them one under each knee, altho it was fairly easy to move them to
one side when his gaze was elsewhere. Then put on an act like rubbing
your knee’s and grimacing when you were finally allowed back into
your seat.
He possessed two black ebony
rulers different length’s and thickness’s which he had given
name’s “Tapper’Emperor” and “Tapper’Reiner” the
smallest one, the former on the victim's backside and the smallest on
culprits knuckles, if you were not paying attention and just happened
to be caught by him.
Being on the receiving end of
“Tappereiner” not thru any fault of mine I hasten to add, I can
say with authority that it was a painful experience.
GROWING UP
Stepney in the 20’s and 30’s
was a rough, tough and extremely poor area. The inhabitants accepted
their misfortune as the norm, because the vast majority of East
Enders were in a very similar situation, there was no way of making
any comparison, they neither asked for pity, nor received any, they
just got on with it.
We were not proud of being
poor, nor were we ashamed of it, in a way we were quite rich except
that we had no money. We had wonderful caring parents, a happy and
close family, and envied nobody.
The kids played happily
enough, at the various game’s in the streets, (of which there were
so many,) without hindrance. There were no traffic problems, indeed
there was no traffic, no car’s, no bike’s, just the occasional
“Barrer Boy” pushing his barrow selling his wares, sometimes, a
group of unemployed men such as the Welsh miners, or Jarrow
unemployed would come down the street singing, some playing musical
instruments, a few with their caps held out begging for a few
coppers. I often wondered just how much money they collected in our
area?. Whilst no doubt all the Mothers and Fathers locally, would
themselves be worrying as to where their next meal was coming from,
being as jobs and money were in such short supply.
At the top end of Skidmore St,
(where we lived) was Whitehorse Lane, there were a few shops in the
Lane, the one that I remember, in particular was a double fronted
shop on the corner, Levy’s with the three brass ball’s hanging
over the doorway, the Pawnshop, most likely the busiest establishment
in the whole of Stepney, every Monday morning the Mums or the Dads
would take what items worth pawning and might raise a few Bob. Sunday
best clothing, wedding rings, and such like, could be pawned, and
redeemed the following Saturday, ( providing they had the cash).
There would be a certain amount of haggle’ing over the amount old
Levy would offer, usually a small fraction of its true value. I was
always interested watching old Levy writing out the pawn tickets, as
it was necessary to write out four tickets he had this ingenious
contraption, to which was fixed four pens, the tickets being in
strips of four meant that he had only to write out one ticket, as he
wrote with only one pen the other three pens followed the movement,
when he required some more ink he dipped the pen he was using into a
small tray of ink nearby and the other pens followed and did the
same. He would then give you the money and one of the tickets, for
which you would need if and when you redeemed the pawned goods.
Opposite Levy’s was the Band
of Hope mission hall where we could go after school on Mondays to
sing hymns, and to “Promise to abstain from all intoxicating drinks
and beverages” there’s all us kids yelling that out parrot
fashion, I don’t suppose half of us kids there knew what that
meant, nor do I suppose any of us kept our promise. For each, and
every attendance, we would be presented with a small scripture card,
which you would save until you had collected twenty, you hand them in
for a ticket which would entitle you for days outing to Epping
Forest, about ten mile’s away into the Essex countryside, during
the summer period. Then collect a further twenty cards for a
Christmas party in the winter at the mission hall.
Father worked as a casual
labourer mainly at the dock’s just where and when work, was
available, as did many other men in the area. My brother John and I
would occasionally hire a push bike from Abe Hyams for tuppence after
6pm, (sixpence all day) then ride around the numerous dock’s and
wharves to enquire if any ships were expected in that night for
unloading, if so, we would dash home, to tell Dad so that he could
join in the line’up, and just hope that he would be one of the
fortunates to be picked for a nights work. If there were several
ships expected in the “pool” (the stretch of the R, Thames
between Tower and London bridges), Dad would be selective and go for
the “cleanest” vessel, dirty ships carried coal Graphite and
similar cargo where as clean ships carried food ,dairy produce, and
perishable’s.
Working a clean ship bought
with it certain benefits, apart from the obvious, for example no
matter how much care the stevedores or dockers took in unloading the
cargo, accidents would happen, crate’s would unavoidably get
damaged and the contents spilled out onto the quayside, a frayed rope
may break, or sometimes the damage could have occurred in loading .On
the rare occasion when spillage had occurred, Dad would arrive home
after work, and discover that some person, or persons, had placed
some butter, bacon, or even eggs, in his pockets without his
knowledge, and Dad not wanting to get anyone into any trouble, would
dispose of the offending items as quickly as possible, on such days
we would have a most welcome treat. (It has to be borne in mind that
this is some two or three decades before container cargo’s where
crates, and packages are all placed securely inside a very large
container.) Although there is not the slightest doubt in my mind that
some bright spark on the quayside would overcome that small problem.
To see the dockers walking to work mornings or evenings, with their
dockers hook hanging from a heavy leather belt round the waist, the
steel hook with a short stubby handle used so as to grab bales or
sacks as they are being unloaded from the ship.
I often thought what a
particularly nasty offensive weapon it would be in the wrong hands,
all’tho I had never heard of one being used as such.
Their trouser legs would be
tied up with string below the knee’s as a preventative measure, to
guard against rats,(of which the docks and warehouses were overrun
with them). It seemed to me at the time, that they were not afraid of
the rats biting their ankle’s, but as scared as hell that they
might run up the leg if cornered and possibly nibble the little bits
and bob’s.
There were, resident rat
catchers employed on the site, Dad would tell of one particular bloke
who had these two small dogs, and a couple of ferrets, and could if
If the occasion warrant it, catch a cornered rat with his hands. A
whole family of rats could be cornered in the hold when unloading the
last couple of crate’s or bale’s, too many for the dogs to
handle. At the end of his shift, the catcher would report to the quay
office where he would lay out on the ground the rats that he’d
caught that day to be counted, probably if he had a good day he would
receive bonus, if not, what then, the sack?.
It seems to me, that on
reading back, these last few line’s, that I have been getting ahead
of myself and skipping past a number of earlier years, the problem
being that so many thoughts from the past keep drifting in and out of
my mind with no semblance of order chronologically wise, or
alphabetically wise, so before getting too bogged down I shall revert
back to an earlier period at 66 Skidmore St. and start from the
beginning, or at least what I can remember of where it all began for
me...
