Stories Of London

In spite of my mother’s stepfather’s violent nature, he never beat his own children (i.e., my mother’s half-siblings) or my mother’s younger brother (i.e., Teddy). These beatings often led to long stays in the hospital for her and for those who suffered from this man’s brutality. The fact that Teddy was never harmed, just like his own children, supported my mother and Alfie’s belief that Teddy was in fact a half-brother!

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My mother’s step-father showed no affection or concern for the welfare of her or Alfie. They both were regularly beaten, verbally insulted and poorly fed and poorly dressed. They were there, and existed, simply to work and give him their earnings and to pick up cigarette ends from the pavement and gutter and then use the tobacco to make new cigarettes for him to smoke! This sounds unbelievable, but I can assure the reader that this was true!

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Sadly for my mother, she was never allowed an education. Although she enjoyed going to school (unfortunately I do remember which school she went to), she was unable to attend for a variety of reasons:

• she was ill as a result of the many beatings that she sustained, which I will discuss more later; or
• weak from a lack of nourishment; or
• was forever being required to stay home to care for the endless number of children her mother and step-father had ; or
• from the age of six years, being sent out to scrub floors and stairs for the more wealthy members of society who lived in the houses of Hackney Road. Any money earned was immediately taken away from her and used by her stepfather to buy beer and whisky.

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On days when my mother was allowed to attend school, she was rarely in a fit state to learn, as she always suffered from weakness as a result of malnutrition, as well as, the effects of a recent beating. Luckily for her, at one time she had a very nice teacher, who took pity on her and allowed her to go to the teacher’s dinning hall and clear away the plates and eat anything left on them! When you are hungry, even such leftover scraps must have seemed like a feast!

Sadly, most of her time at school, however, was spent lying on the little bed in the classroom that was set aside for children who were ill.

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My mother and her elder brother never ate the same foods as their stepfather’s children and never sat with them at the dining table. They were required to sit at a kitchen dresser or else stand and savour their two slices of dry, several-days-old bread and drink their cup of water.  Their stepfather evidently expected them to compete with the homeless cats and dogs and find discarded food at the street markets and at Missions. 

My mother and Alfie used to comb the area’s street markets whenever possible for discarded fruit. Naturally, most of the fruit was partly rotten or at best bruised, but somehow, some way, they managed to find something to eat there. They also knew some grocers who were kind to them and they could be certain of a broken biscuit or two. In addition, when asked to take the half-brothers and sisters out for the day, which was often during summer months, they went to the Missions on the Mile End Road. Here, after listening to a short sermon, they were guaranteed a hot bowl of soup and perhaps a crust of bread.

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When my mother’s stepfather had no money, he would indulge his cruelty on a Friday evenings by having Alfie and my mother box each other! These were real battles with few, if any, rules!!! The winner would receive a slice of stale bread!

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My mother and Alfie had a number of chores to do as children. One such job was to do the washing. This was done in a large metallic bowl or tub using the harshest of soap and cold water. The wash was done without the wearing of protective Rubber Gloves and with the use of a Washboard. My mother said that she had Chapped Hands constantly as a child!

Wash Day
Top Row: Washing, Rising & Using a Wringer or Mangle
Bottom Row: Left: Carbolic Soap; Middle, Top: Sunlight Soap; Middle, Bottom: Washboard & Tub; and
Right: Rubber Gloves

After rinsing, the wet clothes were passed through an old Wringer or Mangle and eventually hung out to dry on a washing line.

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Another job that my mother was given was to scrub the doorstep of where they were living. From Victorian times and up to the early 1960s, women were very particular about this and started by treating their doorstep with Donkey Brand, a scouring material consisting of a mixture of pulverised stone, cement, bleach powder and water. Following this, the doorstep was scrubbed with either Carbolic Soap or another strong soap and finally treated with Red Cardinal Polish, which left the step following much polishing with a deep, dark red colour.

My mother was given the job to clean the doorstep and the rest of the living quarters, but her family was too poor to use any polish.

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Another HUGE job given to my mother was the caring of her siblings. This was an especially taxing job and more is written about this in the following tale, SIBLINGS.

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This sounds like something out of a Charles Dickens tale, and perhaps somewhat far-fetched, but I can assure you that this was the truth! Remember, when my mother was a child, there were few laws to stop such abuse.

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My mother was always poorly dressed as a child. Firstly, her underwear was never that of a child, but rather rags badly sown together or else her stepfather’s old and full-of-holes underpants cut down or none at all! As a child, she never had a decent dress: just some very cheap, very old ones either given to her at a Mission or else from the old Rag Girl’s shop generally given in payment for scrubbing the floor and stairs of the establishment. I used to think that she and her brother must have looked like the Bisto Kids of the advertisements seen on brick walls when I was a child!

Bisto Kids Advertisements
Bisto is used to make a gravy for all meats and stands for Browns, Seasons & Thickens in One

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Once the teacher that was kind to my mother at her school gave her a coat when she saw that, at the height of a cold winter, she was coming to school wearing only a ragged dress. The coat was lemon in colour and she said that she was so happy to get it. However, once she got home, her stepfather took the coat away from her and gave it to his eldest daughter, Ginny (Virginia). The next day when my mother went to school without the coat, her teacher asked where it was. When my mother told her what happened, the teacher turned red from anger and said that she would accompany her home at the end of the school day. This she did! The teacher demanded that my mother be given the coat back immediately. Her stepfather, being like most bullies was a coward when confronted, gave the coat back to my mother without a word.  Once the teacher left, my mother was beaten and told to say nothing to the teacher the next day.

My mother said that he need not have worried about her telling her teacher anything, as that evening, as she had to go to the hospital for care as a result of her stepfather’s beating and stayed there for several days!

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My mother and her brother, as well as my grandmother, were no strangers to Casualty, as well as stays in Hospital. My mother told of the many times that she would wake up in the hospital with her mother in an adjacent bed. Apparently, nothing was done to punish her stepfather for his beatings.

On one occasion, following a particularly vicious beating inflicted on her by her step-father following one of his drinking bouts, she was taken to Bethnal Green Hospital where she stayed for ten days. During this stay, it was (at last!) noticed here that my mother was severely malnourished and in a nervous state. She said at that time she physically shook when spoken to by an adult and especially by people in authority. My mother referred to her condition at the time in describing herself as a Bag of Nerves!

As a result of her poor physical, and mental condition, she was sent to a hospital at Herne Bay in Kent for convalescence. Living a miserable and deprived childhood, my mother had never seen the sea, and since Herne Bay is a seaside town on the north coast of Kent in South East England, this must have been a joy for her. Although I cannot be certain, I believe that the Convalescence Hospital had been founded by the great Particular Baptist Preacher, Charles Haddon Spurgeon (1834-1892; aka The Prince of Preachers).

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Although my mother felt safe at the Hospital, unfortunately she was to suffer to two traumatic incidents while there.

As my mother never went to school long enough to develop any real lasting friendships with classmates, and was too busy looking after half-siblings and working for money to help subsidise her stepfather’s drinking bouts to make friends with neighbourhood children, she spent her early years without friends. However, when she was at the hospital in Herne Bay, she formed her first real friendship with a little girl of about the same age as my mother. Apparently, while the young girls were sitting on the ledge of an open window on the first floor, the young girl began to shake uncontrollably. Despite efforts to help her, she shook so violently that she eventually fell from the window before adult help could arrive. The poor girl’s left my mother totally devastated and blaming herself for the accident. She suffers guilt for years over this incident and had nightmares for long after.

In addition, while at the hospital, my mother was given simple little duties to perform which she was happy to do. One such duty was to comb the hair of some of the old ladies who had lost the ability to groom themselves. While combing the hair of one such lady, my mother suddenly noticed that she had stopped breathing. The nurse told my mother that the old lady had passed away. My mother, who was still very young, had never seen a dead person before, and so the passing of the young girl and the old lady proved devastating for her.

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Apparently it took almost a year for my mother to gain weight and come close to what a young girl of her age should weigh. Seemingly when she was told that she was soon to return home, she apparently collapsed (without losing consciousness) from an attack of the nerves, as she put it, and it required a further six months at the Hospital before she was psychologically ready to return home.

When my mother returned home, she was eleven years old. Sadly for her, she never returned to school, since her parents needed her to work, as the family had grown in her absence. And so she went back to scrubbing floors and stairs for long hours each day in the homes of the more wealthy living on Hackney Road!

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My mother often talked about the kindness that she (and Alfie and her half-siblings) received at The Salvation Army Mission on Mile End Road, close to Mile End Gate. Initially, she took everyone so that they could eat something since her mother literally through all the kids out of the house for the day and told them not to return until dusk. My mother was never given any food (except for a bottle of water) to eat or any money to buy any.

The Salvation Army was founded by General William Booth (1829-1912) in 1865 as the East London Christian Mission, which was a small, local Evangelical Movement that aimed to bring The Gospel to the poor of East London. From 1869, the movement had grown and began opening Missions outside of London. This lead to the name change first to The Christian Mission and then to The Salvation Army in 1878.

Left:  General William Booth has a statue dedicated to him close to where the Mission once existed; Top Middle Row: in 1869; Bottom Middle Row: in 1900; Right: Official Portrait

My mother said that she always enjoyed the short Sermon that was given before the food was passed out. The constituted her only religious education as a child. However, they had a profound effect on her, as she remembered many of the Texts that they were based on.

Generally, there was hymn singing too since there was a member of staff who was able to play the old Harmonium that was invariably out-of-tune. I was always amazed by my mother’s ability, even when in her late 80’s, to recall the words to a number of Psalms, Hymns and Choruses, all learned at the Mission.

I Will Make You Fishers of Men

The Celebration Choir – Rock of Ages

Psalm 23 – Bryn Terfel & The Mormon Tabernacle Choir