Stories Of London

Naturally we were not always as lucky with some other dogs, as we were with the Fidos.  The great majority of our dogs were friendly creatures with none being mean or viscous.  But the one thing that they all had in common was that they were all my father’s dogs and neither my mother’s nor mine.  However, I do remember one occasion where my father did not choose the next dog and this proved to be disastrous!

This Puppy WOULD HAVE BEEN ideal for my Dog

I remember well the occasion when my mother told my father that since I was the child, and not him, that perhaps it might be nice if I was allowed to choose our latest dog.  She reasoned that since I was now getting older, it would not hurt me, and would indeed be good for me, to have a dog and learn to look after it and take responsibility for his welfare.  Although in one way my mother was right, what she failed to appreciate was the my father actually needed a working dog who lived in the shop that would keep down any vermin brought in with the flour delivery.  These dogs, in addition, became my father’s companion.  However, on our next visit to Club Row Market my father, under duress, took a backseat in the choosing of our next dog.

Puppies for Sale at Club Row Market

-oOo-

My father still retained many youthful qualities and wanting his dog was one of them. However, since I showed excitement, and clearly wanted a dog of my own, my mother was convinced that the time was right for me to actually have one.  Although It was most certainly a disappointment to him not to choose the dog, when my mother took a stand, one just had to accept it.  I think that he did sulk a little for the rest of the day for he was apt to sulk when he did not get his own way.  I am sure that my mother paid for this insult at a later time!

-oOo-

I remember going from stall to stall that day looking for the dog. My father’s mood did not allow him to enjoy meeting the dogs as he normally did. However, in spite of his mood, he still managed to become the centre of attention of all dogs once he came to their stall.  Somewhat tragically, no dog seemed interested in me. I obviously had not inherited this trait from my father.

Eventually we came to a stall and there in a corner sat the tiniest white puppy with the saddest eyes.  The dog had a melancholy look about it which appealed to me instantly despite his total lack of interest in me, my father or his surroundings.  I am sure that my attraction to this puppy was solidified since he was not bowled over by my father’s apparent animal magnetism, which was potent to other dogs.

Obviously the puppy’s demeanor must have told both my mother and father something that I was too young to appreciate, since they immediately tried to persuade me away from this poor creature.  However, the more I stroked the puppy, I more I liked him.  Once he looked at me with those sad exhausted eyes, I was lost.  I begged my mother to buy the puppy for me.  Even the vendor tried to persuade me away from the puppy, which again should have told me something.  But instead, I pleaded and I begged for that dog and made wild and outrageous promises if they should agree.

In desperation, I looked to my father to be an ally in my quest to be allowed to take the puppy home.  I turned to him and pleaded with him to say that he liked my dog and that he thought that it was alright.  Normally, one could count on my father to misrepresent the truth when it suited him!  He answered me by saying that he liked all dogs, even this one, and felt that the little puppy would make a good working dog once he grew a little.  My mother was angry at his answer as this was like giving the puppy the good seal of housekeeping guarantee.  Naturally she had hoped that he would tell the truth and say that the poor puppy was unsuitable.  Although I loved my mother, she was no expert when it came to dogs and so her opinion on the puppy mattered little to me.  I had sought counsel from The Oracle and he had graciously given his opinion.  My father was the one that dogs loved and so his opinion was all important at this time.  Tragically, he ought to have said no, the poor puppy would not be a suitable pet for me and would certainly never become a working dog and then explained why.  Had he done this, he would have saved us all much pain.  Had he decided to tell the truth and think of the consequences, we might all have been spared a great deal of grief!

My mother tried another approach to get me to turn away from the puppy.  She told me that he would need a lot of care and he would be down to me to give it.  If I were allowed to have the puppy, then I would be responsible for walking him every day and twice at weekends – naturally, I was too young to go alone, but she did not say that.  I would also be responsible for filling his bowls with food and water each day and for seeing that they were kept clean. I was not to chase him since he was smaller than me or play rough as he might get hurt.  Finally, she said that if the puppy messed where he should not mess, I was to clean it up – she actually did not mean this either, but said it obviously in a final attempt to persuade me away from the poor creature.  Her ploy did not work. I eagerly gave her yes’s to all of her questions.  By then, I would have said yes to anything.

-oOo-

I wanted that puppy ……. unsuitable or not!  He was the one – no other!  At last my mother realized that nothing was going to change my mind.  And so she opened her purse and took out the dollar and handed it to the vendor, but strangely enough, he did not take the money. Again, this should have told me that something was not quite right with my dog. The vendor said that if I wanted the dog, then I could have him gratis. At that, he grabbed tried pathetic little puppy by the scruff of his neck and swung him into my waiting arms.  I was amused when I saw the tiny little tail of my dog curled firmly between his hind legs.   As you can tell, this was my first dog!

I received the poor puppy in my arms and held it close to me.  I remember feeling his amazingly rapid heat beat through his thin body.  One could almost see his ribs sticking through the thin skin and fur.  Still, at that time, nothing bothered me about my dog.  He was going to be safe with me or so I thought.  I imagined myself running through a field of tall grass with my dog close by.  Yes, we were going to be a happy pair!

-oOo-

The puppy lay motionless in my arms. Now that I had found him, I was ready to go home. However, my father wanted to have a drink at a nearby Public House.  My mother was not especially fond of this area of the East End, as she remembered it from when she was a child.  In those days, this area of Bethnal Green and Shoreditch was a lot rougher than it was when I was a child.  Sadly, her memories were still fresh in her mind and she was none too pleased to be required to go into one of those horrible places, as she called the Public Houses at the northern end of Bethnal Green Road.

-oOo-

I remember that poor little puppy did not move once during our walk home. I would stop at times to stroke it, but the poor thing just slept and did not respond.  When he was put on the ground, he just sat still with his head bowed and did not move.  No amount of encouragement would induce him to stand and try walking.

-oOo-

Once home, the puppy, like all our other dogs before him, was not allowed to come upstairs into our living area since he was to be a working dog and not some useless, spoilt house flannel of a dog, as my father put it.  I took the little dog into the bake house where he was given some food and water. The poor thing had insufficient energy to lap much of the water or chew the food. It obviously took all of his energy to push himself up on all fours and take one lap of water. I remember him standing there as if frozen to the spot and then seeing his little legs collapse under him.  I tried helping him by lifting him to his feet and bringing him closer to the bowls.  Although he tried once more to lap some more water, he could not. I had no more success in getting him to attempt a mouthful of food. Obviously, even with my help, it must have taken a tremendous effort for him to stand as, each time he tried, he was rewarded by his legs giving way under him.

-oOo-

My father declared the dog to be a dud!  My mother was annoyed with him for making such a cruel remark and said that the poor thing was ill.  I was very concerned. My first dog ……. a dud?   My first dog ……. ill?

My mother saw my concern and told my father to be quiet and gave him one of her looks, which told him to say no more in front of me.  Somehow my mother managed to get the poor puppy to take a little more water and a few nibbles of food.  She did this by putting some water on her finger and he licked it dry.  She did the same with a morsel of food.  I began to feel better.  A little later, the puppy was lying down on his own little bed made from some old flour bags by my father.  He had warmed up a bit by now to my dog and said that the flour bags should be kept on the ground since he was far too small to climb up to or get down from the throne used by the Fidos at present.  He did say that once the puppy was older then he would move his bed up into the throne area.  I was beginning to feel very much better by now. Things were looking up for my dog and me.

-oOo-

I wanted to sleep in The Bake House, as although I was feeling better, I was still very concerned about the puppy.  Naturally my mother would not allow me to remain in the bake house overnight and said that dogs knew how to take care of themselves, and that he knew enough to know that what he needed now was sleep – just as I did.

After a few days, the poor creature was able to take a few steps without support.  However, although this should have brought me joy, it only brought another and more serious problem to the foreground.  The dog was obviously still weak and was unable to play. It is most disconcerting for a boy to find that his dog will not play.  Children can be forgiven for assuming that all dogs have an innate sense of fun and that play is encoded into their genes.  Sadly, my poor dog seemed to have no sense of fun.   Alas even my father could not induce him to play.  However, what proved to be the final straw, as far as my father was concerned regarding my dog was not this, but something far more serious.

Whenever the puppy managed to stand and move a few steps forward, the poor thing would quickly come to a stop, whereupon his hind area would shake for a few seconds and then an enormous amount of liquid mess would escape from his rear end with surprising force.  In spite of myself, I could not help but find him amusing as he stood there with his poor little hind legs bowed so as not to get mess on them.

Once the poor creature regained his composure, and some strength, he tried to walk a second time.  Again, he came to a quick halt.  Suddenly, his hind area began to shake and his hind legs bow once more, and whoosh – a second pile of mess escaped him.  This happened a third and then a fourth time.  My father was amazed that such a small creature could hold so much mess.  Following his fourth evacuation, the poor dog’s legs finally gave way under him.  As a result, what the poor thing had wanted to avoid happened – the puppy collapsed on top of his latest pile and covered his whole hind area in his mess.

The poor puppy lay there exhausted with his eyes closed.  I went to help him up and felt his heart racing.  My father told me to leave the puppy and said that he would take care of him.  My mother had arrived by this time and took me away despite my entreaties to stay.  I insisted that my dog needed me.  My mother was having none of my entreaties and took me by the arm and moved me out of the bake house.  As she did, I noticed that my mother gave my father a look and a nod, the meaning of which I did not understand at the time, but later I would. I presume, and still hope, that my father did clean up my dog.

-oOo-

Later that day, my father went out. This in itself was unusual since he did not usually run errands during a work day. I had no idea at the time where he had gone.  Once my father returned, my mother came upstairs and told me that the little puppy had gone to sleep.  She said that he had been ill and in pain.  I was very, very upset, but she told me that I would not want him to suffer, would I?  Of course I did not want this, but I had become very fond of that poor little thing.  It seems that the look and the nod of my mother had been her command for my father to take the poor little puppy to the Veterinarian.  I learned years later that the poor dog suffered with some congenital disorder of his intestine and most likely would, no doubt, not have lived long.

-oOo-

The vendor had obviously not charged my mother for the puppy since everyone, but me, realized that he was not long for this world. Since I had taken a fancy to him, it was thought best that I be allowed to take him home and make his last days comfortable. I doubt if anyone realised that his demise would be so swift. Still, this was probably for the best since my fondness of him would have grown and my memories of him increased in number and I would have been even more upset for a longer period of time. Still, I did miss that poor puppy and still think of him from time to time. Life can be so cruel!

-oOo-

After a suitable length of time following the demise of My Dog, my mother decided that perhaps I should have another dog, but this time it would not be bought at Club Row Market.  She also made it clear that this dog would not be a working dog, but one belonging to me and not my father.  I think that he was a little vexed at being told this since I am sure that he wanted to be the master of any dog that came into our household despite his already having a new working dog with him in the Bake House.  Eventually, and after a long sulk, he agreed to another dog coming into the home, which would be mine.

I was asked about having my own dog, which made me very happy, and what breed of dog I would I like.  For some unknown reason, I had taken a sudden liking to the Scottish Terrier.  A black Scottish Terrier with ears that stood up together with stout little legs and an erect tail!  This was my choice.

Not long after, my mother appeared with a black Scottish Terrier that she had named, Nelson.  She named him after Lord Nelson (1758-1805), the Admiral of the Fleet at the Battle of Trafalgar (21st October, 1805), since he has a slight infection of his left eye, which the breeder had assured her would clear up within a few days.  Although the infection cleared up as told, his name stuck.

Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson, 1st Duke of Bronté KB 

-oOo-

I immediately took to Nelson and had visions of taking him for walks and generally looking after him.  I made a bed for him in my room and arranged his bowls outside our kitchen door, which was directly over the roof of the Bake House.  Since Nelson was to be my dog, he would live upstairs with me.  Our other dogs had always been working dogs and so lived downstairs in the shop and mainly in the Bake House where they could enjoy the company of my father.  When he went down the stairs to the cellar, they ran down after him where they kept the vermin at bay.

Memorial of Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1882-1945) showing him with his Scottish Terrier (Fala)

-oOo-

I suppose that my mother and I should have expected it, but I was still surprised when the obvious happened!  Nelson immediately took to my father despite his best efforts not to be overly affectionate to him.  Try as I might, Nelson never really took to me.  I fed him, kept his bowls filled and tried to train him not to mess anywhere, but in the area provided.  I am sure that he was grateful, but he lacked that display of affection towards me that one notes that a dog gives to one special person.  He was always reasonably friendly when I came home from school, but it was never the joy that he showed towards my father whenever he came upstairs to the flat.  Nelson’s tail wagged with such vigour that I thought that he would wag it off.

-oOo-

I remember the first time I took him for a walk.  I was proud of his lead, which was decorated in a tartan!  He was from Scotland, after all!!!  We left the shop with my mother reminding me not to go too far with him since he was still small and might get tired.  My father sniffed at this and went into the Bake House.  His dogs loved to walk and run and run and walk endlessly with him.

Nelson had very short legs and he waddled from side to side as he made his way along the road.  He stopped at everything that obviously had an attractive smell, which of course slowed down our progress.  Still, I was happy, as we proudly made our way along Cambridge Heath Road ……. just a boy and his dog out for adventure!

-oOo-

Sadly, my joy at walking with my dog was short-living.  There were a few dogs in the area who did not seem to belong to anyone and who had learned to survive on the scraps left at the street market on Whitechapel Road.

One dog, named Bob, for some unknown reason, was well known in the area.  Upon reflection now, I suspect that he was a Collie-mix.  He was a large dog with black and white colouring.  I had never stroked the dog since my parents had made it clear that it was never a good idea to try to be over friendly with a dog such as Bob.

We were strolling down Cambridge Health Road, just past the Foresters Cinema, without a care in the world when I saw Bob in the distance.  I heard a snarl and then a bark and suddenly Bob took off at top speed toward Nelson and me!  Bob moved at an incredibly fast speed and was soon close by.  Unfortunately there was no house or shop close by for us to seek shelter and so I scooped Nelson up into my arms and held him as high as I could.  Bob, while barking ferociously, jumped up in the hope of getting hold of Nelson.  As he landed on the ground, he paws came down my legs leaving a few scratches.  I remained stationary while Bob repeatedly jumped up.  Meanwhile, poor Nelson, who was a small puppy, whimpered and wriggled above my head.

Fortunately for me, an old lady and man came running towards me and managed to see Bob off, as they used to say.  After thanking them, Nelson and I turned tail and went home.  My walks with Nelson were always short after that encounter.

-oOo-

I would like to be able to say that Nelson spent his whole life with us, but unfortunately, this was not to be.  In 1953, my parents gave up the Pie ‘n’ Mash shop (as described in Part 3, The Last Dog) and we moved to a small flat at the top of a house in the heart of Bethnal Green.  It was obvious that we could not take a dog, no matter how small, to live with us at the top of a house.  And so it was decided that we had to find a suitable home for Nelson.

Although I was very upset at the thought of losing Nelson, I realised that we had no choice.  My mother found him a very good home with good people who lived in the country.  The couple were older than my parents and no longer had any children living at home and so were happy to have him.  They lived in a house with a large garden where I am sure Nelson spent a happy life.

-oOo-

Over the years I have noticed that dogs have never really taken to me.  They tolerate me and allow me to stroke them and even walk them.  Some have even allowed me to play with them, but no dog has ever really loved me or made me feel special.  I see other people with their dogs and I can see the affection that exists between master and dog and I envy them.  Sometimes I wonder if dogs somehow sense what befell that little puppy all those years ago and perhaps also sense that choosing me would not be a wise choice.  As I said, life can be cruel.

Precious, special friend of Thomas G. Walters

-oOo-

As a final note: a number of years ago I noticed a porcelain figurine of a Scottish Terrier for sale in a shop window when I was visiting a town whose name I can not recall.  I remember that the figurine reminded of Nelson so much so that I went into the shop and purchased the objet d’art.

I hasten to add that this is the nearest that I have since come to actually owning a dog!

-oOo-

A lost dog that I met in New Zealand

—oooOooo—