Jennifer Worth - Call The Midwife - A True Story Of The East End In The 1950S

Zakir shouted: “The entertainment. Turn your chair and watch. It is the best in London.”

All the men in the room had turned their chairs, and were silently facing a table in the centre.

A girl leapt up on to the table and started dancing. The table was only about three foot wide, so she could not really dance for fear of falling off, but she moved her body, her hips, her shoulders, her arms and neck in rhythm with the music. Her hair flew about her. The men cheered. Then she threw off a shawl that was round her shoulders. The men cheered again and scrambled to get it. Slowly, suggestively, she undid the buttons of her blouse and threw it off, revealing a crimson bra. She undid the band which kept her skirt on, and it dropped to her feet. Beneath it, she wore only a crimson string that ran round her waist and between her legs. Her bottom was enormous. She turned to face the wall, shaking her bottom and thighs then bent over with her legs apart.

Mary was stunned. All sleepiness had left her and she couldn’t believe her eyes. She couldn’t believe it was happening.

Zakir flashed his beautiful teeth at her and shouted: “It is good, no? I told you we have the best entertainment in London.”

The girl straightened up and turned to face her audience. She stared around her in an insolent fashion, and slowly began to undo the fastenings of her bra. The men cheered and screamed and stamped as two huge breasts fell out, with crimson tassels attached to each nipple. With a skill that must have taken much practice, she began to make her breasts gyrate faster and faster, and the tassels flew round and round with ever increasing speed. Mary’s eyes were hypnotised by these tassels. She was numb with amazement until gradually the gyrations slowed down, and the tassels drooped to the floor, swinging slightly. The girl undid the string around her waist, and threw it to the audience, who scrambled to get it.

Now the serious part of her dance started. She shook and moved her pelvis slowly back and forwards. Her eyes were fixed on her audience, and her tongue was hanging out. She did this for quite a long time, sometimes moving her upper body as well, sometimes swinging her breasts from side to side. The jukebox was turned down a bit, so that just the beat of the drums was heard, and all the time her pelvis moved back and forwards to the rhythm.

Mary was quite mesmerised. As suddenly as it had started, and with a scream, the girl stopped, and lay down on the table. There was not a lot of space, but she lay with her back and head on the table, and her legs high in the air, heels touching. The jukebox went up loud, louder, louder again, as she slowly opened her legs until they were almost horizontal, revealing her vast fleshy, hairy vulva. Then, with even more skill, and to the screams of delight from her audience, she started to produce ping-pong balls from her vagina, and throw them at the audience. The speed and the number were bewildering. There must be some magic in this, Mary thought, no woman can have so many ping-pong balls inside her. The balls were flying around the room, the men throwing them at each other, at the girls, at the walls, in a frenzy of excitement.

The other girls had now left their table and joined the men, some sitting on their knees and fondling them or being fondled, some going out the back in pairs, some just sitting, smoking and drinking. Two older women came up to the girl lying on the table, and each took hold of a leg. Then they beckoned to the men. There was a rush towards her, but two thickset, middle-aged men wearing knuckledusters barred the way. They snarled at the advancing men, and said something. Mary could not hear what was said because of the noise of the jukebox, but several of the men turned and went back to their seats. Some remained standing, however, and Mary saw a lot of money being handed to the knuckledusters. Then one by one, the men undid their trousers and penetrated the girl on the table. Some, whilst waiting their turn, came up the sides and rubbed her breasts with their hands. After more money was pressed into the knuckledustered hands, one went up to her head, undid his trousers, and pressed his penis into her mouth, while the girl contentedly sucked. After that, several other men did the same, one at a time.

Mary felt sick. Her experience of the Irishman had been enough to tell her what was going on, and the sight of the money passing hands told her the rest. She did not need to ask any questions. She shuddered, and crossed herself. “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for me,” she whispered.

Mary told me all this over cups of coffee and digestive biscuits as we sat in the kitchen of Church House in Wellclose Square. I visited her often. I was not a social worker, nor even a voluntary church worker. I just liked the girl, and the circumstances of our meeting gave us a bond; and she trusted me and was clearly able to talk to me. As I wanted to find out more about prostitutes and their way of life, I encouraged her to talk.

I said, “After that, why did you not just leave? You were free to do so. No one could have stopped you. Why didn’t you just go?”

She was quiet, and nibbled the edge of a biscuit.

“I should have done, I know, but I couldn’t leave Zakir. He took my hand and squeezed it and said, ‘Is this not good entertainment? You will find nothing better in London. All the night-clubs in London are trying to get that dancer for their shows, but I found her and brought her to my uncle and he pays her well, so she will not go to another café. She performs each night for us, and makes the café famous. But my dear little Mary, you are looking tired. You need to go to bed. Come. My uncle has a room ready for you.’”

He tenderly took her hand, and led her through the crowd of men and girls, pushing them aside, putting his arm protectively around her.

She said to me, “I knew he cared for me then, because he treated me differently to all the others. He was looking after me and protecting me from all those rough men, wasn’t he?”

I sighed. With the wisdom of my twenty-three years, I wondered if it was really possible that a girl of fourteen or fifteen could be so taken in by a smooth-talking scoundrel. I felt that I could not have been. But now I am not so sure.

He led her out the back to the kitchen area, and said, “This is the stairway to the upper rooms. They are very fine and beautiful. You will see. If you want the lavatory, it is over there, in the yard.”

He pointed to a wood and asbestos shack.

Mary did need to go and after whispering, “Don’t go away,” she went over to it. It was revolting and evil smelling, but in the dark Mary could not see the magnitude of the ordure covering the wet and slippery floor.

She returned to Zakir, who led her through the kitchen and up to the first floor. He produced a key, opened a door and switched on the light.

Mary found herself in a room the like of which she had never seen, nor even imagined, in all her life. Lights shone from the walls, not the ceiling, and some even shone from the curtains. There were mirrors on the walls reflecting the lights. She gasped at the gold and silver that seemed to be everywhere although it was, in fact, just chrome. In the centre of the room stood a huge brass bed, with what looked to her like a silk covering. After the dark, dingy interior of the café below, it seemed like paradise.

She murmured, “Oh, it’s beautiful Zakir, just beautiful. Is this really the room your uncle will let me have?”

He laughed, and replied, “It is the most beautiful room in London. You will not find a finer room anywhere. You are a lucky girl Mary, I hope you know that.”

“Oh I do, I do, Zakir,” she sighed, “and I am grateful with all my heart.”

He had seduced her with practised ease. She did not want to talk about it, and I did not want to press her. I felt that the memory of that one night was sacred to her. She did, however, say, “I am sure he loved me, because no one else has ever touched me in the way that he did. All the other men were rough and horrible. But Zakir was gentle and beautiful. I thought I would die with happiness that night. It would have been best if I had died,” she added quietly.