Anonymous - Dara

Flinging myself on the bed I cried out loud like a stricken animal. With tears flowing down my cheeks I sobbed quietly into the pillow. He had cast me aside when his debts had got too much for him. Cast me aside as a thing of no importance. How could he do this to me, I asked myself time and time again and spoke the words out loud but could find no reasonable answer in my mind.

There was nothing for it. I would have to leave the hotel before I got further into debt. Collecting clothing and everything that was mine I slowly packed them all into my leather bag and walked out of the hotel. With dragging feet and a feeling of rejection and dreadful loneliness I returned to Adam and his barrow.

There weren't many people about and Adam was trying to whip up some business by beating an old tin box and calling out the prices of his stock.

A-ho there! What d'you think of this 'ere? Carrots penny a bunch.'

Without a pause in his words he signalled me to come alongside of him. 'Hurrah for free trade. Pertater, turnips, onions. All fresh and good. Oy! Oy! Now's yer time. 'Ere y'are guv'nor, fine broccoli-i? Dirt cheap. Oranges 'n apples, thrupence a dozen.'

When Adam heard my tale of woe he asked me what I was going to do now that I was on my own.

'I've got no money and nowhere to go,' I answered tearfully. 'What can I do, Adam?'

He averted his eyes, embarrassed by my tears and misery, it's an 'ell 'ole where I live. Not fit for the likes of you,' he mumbled.

I was becoming more and more aware of the hopelessness of my situation and couldn't see any way out of it. In this world you've got to have either a man or money and I had neither. 'Where do you live, Adam?' I asked.

'I've got a room in an 'ouse that's old and musty. You wouldn't like it. It's the worst 'ouse on Exeter Street. Broken windows stuffed wiv rags and full of street hawkers, thieves, sluts and cryin' babies-the scum of London.' He hesitated. 'There's only one bed. You'd 'ave to sleep wiv me. How about that, my La-di-da Lady? You wouldn't like that-would yer now, eh?' He was grinning all over his face but uncertain as to how I would reply.

I had got the drift of where all this was leading to before he had finished and was ready with my answer. 'You're a lovely man, Adam. If I have got to share a bed, I would rather it was you than anyone else. Do you think you can put up with me? I'll try to earn my keep by helping you in any way I can. Whatever happens, I promise not to be a burden on you.'

It was obvious he hadn't expected such an easy conquest and I wondered if he thought I was too eager to get into bed with him, so I said, 'I can sleep on the floor, Adam, if you'd prefer it.'

'What d'yer take me for? I can relish a woman and bull 'er as good as the next man so don't let any of me mates 'ear yer say anyfink abaht sleeping on the floor. They would fink I was a proper Jessie boy.'

After many months of married celibacy his cheerful virility quickened my pulse and raised my spirits. What matter if I lived in a ramshackle old house with the castoffs of society? It wouldn't be anything new to me as I had experienced abject poverty in my years of childhood and had come out of it unscathed.

An hour or two passed before Adam decided that, as there was so little left on the barrow, it was time to knock off and get something to eat. We packed what was left into a sack and returned the barrow to the hiring yard. The hire of a barrow cost threepence a day during the winter months and fourpence during the summer.

There was no need to go to an eating house as all round us was a wide selection of food on the street stalls. There were pies, muffins, eels, plum puddings, fried fish, baked potatoes, all steaming hot, as well as ham sandwiches, pickled whelks and eggs. Despite the squalor and filth of the streets it was a cheerful scene with the warming red glow of the charcoal braziers and swinging oil lamps hanging from the stalls. Adam and I had two mutton pies each and finished off our meal with plum puddings.

On our way to Adam's favourite ale-house, 'The Half Moon' tavern, we passed several splendid gin houses with their glittering chandeliers lighting up the elegantly carved mahogany bars which extended the whole length of the saloon. I had a peek in one and viewed with awe the huge green and gold barrels of gin stacked behind brass rails labelled 'Corpse Reviver', 'The Real Knock Me Down', 'Blue Tarter', 'Mother's Favourite' and other enticing names.

At 'The Half Moon' tavern I was introduced to Tom Biggs, a crony of Adam's who was also a costermonger. He looked a slippery character to me and I was on my guard from the first moment he gave me an admiring leer. He had on the usual dandified costermonger's garb with a bright multi-coloured silk neckerchief. They were all proud of these pieces of silk around their necks. 'King's Men' they called them and when they took to living with a girl they usually gave her a similar neckerchief. Adam settled our arrangement the next day when he proudly tied one around my neck.

All Tom's words were over-emphasized by nods, sly winks, shrugging shoulders and extreme facial expressions.

Adam had a drink waiting for him. Tom raised his glass in a salute, ''Ere's to you, Adam; may your cock and purse never fail yer.'

His girlfriend turned up shortly after we arrived. She was coarse in language and manners but a pleasant, amiable girl who treated me with a certain amount of reserve until she got to know me better.

In answer to calls from Adam and Tom, Florrie, the barmaid, replenished our drinks. She was a full-breasted, plump, well-built woman, about forty years of age, who ruled the roost in the tavern, keeping everyone in order, including 'Pig Face', the landlord. When she returned to the bar I couldn't help commenting on the tattoos emblazoned on her arms. From her wrists upwards the tattoos covered almost every inch of her skin. The most outstanding was an impression of St Paul's Cathedral encircled by a multitude of pink roses.

Tom Biggs snorted and, with a wink at Adam, said, 'Yer should see the rest of 'er. She's tattooed from neck to foot wiv everyfink yer can fink of; ships, lovers' knots, sights o' London, devils and angels. You name it, she's got it. Up 'er legs, on 'er belly, everywhere.'

'But why?' I asked.

Tom laughed. 'Well, it's like this, see. She was married for two years to a tattoo artist who practised 'is craft on 'er when 'e 'ad nuffink better to do. At the time she worshipped the ground 'e trod on and would let 'im do anyfink 'e wanted wiv 'er. You women are bleedin' fools when a man takes your fancy. She's proud of 'em cos, now 'e's dead, she carries on 'er body the best tattooing 'e ever did do while 'e was 'er 'usband. She's got somefink to remember 'im by. See?'

Adam bent forward and whispered something to Tom which I didn't catch.

'What are they whispering about?' I asked Betty, Tom's friend.

'They're not gonna tell yer so I will. It's wot she's got tattooed dahn 'er back.'

'What's that?' I said, full of curiosity.

'Tell 'er abaht the fox,' said Tom, sniggering.

Betty ignored him. 'Startin' up near 'er waist she's got some 'untsmen on 'orses, jumpin' over fences and gallopin' like mad.'

'Tally-O!' shouted Adam. “Oo's gonna foller the fox?'

Betty was having difficulty suppressing her giggles and said, 'You've never seen anyfink like it. When she bends dahn you see all these 'ounds runnin' all over 'er backside arter the fox which is disappearin' up 'er arse 'ole.'

I looked round at Florrie. With her light grey hair tucked under a white bonnet, she looked so respectable and dignified it was difficult to imagine all those tattoos under her clothing and to understand why she had allowed her fair skin to be disfigured in this manner.

Adam and his friends were pushing each other and laughing uproariously at the shocked expression on my face. 'How do you know all this?' I asked.