Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 3 (3/3) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/3), (2/3), (3/3). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3.

There were so many more questions I wanted to ask but our conversation was interrupted. Boys near the door leapt onto the floor and down on their knees beside their beds. They knew what came next; they recognised the familiar footsteps outside. It was Mr Rodgers doing his nightly rounds to make sure everything was 'shipshape and in order,' as he liked to say. 'Time for prayers.' George scurried out of our bed and onto the floor. 'Get down! Quick!'

I did as I was bid and adopted the same posture of supplication as everyone else, scuffing my bare knees on the rough floorboards. My eyes closed and I pretended to pray. The door swung open and there was the plodding sound of heavy feet on bare floorboards. My prayers became real and I pleaded for Mr Rodgers not to come anywhere near me. There was going to be lots of praying in the Hull Sailors' Children's Home. Lots of organised prayer because this was a Christian establishment. Lots of private prayers, mainly because of the way Christianity was being practised on us. 'Good. Turn out the lamps.' There were no complaints. Everyone knew better than to question his orders. 'No talking. Get to sleep.' The last lamp was extinguished and the door slammed shut. We all scampered beneath the sheets. The moonlight coming through the window beside our bed broke the darkness. 'We can still talk as long as we're quiet,' George whispered.

'Do we all have to go to sea when we leave here?' I tried to be quiet too. 'Not all of us. The girls don't!' George giggled. 'Shurrup, Smiffy!' An angry voice came from the next bed. 'You'll have Jolly Rodgers back!' George buried his face into his pillow and tried to control himself. After a few moments he whispered again. 'Most of the lads do … but some get jobs on land. Get themselves apprenticed. Somewhere where they can live in.'

'Oh!' I did not want to show my ignorance. What was an apprentice? I didn't know. It wasn't long past eight o'clock and I had been through a lot. My mind was racing and although I was exhausted I was too tired to sleep. Despite being surrounded by other boys and sharing a bed with George, I was still among strangers. I missed my mother more on that night than at any time since she died. I missed Mary, even though all she ever seemed to do was cry. I missed my father, although I only ever saw him for a few days every year. I even missed my grandmother; despite all she had ever shown me was indifference at best. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt alone and wretched. I turned my head away from George and tried to sink my face in the rough pillow to prevent him from seeing me cry, even though he would not have been able to see my tears in the darkness. My bedmate interrupted my self-pity. 'Sammy, are you a nigger?' 'What's one of them?' My head turned towards him. 'Dunno, but some of the other lads said you was one.' I shrugged and rolled back again. Over the next two years I was to hear this word many times, mainly in whispers behind my back and I came to hate it. One thing I have learned in life is that racial bigots usually show their total ignorance by not even having the ability to use the correct insults. Fortunately on that first night it was my ignorance that protected me from feeling any worse.

Copyright © Frank Beill 2005

Continued Part 1, Chapter 4

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