Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 7 (1/2) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/2), (2/2). Part 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.

The answer to my question came much sooner than expected and from an unexpected source. Before suppertime there was a surprise visitor to the orphanage. Mr John Thorne provided most of the money to set up the Hull Sailors' Children's Orphanage. He was a shipbroker, although I didn't have a clue as to what shipbroker was or did. Needless to say he made a lot of his money out of the prosperous trade of the port of Hull and much of this prosperity came at the expense of lives lost at sea.

It was his Christian duty, he said - and the Master repeated this endlessly in our assemblies - to help provide for the widows and orphans of those poor men. However, he wasn't like the Master: his Christianity was practised more in deeds than in words.

Visits by Mr Thorne were never announced in advance. Maybe he wanted to keep the Master and the staff on their toes by surprising them. For the children the visits were always a pleasant occasion, because they were always accompanied by large deliveries of cakes from Borrill's the bakers. 'The children will not want their suppers,' I overheard the Master's wife say to him. Apart from morning assemblies she seldom appeared among we children but Mr Thorne was visiting and it was important she was seen amongst us.

'Children will always find another corner to put their suppers,' he reproached with a twinkle in his eye. 'Ravenous beasts is children.' Although the day started badly, it began to improve with meeting Mr Jason and now with the arrival of Mr Thorne, it neared perfection. Well, perfection for a twelve-year-old orphan, that is.

Mrs G and some of the older girls laid out the delicacies on plates in the dining room. Tongues licked hungry lips. Manna from heaven was waiting to meet its inevitable fate. We all wanted to get nearer these delights but we still waited our turn in an orderly fashion. To do otherwise might result in exclusion. The aroma of freshly baked cakes tantalised and sugar twinkled invitingly on brown crusts. What might lie beneath this tempting pastry: apple, pear, raspberry?

Mr Thorne stood alongside the Master, who for once allowed himself to be present at an event where we wolves devoured our quarry. Our benefactor's age was a mystery to me, for all adults looked old to me, but I estimate he must have been about fifty years old.

Flowing dark mutton chops contained curly strands of grey but otherwise he was clean-shaven. He was what my grandmother would have called a 'fine man', although others might have said he was portly. His bearing and dress displayed the prosperity of both his business and the port of Hull where he plied his trade. Mrs G looked across the room towards our esteemed visitor for instructions. He continued to smile benignly in return.

'There's no need to say grace, children. I can see from your faces that you are eternally grateful,' he announced. This statement was made much to the chagrin of the Master who normally would have demanded, at least, two prayers and a hymn before allowing us to accept even a slice of bread and jam.

Continued... Next Page

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