Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 8 (3/5) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5). 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.

For we 'United States cavalrymen' it was not a long journey. We were used to such long expeditions after Jolly Rodgers' forays out into the countryside, but the girls and the smaller children were not built of such stern stuff. The crocodile of children had doubled in length by the time we reached our destination. I could hear muttered complaints coming from behind us followed by Jolly Rodgers' demands for silence. Many pairs of "Sunday best" shoes still needed breaking in. Marching over the lumpy cobblestones at the dockside end of our trek did nothing to soothe sore feet.

A single storey building made of grey brick could hardly be called a railway station. In no way could it compare with the mighty cathedral of Paragon Station built by Mr George Hudson in the town centre.

In front of the buildings were two rows of comfortable chairs. I was aching to sit down. As to what my weaker brethren were feeling, I could only guess. These seats were destined for the use of local dignitaries to rest their posteriors after arduous carriage journeys from either the Town Hall or their offices in the High Street. They would have travelled the whole of a mile and would need of the comfort of these seats. We children would have to continue standing, for it was going to be some time yet before anything happened. Patience was wearing thin and sore feet became fidgety feet.

The cold wind from the River Humber whistled around our legs. Even in the height of summer we could always depend on a sharp breeze coming from off the estuary and it wasn't going to be the height of summer for months yet. People gathered around us. A select few were dressed smartly: bowler hatted gentlemen in suits and ladies in colourful dresses. They also wanted to be seen by those who were to occupy the reserved seats, but most of all they wanted to be seen with them.

The majority of the milling throng was not well dressed. They were the people with whom I lived my previous life. It should have been a happy occasion but sadness seemed to be etched permanently on many faces. Women looking old beyond their years were wrapped tightly in knitted shawls and threadbare skirts that trailed along the ground. Dirty-faced children without shoes or coats waited and shivered.

I remembered being one of them. Few men from the labouring classes were present. Today was a working day and putting bread on the table was more important than taking time off to see wonders from a different world.

To me the few who were present all looked identical in their flat caps and mufflers and with drooping moustaches to hide worn faces. The best dressed wore patched clothing. The others were clothed in ragged jigsaws with many pieces missing. I craned my neck and looked into the crowd. Maybe there would be some familiar faces.

Would Grandmother and Mary be here? For all I knew they might not be in Hull any longer or even still alive. How was I to know? Who would bother to tell me? 'Look at them!' George distracted my attention to indicate the arrival of the dignitaries. 'Look as though they need carriages … the size of their bellies!'

Continued... Next Page

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