Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 1 (4/4) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

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

The door opened again but this time it was a girl in a white pinafore. Her hair was as red as George's but it was long and forced under a white cloth cap. Her skin was pale too, although not afflicted with the same mass of freckles as George's, just a sprinkle across the bridge of her nose. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen, although this meant little at the time to a ten year old.

'Mrs G thought you'd want some't as well, George,' she said and she turned back inside to produce a tin tray on which were two steaming mugs of tea and a plate with the biggest crusts of bread in the world; both lathered with brown-flecked dripping. 'I put three spoons of sugar in each mug.' The girl stepped down onto the top step. 'I know that's how many you like, George. Mrs G said that the new boy looks as though he needs some goodness putting inside him.' 'Thanks, Sal.' George grabbed a mug and one of the crusts, which he devoured as though he had not eaten all day. 'And who is this little mite?' Large blue eyes fell on me for the first time. 'Lord, I've never seen a boy as brown as you afore. You must've been standing too near the oven when your mam was baking bread!' 'Ain't got no mam!' I grabbed the other crust fearing George might grab this one too. 'Not no more.'

'Nor have we. George an' me. He's me brother.' Sal was still holding the tray, on which there was now only one steaming mug. 'No father neither. Like most here.' 'Got a father,' I spluttered through a full mouth, letting crumbs fall down my chin. I had never tasted such good dripping before. Sal must have sprinkled some salt on it; it made the beef fat taste even better. 'He'll come and get me.' 'That's what a lot in here say,' George muttered and washed down a mouthful of bread with a gulp of tea. 'But they never comes an' takes 'em away.'

'Drink your tea afore it gets cold!' She pushed the tray in my direction. I picked up the mug and took a drink. Strong and sweet just like the ones Mam used to make for Dad when he was home from sea. He always let me steal a sip, pretending to cuff me around the ear for my cheek. 'You've bin crying.' Sal took a close look at me. She put the tray down on the stair and lifted the corner of her white apron to dab my eye corners. She tried to wipe the stains from my cheeks. 'I think you'd better take him to a tap and get him washed proper, our George.' 'Aye.' His words came through a final mouthful of bread. 'Mind it's bath night, tonight anyway.' 'Get his face washed.' She was giving him an order. 'Don't want t'others staring' at him!' But they were going to stare at me anyway. Washing wasn't going to make much difference to what the others saw.

Copyright © Frank Beill 2005

Continued Part 1, Chapter 2

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