Ten: November 1924 (Part 2)

It was a moonless night as Henry Newkirk and his grandson Peter set out for the walk to the Levines' home on White's Row - a short distance from home, except that they had some business to tend to on the way. Grandfather and grandson walked silently, hand in hand, through streets that were still busy at 7:30 p.m.

Up Gun Street they headed. They turned right onto Brushfield Street, and crossed Commercial Street. Heading left, they approached the Ten Bells Pub. Peter had passed it every day on his way to Christ Church Junior School since he was 7, and he had heard stories of it since he was even smaller.

"Were you alive when Jack the Ripper was 'round here?" Peter asked his grandfather. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear the tale anyway, despite the late hour.

"Me? Oh, you know that story, Peter," Henry Newkirk replied. "Yes, I was already grown up and just married to your Granny when ol' Leather Apron was causing havoc here. Them murders all happened in 10 weeks, you know," he said. "Eighteen eighty-eight, it was. This was my pub too, back in them days. That last girl, Mary Kelly, stopped in at the Ten Bells before she died."

"Did you know her?" Peter asked.

"Oh, I might have seen her about," Henry responded. Who knew, really, but it was a good yarn and he wasn't going to deny it.

"Was my Da born yet?" Peter inquired.

Henry coughed and let out a hard breath, as he stopped in front of the pub at the corner of Fournier Street. "No, no, not yet, Peter," he replied. "Our oldest girl, your Auntie Annie, was on the way. Then our Florrie, God rest her soul. Our Freddy was next. Then Peter and Frankie, bless them, and Jamie and Ellie. Well, we'd better go inside and face him."

Peter and his grandfather stepped over the threshold into the crowded pub, which was warm with smoke, ale, sawdust, and the sweat of the day's work. Through a haze, they saw Alfred sitting at the far end of the bar, at a table with three of his mates. He was smiling and laughing as he saw his father and son approaching.

"Well, Dad, you've come to have a pint with us! And look here, it's my boy, Peter! Come on, son, let's get you a lemon squash." He was on his feet and heading to the bar, wobbling slightly. Alfred Newkirk grabbed Peter by the arm. Peter looked over his shoulder and sized up the table his Da had departed, and saw brimming ashtrays and dirty pint glasses and shot glasses scattered about it. His father had started early.

"Freddy, nothing for us- we can't stay," Henry was saying. He clutched his son's arm and leaned in to whisper. Now Freddy was shaking his head.

"Ah, she can't let me have a little enjoyment after a hard week of work, now can she? Let her wait. I'll be home soon enough," Freddy told his father fiercely, turning back to the bar to order another round of drinks for his table, pushing Peter ahead of him.

But Henry persisted. "Well, son, I think it would be best if you could hand it over now. Keep enough to have your fun, but let's make sure to pay the rent and keep the children fed. How much did you earn this week?"

Freddy lurched toward his father before steadying himself. He pulled himself up tall, looming over his father by three or four inches. "Ah… It was 45 shillings, Dad."

"Well, you don't need a whole barrel of ale, Fred," Henry said softly. "Give me 40 bob for Mary. Keep the rest for your walking-about money."

"I can do 25," Freddy said with a boozy grin. "I'm sorry, but that's me best offer. I'll square it with Mary later."

"Now, Freddy," Henry said, with resignation in his voice. It wasn't enough, but he and Peter needed to push on to the Levines' house, and he knew it wouldn't help to argue. So he simply waited.

Shaking his head, Freddy reached in his coat pocket, counted out some coins, and handed them to his father. A few small coins - pennies and halfpennies- tumbled through his hand, and Peter crouched down to pick them up. Before he could get up, his father's boot was in his back, and he was sprawled on the ground.

"Ow, Da! Why did you…" he started to protest, but then thought better of it.

Freddy was half laughing, half sneering. "Never grovel, son," he said. "You can't be seen scrapping about for farthings. Don't let me see you do that again," he said.

Peter clambered to his feet with a hand up from his grandfather, and rubbed his back, glaring at his father. Freddy leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Come to the table and meet my friend Mr. Walker. We've got a bit of work for you," Freddy said.

Peter craned his neck to look past his father. Ernest Walker was sitting there, red-faced and laughing. Rotund, shabbily dressed, with one black front tooth and a bulbous nose, Walker was an unattractive companion. Walker waved Peter over, but the boy shrunk back behind his grandfather and tugged at his sleeve.

"Granda, we have to go," Peter said urgently.

But his father reached around, grabbed Peter around the shoulder and pushed him to the table. "Ernie, you remember my boy Peter. Alfie Burke has told you about him," he said.

Walker barked out a laugh, spraying ale into the boy's face. "A skinny little one he is," he told Freddy. "He'll do all right." He turned to the boy. "How old are you - six?"

"Six?! Blimey, no," Peter said as the men at the table laughed. "I'm 10," he said, reddening. "And I might be skinny, but you're ugly."

Walker was momentarily stunned into silence, and Alfred grabbed the boy roughly by the scruff of his neck. But just then, Walker blasted out another big laugh. "You bloody well ain't afraid of me, are you, now? That's good, sunny Jim. And I'm nobody's idea of a beauty, that's Gawd's truth. I'll look for you both right here tomorrow night. We've got some windows to clean," he said, jabbing a companion in the ribs with his elbow. He laughed roughly again as Alfred gave Peter a clap on the head and pushed him away toward Henry.

The old man shook his head sadly as he took Peter by the hand and led him onto the street.

"I don't want to clean no windows with that ugly old Ernie Walker," Peter sulked as he walked along with his grandfather. Henry stopped and pulled Peter into a hug. "He scares me, Granda," Peter said with a small sob. "My Da took me to see him once, and he was smacking the boys who work for him."

Henry took out a handkerchief and dried his grandson's tears before handing it to him to blow his nose. Peter sighed, then mustered a smile and a nod. They resumed their walk to the Levines' home. As they approached, a warm light was glowing in the window.