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Authors: Gilda O'Neill
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force, splintering it into two jagged pieces. Setting downthe larger part safely by Kitty’s side, she gave the other bit to a group of sunken-cheeked youngsters who were sitting by the miserable remains of their pitifully small fire.
The oldest of them, an emaciated little thing of about nine – with a man’s cap pulled down low over her matted hair, sores around her mouth and a cough that shook her shoulders – snatched the firewood from Tibs with a distrustful stare. Then, with a knowledge that no child of her age had any right to have, she carefully broke it into tiny pieces, in order to eke it out the best she could.
‘Here,’ said Tibs, holding out a cone of newspaper to one of the smaller children. ‘And mind you share them out proper now.’
The child dragged itself to its feet and limped forward cautiously. It was difficult to make out whether it was a boy or a girl from its gaunt face and shabby rags, but what was obvious was that its short life had been one of poverty and deprivation: the undoubted causes of the diseased spine which hindered the little creature’s movements.
Warily, it shot out a skinny hand to claim its prize.
Tibs smiled encouragingly and went back to Kitty. ‘Tiger nuts,’ she explained. ‘I usually keep a few in my pocket for when I’m hanging around of a night. Chewing on them keeps the hunger off a bit.’
‘Do you help everyone?’
‘Doesn’t hurt to share, does it, girl?’ She gathered up the smaller splinters of wood, dropped them carefully into the embers, then sat back on her haunches and waited for them to catch. ‘Who knows, I might be glad of a bit of help myself one day. And anyway, how could I, how could
anyone
, ignore them poor little arabs? Mind you, you still have to watch ’em. They’re crafty.Wouldn’t think twice about trying to flimp you.’
‘But they’re only babies.’
‘Kit, you can’t trust no one.’
With the fire crackling back into life, Tibs threw on a larger piece of wood. ‘If you’re ill, or tired, or alone, you’re weak. Makes you an easy target and anyone can pinch off you.’ She held out her hands, warming them back from numbness. ‘When I first come up to London I was just a little nipper like them, a green, fresh-picked pea pod from the wilds of Essex. And that was a lesson I had to learn.’
‘So you really are a country girl?’
‘I know it’s hard to believe, but I was born right out in the sticks. The other side of Romford.’ She smiled, remembering. ‘Lovely out there, it was. If I close my eyes, I ain’t in no dirty, stinking street, I’m paddling in a crystal-clear stream, with me frock all tucked up round me bum, singing and splashing in the sunshine. All clean and lovely. I even nearly went to the seaside once. Me mum said she’d take me. But she didn’t.’ She paused, staring into the flames. ‘I don’t think it’s right, letting kids down.’
Satisfied with the fire, Tibs settled herself back against the wall next to Kitty. ‘When me mum fetched me up here I never even knew where we was going.’
‘How about your dad? Did he come too?’
‘Me dad – if you can believe anything me mum ever told me – was a leather worker, from over Hornchurch way. But when I come along he didn’t wanna know. Already had a family, see, and didn’t fancy having no little surprises turning up on his old woman’s doorstep.’
She leaned to one side, reached under her topskirts and took out a small packet of snuff, which she offered to Kitty, who shook her head.
Tibs took her time sprinkling, sniffing and sneezing, then continued with her story. ‘Me mum reckoned she wasn’t exactly heart-broken and, at first, just carried on doing what she’d always done. Not earning much, but no one could ever have accused her of not being a grafter.’
‘Where did you live?’
‘With me gran. It was a one-room farm cottage and the three of us shared it with the dog, a couple of pigs and a full roost of hens, but
The oldest of them, an emaciated little thing of about nine – with a man’s cap pulled down low over her matted hair, sores around her mouth and a cough that shook her shoulders – snatched the firewood from Tibs with a distrustful stare. Then, with a knowledge that no child of her age had any right to have, she carefully broke it into tiny pieces, in order to eke it out the best she could.
‘Here,’ said Tibs, holding out a cone of newspaper to one of the smaller children. ‘And mind you share them out proper now.’
The child dragged itself to its feet and limped forward cautiously. It was difficult to make out whether it was a boy or a girl from its gaunt face and shabby rags, but what was obvious was that its short life had been one of poverty and deprivation: the undoubted causes of the diseased spine which hindered the little creature’s movements.
Warily, it shot out a skinny hand to claim its prize.
Tibs smiled encouragingly and went back to Kitty. ‘Tiger nuts,’ she explained. ‘I usually keep a few in my pocket for when I’m hanging around of a night. Chewing on them keeps the hunger off a bit.’
‘Do you help everyone?’
‘Doesn’t hurt to share, does it, girl?’ She gathered up the smaller splinters of wood, dropped them carefully into the embers, then sat back on her haunches and waited for them to catch. ‘Who knows, I might be glad of a bit of help myself one day. And anyway, how could I, how could
anyone
, ignore them poor little arabs? Mind you, you still have to watch ’em. They’re crafty.Wouldn’t think twice about trying to flimp you.’
‘But they’re only babies.’
‘Kit, you can’t trust no one.’
With the fire crackling back into life, Tibs threw on a larger piece of wood. ‘If you’re ill, or tired, or alone, you’re weak. Makes you an easy target and anyone can pinch off you.’ She held out her hands, warming them back from numbness. ‘When I first come up to London I was just a little nipper like them, a green, fresh-picked pea pod from the wilds of Essex. And that was a lesson I had to learn.’
‘So you really are a country girl?’
‘I know it’s hard to believe, but I was born right out in the sticks. The other side of Romford.’ She smiled, remembering. ‘Lovely out there, it was. If I close my eyes, I ain’t in no dirty, stinking street, I’m paddling in a crystal-clear stream, with me frock all tucked up round me bum, singing and splashing in the sunshine. All clean and lovely. I even nearly went to the seaside once. Me mum said she’d take me. But she didn’t.’ She paused, staring into the flames. ‘I don’t think it’s right, letting kids down.’
Satisfied with the fire, Tibs settled herself back against the wall next to Kitty. ‘When me mum fetched me up here I never even knew where we was going.’
‘How about your dad? Did he come too?’
‘Me dad – if you can believe anything me mum ever told me – was a leather worker, from over Hornchurch way. But when I come along he didn’t wanna know. Already had a family, see, and didn’t fancy having no little surprises turning up on his old woman’s doorstep.’
She leaned to one side, reached under her topskirts and took out a small packet of snuff, which she offered to Kitty, who shook her head.
Tibs took her time sprinkling, sniffing and sneezing, then continued with her story. ‘Me mum reckoned she wasn’t exactly heart-broken and, at first, just carried on doing what she’d always done. Not earning much, but no one could ever have accused her of not being a grafter.’
‘Where did you live?’
‘With me gran. It was a one-room farm cottage and the three of us shared it with the dog, a couple of pigs and a full roost of hens, but
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