Frank’s first surprise at meeting the Master after nearly four years was how little he was! He had a childhood memory of a large, terrifying man, whose word was absolute law and who had the power to beat and flog for the slightest misdemeanour. Yet here was this flabby little man, about a head shorter than Frank himself, who looked as if he hadn’t the strength to lift a bit of cod off a plate, never mind a box of them off a slippery quayside. Frank looked at his puny muscles and compared them in his mind with the lean and muscular men he had worked with for years, and nearly laughed out loud. Was this the terror of the workhouse, this pathetic-looking jellyfish?
But he had come for a purpose, and must be polite. He enquired about his sister: was she still alive? Yes, the Master replied, without giving anything away, she was. Frank gave a huge, shuddering sigh of relief. Where was she, then? The Master replied, guardedly, that she was in the girls’ section, where she was well cared for. Frank’s joy was unconfined. Here, in this very building? Could he see her, then? His eyes were eager. The Master was prim. No. Boys were not allowed in the girls’ section.
Frank was nonplussed. “But I can’t help bein’ a boy,” he blurted out. “If I was ’er big sister you’d let me see ’er, wouldn’t you?”
The Master smiled, and agreed, but rules were rules, he said, with such finality that the interview ended.
Frank’s joy at knowing she was alive was greater than his disappointment at not being allowed to see her. But he would see her – damn the Master – and he changed his round so that he would be near the workhouse gate at 4 p.m. when the girls returned from school. He hung around, shouting “whelks and eels” as the crocodile of girls marched past him. But he couldn’t pick her out. There were a couple of dozen little girls with blonde hair, about the age that she would be, but even though he went every day for a fortnight and looked carefully at them, he couldn’t recognise his sister. Several of the bigger girls giggled and nudged each other, winking at him as they marched past. Normally he would have flirted back, but he had no heart for flirting now. He changed his round again.
He sought another interview with the Master. On this occasion he had carefully prepared his questions. If he couldn’t see his sister because of the rules, what were the rules about taking her away altogether? The Master was surprised at the boy’s persistence and explained, condescendingly, that any relative could apply for the discharge of an inmate and, provided the applicant could prove that he could provide adequately for said inmate, the application would be considered favourably.
Frank’s quick brain translated. “You means, if I can support my sister, I can get her out of ’ere?”
The Master nodded.
“An’ what would you means by ‘support’?”
The Master looked at the eager fourteen-year-old sitting before him, and smiled at the impossibility of his hopes. “I would say, firstly, that the applicant must be of good character and must have decent accommodation. He must prove himself able to support the inmate for whose discharge he is applying, and should have a reasonable sum of money saved against illness or loss of work.”
“An’ ’ow much would you call a ‘reasonable sum’?”
The Master tapped his pencil, and smiled archly.
“Oh, I would say twenty-five pounds. That is a fair sum.”
Frank swallowed. Twenty-five pounds! Ask a working boy today to save £25,000 and he might swallow and turn pale, just as Frank did.
The Master concluded the interview and assumed that he would see no more of the boy.
Frank dragged his feet miserably back to the lodging house. The obstacles seemed insurmountable. Why couldn’t he just take her? When he entered the squalid doss-house, in which about twenty men slept and ate, he realised the Master was right. He couldn’t possibly bring a girl here. He would have to be able to provide for her and find somewhere decent to live.
Frank then worked as he had never worked before, spurred on by necessity. He did his fish round, as ever, but instead of knocking off when he had sold it all, he looked into the fruit-and-nut trade, and hawked them around the pubs and theatres and music halls until ten or eleven at night. He doubled his income. He changed his habits and became something of an outcast from his old mates, because he never gambled, never flashed his money around by joining them in the tavern. They resented it and ridiculed him. He opened a Post Office National Savings Account. No coster ever saved. Conspicuous spending each evening in the pubs and taverns was their habit. But Frank wasn’t interested in what the others did. He had opened the account because he knew that in a communal lodging house he would eventually be robbed. When he learned that he would earn four per cent on his investments he was thrilled and carefully worked out how many pennies that would be to every pound saved. By the age of fifteen he had saved eight pounds.
There is no doubt about it, Frank was a brilliant and imaginative coster. He went into the fried-fish market, arranging for the fish to be cooked at a baker’s and employing a lad to hawk it around at a fixed rate, plus the bunting system. He looked into the roast-chestnut market and worked out that the hire of the gear would pay for itself around Christmas time. He was right. By the age of sixteen he had twenty-five pounds in his Post Office account.
He then looked round for a room to rent for himself and Peggy. It had to be a decent room – on that point he was determined. His sister was not going to be dumped in any old hole. She would be twelve years old now, quite the young lady. He had not seen her since she was little more than a baby, but he visualised her as petite and pretty, and felt sure she looked like his mother. Mother and sister merged into each other in his imagination, a numinous female ideal, the guardians of his hopes and longings.
He found a room on the top floor of a house at eight shillings a week, plus two shillings for the rent of furniture. It was an upper-class house, he felt. There was a gas stove on the middle landing for everybody’s use, and a tap in the basement, There was even a lavatory in the yard. He was well satisfied.
Frank stood again in the Master’s office. He had on his best clothes and his Post Office book was in his pocket. The Master had not expected him, and was astonished when he saw the proof of twenty-five pounds saved in only two years. How had a boy of sixteen achieved it? He looked at him with new respect and said: “Your request will have to be considered by the Board of Guardians. They meet in three weeks’ time.”
He gave Frank the date and time of the Guardians’ meeting and told him to come back on that evening.
Frank asked if he could see his sister, and was told curtly that he would see her in three weeks’ time. Seething with frustration, he looked at his powerful fists and nearly knocked the man down. But he remembered he had to be “of good character”, so thrust his hands behind his back. He would never get Peggy out if he hit the workhouse master!
The Guardians debated the application. It was unusual, but they agreed to release the girl, if she wished to go with her brother. Frank was called into the boardroom and interrogated. They seemed satisfied and were especially impressed by the Post Office book. They told him to stand by the window, and Peggy was called away from her evening duties.
Peggy was in the washhouse, helping to prepare the younger girls for bed. It was a duty she loved – better than scrubbing the greasy old kitchen floors, or putting out smelly dustbins. She could play with the little girls, and there was always laughter when Peggy was putting them to bed. They had to laugh quietly, so as not to get into trouble, but, somehow, a bar of soap slithering across a stone floor seemed even funnier if you had to stuff a towel into your mouth to stop shrieks of laughter. Suppressed giggles double the fun for young girls.