Monthly Archives: March 2018
It’s just after ten in the evening and I’ve just popped into the Angel and Crown on Whitechapel High Street to have a quick chat with Ellen O’Casey the popular supper room singer of the establishment.
I know you’re due on stage soon, Ellen, but would you mind if I had a quick chat?
Well, my friend Kitty’s doing her turn at the moments, so we should be all right. But I can’t be too long or Danny’ll be after us.
I know you came here from Ireland when you were quite young, but can you remember anything about your homeland?
I can remember things like the rough stone walls of the cottage we lived in and lying in bed listening to the mice scurrying about but one day dose stick in my mind.
It must have been spring because I can still see the swallows in my mind’s eye as I think of it. A rare day it was, with the sun warming you and the smell the dew still fresh on the grass. Pa piled us all into the old rickety cart and took us all to the county fair.
We were so excited me and my brother Pat and Mike hadn’t slept all night with the thought of it. Me and Pat argued all the way like a couple of cats in a sack, and if Ma threatened to make us walk once, she did it a dozen times.
When we got to Wexford, sure, I’d never seen so many people. I didn’t think there were that many in the world let alone Ireland. There were dancers and travellers in their brightly painted wagons and the men distilled potchine in kettles and tin baths or what ever was at hand.
The fiddles were playing while young girls whirled in their new clothes laughing and smiling. The fellas in their rough working clothes and heavy boots danced like feather in the breeze and catching their lasses as they passed.
Ha! Pat and Mike sneaked off and drank some homebrew and were as sick as dogs but instead of a whacking, Pa laughed and bundled us all back in the cart to take us home
I don’t remember getting into bed that night but I’ll never forget it. It was less than a month later we all piled into the cart again and left our old home forever and came here. But that day sometime comes back to me in that moment between sleeping and waking and I can smell the new spring grass once again.
It must be difficult for you as a widow to keep a roof over yours and your family’s head?
It’s almost impossible and without my Ma I’d have been in the poor house long before now. We both up before dawn to fetch water from the pump at the bottom of the street. Then I go and collect the washing from the big houses while Ma heats the copper. All morning we scrub our knuckles raw on the washing board before drying and ironing it and then taking it all back at the end of the day.
At night we sit by candlelight and sew collars from Miller factor. We get thrupence for two dozen. It barely keeps us, what with the rent and food being so dear. That’s why I have to sing in this place and sometimes down at the White Swan or Paddy’s Goose, Danny’s other pub. And if you think it’s grim in here, you should see that hole down on the Highway.
I understand you’ve been alone for almost ten years so I’m a bit surprised you’ve not remarried?
That’s a bit of a question and I’m not saying now, that I haven’t had the odd offer or two but there’s been no man who’s taken my fancy enough for me to want to make it permanent. But I wouldn’t say no to the right man. But he’d have to be the right one because I’ve been married to the wrong one before and don’t want to repeat the experience.
This area of East London is notorious for crime and violence aren’t you frightened of living here alone?
For the most part I’m safe enough in Knockfurgus, the part of the dock where I live and most of us Irish are settled. It’s in walking distance of the riverside where there’s work to be had when the ships are in. Our street can be a bit rough, I grant you, but we all look out for each other. We share what little we have and that’s not much. There’s none of us who would let a child go hungry even if we had to skip supper ourselves.
It’s the drink that makes it hard on a woman. I mean, no one would argue that a man entitled to a drink at the end of the day, to clear the dust from his throat but some, well; they don’t know when to stop and its his wife and children who feel the force of it, as often as not.
As to the danger. The Italian and Irish gangs are after each other not us so when they are cutting each other up in the streets and alleyway we shut ourselves in. Our house is very small, two room on top of each other really, but there is only me, Ma and Josie so we’re snug enough. Some houses have three or four family living in and then there can be trouble.
Of course, I’m often scared out of me life when I have to walk home after singing here. But I keep to the main roads and go as fast as me legs will carry me. Sometime the beat officer will walk away with me and I can relax then. But I have to work here so there’s no point wailing about it.
I notice that a number of women in the same situation as yourself often… well, how can I put this delicately?…take to the street.
It’s true. If you peek though curtains you can see them sitting at the back of the room now. They are easy to spot with their bright dresses and red lips. Sad souls. And I for one, don’t condemn them for what they do. I mean, most of them have a child or two to feed and sometimes it the streets or the workhouse. And it can look easier that scrubbing sheets all day but there’s always a man lurking around who takes their money, not to mention the danger of being found by the peelers in the gutter with you throat cut. And if you live long enough you’ve got the pox ward at the hospital to look forward to.
It seems an easy way but when I see what poor Kitty has to do to keep Danny sweet I think I’m better off on my own. Although, if I were honest with you now, I do miss the arms of a strong man around me when I snuggle under the blankets .
I notice you get a fair few doctors from the London Hospital nearby take their supper here. In fact, that new medic, Doctor Munroe, is at one of the tables and keeps looking this way. Perhaps he’s someone you might consider giving up your widow’s weeds for?
Oh, go away with you! Whatever are you thinking? A man like that, you know, fierce handsome enough to tempt the angel themselves, isn’t for the likes of me.
There’s a lot of toffs who come down East slumming. I avoid them ‘cause all their after is a quick night’s fun for a few shilling and I’m not interested.
Mind, I’ll not have you thinking Doctor Munroe’s is one of those because he’s not. He’s a proper gentleman and not just because of the way he dresses and speaks.
But no. He’ll marry some pretty lady with money and who speak right. Not a pub singer with an ageing mother and gangling daughter. In a better world perhaps his smiles and kind eyes might become more but not in East London, not in 1832.
I hear also that although he’s only been here a month or two Doctor Munroe is already making his mark by introducing all sorts of health reforms, like a providing a proper water supply and sanitation to the slums. I also hear Mr Donovan, as chairman of the workhouse board isn’t too pleased with him looking into the workhouse accounts. Although, trying to improve the lot of the poor is very admirable Perhaps you should warn him he’s fishing in dangerous waters as far as Mr Donavan is concerned.
Ho! Doctor Munroe’s ruffled Danny’s feathers and no mistake. Good job too. Danny’s got his fat finger in every sticky pie around here. On the Parish Committee and the Board of Governors at the Workhouse. It a disgrace how he runs the neighbourhood. Letting the water pump break and you can smell the workhouse before you see it. I pity the poor souls forced to live in there.
I do admire Robert….I… I mean Doctor Munroe.
Ellen you’re blushing.
I’m not. It’s just a little warm in here that’s all. Anyway, it’s a brave thing that Doctor Munroe’s doing and his surgery in Chapman Street where he charges only what he has to. But your right, he need to be careful. Danny’s been top dog around here for years and he doesn’t stay there by being nice to people who cross him. For his own sake, I wish Doctor Munroe would watch out for himself. It would fair break my heart if anything should happen to him.
Know you work hard to pay for your daughter Josie to attend school but is it worth it seeing as how the only opening for a girl of her class is to enter service or marry a docker?
Josie as bright as a button and with her brains she could teach school or work in a shop. I don’t mind her going into service because she would learn things I could never teach her, but it would mean her going away as there are no big houses around here. But to do any of those things she need her letters and figuring. My Pa knew that which is why he taught us all to read and do arithmetic.
I don’t suppose I want any more for Josie than any mother. I want her to find a good man who’ll treat her right be he a docker or sailor or anything
She had a fella, Patrick Nolan. He’s the son of my friend Sarah and he’s a good lad. dependable and hard-working but I’ve told him I’ll be after him if he takes advantage. I don’t want Josie to make the same mistakes as meself so I’m keeping a close eye on them just to be sure.
You sound bitter when you talk of your husband. Was your marriage so bad?
Michel O’Casey had grand curly hair and a smile to warm you on a frosty day but he thought he could solve his problems at the bottom of a glass. I was only fourteen when I met him and too young to see him for what he really was.
I don’t know if cheated is the right word but I’m sad that me and Michael went sour so quickly. I realise now that a love like Ma and Pa’s only comes once in life time. I thought Michael was that love but it didn’t take me long to find out my mistake. I hope that someday such a love might happen to me. but I’m getting older now and so it might be too late.
Have you ever considered returning to Ireland? After all you must still have family there.
No. It’s worst there than when we left. People dying in empty field and eating grass to keep the hunger from their bellies. There’s no future for us there especially Josie.
Besides, most of our family are over here in Liverpool and Bristol and my brother, Pat’s in America. He’s doing grand, so he is, and we’re hoping to join him soon.
What do you think life will be like for you, Josie and your there?
I don’t think it’ll be easy but my brother Pat got his own business in New York. He told me in his last letter that he would be looking to buy himself a bit of farm land north of the city in the Bronx.
He also wrote that in the wild territory the government give away land just to have someone on it. Can you imagine that? He’s says he’d saddle up his ole mule and dash for it.
I’m not afraid of hard work either, so I’ll just do as I’ve done when I get there and do whatever I have to do to keep my family.
Whatever I do at least I won’t have to be dodging Danny’s straying hands while I earn a few coppers, but until then I’m afraid I’ll have to sing for all the O’Caseys’ suppers in the Angel and Crown.
Thank you so much for talking to me, Ellen. I hope you do get to America, if that’s what you decide you finally want. Now I see Mr Donovan glaring at us. He doesn’t look pleased, perhaps it’s time for you to sing now.
Buy No Cure for Love and the other books in Jean’s Victorian series at: http://goo.gl/G9Dgds
And follow me:
Hi, Kate, could you give us an overview of your writing career so far?
Hi Jean. I trained as a journalist and spent twenty years working for women’s weekly titles like Pick Me Up, Take a Break and That’s Life! which was a wonderful training ground in the art of listening, as well as an insight into what women really want to read about. I also did spells at The Daily Mail and The Daily Express. I was Deputy Editor at Pick Me Up magazine when I was made redundant. I was heavily pregnant with my second son and it felt pretty catastrophic at the time. In panic mode, I launched myself into the world of freelancing. A friend of mine was working as a ghostwriter and put me in touch with her agent, Diane Banks. She took me on and after working as a ghostwriter on five books, my agent suggested I try my hand at fiction. Now I look back and see that redundancy as serendipity, as there as is nothing I would rather do more now than write books.
2) What is it about the WW2 that fascinates you so much?
I think lives were lived so much more intensely and there was real potency and power to being a woman. Women really did step outside the home and discover what they were capable of. I interviewed a fascinating lady who was one of a handful of women to train as a doctor during the war. She leant forward in her chair and I was taken aback by the fierce determination in her voice when she told me: ‘In wartime, it was women who saved the day.’ It’s extraordinary when you think about it the way we carried on in a time when invasion seemed certain, and yet for so many, defeat simply wasn’t an option.
3) Why do you think this period is so popular at the moment?
We live in such uncertain times. Immersing yourself in the warmth and nostalgia of the past can feel like an escape from the frightening realities we face when we switch on the news. Reading about a time when a country pulled together to face a common enemy and people lived collectively, not individually, offers an unshifting narrative. Obviously we are looking back through a rose tinted prism, can you imagine the realities of actually living in a war zone? Despite this, I don’t think there’s any doubt that communities were much closer back then, and in the absence of the Welfare State, women were the welfare state, caring for neighbours and family. I think there is a tangible sense of people craving the benefits of living in a tight-knit community.
4) What is a typical writing day for you?
I drop the boys off to school, walk my ageing Jack Russell, Twinkle, then make a big cup of coffee, park my bum down and write until it is time to collect them. If I’m on a research day in the East End, I’m usually legging it up Whitechapel High Street en route to an interview or an archive.
5) Are you a plotter or do you write the story by the skin of your pants?
I’m a plotter and something of a control freak. I admire people who can discover it as they go along, but that would freak me out. I start with a timeline and a detailed bio of each of my characters and go from there, combining research with writing.
6) What has been the highlight of becoming a published author?
Good question. Nothing beats seeing your book on the shelves, or receiving a letter or email from a reader who enjoyed your book.
7) Apart from writing what else do you do in your spare time?
My sons are 10 and 6, so a lot of time is spent running them to football, karate and swimming clubs. I do love running and exercise. I bought a stand-up paddle board last year, which I absolutely love. On the river it is great, but we took it down to Dorset last Easter and trying to stand up on it on the sea is another thing altogether. I spent most of the time face planting straight into the sea. I’m a bit of a fresh air and nature nut and it’s lovely to be outdoors when you’ve spent hours in front of a PC.
8) Have you any advice for aspiring Saga writers?
Only to write about an area, or people for whom you have profound respect and affection for. I also think you have a duty of care to research that time frame as vigorously as you can. People do love to spot anachronisms so take care to make your writing as authentic as possible. I have lots of trusted wartime East Enders who do what I call ‘sympathy reads’ to make sure my writing is as accurate as can be. Also, be prepared to embrace and utilise social media.
9) Can you tell us a little about The Allotment Girls?
When I stumbled upon a gem, like the iconic Bryant & May match factory in Bow, I knew firstly I had to set a book there. Next, I accessed the archives held at Hackney Library and started to read about the factory, its long history, its role during the war and its many social opportunities, like The Match Girls Club, and these vivid characters started to drop into my mind. Shortly after I discovered the Bethnal Green Producers’ Association, which during the war saw 300 men, women and children from the borough transform the darkest of bomb sites into thriving allotments, using elbow grease, imagination and pierced dustbin lids to sift out shrapnel. I had the beginnings of my story and the Allotment Girls was born. An allotment is a great stage for drama, all manner of illicit liaisons can take place there and secrets concealed beneath the soil.
Thanks for being part of my blog tour, Jean.
Read more about Kate and her books:
The Allotment Girls, published by Pan Macmillan is out March 22nd. Available to order now on e-book via Amazon.