East End Angel Part 28

'Our secret!' Kathy put a finger to her lips. 'I've not yet told my mum and she'll crown me if she's last to know.'

'Our secret ...' Ruby echoed. 'Right ... reckon I'm ready fer that tea.' Briskly, she picked up her shopping. 'Come on, Nurse Finch, let's get Matilda to put the kettle on.'

'I think you should call me Kathy now ...'

'Right, I will ...' Ruby said, and, linking arms, they walked on down the road.

Q&A with the author, Kay Brellend.

Tell us about the real Campbell Road?

The construction of Campbell Road, Islington, began in 1865, on land known as the St Pancras' Seven Sisters Road Estate. The initial properties that appeared were intended for sale or rent to respectable tenants, but unfortunately, building along the street was done piecemeal and took a long time. Over a period of years, the demand fell for houses like those springing up in Campbell Road and poor people, unable to afford to buy or rent a whole house, started taking rooms in the properties. As more undesirables arrived, the rents fell even lower and the clerks and artisans fled to better areas. In 1880 a lodging house was opened at 47 Campbell Road, licensed for 90 men. It was the first of many such establishments in the road and by 1890 Campbell Road had the largest number of doss-house beds for any Islington street. The poorest of the poor continued to colonize the area, and Campbell Road gained the reputation for being the worst street in North London. The Bunk, as the slum came to be nicknamed, had been born, and during its heyday it flourished as a magnet for rogues, prost.i.tutes and vagabonds. In 1937 the name of the road was changed to Whadcoat Street in a vain attempt to dilute its bad reputation. Slum clearance started in 1952 finally putting an end to the street, and in its place was built a council estate. All that now remains of the notorious Bunk is the name Whadcoat Street on a brick wall.

What inspired you to write about it?

My grandmother was born in 1901 and remembered moving into Campbell Road when she was still an infant. Her family lived there in cramped rooms in various dilapidated tenement houses until she was a grown woman. She finally escaped when she married in 1922, but oddly came back to her mother's house in The Bunk to give birth to my mum. My great-grandmother, Matilda, remained in the street for many more years, until her death in a rather mysterious accident during World War II.

I, and my siblings, grew up in Tottenham, North London. We always knew that our maternal grandmother had had a 'hard' life. It was some while before we fully realized, from a book published about Campbell Bunk, how dreadful had been her upbringing in an Islington slum.

In the 1970s/80s a historian, Jerry White, began researching the social history of Campbell Road. He contacted ex-residents of the street and my grandmother was interviewed and her recollections incorporated into his study. On the book's publication, my nan was presented with a copy.

When my beloved mum died we discovered amongst her belongings the Campbell Road book, and some pages of a novel she'd started to write that had been inspired by her mother's wretched early life. My dad wondered whether it would be possible to finish the novel as a tribute to her and my grandmother. I considered it a privilege to take on the task, and The Street was published in 2011, the first in the Campbell Road series.

The characters are so vivid are any of them based on real people?

I never knew my great-grandparents, Matilda and Jack, as they had died before I was born. Jack perished in the Great War, still a young man. However I had heard about Matilda from my mum and nan. I knew she was a hard-drinking bruiser of a woman who earned her living in The Bunk as a rent-collector and as a bookie's runner, amongst other things. I based the character of Matilda Keiver on her, and hope my great-gran would approve of her alter ego. In The Street, and in some of the sequels, the character of Alice is based on my nan, who provided us all with a wonderful insight to her pluck and resilience in the interviews she gave for Jerry White's study on Campbell Bunk.

Where do you get your inspiration for all of the gritty dialogue?

Dare I say it ... from my roots in Tottenham, and from my husband who harks back to the East End. His mother's family came from the Brick Lane area, and his father is from Bethnal Green. I've overheard relatives use some very colourful language and slang! That apart, I tend to be an observer and store away memorable jargon to recycle in my books.

When did you start to write?

When my sons were in infant school I decided to try my hand at writing a novel. My writing career took off to a good start in the early 1980s when a North American publis.h.i.+ng house accepted my first work. The book was a Regency romance and I continued writing in the genre for twenty-five years, both for the American market and for a British publisher, before turning my hand to Sagas. I started work on The Street in 2009 and was delighted when HarperCollins took it on and it became a success two years later.

What books inspired you?

Jerry White's study of The Bunk, incorporating my nan's reminiscences, had a huge influence on my decision to write The Street. It is a wonderfully detailed social history of Campbell Road, from its birth in Victorian times to its demise in 1952. I would recommend it to anybody who has an interest in that particular area of Islington, and hasn't already read it.

Do you think that the disappearance of streets like Campbell Road is a good thing or a bad thing?

Personally, I would give my eye teeth for the opportunity to walk the road that has fascinated me for so long. Campbell Road has become part of me, and in my mind I can see and smell the dank buildings and hear the residents as they go about their daily lives. Practically, of course, the buildings were riddled with decay and many had been abandoned by the time the demolition started in 1952. Clearing the area to provide modern, sanitary housing was no doubt the right thing to do. Campbell Road wasn't meant to be a museum piece; it was of its time. And in its time became both a curse and a blessing for people who were desperate enough to need its shelter.

Despite its reputation for lawlessness and dilapidation, The Bunk could boast a community spirit and camaraderie that united residents in a way that justified its existence.

What do you think helped women like Tilly Keiver and Ruby Potter to get through life?

In a word: women. Wives and mothers provided invaluable support to one another, despite living hand-to-mouth in such a slum. Whatever was needed, whether it was child-minding, the loan of small amounts of food or money, or shelter from an abusive husband or father, the a.s.sistance came from female relatives and neighbours. The pudding basin whip-rounds for the desperately needy were a regular occurrence in Campbell Road; money donated by people struggling to survive themselves.

Will we see Tilly Keiver again?

I certainly hope so. She's far too young and lively to be put to rest!

Want to know how it all started? Read on for a thrilling extract from Kay's first book in the Campbell Road series.

THE STREET.

If you enjoyed this short extract, click here to buy now.

ONE.

'Shut that brat up or I will ... fer good.'

'You don't mean that, Mum. Little 'un's hungry. I've been waiting up for you to come home so's you can feed her. Why do you say horrible things?' The small girl's expression was a mixture of contempt and sorrow as she challenged the woman swaying on her feet. In fact she knew very well why her mother turned mean and brutal: it was due to the amount of Irish whiskey she had tipped down her throat in the hours since she'd left this squalid hovel that was their home.

Tilly Keiver narrowed her gla.s.sy gaze on her daughter. 'You got too much o' what the cat licks its a.r.s.e with, my gel.' The words were slurred but menacing. Unsteadily she shoved herself away from the doorjamb. 'If I weren't dog tired you'd feel the back o' me hand and no mistake about it.' She raised a fist raised to emphasise it was no idle threat. Slowly she let the hand fall so it might aid the other in grappling with the b.u.t.tons on her coat. Irritably she shrugged the garment off and left it where it fell on rag-covered floorboards. Small, careful steps took Tilly on a meandering path towards the iron bedstead. It was the dominant piece of furniture in a room cluttered with odd, dilapidated pieces.

Alice Keiver watched her mother, listening to her swearing beneath her breath as she b.u.mped into a stick-back chair and sent it over. Then her ample hip met the wardrobe. If Tilly felt the hefty contact there was no sign: the volume of cursing remained the same. She was soon within striking distance and Alice shrank back into the armchair. She'd been huddled within its scratchy old embrace for two long hours whilst awaiting her mother's return. Her thin arms tightened about the fretful infant wriggling against her lap. To soothe the hungry baby and quieten her mewling she again stuck the tip of her little finger between tiny lips. Little Lucy pounced on the fruitless comfort and sucked insistently.

Alice knew that once her mother had reached the bed and sunk onto the edge she was unlikely to rouse herself to retaliate, whatever she heard in the way of complaints. Soon that moment arrived.

'You're not tired, you're drunk as usual.' Despite Alice's frail figure her accusation was strong and she lithely sprang to her feet, clutching the precious bundle of her baby sister protectively against her ribs as she paced this way and that.

'Get yerself in the back, 'fore I use this on yer,' her mother slurred, showing her a wobbling fist. But Tilly's chin was already drooping towards her bosom.

Alice made a tentative move forward, and then tottered quickly back as her mother snapped up her head but, as she had correctly a.s.sumed, Tilly made no move to rise from the bed once she'd settled into the comfort of its sagging edge.

'You're a bleeding nuisance, you are. Worse'n all the rest put together. Now git! Let me get meself to bed. Cor, I'm all in.'

Tilly Keiver was a big-boned woman with a florid face topped by reddish-blonde hair. Usually she kept her beautifully thick mane under control: plaited and coiled in a neat bun either side of her head. But a night of roistering with her cronies in the Duke pub, and a painful stumble on the way home, had resulted in her crowning glory resembling a fiery bird's nest. She yanked out two pins from one side of her head and a thick plait uncoiled sinuously onto a shoulder. She left it at that. The other side was forgotten.

After a few quiet minutes Alice thought her mother had dozed off where she slouched. But before she could act, Tilly managed again to rouse herself and, having folded forward, her callused fingers began pulling at her footwear.

Tilly's new boots had been got, against fierce compet.i.tion, just that afternoon from Billy the Totter. Carefully she tried to unlace them but the fancy double bow she'd fas.h.i.+oned when sober got the better of her. In a frenzy of impatience she used toe against heel to squash down the leather and prise them off. The last one freed was tossed from her foot against the wall in a fit of temper. Even in her inebriated state Tilly regretted rough-handling her prized possession. Her frustration resulted in coa.r.s.e cursing that continued as she fumbled with her heavy skirt. She managed to work it to her ankles and shake it away. Done with undressing, she swung her feet up onto the mattress and momentarily lay quiet and still; the only sound from that side of the room was the settling bedsprings.

Alice moved quietly closer to help her mother cover herself. But Tilly's flopping hand had finally located what it sought. After a few attempts she managed to swing the solitary blanket high enough to drift about her body.

'Don't go to sleep yet, Mum. Lucy needs feeding,' Alice pleaded in a whisper. 'And there's no milk left. There was only a drop that'd gone sour and Dad put it in his tea before he went off to work.' She gently shook her mother by the arm to rouse her.

Alice knew her mother was conscious but choosing to ignore her pleas, so now she must wait. In a very short while Tilly would sink so deeply into sleep that she'd hear and feel nothing. Alice gently placed little Lucy on the bed a safe distance from her mother's twitching, and started to tidy the room. She must loiter until she heard her mother snore.

She picked up Tilly's best coat from the floor, shook it, and draped it across the end of the bed. The small-back stick chair had been made even more rickety by rough treatment; nevertheless Alice moved it to neatly join the three still pushed under the table. The precious boots were collected and placed together out of sight beneath the bed. A rumbling sound drew her back, on tiptoe, to her mother.

'Mum?' she tested quietly. There was no response. Even when baby Lucy let out a wail Tilly stirred only to suck in another ragged breath. Alice tested her mother's consciousness again, this time with more volume to her voice. Tilly snored on.

Quickly Alice's nimble fingers unb.u.t.toned her mother's blouse. Deftly she positioned the baby close to a plump breast to nurse. Alice froze stock still, her fingers covering the baby's mouth to stifle her whimpers. One of her mother's hands had fluttered up as though she might swipe them both away, but after a moment, hovering, it fell back to the mattress.

Little Lucy's face had become crumpled and crimson as though she sensed imminent comfort slipping away. But Alice was sure now that her mother was sufficiently stupefied. With furtive care she guided the baby close then s.n.a.t.c.hed away her fingers, allowing the baby to latch on and feed.

She's a good girl in a bad world ...

Lucy Keiver has come back from service in the country to London's notorious Campbell Road. She's there to care for her mum, the forthright and feisty Matilda, recovering after a savage attack almost left her for dead, and is forced to take a job in a seedy nightclub something nice girls just don't do. Meanwhile, for the Finch family up the road, their father Eddie's criminal dealings are about to land them all in hot water, especially his attractive daughters, Kathy and Jennifer.

When Lucy realizes that there is something rotten going on at the heart of the club, she is soon caught up in London's criminal underbelly. Can she trust the handsome stranger who offers her protection? Because when times are tough, some people will do anything to get by ...

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About the Author.

Kay Brellend, the third of six children, was born in North London but now lives in a Victorian farmhouse in Suffolk. Under a pseudonym she has written seventeen historical novels published in England and North America. This is her fifth novel in the Campbell Road series and was inspired by her grandmother's reminiscences about her life in an Islington slum.

Also by Kay Brellend.

The Street.

The Family.

Coronation Day.

The Campbell Road Girls.

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