The Magic Of The Pearl

I’m sitting in an old armchair in the front room of 246 Bromley Street with a cup of tea in one hand and a rich tea biscuit in the other. It’s my dad’s house and he told me to wait while he goes upstairs and gets something. He said he’d be down in a minute. That was almost half an hour ago. But he’s my dad and he can take as long as he likes. Let me tell you about my old man.

My dad’s got a face that would look good upon a coin. That’s because he’s a King. Which I suppose makes me, what, a prince? Never really thought about it before, but I suppose I’m royalty and one day I’ll be King. Mum was Queen until she passed away a few years back. Only seventy two, fighting fit one minute, gone the next. Dropped dead in Asda, just by the cooked meats counter. Massive heart attack. That was seven years ago. Dad’ll be eighty tomorrow, but still does his duties, bless him. He raised over half a million quid last year for various charities.

Dad’s fourth generation of the original King. His great grandfather was Henry Croft.

Dad tells a fabulous story about Henry. Says he started out with nothing. Born in a workhouse, raised in an orphanage and at fourteen became a road sweeper in Somers Town. Mention that place to most Londoners today and they haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. It’s actually an area behind Euston and St Pancras Stations, now part of trendy Camden.

So one day while Henry was sweeping the streets, he found a button made of mother of pearl. They were quite common at the time and mass produced in the area for the upper classes. So my great great granddad decided to keep it and sow it onto his overalls. He did this every time he found one. Pretty soon his work clothes were covered in them. One day a group of gents saw him coming towards them with his broom and his coat covered in shiny buttons and laughingly said that he must be the king of the road sweepers.  One of them added that maybe he was their “Pearly King”. And that was it. From then on he was known as the Pearly King of Somers Town. That was way back sometime in the 1870’s.

He lived till he was sixty eight and during his time on this earth he met King Edward V11 and Queen Alexander, was presented with over two thousand medals, one even from The Lord Mayor Of London, and raised thousands of pounds for various charities.

When he died the funeral cortege stretched for half a mile and included marching bands, pipers, minstrels and 400 Pearly Kings and Queens from all parts of London. There’s even a life sized statue of the old boy near Trafalgar Square. All this from nothing.

That, as my dad would say, is “The Magic Of The Pearl.”

You see, my dad’s the Pearly King of Stepney. Which is a pretty big deal amongst the Pearlies.

What most people don’t realise is that there’s a hierarchy in the Pearlie world. It’s a closely guarded secret but my dad’s top of the tree! So when he asked me to come and see him today, how could I resist? I mean, when you’re summoned by a King you just HAVE to attend. And, by the sound of those footsteps in the hallway he’s about to return.

“All right son?”

“Yeh dad. So what did you have to go and get that was so important?”

“Hold your orses, let me sit meself down an I’ll tell ya.”

“You take your time. Make yourself comfy. Right, all settled? Now you can tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay, I’m old son. Eighty tomorrow and I think it’s time for me to hang up me smother. You’ll be the one to take over of course. You being me only flesh and blood. So I need to tell you a few things about the Pearlies.”

“I’ve been expecting it dad. One day I knew I’d have to take over, but why now? I know you’re eighty but you’re still active, why not keep going?”

“Because I’m beginning to lose the power and when you lose the power you lose the magic.”

“Sorry dad, I don’t follow. What power? What magic?”

“The magic of the pearl son. The magic of the pearl.”

TBC.