The Down and Out King - 10

WILLIAM

She said she brought a family up

of children numbering nine,

But now they’d all deserted her,

and left her for to pine;

And sooner than beg from her own,

she’d perish on the floor,

‘Twas a shame she had to end her days

inside the workhouse door.

How amazing! A letter for me, and not writing that I recognize either. I could not stem my curiosity, and opened it immediately upon receiving it - but then I wished afterwards I had been more discreet, because Mrs. Saunders, who delivered it to me, was then very curious as to who it was from and what it was about.

“It is from that woman who came to view the workhouse last month,” I told her. “She says her name is Mrs. Stanley. She and her husband have now taken up the position at the Calne Workhouse. She is asking my advice about preparing porridge with milk and water mixed, as she thinks it will be more nutritious. But she is worried that the cost might be prohibitive and the guardians of her workhouse are not at all anxious for there to be any extra money spent.”

“And what will you tell her, King William?”

I do wish she would not persist in that silly joke of hers. The others have started picking it up too, and it annoys me no end.

“I will have to give it some thought. It all depends on how she might make other savings to compensate for the cost of the milk. I will give it some thought on Sunday, and reply to her then,” I said.

“Do you think we should do the same here?” she asked.

“It had occurred to me, and I suppose we might do it on a trial basis, but perhaps we might let her run her experiment first, and then save ourselves the embarrassment of trying something that doesn’t work, if indeed it turns out that way for her.”

“Very sensible, King William. You will let me know what you tell her, won’t you?”

“Yes, if you like, Mrs. Saunders.”

What a busybody. She is a pleasant enough woman, but wants to know everything about everyone else. She is absolutely obsessed to find out more about Sam’s background but she has had no luck.

I know what I shall suggest when I write back. I will say something about the milk, but I will also include the idea that they have a library for their paupers - so there is better use of their Sunday
time. When I mention it to Mrs. Saunders, she might decide to take up the idea herself - but it won’t seem as if I am asking her for it directly.

We always had treacle on our porridge at home. I think it was a King tradition - as I remember my father doing the same, and probably his father did too. I miss my father. It’s been nearly ten years now since he died, and my bad luck in the grocery business seemed to date from almost the same time. It was almost as if I couldn’t cope with it unless I had his backing and his encouragement. I had my own grocery business in Dorking for at least ten years before he died,
but even so, I relied on his being around and supporting me, much more than I realised. It was only after he died that I knew how much I valued him.

I felt an almost insane jealousy of my two half-brothers. My mother died when I was only five, and my sister Fanny was eight. For the next fifteen years we had Father to ourselves, along with various
nurses and relatives to help bring us up. Then he went and married Ann Williams, and he was so in love with her that we might not have existed for him from then on. Their two sons, George Williams and James Downes arrived quickly after that, and nothing was too much for those two boys. The house was littered with pictures of them. I can’t remember ever seeing a picture of me on display. And then the tragedy of Downes, as we called him, dying when he was only 15. Father was
heartbroken. I wondered if he wished it had been me who died. But I had my own wife and family by then, so should not have been so worried about his not any longer having me as his major focus. And George Williams then became so much more precious, and he came into the grocery business as soon as he was old enough. Father couldn’t praise him highly enough. And now, as rumour has it, he is living in Worcester, but we were never close, so I have not worried about contacting him.

Not long after Downes death, in 1867, my sister Fanny died. I quite liked her husband, Thomas Wood, and their multitude of children. But we saw little of them when she was first married, as they lived in Dorking and we were in Guildford. However, when I moved to Dorking, and could have seen more of them, I never did. I certainly regretted it when Fanny died, and the chance to know her better was taken from me. Thomas Wood is also in the grocery business, although he calls himself a provisions merchant, to make it sound more erudite. We were, of course, in competition when I moved to Dorking, and that was also a reason why I hesitated to spend time with them. He was
successful and I was not, and I didn’t want to see him gloating over the fact. Eliza used to say that I was neurotic and imagined slights when none were intended. I haven’t thought about Eliza for
some time now. It is less painful to forget she ever existed. How I let her down.

I haven’t as yet had replies to my Easter letters of last week to my children. I hadn’t expected a reply, certainly not this soon, so I am not disappointed. Although when Mrs. Saunders came into the
kitchen waving the letter for me in her hand, I was so excited thinking it must be from one of them. But still it is early days. It took me over a year to write to them, why should I not be patient
enough to wait a few weeks for them to reply.