{"id":6402,"date":"2020-05-26T11:07:02","date_gmt":"2020-05-26T11:07:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?p=6402"},"modified":"2020-05-26T11:07:02","modified_gmt":"2020-05-26T11:07:02","slug":"mudlarks-and-the-silent-highwayman","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/mudlarks-and-the-silent-highwayman\/","title":{"rendered":"MUDLARKS AND THE SILENT HIGHWAYMAN"},"content":{"rendered":"

Something different now, O best beloved – Victorian life by the Thames, and those who searched the riverbanks to make a living, looking for discarded or abandoned items. With a distinct touch of the supernatural, of course. For it’s our pleasure\u00a0 over the next couple of weeks to take part in the serialisation of Alan M Clark<\/strong>‘s short novella Mudlarks And The Silent Highwayman<\/em>.<\/p>\n

We’ll be posting two segments every two or three days, along with Alan’s extensive range of interior illustrations, created specially for the project – plus the occasional bits of trivia and historical notes.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

A HARD LIFE BY THE THAMES<\/h1>\n

In 1884 London, 12-year-old Albert Gladwyck must decide whether to follow his generous heart or learn to harden it in the harsh world in which he lives. As a River Thames scavenger, he has made the find of a lifetime, a wrecked boat full of goods, washed up on the Isle of Dogs and hidden from view. To save himself and his Mum from severe poverty, he must try to make salvage from the wreck before the other mudlarks find it, before the bully, George Hardly, catches up to him, before illness and death from the poisonous river have a say in the matter.<\/p>\n

This lavishly illustrated novelette gives a glimpse into a time when the pauper child was ubiquitous in the city. It is the fanciful tale about the choices a desperate child might make in such an environment to survive.<\/p>\n

\n
\n

TRIVIA: Some may already know the term \u2018mudlark\u2019 from the 1950 British film <\/em>The Mudlark (which was actually based on a novel written by an American, Theodore Bonnet).<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cA young street urchin (Andrew Ray), half-starved and homeless, finds a cameo containing the likeness of Queen Victoria (Irene Dunne). Not recognizing her, he is told that she is the “mother of all England”. Taking the remark literally, he journeys to Windsor Castle to see her.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen he is caught by the palace guards, the boy is mistakenly thought to be part of an assassination plot against the Queen. Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli (Alec Guinness) realises that the boy is innocent and pleads for him in Parliament, delivering a speech that indirectly criticizes the Queen for withdrawing from public life. The Queen is infuriated by the speech, but she is genuinely moved upon meeting the boy for the first time, and once again enters public life.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\n
\n

\u201cAlan M. Clark has a remarkable ability to evoke the past as a tangible, breathing thing, immersing the reader in times long gone \u2013 and thankfully long gone, for most. In this novella, he combines his keen eye for period with a sense of menace and melancholy which yet bears a glimmer of hope. A moving read.\u201d<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u2014John Linwood Grant, author of A Persistence of Geraniums<\/em> & The Assassin\u2019s Coin<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\n
\n

\"\"<\/a>“Dirty Father Thames\u201d Cartoon from Punch Magazine October, 1848<\/em><\/p>\n

Here’s the poem which accompanied the cartoon:<\/p>\n

Filthy river, filthy river,<\/em><\/span>
\nFoul from London to the Nore,<\/em><\/span>
\nWhat art thou but one vast gutter,<\/em><\/span>
\nOne tremendous common shore?<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

All beside thy sludgy waters,<\/em><\/span>
\nAll beside thy reeking ooze,<\/em><\/span>
\nChristian folks inhale mephitis,<\/em><\/span>
\nWhich thy bubbly bosom brews.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

All her foul abominations<\/em><\/span>
\nInto thee the City throws;<\/em><\/span>
\nThese pollutions, ever churning,<\/em><\/span>
\nTo and fro thy current flows.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

And from thee is brewed our porter –<\/em><\/span>
\nThee, thou gully, puddle, sink!<\/em><\/span>
\nThou, vile cesspool, art the liquor<\/em><\/span>
\nWhence is made the beer we drink!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Thou too hast a conservator,<\/em><\/span>
\nHe who fills the civic chair;<\/em><\/span>
\nWell does he conserve thee, truly,<\/em><\/span>
\nDoes he not, my good Lord Mayor?<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\n
\n

MUDLARKS AND THE SILENT HIGHWAYMAN<\/h1>\n

SEGMENT 1<\/h3>\n

Limehouse and the Isle of Dogs<\/em><\/p>\n

October 30, 1884<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Half-submerged in the murky River Thames, <\/span>twelve-year-old Albert Gladwick struggled to keep the fallen tree limb from getting away. His new friend, Turvey, worked to free<\/span> a long, torn <\/span>length of<\/span> blue linen from the branch\u2019s twiggy clutches. If they could free it, they\u2019d earn perhaps three pence selling the fabric. Hugging the limb under his right arm and leaning forward, digging his toes into the mud and grit of the river bottom, Albert fought the current that was trying to drag the heavy branch<\/span> downstream. Though he did his best to ignore his imagination, he couldn\u2019t help thinking that unseen creatures moved through the water surrounding him.<\/span><\/p>\n

Turvey leapt again and again to break the twigs holding the cloth, his splashing about so vigorous the foul water<\/span>\u2019s faint odor of slops rose up around them. Alberts mother, Chelsey, called that smell a pong. \u201cIt\u2019s the foul breath of the grundylows, what live in the water<\/span>,\u201d she<\/span>\u2019d told him<\/span>. \u201cBubbles rising from the river, that\u2019s their breath. It\u2019s how most illness comes into the world. You see that, move swiftly to get away<\/span>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The insistent current pulled Albert upright, then backwards until he lost his footing on the river bottom. Feeling something brush along his right hip, he cried out and let go.<\/p>\n

Holding onto the fabric, Turvey leaned back, bracing himself to hang on. Albert twisted around and sloshed forward to lend a hand. He hoped the action took him away from whatever might be after him. Before he could assist his friend, the last few twigs holding the cloth broke away and the limb continued moving downstream.<\/p>\n

The water calmer, Albert saw nothing but green-brown light twisting in the current. I don\u2019t believe in Grundylows, he told himself, and turned to the other boy. \u201cYou saved us a mad scramble through the water.\u201d<\/p>\n

Turvey reeled in the sodden linen. His bad eye bulged from its socket as he grinned.<\/p>\n

Albert became aware that the weight of the large canvas sack he routinely carried over his shoulder was missing. Its makeshift strap had been loose. Empty but for a piece of roofing lead he\u2019d found earlier, the sack had surely gone downriver with the branch. Albert cursed his damnable bad luck, then quickly turned away from the thought.<\/p>\n

\u201cA good thing one of us can hold fast,\u201d Turvey said with a scoffing laugh.<\/p>\n

Though they\u2019d known each other a mere two days, Albert had got used to his friend\u2019s jeering remarks. \u201cRight, I can\u2019t keep a grip on much today\u2014lost my sack in the fight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cServes you right.\u201d<\/p>\n

Albert swallowed the insults that collected on his tongue\u2014none of them had been clever enough. A rather earnest child, he wasn<\/span>\u2019t practiced at the good-natured jibes his friend enjoyed. H<\/span>e\u2019d work on that. In the meantime, all he could do was to take the abuse in stride.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBadly stained,\u201d Turvey said, \u201cbut not much rot.\u201d He shook water from the blue fabric, folded it roughly, and placed it in his own collection sack, which was more of a leather bucket with small holes punched in it to allow liquid to flow out.<\/p>\n

The boys slogged their way back to the bank where they\u2019d been sitting when they first spied the cloth in the branch floating by.<\/p>\n

\n

MUDLARKS AND THE SILENT HIGHWAYMAN<\/h1>\n

SEGMENT<\/span> 2<\/span><\/h3>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cSince we both spotted the cloth about the same time,\u201d Albert said, \u201cit\u2019s only fair we share what it earns.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did your best, I suppose,\u201d Turvey said with a smirk.<\/p>\n

Despite the loss of the canvas sack, Albert had enjoyed having the help and the companionship, something he rarely had in scavenging. \u201cWhat if we got the others\u2014all of us scavengers\u2014to search the river together,<\/span> then shared the profits of what we found? We\u2019d do better than we each do alone, guarding our secrets.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Turvey screwed up his face, glared <\/span>at Albert with his one good eye. \u201cStart with that and you\u2019ll see Hardly\u2019s family taking charge,\u201d he said. \u201cOur freedom will be gone. There\u2019ll be those seeking favor and we\u2019ll end up with quotas hard to meet. That\u2019s what the guttersnipes as run with kidsmen suffer. You want to go up against George Hardly, or worse, each day?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

George Hardly caused no end of trouble along the north bank near Limehouse. He was tall for his thirteen years, skeletally thin, yet strong; a cruel boy with a burn scar making a knotty burl out of the cheek on the right side of his face. Stories went about that his father, a tosher and bone grubber, regularly beat him with a leather strap, and had disfigured the boy\u2019s face while in a drunken rage.<\/p>\n

A week earlier, Hardly had snuck up on Albert, <\/span>swept his legs out from under him, kicked him in the gut, and taken a modest find: the half-rotten remains of a mongrel. Unable to get up, Albert had writhed in pain in the sand and gravel. Hardly leaned over him, put his scowling, scarred face too close to Albert<\/span>\u2019s. \u201cWon\u2019t be long,\u201d he growled, \u201cyou want to search this part of the river, you\u2019ll all be working for me. I\u2019ll get a piece of everything you and the others find.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Albert kept a wary eye out to avoid further contact with the bully boy. Just the day before, he\u2019d experienced a withering feeling in his gut\u2014an echo of the pain the older boy had inflicted\u2014as Hardly\u2019s eyes found him from some distance away along the foreshore. Engaged in threatening another boy at the time, the bully hadn\u2019t followed as Albert fled, climbing the bank toward the street.<\/p>\n

Hardly did not own that part of the river yet, but it seemed only a matter of time before he did. He had older brothers who plundered barges in the night and sold the stolen goods through local family people.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Turvey continued, \u201cwe\u2019re better off going our separate ways so the Hardly\u2019s can\u2019t keep up.\u201d He pulled the blue linen cloth from his leather bucket, spread it out, and folded it in half more carefully.<\/p>\n

Albert could see what he meant, and nodded his agreement, yet that must not have been enough.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have some foolish notions,\u201d Turvey said, pulling out a clasp knife.<\/p>\n

Albert stepped back, thinking he\u2019d lost his share of the cloth and his new friend.<\/p>\n

\u201cGoodwill is fine for the well-to-do,\u201d Turvey said. \u201cI need a mate what\u2019s hard enough to defend his own.\u201d He cut the cloth with the knife along the fold, handed one half to Albert, then turned and walked off with the other.<\/p>\n

Dumbfounded, yet relieved their disagreement hadn\u2019t come to blows or worse, Albert watched him go. Then outrage made him call out, \u201cWe\u2019d\u2019ve got more selling it in one piece.\u201d<\/p>\n

Turvey didn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d have done better to insult him more.<\/p>\n

Friends and loyalties were difficult on the banks of the Thames. Mostly boys between the ages of seven and fifteen, the Mudlarks were secretive creatures protecting territories, each a solitary sort of child. Like Albert, they were from families one step away from destitution. All the children he knew did some sort of work to contribute income to their family households. Even the children fortunate enough to go<\/span> to the<\/span> Ragged Schools did some sort of piecework at night. Among such poor children on the river banks, the competition, good-natured or otherwise, was to be expected.<\/span><\/p>\n

I should harden my heart if I want more friends, he thought. The idea seemed to go against an effort to find and keep companions, but he decided he\u2019d have to consider it even so.<\/p>\n

Albert expected he wouldn\u2019t be speaking or spending time with Turvey again for a long while. Already within the year, he\u2019d lost two good friends to fever. A familiar loneliness grew in his breast.<\/p>\n

\n
\n

Segments 3 and 4 follow in a couple of days. You can also see the story unfold daily here:<\/p>\n

https:\/\/ifdpublishing.com\/blog\/f\/mudlarks-and-the-silent-highwayman<\/a><\/p>\n

The entire book, illustrated throughout by Alan, is available now on Amazon, and directly from the publisher through the links below:<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

mudlark ebook – ifd publishing<\/a><\/p>\n

mudlark paperback – ifd publishing<\/a><\/p>\n

\n
\n

Should you care for more than just a touch of the unnatural in the same period, John Linwood Grant’s novel The Assassin’s Coin, featuring the fearful Mr Dry and the psychic Catherine Weatherhead, <\/strong><\/em>unfolds between 1886 and 1888. Alongside Alan Clark’s <\/strong><\/em>The Prostitute’s Price<\/strong>, on the life of Mary Kelly, it tells of the final days of the Whitechapel Murders.\u00a0 The two novels have also been interleaved by the authors to create <\/strong><\/em>13 Miller’s Court<\/strong>. All are available in paperback and ebook.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Something different now, O best beloved – Victorian life by the Thames, and those who searched the riverbanks to make a living, looking for discarded or abandoned items. With a distinct touch of the supernatural, of course. For it’s our pleasure\u00a0 over the next couple of weeks to take part in the serialisation of Alan … Continue reading MUDLARKS AND THE SILENT HIGHWAYMAN<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"iawp_total_views":1,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6402","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\nMUDLARKS AND THE SILENT HIGHWAYMAN - greydogtales<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/mudlarks-and-the-silent-highwayman\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"MUDLARKS AND THE SILENT HIGHWAYMAN - greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Something different now, O best beloved – Victorian life by the Thames, and those who searched the riverbanks to make a living, looking for discarded or abandoned items. 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