A new story for the new year! This tale has recollections from the Victorian era, yet it’s set in the 20th and 21st centuries. All characters and situations are fictional, and any resemblance to reality is entirely coincidental.
The featured image is of the iron steam ship Great Britain designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel and launched in 1839.
Audio versions: https://anchor.fm/dashboard/episode/e1t7v19
Victorian Darkness Illuminated
Chapter 1
The Voyage
It is said that money can’t buy happiness, but indirectly it has for me. If I hadn’t inherited an unexpected fortune and property from my godmother in the mid-1970s, I would never have crossed paths with Charles and my life would have been so different and, no doubt, far more mundane.
We met on a world cruise in 1977. I had decided to treat myself to a long holiday with my new-found wealth and knew that the months on the high seas would give me the chance to relax and plan my future. I had been working as a proofreader for a publishing company for five years, and while I didn’t want to lose my skills, I was also considering taking on the bookshop which my godmother had left me in her will. It had been her pride and joy as she had helped her parents to make it one of the most popular literary centres of West London. They not only sold books but also arranged talks by authors and organised various associated events. Above the shop was a vacant self-contained flat, which I was intending to make my new home. My godmother, Caroline Read, lifelong friend of my grandmother, had lived there for as long as she could remember, with her parents who had first opened the bookshop, called Read Books. However, soon after her 50th birthday, she had bought herself a very nice bungalow a few minutes’ walk away from the shop, after her parents had retired to the south coast. This bungalow was also now mine, and my parents would soon be moving in, though they had repeatedly refused my rent-free offer, so we were negotiating on that one. I missed my Auntie Caroline immensely and, as we shared a passion for literature, was determined to reopen the bookshop and try to make it a going concern again. The question was should I run it myself, or employ an experienced bookseller?
Charles first came into my life in Calcutta. After the ship was docked for a week in the river port, during which I took a flight to see the Taj Mahal, a new crew took over, and this included an attractive young fair-haired waiter serving me on my first evening back on board. As we got talking, I learned his name was Charles and he was a newly hired member of the catering team. There was a Victorian theme to the voyage, and I had got used to the crew dressed in the attire of the 19th century, treating us to the promised luxury and lifestyle of a Victorian cruise – a theme which appealed to me, Victoria Lister, with my keen interest in that era of British history.
As the days and weeks passed, I got to know Charles quite well and he was a perfect gentleman, although his speech more than hinted at his East End roots. He seemed to be enjoying this Victorian charade and even wore the fashions of the mid-1800s when off-duty, which I thought was carrying his job further than was needed. He was easy to chat to, fun, amusing and intelligent, demonstrating an in-depth knowledge of the era he was representing, which he talked about with almost a mixture of nostalgia and sadness, as if he remembered it. One day he asked me if I would care to accompany him to the Magic Lantern Show, and after a short series of stills, with Charles pointing out streets and areas of East London and laughing uproariously at penny farthing bicycles, a modern-day film was shown. Throughout this he seemed spellbound, saying afterwards that he hadn’t imagined that photographic invention would have gone so far! He really seemed to be carrying his Victorian-themed job to the limit!
By the time we reached San Francisco, Charles and I were firm friends, and during his seven-day shore leave in the Bay City, we did a lot of sight-seeing together, while he still dressed as a character from a Dickens book. A boat trip round Alcatraz and under The Golden Gate Bridge was followed by a meal at a secluded table in one of the many restaurants on Fisherman’s Wharf. Gazing out on to the Pacific Ocean where we had just sailed, Charles revealed that he had spent time in this city twice before, adding that it looked so different, and he certainly didn’t remember the red-painted bridge, so asked me when it was built.
I told him it was some time in the 1930s, and he simply replied, “After my last time here.”
I started to laugh, assuring him that he didn’t need to keep up the pretence of being a Victorian with me, and certainly not when ashore, but he looked at me very seriously and simply said, “This is no pretence.”
Receiving my honest answer that I could keep a secret, he went on to regale me with the story of his life, which left me incredulous yet feeling that it explained all I had found unusual about him.
“I was born on 21st December 1850.”
“When?” I uttered, thinking my hearing was deceiving me.
Charles took a deep breath, then repeated, “Yes, 1850, but please bear with me. I’ll explain.”
I nodded, wondering where all this was going. All of a sudden, it seemed I might have misjudged Charles. Was he having me on, or was he even a conman? I vowed to be wary.
“It is presumed I was born in London, as I was abandoned a few hours afterwards in a street called The Narrow Way in Hackney,” Charles continued. “A young man by the name of Arthur Fishwick stumbled upon me that dark evening on his way to work at the local pub. He took me to the nearby orphanage, where the staff didn’t expect me to last the night. The next day Arthur and his wife, Clara, visited the orphanage and were pleased that I had survived and seemed to be doing well. I was being well-cared for and had been christened Charles Darkness, because I had been found on the shortest day of the year. Arthur and his wife had been married for about six years and had no children. They were disappointed about this so made enquiries about adopting me, and apparently, early in the new year, they became my adoptive parents, while deciding I should keep the name given by the orphanage.”
“This sounds a bit like the Oliver Twist book written by Dickens,” I remarked as he paused for breath.
“Not an unusual occurrence back then,” Charles told me. “So many unwanted, illegitimate babies were born, and I was just one of the many.”
“Did you ever find out who your real parents were, or at least your mother?”
“No, though I have often wondered. But as a child I thought Clara and Arthur were my real parents, and it was only when I was about 12 or 13 that they told me they had adopted me, having found me that dark night. Arthur also revealed the reason I had retained the name Darkness and apparently it was because he didn’t want to inflict the surname Fishwick on an innocent baby!”
Though grinning at this last comment, I could feel tears forming in my eyes, and Charles took my hand saying, “Don’t be sad, Victoria. I was lucky to be adopted by such good people.”
I smiled and nodded, letting him resume his recollections.
“The Fishwicks lived in Hackney, just round the corner from Mare Street.”
“I know that road!” I exclaimed. “My mother’s uncle had a small business there, though he lived a few miles away, just into Essex.”
“That’s good; we already have something in common with our interest in the Victorian era, and now this. Very good news! Anyway, Arthur was making his living as a barman and bookie’s runner, while Clara ran a stall in The Narrow Way selling materials and offering a dressmaking and alterations service, also selling cotton reels, needles and such like. My adoptive parents weren’t rich but managed and were very kind to me, treating me as their own son, ensuring I received an education and never went without a meal. Clara’s sister Rose had three children who were playmates of mine as Rose looked after me so Clara could keep the stall going every afternoon. Rose was married to a carpenter called Jack who worked with his brother and their father, and the extra money Rose earned from Clara was a big help to their growing family.”
I squeezed his hand and asked him to tell me more.
“When I was seven Clara gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl, who took up much of her time, though Rose looked after them as well so the market stall was still a going concern but only during the afternoons. It was then that I began helping out there on Saturday afternoons and after school each weekday, allowing Clara more time at home where she spent most of her evenings on her dressmaking orders.
“After a few months, I began to feel more confident as a market stallholder, with all the patter – which I promise to give you a sample of when we’re alone! – and was also earning extra money as an occasional bookie’s runner, like Dad, helping him to take the bets from local punters. We were working for a couple of the local bookmakers, even though the job of bookie’s runner was totally illegal, but we both managed to avoid the attention of the Peelers. Some of them must have turned a blind eye and one or two even placed bets with us! Unfortunately, very few of the bets placed made money for any of the hopefuls, and I often wondered if they would be able to feed their families come the end of the week. East London was a very poor area, and seeing people in ragged clothes with no shoes and begging for money for food and drink was commonplace.”
I nodded, telling him things had improved so much since those days and he’d be unlikely to recognise Mare Street or the surrounding area. “I would love to take you there once we get back to London after this cruise.”
“That would be perfect!” he said with enthusiasm. “I’m very keen to see the place again and wonder if anywhere will look familiar, though right now I can’t imagine it looking any different from the way it was when I left it.” He paused, obviously thinking back to his early days in and around Mare Street, before continuing his life story. “By the time the twins were 12, they had taken over the stall full-time, and I was beginning to feel surplus to requirements, not that any of the family so much as hinted at it. Nevertheless, I felt it was time I made a life and career for myself, so I joined the merchant navy. This took me away for months at a time, but I always returned home to a warm welcome, with a few gifts for my family from my foreign travels. In the autumn of 1875 my ship reached Calcutta and was due to stay there for a week or more. I took the opportunity, with shipmate Ernie Smith, to see something of the city, but when we got back after one of our sightseeing days, the vessel had set sail, leaving us both stranded.
“That must have been scary. Did the ship set off early?”
“No, Ernie and I arrived late. We got held up in the Calcutta traffic and thought we’d just make it to the gangplank, but we got a nasty shock and it turned out to be later than we thought.”
“What did you do?”
“Luckily, we had been paid so had the money for a bed in a dormitory each night. We then set about looking for work but had no luck getting jobs as crew members. After that we went in and out of the offices on the dockside and Ernie, who was good with arithmetic, was given a job with one of the British companies based there. I wasn’t so fortunate, but that was probably just as well in the end as I met an English gentleman, called Sir Edward Pevensey, in one of the shipping offices and we got talking. Sir Edward was an early archaeologist and anthropologist who must have seen some potential in me, goodness knows how. He took me to a nice restaurant for a meal where we chatted about our lives, and over dessert he asked me if I’d like a job as his assistant, even though it would mean living at the back of beyond. I’d summed up Sir Edward and believed he was genuine. Thankfully, I was right, and anyway his offer was better than nothing, so I agreed.”
“Didn’t you feel you were taking a big risk?”
“Yes, in some ways, but even before the meal, I had gone back to the office where I’d met Sir Edward and asked about him. The manager there was able to confirm that Sir Edward had been completely honest with me, telling me the company shipped his archaeological finds back to England and that they eventually arrived at the British Museum.”
“One of my favourite places,” I told Charles. “I’ll take you there as well. Perhaps you’ll find some of Sir Edward’s artefacts there.”
“And maybe a few of mine?”
“You’ve found some items from the past?”
“Yes, quite a few over the years.”
“How marvellous! But please tell me more.”
“Well, Sir Edward took me to the classy hotel where he was staying. He got me a big room there, paid for ‘slap-up’ meals for us both and bought me a whole new wardrobe of fashionable clothes, a suitcase, books and writing materials before we set off on a long train ride a few days later. That took us into the Himalayas. Somewhere in the middle of the mountain range, we got off the train and Sir Edward hired a guide and five yaks: two for us to ride and three carry our belongings. And so we began a long and arduous journey which ended in a remote area of Asia – very much the back of beyond. There we were greeted by Sir Edward’s wife, Mary, and the villagers who were delighted to see us both. I was given a room in a stone-built one-storey house where my English hosts lived. The villagers inhabited a variety of dwellings dotted around the landscape.”
I was spellbound by all he was telling me, but that was nothing compared to the next bombshell he dropped. As I didn’t want to ruin his flow, I was merely nodding every so often to show I was following the story. In fact, I was so engrossed I realised I had forgotten the meal in front of me so resumed eating as he continued.
“Soon after we arrived,” Charles explained, “Sir Edward told me about the Stream of Longevity. It was like the fabled Fountain of Youth as drinking from and washing in it for 10 years guaranteed a halt in the ageing process, for at least 100 years.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but my mind was a mixture of confusion and disbelief. I had no idea what to say. Eventually, I found the words I wanted to ask.
“So you are actually 126? You’ll be 127 in December?”
“That’s right, incredible though it may seem.”
“Well, you certainly don’t look your age.”
“That’s the idea, and the experiment worked! After 100 years ageing resumes but more slowly than normal, and no further life extension is known to have been gained by taking the waters for more than a decade. Sir Edward and Mary, Lady Pevensey assured me that they were both in their 70s, while looking middle-aged, and it was another 80 to 90 years before they both began to look older and succumb to the ailments of the elderly, passing away within weeks of each other.
“For the first 10 years, I stayed in the village, bathing daily in the waters of the fabled stream, as well as drinking from an area higher than the washing level. My hostess improved my grasp of reading and writing and encouraged me to read the many books, on various subjects, in their home. From 1885, I travelled widely with Sir Edward, on various archaeological projects, writing brief descriptions of the artefacts found. He would take these back to the village where Lady Pevensey, an accomplished artist, drew accurate pictures of the finds and Sir Edward wrote erudite theses which he took, with these finds, to India every few years and despatched them by ship to the British Museum.
“In my century in Asia, I became fluent in the language of the village where we lived, gathered a good general knowledge and learned more about archaeology and history than imaginable. I found I was neither ageing nor ailing, and my memory was as fresh as if events that had happened decades before had occurred the previous week. Ashamed of my speech, which often included the rhyming slang of the East End streets, I asked Sir Edward for elocution lessons, but the learned man refused, telling me that one day I would want to return to England and to my own people and I’d be more quickly accepted by the new generation if I still sounded like a Cockney. Soon after the passing of the Pevenseys I felt totally isolated from fellow English speakers and realised the streets of Hackney were beckoning me, after all this time. I bade a fond farewell to the villagers and set off for India by yak. A few weeks later, I boarded a train for Calcutta and on arrival visited the shipping companies by the docks. After my third enquiry and an interview with the captain, I was lucky enough to be offered a job as a waiter on board his ship – and, Victoria, you know which ship I’m referring to.”
I nodded, fully aware that if Charles hadn’t been offered that job we would never have met.
“I told the captain I had lost my papers, thinking that he would be more suspicious if presented with documents from before the 1950s, but I mentioned I had worked in the merchant navy as a steward. That’s the new name for a cabin boy – I learned that on my travels a couple of decades ago. Anyway, he seemed impressed when I showed him an open letter of recommendation from Sir Edward. Thankfully, this convinced him of my honesty and knowledge of the Victorian era as well as my desire to work my passage back to England. I found out later that the captain was very interested in archaeology, proudly telling me of the time he had met Sir Edward in that very office, when he had signed some documents relating to the transportation to London of some of his finds.”
To further prove his credentials, Charles showed me a very yellowed document which confirmed the registration of baby Charles Darkness (parents unknown) in December 1850, as well as a letter dated 10th September 1869 from the shipping company confirming his employment as a cabin boy. I had also brought with me some archaeological drawings, signed by Mary Pevensey, and a handwritten essay bearing the signature of Edward Pevensey. Charles then handed me some sepia and black-and-white photos taken in various parts of the world, depicting him with a tall, distinguished-looking man whom he proudly told me was Sir Edward. In addition, he produced a cutting from a New York newspaper, dated 12th May 1927, with the article revolving around Sir Edward and his archaeological finds. A picture below carried the caption ‘Sir Edward Pevensey with his assistant, Mr Charles Darkness’. Although I was still a little suspicious, his story and paperwork seemed authentic, but I was determined to look into it all further once back in London. Therefore, I not only continued my friendship with Charles on-board ship but also found myself drawn more to him, and before the cruise liner had docked at Southampton we had declared our love for each other.
© Chasqui Penguin, 2021
Twitter: @ChasquiPenguin
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