Meanwhile in England.

Meanwhile in this small corner of England i’m having a problem with sleep. I try to organize my week around writing for at least part of the day, five days a week – that balanced with as much hard physical work as I can do so as to get me physically tired. My problem is that I often hit the sack with a fizzy head related to all of the things that I think about during the day and it seems to go round and round in a near continuous loop for several hours.

Iv’e come to a temporary pause and hiatus with my writing so I think that what I will do is post one of the next sections of the story and then take a break. This isn’t me trying to copy what Charles Dickens did with some of his stories – publishing them first in serial form. If now I wanted to do that we would still be in in Brittany,France meeting some of the repercussions of my opening piece. Instead i’m going to jump forward to some of the things that are happening in England although only happening in my alternative history of the late 19th/early 20th century.

If there’s a personal inspiration here it’s the stance taken by actual historian A.N Wilson in his vignette style account of events in the Victorian period : he doesn’t like a dry factual account, saying instead that history is, or should be, the stories of the events as seen by people of the time.

The alternative history that forms the basis of my fiction is largely based on something that happened in Hong Kong around 1904 and which led French/Swiss physician Alexander Yersin to put together the explanation of how the Bubonic Plague spreads – this today is why we usually call the bacillus responsible ( Pasteurellis Yersin) Yersina Pestis today. What few people know is that the Plague can come in three forms and what even fewer people know is that there was nearly a global pandemic with some cases occurring in the southwest of mainland USA. All iv’e done, as a starting point is to have Yersina Pestis arrive in two of the grain ports of England (London and Ipswich) and as the Pneumonic form rather than the more widely known Bubonic form.

Anyway – here goes : as I said earlier it’s based on the idea of telling a story as a series of vignettes. What follows is three discrete vignettes from England. Hope you all enjoy it.

The Work Gang.

It was the pitiful crying and then screams of the teenage girl next door that first kept him awake and that eventually caused him to abandon his cold bed and head out into the tail end of a dark night and maybe go on the usual search for work that day. Billy, as he called himself, the son of Irish parents that had come over to England during the bad years of the famine back home in county Sligo. The parents had both tried and failed to find regular work, then any work at all, around the docks of Liverpool where they had landed. Eventually moving across the country to try their luck in London they’d found only grinding hardship, gnawing hunger and the sheer squalor of living out of one room in a house that had been cheaply divided and divided again by a grasping landlord to cram more families into an already tiny space.

By ‘next door’ we really mean the room next to theirs where the sobs and screams carried through the cheap hardboard ‘walls’ : the screams being those of that families teenage daughter who’d had the misfortune to get preyed upon, plied with cheap Gin, essentially raped down some stinking alley and to fall pregnant as many under aged girls did. He only hoped that the family had money to pay for a midwife but he doubted it : a competent midwife being very high status and highly paid – at least when compared to the destitute poor that comprised most of the local population.

The one useful thing about having been brought up around Liverpool is that he’d acquired a noticeable accent and his now long dead father had advised him to call himself by an English sounding name rather than the one he’d landed with : so now he was Billy Kimber rather than Brendan ‘O’ Malley and that had already proved useful when he first joined the early morning queue for hired labor that day at the dock gates. He was doubly lucky in that the gate foreman was also Liverpudlian and quickly pocketed his small offered bribe to get prime place in the line of men desperate for work and what’s more remembered him.

This early morning there was already a crowd of some fifty men so he had little hope of getting a place that day, instead he decided to move on and see what else might be on offer when be noticed the foreman that he knew emerging from a side gate of the dockside complex and starting to walk along the line watching out for members of the east end London gangs or even worse the Brummy gangs that were trying to muscle in on the ‘protection’ payments taken from the would be temporary labor : the foreman he knew hated the gangs with a vengeance and regarded them as little more than chancers and parasites.

Billy joined the back of the line just before the foreman came by occasionally nodding at a man to indicate that that man at least would be in luck that day. He almost walked straight past Billy as he’d almost made his numbers for that day – everyone else would be dismissed – when he stopped at Billy, gave him ‘the nod’ and walked back to the dock gate with his chosen men. It might not be much, in fact all it would guarantee would be 12 hours or more of hard physical labor down in the stinking hold of some rusty steamer : but it was work and that meant that he could buy food for several days and maybe go to bed with a full stomach for once.

Tum-Tum and the Physicians.

What on earth have you been up to ? the king exclaimed. I summon you to a high level meeting and I hear that you’re running around London arresting foreigners ! – anyway whom have you collared this morning eh ?

Sir Edward Henry, London’s very own commissioner for crime and it’s chief of chief policeman felt that his leg was being pulled a little as the king was want to do that when questioning him about some police affair in the capital. Well sir, oh and good morning my lords to Lords Kitchener and Jellicoe : in turn head of the British army and Royal Navy – both having briefed the king on their services part in the developing crisis.

The police commissioner knew many of the physicians now gathered in the king’s drawing room and he knew the military men by sight even if he’d never had to deal with them : both services also had a provost that dealt with policing in the military. Henry was just about to answer the first question when one of the other physicians fired another question at him – ” and how is crime generally in our great city this morning” he asked. There was a general air of jocular good humor in the room although it seemed to have a rather forced and desperate nature : lord kitchener later observed that it was an atmosphere like that of the officers mess on the eve of a battle – and a battle that many would not survive. Sir Henry thought for a few moments while he wondered which thing to bring first to the attention of those present but as protocol demanded he chose to address the king first and answer his question before attempting to impart his stranger and more disturbing observations from his morning’s work.

First, your majesty, I happened to have to arrest a foreign gentleman this morning whom was reported as being in the act of interfering with some of the dead bodies in the reporting constable’s borough. What on earth was the man doing ? retorted the king. Well sir, the man claims that he was moving some outer layers of clothing so that he could closely inspect the skin of the deceased : what the constable reported and the way he reported it I suspected that there was a petty act of pilfering going on – although having given it some thought I now doubt it, he added.

Nothing but a corpse looter then said Kitchener – we used to court martial them shoot them in my day.

Did you get a name from the foreign gentleman asked doctor (sir) James Reid ?

When I got there he had already been arrested by the constable and was being questioned by one of my senior sergeants : name, where he was from and what in gods name was he doing ? usual kind of thing. Anyway, he continued, fella turns out to be Swiss or French, claims that he is a physician, at least in his own country and claims to go by the name of M’sieu Yersin. As to what he was doing he claimed to be inspecting the bodies for signs of the plague of all things : how crazy is that ?

Something seemed to ring a bit of a bell with doctor Reid so he asked the police commissioner if he could describe him.

Indeed so answered Sir Henry : young chap, about 30 years old and I would say quite intense – but that could have been because he’d been manhandled by one of my constables, apparently while committing a petty, although despicable, crime.

I would like to meet him answered doctor Reid, with the king’s permission of course : if it’s the real doctor Yersin then I may recognize him as I met him once at the Pasteur institute several years back – wouldn’t have thought he had changed much !

Yes of course, answered the king – waving his cigar airily – we can deal with this quickly : either he is whom he says he is and maybe learn what he is thinking or perhaps we will just hand him over to field marshal kitchener here whom I suspect would have him up against a wall and shot ! – I am joking of course added the king.

I shall go and fetch him from where I left him to cool his heels a little said the police commisioner.

Really no need, we have servants that can do that for us : where did you leave him may I ask ?, replied the king.

In the servant’s stable tack room with my driver keeping an eye on him in case he tried to scarper.

The king indicated that his footman in the room should go and fetch the man so while that was being done sir Edward thought about his answer to the second question that he had been asked and for this he consulted his notebook as he hadn’t had the time to commit everything to memory.

Before he could even begin to speak though the manservant arrived with the suspected miscreant in tow and the moment they entered the room doctor Reid jumped to his feet and warmly welcomed the man. Ah, the excellent physician Yersin, he began, we met in Paris when you were giving a paper at the institute : heard that you had gone off to China or somewhere in those parts….how are you sir ?. So disarmed by the doctor’s manner that Yersin immmediately went from high dudgeon over being arrested and manhandled out in the east end slums to surprise at having landed in front of the English king and several men that he already knew or knew by reputation : even if that reputation was that of being stuffy and old fashioned.

With a knowing and sardonic smile proved that he had an excellent sense of humor and comic timing by using Yersin’s apparent discomfort to introduce the other men in the room, starting with the king of course but swiftly passing on to the one man that he had already met : ‘I believe you have already met with our excellent commissioner of the London police’ he said.

Just as well that our excellent police commissioner found you first, the king said although with an almost imperceptible wink to his most senior general : had it been one of lord Kitchener’s men that found you interfering with bodies then they would most likely have shot you on sight. Lord Kitchener, quick to catch on with the joke kept, momentarily, a straight face and then added ‘we haven’t started shooting looters yet……but we might’.

Have you already instituted martial law ? asked the young French physician – I hadn’t heard that it was that bad.

The king stated, rather dryly, that he was just pulling the young physicians leg and then added that the police commissioner was just about to brief them all about crimes in the city but before that they should maybe have some tea or something stronger should anyone need it.

Refreshments appeared, not by magic but by the hands and feet of attentive servants, the police commissioner waited until everyone in the room had something – he noted that physician Yersin chose coffee over tea – and then began his brief.

Your majesty, my lords he began. I will start with the east end, the docklands in fact because that was where I was when I took the good doctor into our custody. Firstly the whole borough is unearthly quiet and almost nobody is moving around those streets and lanes : the reason for that is that most of them are dead, in fact iv’e never seen that many bodies in one place and at one time.

I have exclaimed lord Kitchener, although that was forty years ago in the Crimea when I was still a wet behind the ears lieutenant : but please continue Edward.

There’s no obvious crime going on there which is why one of my constables apprehended doctor Yersin, his first thought was that M’sieur Yersin was merely pilfering the dead although I suspect none of them were carrying anything valuable – that being one of the poorest boroughs in the entire city. The crime that is happening, mostly petty, is in the wealthy areas – a few break ins, thefts and some looting although what’s being taken isn’t what we would usually expect.

Please explain further said Reid.

I’m sorry yes, my mind is all over the place this morning.

All those bodies quite literally laying in the streets and we don’t understand why – doctor Reid again.

The police commissioner continued, I got the distinct impression that the upper classes are abandoning their big houses in the city and fleeing to the country. Furthermore it’s as though the middle classes are in a panic and buying up anything and everything that they can : if I may I will recount the small example I have from this mornings little adventure.

The king sighed heavily and, gesticulating with his unlit cigar said : I’m sorry to interrupt but this morning when I summoned my senior ministers none of them were available and then later when my private secretary was inviting the usual people for dinner and some light evening entertainment they had all disappeared to their own places out in the country…..anyway, do carry on and what’s this you are saying about the middle classes in a panic ?

It makes sir, replied the police commissioner : from what iv’e seen and heard this morning then in that anyone has the means to do is abandoning the city and scurrying off to the country – this morning, as an example, we saw that St Pancras and Kings Cross were notably busy with people travelling out of the city and many of those were on the heavy side with large suitcases, trunks and portmanteau’s.

Hmph….interjected field marshall Kitchener : sound just like Paris back in the 60’s when they were in a state of siege from the Prussians : bodies in the streets, nothing in the shops and anyone that could do so getting out of the city any way they could.

You saw that sir ? asked physician Yersin : how did you escape the city yourself.

Simple, retorted Kitchener with a snort : dress up in me best khaki’s and marched straight up to one of the young Prussian officers and addressed the man in English – young fella snaps to attention and salutes me, checks my papers and sends me on my way. All in all, simple if you’re wearing the uniform of a British officer : I was only a captain back then of course but the Prussians recognized that I was in the field uniform of a British officer.

Anyway, M’sieur Yersin I have answered your question : now sir please answer the question on all of our lips – what exactly were you doing studying English corpses in the east end and crucially, what exactly were you looking for – may I ask ?

Physician Yersin thought for a moment and replied that he was in London because he had been sent by his superior at the Institut Pasteur and he was studying corpses because that’s what he had been sent to do – “In short sir to do what I did in Hong Kong, which was to look for signs of Plague”

Plague ! exclaimed one of the English doctors in the room – surely you don’t believe that what we have here is Bubonic Plague ?

I said Plague sir, I didn’t say Bubonic plague retorted Yersin.

But surely it’s basic medicine angrily replied the Englishman : it ain’t the plague because there are no signs – no Buboes, no plague. At least that much is plain fact.

What’s the difference Doctor ? are you now claiming that we have an outbreak of the plague but without the normal physical signs, adding, oh for goodness sake Sir Edward apprehend this idiot and send him back to France – perhaps we should also complain to the French authorities that they kindly keep their beaks out of this affair if this is all they can do.

The institute sent me – Sir – because they believe that the doctors in England are either deeply stupid or totally incompetent, retorted Yersin icily.

There was a moment of complete silence and then everyone (except the king and his senior military men) seemed to be shouting at once. The King waved his unlit cigar for silence and then said , can you give us proof – or at least credible evidence that what you claim has any truth ?

Calming a bit, Physician Yersin replied that yes he could although to do so he would need his own notes and photographic slides and ideally one of his own assistants.

The king thought for a moment and then asked, and are those notes back in Paris at the institute or do you have them right here in London ?…..and if so how soon could you get them here ?

Sir, i’m sorry – I mean your majesty – in France we are rather unfamiliar with using that term, my notes and slides are with me although at the house in north London where I am staying with a medical colleague : about an hour sir, at a brisk walk.

The king turned to one of the manservants in the room – ah, young Jenks I see, prepare a carriage for this man to wherever he needs to go. The king thought for a moment and then, glancing at the handsome clock in the room said, Gentlemen, I invite you all to supper here at Marlborough house and after supper I propose that we hear this young man out and examine his evidence.

There were general nods and thankyou’s except for Yersin himself who explained that, while he had his notes and other materials with him he hadn’t traveled with formal clothes suitable for dining with the English monarch. The king chuckled – i’d lend you a dinner jacket except I don’t think it would fit -patting his ample stomach for emphasis. Tell you what though he added, lots of things my damned useless ministers are keen to tell me I can’t do but I can change protocol for dinner dress at my own house. Here’s what we’ll do – we’ll have an informal supper so we won’t dine in the usual state dining room and I declare that i’d be happy to dine any man this evening in his working clothes – there, hows that sound ?

The Burial Party.

Burial at sea has a kind of romanticism to it and most of the world’s navies have a written procedure for it. Given the choice many old time seamen prefer to be buried in the earth although in the great days of sail and war at sea that wasn’t an option and it was only high ranking officers such as Admiral Nelson that would be transported back to land for a state burial : in Nelson’s case his body was stored in a barrel of spirits to preserve it during the long voyage home.

Today though, in the river Medway, it was much more a case of convenient quick disposal as space was running out in the local graveyards. At sea there would be a prayer a few words perhaps about the deceased and some ceremony, the final part of which is that the body, sewn into it’s own hammock would be tipped over the side with some weight in the form of round shot or whatever could be found already sewn into the simple canvas bag. In the days of the sea fighting Royal Navy, the tradition was that the deceased sailor would be sewn into his own hammock by the sailmaker or bosun and the last act of tipping the body into the deep would be performed by the dead man’s mess mates.

This cold grey morning aboard the hospital ship – a decommissioned warship – the Royal Naval doctor had already been aboard and on briefly examining the line of bodies already laid out on what remained of the once foredeck had declared death and signed his name in the ship’s order book, thus allowing the ‘burial’ to go ahead. Standing around under the slight shelter afforded by the overhang of the built up accommodation space although staying as far from the dead bodies as possible, the small group of orderlies just waited for the duty officer to declare the turn of the tide and that disposal could be completed. The idea was quite simple : if the bodies were put over the side, unweighted, at the height of the tide then they would drift out to sea on the ebb and hopefully sink in deep water rather than being washed up on the Kentish marshes.

In this time of great technological and design change in warships of the Royal Navy a relatively newly built warship might be already obsolete by the time it was launched and completed so after a short time of active duty it might be ‘hulked’ by having it’s weapons, ammunition, rig and machinery all removed and put to use for some other purpose. Thus, some old warships might become depot ships, accommodation ships, wrecking hulks, prison ships or in this case a hospital ship – often referred to as a fever hulk as it was various forms of contagious fevers that saw off many sailors.

Now, with this as yet unrecognized and undiagnosed fever rampant in the Naval dockyard and the main London docklands just to the west the Admiralty had reluctantly allowed those with the fever to be transported down the Thames or across from Chatham to one or other of the hulked accommodation ships or prison ships still moored in the river Medway.

Aboard the old Ajax, now renamed HMS Tribune, the duty officer – Chief Petty Officer Blake stepped through the forrad accomodation door just in time to catch the three orderlies having a crafty smoke before doing their first task of the day. Blake, as usual, was in a foul temper and he particularly hated the men lounging about and smoking while there was work to do. Snatching one of the dowps straight out of one of the orderlies mouth, flicked it over the side to help him see which way the tide was running and satisfied that it was running to the east he barked out the order to start dumping the dead bodies over the side.

The normal routine would now have been to enter the names of the deceased into the ship’s day book and mark them as discharged deceased but now most of the bodies had no identification whatsoever and when brought aboard were too scared and too sick to give a name so were simply recorded as male, female or child and deceased. With that day’s tally, nineteen bodies so far, written up that was his work for the day done until one of the navy launches arrived with yet another fever ridden crowd aboard. He locked the ship’s office from the inside and took his first drink of many with his old service revolver set out and loaded on the desk in front of him. Hours later a single shot rang out aboard the old Ajax and when the orderlies finally managed to break down the door they found the old chief slumped back in his chair with most of what had been his head spattered across the aft bulkhead.

With that cheery image i’m taking a break for a while.