Vol. VI No. 1 - Modernist Magazines Project

THE BERMONDSEY BOOK
them by the score, playing on doorsteps and out on the pavements
and open street. The streets appear full of them, blocking the ways
of grown-ups and giving nightmares to conscientious drivers. They
are mostly unwashed, with scraggy torn clothing and threadbare boots.
But what they lack in apparel they make up for in vigour and boisterousness,
and the boys seem always fighting each other. When they tire
of this, they torment the girls, and run away with their toys, or
bombard them with their peashooters. Sometimes a shrill mother
gives a boy a whack on the ear and the air is full of howling and
triumphant yells from the youngster's opponents. The babies are
sprawled out on the pavements, or lie in the laps of mothers or young
sisters. The latter sometimes wheel their charges away in precarious
looking prams, and place the burden against a wall while they begin
to play a game of "rounders."
During holiday times there are children everywhere. They are
sent out of the house to play wherever they can find room. They use
places like the doorway of a big factory or a little used alley way,
or a flight of stairs leading to an office entrance. There the girls dress
their dolls, or play "schools" with one another. Throughout the day
there is a continuous yelling and hallooing from the noisier boys. They
use their lungs lustily and pierce the air with their shrill clamour. It
is no use denying that they do not make their presence felt.
Nile Street is full of noises, besides those of shrieking boys. There
are the newspaper sellers who cry through the streets from early
morning till dusk. It is a fuller, stronger, more metallic and throated
utterance than the more acute tones of the youngsters. They keep
up their monotonous thick falsetto, overwhelming all other noises in
the neighbourhood. Then there is the cry of the hawkers disposing
of their various wares. Just before dinner-time begins itinerant street
musicians take up their stand outside the big factories. The solo cornet
player gives vent to soulful, sentimental melodies, hoping to pierce
the hearts of susceptible factory girls. Then on occasions the jazz-band
takes up its position and fills the air with rattling, thumping, strident
noises.
Another outstanding set of noises is the shrill piercing yells of
irate mothers calling to their offspring. The notes are designed to
pierce every nook and cranny in the Nile and must cost the performers
much nervous strain. It is often that while one's notice is attracted