I Only Came For The Music: 16 - A Glimpse Of Queen Victoria
...When I was small my mother told me the strange, sad story of George and Elizabeth. Elizabeth who was three, died in her sleep on the Sunday morning. In the afternoon five-year-old George suddenly clutched his mother's hand. Then, smiling he pointed toward the open bedroom door. He said that Elizabeth was standing in the doorway, and a man with a kind and beautiful face was holding her by the hand. Later this must have surely been a source of wonder and comfort to his mother, for George died that evening...
Betty McKay tells of her mother's East End background. To read more of Betty's entertaining life story please click on I Only Came For The Music in the menu on this page.
She was born in 1889, in a place called Cherry Garden Pier. I don't know if Cherry Garden Pier still exists. If it does then I hope someone had the imagination and the wherewithall to make it as delightful as its lovely name deserved.
She was christened Ellen Ann but in the family was always referred to as Nell, which is a Victorian name, the era she was born in. The Denton family eventually moved away from Cherry Garden Pier to Bermondsey in the East End.
Nell was one of twelve children. Two of them, George and Elizabeth, died in early childhood, both on the same day, from whooping cough and measles. When I was small my mother told me the strange, sad story of George and Elizabeth. Elizabeth who was three, died in her sleep on the Sunday morning. In the afternoon five-year-old George suddenly clutched his mother's hand. Then, smiling he pointed toward the open bedroom door. He said that Elizabeth was standing in the doorway, and a man with a kind and beautiful face was holding her by the hand. Later this must have surely been a source of wonder and comfort to his mother, for George died that evening.
Edward and Mary-Ellen Denton were a remarkable couple to have successfully raised ten children to adulthood, in that tiny East End house. Grand-father's earnings as a cooper working at Courage's Brewery were meagre. According to my mother her father received between fifteen to twenty shillings a week - not very much money for a family of twelve to live on.
Listening to my mother's reminiscences, despite the poverty, I know that her childhood was truly happy, a time of fulfilment. Jack and Charlie, two of her older brothers, were sailors on merchant ships. They spent long periods away, voyaging at sea, returning home laden with gifts from far away, exciting and exotic places. She talked of places with magical names like Valparaiso and Florianopolis, in South America.
They sailed to China and brought back fans and snuff and perfume in tiny bottles, with pictures painted on the inside with miniature paintbrushes. There was a beautiful stuffed bird of paradise and a tiny blown glass white elephant and, wondrous to behold, a real, live chameleon. This magical lizard changed its colour to whatever it settled upon. Grandfather suggested keeping it in the small greenhouse in the back yard to keep it safe from Tiddles the cat. It became a beautiful green colour and was lost forever amongst the foliage!
Edward, my grandfather may have been very hard-working but I think as a loving, caring father, he would have put many modern fathers to shame. It was obvious to me, from the way my mother talked about her father, that she loved him dearly. Not having very much money, every Saturday evening, she would go with him to Covent Garden market. This was to buy fruit and vegetables, sold off cheaply at the end of the day. Mum called them 'Speckies', because often the older fruit was marked. From Covent Garden they would walk to Smithfield to bargain for the best meat available. Listening to my mother I began to realise why she rejoiced when she found a bargain.
Early one Sunday morning, when she was about six years old, Nell and her father went on a long walk through London. Edward said he would show her where the Queen lived. It was a long way for a little girl.
Finally they reached Buckingham Palace. As they came up to the gates, an open landau passed through them. In it was a little old lady dressed all in black. My mother said she was no more than three feet away from her. The old lady lifted her hand, nodded and smiled. Grandfather bowed and nudged my mother, who gave a curtsey. Then the carriage continued on its way. It was very early and hardly a soul was about.
Grandfather said, "There, Nell, now you can tell everyone that you saw Queen Victoria." I don't think Nell was very impressed, she considered the old queen to be ‘fat and plain’.
Nell saw Queen Alexandra, the wife of Edward the Seventh, and her reply, when I asked if she were very beautiful, was that, although slender and very smart, her face was 'enamelled.'
My mother wasn't a royalist but neither was she a socialist. Like many working class people then, her family were Tory to their backbone. 'Bolshie' was the worst insult she made about anyone.
One story my mother told convinced me that as a small East End child she was certainly streetwise. One summer's day after walking many miles she realised that she was lost. Her small legs and feet ached and she felt hungry. Her parents had impressed upon her that she must never speak to strangers. The only man she was allowed to speak to was a policeman.
She had been told that over every police station door there was a blue lamp. Immediately in front of her were three high steps and a large door and over which hung a blue lamp. Up the steps she struggled, through the door she went and told them her story. They asked her name and address, which she knew, and five-year-old Ellen Ann on the one and only occasion in her life was taken home accompanied by a police escort.
