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500 miles - Fourth Mile

 






And the hell was there, in London, where we moved. To Jack's sister. The hell of poor people like me and Jack.

There was 200,000 more families in the London area than the homes to put them. And, in addition, there was 60,000 single persons living without sinks and stoves.
In seven central London boroughs at least one in ten of all households was overcrowded, That is to say, living more than one and a half people per room...

Do you fancy sharing? I asked Jack.
Sharing with who?
Your sister.
I don't know. Maybe not.
He said well. Fortune is a woman, and it is necessary if you wish to master her, to conquer her by force.
And Jack, my beloved Jack was not that kind of man.

...According to some figures families of certain sizes, at the rate of building in force in London would be 350 years on the housing list before they were offered a house.
Oh, certainly there was a devilish scourge upon that city made out of slimy worms. Far from God's eyes.

But our baby (yes, now we had our little cute baby) had the power to make a place quite different.
And Jack said so too. Well, goodbye to freedom. I didn't mind, though.
Sister's place was a paradise. A kids paradise, where kids have seen rats running around the place, nearly as big as cats. And any time the children have accidents nine out of ten times all the mothers come down and see if they can do anything to help out. And they screamed and yelled.
A damned old place, so old that they wanted pulling down. But in spite of it, you could get plenty of company. And people lived there confined by their chats, loves and hates, fights over the children and their ups and downs. And many people didn't like each other. What is more a few of them were not neighbourly. They always got something to say about you, behind your back.

Jack's sister lived there completely imbued with the same run-down spirit. Was part of it, an active part of it.
But I was young, I was confident, I still believed that Fortune is the ally of patient people.

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