best to keep out of her way, so I waited until she had let herself in. A few moments later the landlady came home and I went in with her. As I crept up the darkened stairs, hoping to get to bed unnoticed, Louise staggered out on to the landing.
‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ she said. ‘This is not your home.’
I stood motionless.
‘You’re not sleeping here tonight. I’ve had enough of all of you; get out! You and your brother! Let your father take care of you.’
Without hesitation, I turned and went downstairs and out of the house. I was no longer tired; I had got my second wind. I had heard that Father patronized the Queen’s Head pub in the Prince’s Road, about half a mile away, so I made my way in that direction, hoping to find him there. But soon I saw his shadowy figure coming towards me, outlined against the street-lamp.
‘She won’t let me in,’ I whimpered, ‘and I think she’s been drinking.’
As we walked towards the house he also staggered. ‘I’m not sober myself,’ he said.
I tried to reassure him that he was.
‘No, I’m drunk,’ he muttered, remorsefully.
He opened the door of the sitting-room and stood there silent and menacing, looking at Louise. She was standing by the fireplace, holding on to the mantelpiece, swaying.
‘Why didn’t you let him in?’ he said.
She looked at him bewildered, then mumbled: ‘You too can go to hell – all of you!’
Suddenly he picked up a heavy clothes-brush from the sideboard and like a flash threw it violently, the back of it hitting her flat on the side of her face. Her eyes closed, then she collapsed unconscious with a thud to the floor as though she welcomed oblivion.
I was shocked at Father’s action; such violence made me lose respect for him. As to what happened afterwards, my memoryis vague. I believe Sydney came in later and Father saw us both to bed, then left the house.
I learned that Father and Louise had quarrelled that morning because he had left her to spend the day with his brother, Spencer Chaplin, who owned several public houses round and about Lambeth. Being sensitive of her position, Louise disliked visiting the Spencer Chaplins, so Father went alone, and as a revenge Louise spent the day elsewhere.
She loved Father. Even though very young I could see it in her glance the night she stood by the fireplace, bewildered and hurt by his neglect. And I am sure he loved her. I saw many occasions of it. There were times when he was charming and tender and would kiss her good-night before leaving for the theatre. And on a Sunday morning, when he had not been drinking, he would breakfast with us and tell Louise about the vaudeville acts that were working with him, and have us all enthralled. I would watch him like a hawk, absorbing every action. In a playful mood, he once wrapped a towel round his head and chased his little son around the table, saying: ‘I’m King Turkey Rhubarb.’
About eight o’clock in the evening, before departing for the theatre, he would swallow six raw eggs in port wine, rarely eating solid food. That was all that sustained him day after day. He seldom came home, and, if he did, it was to sleep off his drinking.
One day Louise received a visit from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, and she was most indignant about it. They came because the police had reported finding Sydney and me asleep at three o’clock in the morning by a watchman’s fire. It was a night that Louise had shut us both out, and the police had made her open the door and let us in.
A few days later, however, while Father was playing in the provinces, Louise received a letter announcing that Mother had left the asylum. A day or two later the landlady came up and announced that there was a lady at the front door to call for Sydney and Charlie. ‘There’s your mother,’ said Louise. There was a momentary confusion. Then Sydney leaped downstairs into her arms, I following. It was the same
‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ she said. ‘This is not your home.’
I stood motionless.
‘You’re not sleeping here tonight. I’ve had enough of all of you; get out! You and your brother! Let your father take care of you.’
Without hesitation, I turned and went downstairs and out of the house. I was no longer tired; I had got my second wind. I had heard that Father patronized the Queen’s Head pub in the Prince’s Road, about half a mile away, so I made my way in that direction, hoping to find him there. But soon I saw his shadowy figure coming towards me, outlined against the street-lamp.
‘She won’t let me in,’ I whimpered, ‘and I think she’s been drinking.’
As we walked towards the house he also staggered. ‘I’m not sober myself,’ he said.
I tried to reassure him that he was.
‘No, I’m drunk,’ he muttered, remorsefully.
He opened the door of the sitting-room and stood there silent and menacing, looking at Louise. She was standing by the fireplace, holding on to the mantelpiece, swaying.
‘Why didn’t you let him in?’ he said.
She looked at him bewildered, then mumbled: ‘You too can go to hell – all of you!’
Suddenly he picked up a heavy clothes-brush from the sideboard and like a flash threw it violently, the back of it hitting her flat on the side of her face. Her eyes closed, then she collapsed unconscious with a thud to the floor as though she welcomed oblivion.
I was shocked at Father’s action; such violence made me lose respect for him. As to what happened afterwards, my memoryis vague. I believe Sydney came in later and Father saw us both to bed, then left the house.
I learned that Father and Louise had quarrelled that morning because he had left her to spend the day with his brother, Spencer Chaplin, who owned several public houses round and about Lambeth. Being sensitive of her position, Louise disliked visiting the Spencer Chaplins, so Father went alone, and as a revenge Louise spent the day elsewhere.
She loved Father. Even though very young I could see it in her glance the night she stood by the fireplace, bewildered and hurt by his neglect. And I am sure he loved her. I saw many occasions of it. There were times when he was charming and tender and would kiss her good-night before leaving for the theatre. And on a Sunday morning, when he had not been drinking, he would breakfast with us and tell Louise about the vaudeville acts that were working with him, and have us all enthralled. I would watch him like a hawk, absorbing every action. In a playful mood, he once wrapped a towel round his head and chased his little son around the table, saying: ‘I’m King Turkey Rhubarb.’
About eight o’clock in the evening, before departing for the theatre, he would swallow six raw eggs in port wine, rarely eating solid food. That was all that sustained him day after day. He seldom came home, and, if he did, it was to sleep off his drinking.
One day Louise received a visit from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, and she was most indignant about it. They came because the police had reported finding Sydney and me asleep at three o’clock in the morning by a watchman’s fire. It was a night that Louise had shut us both out, and the police had made her open the door and let us in.
A few days later, however, while Father was playing in the provinces, Louise received a letter announcing that Mother had left the asylum. A day or two later the landlady came up and announced that there was a lady at the front door to call for Sydney and Charlie. ‘There’s your mother,’ said Louise. There was a momentary confusion. Then Sydney leaped downstairs into her arms, I following. It was the same
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