Cockney, in his traditional ‘pearly king’ outfit, wheeled his cart off the London train at country railway stations all over England, visiting any town and any occasion he considered worthwhile.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he replied in response to Elizabeth’s query about the day’s significance. ‘This is the most highly significant of days, no doubt about it. I wouldn’tmiss a day like this for quids. The home of the British army! Makes you downright proud, dun’it?’
Elizabeth strongly suspected that Colin never went anywhere unless there was a personal quid in it for him, but she didn’t intend to come from that angle. Colin the Cockney was a symbol. Together with his signature suit of pearly buttons, his hawker’s cart, his jellied eels and pickled periwinkles, Colin gave the day a very special stamp of approval.
A young couple had just purchased a small waxed paper cup of Colin’s jellied eels, and the girl’s nose was screwed up in dubious anticipation as she contemplated the shapeless grey object her boyfriend proffered on the end of a toothpick. She’d never eaten a jellied eel before.
‘Do you mind if we take a photograph?’ Elizabeth asked.
As she’d roamed amongst the crowd conducting her interviews, Elizabeth had made sure Walter stayed religiously by her side, clicking away at every opportunity. It was the standard tack they adopted. Walter was essential for Elizabeth’s credibility. Many people refused to take female journalists seriously, and his presence was proof she was a bona fide member of the press.
The young couple with the jellied eels were certainly impressed. The girl stopped pulling a face, fluffed up her hair and posed, mouth open and ready to engulf the eel.
‘Would you mind, Colin?’
Elizabeth beckoned the Cockney into the shot and he happily joined the young couple. The presence of the press was attracting attention to his cart, and apicture in the local rag was always good for business. Indeed, Colin had appeared in any number of provincial newspapers and was quite a recognisable figure on the county fair circuit.
‘Ooh, it’s tough, isn’t it?’ the young girl said several photographs later when Elizabeth encouraged her to actually eat the eel.
‘What’s it taste like?’ her boyfriend asked.
‘Nothing really.’ She chewed harder. ‘It’s like eating rubber … ergh.’ She looked around for somewhere to spit, but with the photographer nearby decided to swallow instead, nearly gagging as she did so.
Colin rapidly returned to his cart and his customers, wishing the girl would bugger off. It’s a bleedin’ eel, he thought, what did the daft cow expect?
Elizabeth ushered the couple to one side. ‘So how did you feel about the ceremony?’ she asked.
‘Well, it’s who we really are, isn’t it?’ The young man, like his girlfriend, was eager to make an impression and he said all the things he thought the reporter might want to hear. ‘A grand military history … proud to be British …’
Elizabeth jotted down several quotes, which she thought would look apt beside a picture of the couple with the Cockney and his jellied eels, but it was time to move on. She’d explored the civilians’ reaction to the day, now she needed the military point of view. Twenty minutes later, she realised just what an uphill battle she was facing. The hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers now mingling with the crowd seemed to belong to two categories only.
‘Ah yes, good show, wasn’t it,’ said the major, and the colonel, and the others of senior rank whom sheapproached. They posed happily enough for Walter, but the moment she attempted to interview them their manner became patronising and dismissive. ‘Yes, yes, very good show indeed. Excellent turnout all round.’ Then, one by one, they proceeded to ignore her. Elizabeth came to the conclusion that they found her confronting. They felt threatened to be seen publicly taking a female member of the press seriously, she
‘Oh, yeah,’ he replied in response to Elizabeth’s query about the day’s significance. ‘This is the most highly significant of days, no doubt about it. I wouldn’tmiss a day like this for quids. The home of the British army! Makes you downright proud, dun’it?’
Elizabeth strongly suspected that Colin never went anywhere unless there was a personal quid in it for him, but she didn’t intend to come from that angle. Colin the Cockney was a symbol. Together with his signature suit of pearly buttons, his hawker’s cart, his jellied eels and pickled periwinkles, Colin gave the day a very special stamp of approval.
A young couple had just purchased a small waxed paper cup of Colin’s jellied eels, and the girl’s nose was screwed up in dubious anticipation as she contemplated the shapeless grey object her boyfriend proffered on the end of a toothpick. She’d never eaten a jellied eel before.
‘Do you mind if we take a photograph?’ Elizabeth asked.
As she’d roamed amongst the crowd conducting her interviews, Elizabeth had made sure Walter stayed religiously by her side, clicking away at every opportunity. It was the standard tack they adopted. Walter was essential for Elizabeth’s credibility. Many people refused to take female journalists seriously, and his presence was proof she was a bona fide member of the press.
The young couple with the jellied eels were certainly impressed. The girl stopped pulling a face, fluffed up her hair and posed, mouth open and ready to engulf the eel.
‘Would you mind, Colin?’
Elizabeth beckoned the Cockney into the shot and he happily joined the young couple. The presence of the press was attracting attention to his cart, and apicture in the local rag was always good for business. Indeed, Colin had appeared in any number of provincial newspapers and was quite a recognisable figure on the county fair circuit.
‘Ooh, it’s tough, isn’t it?’ the young girl said several photographs later when Elizabeth encouraged her to actually eat the eel.
‘What’s it taste like?’ her boyfriend asked.
‘Nothing really.’ She chewed harder. ‘It’s like eating rubber … ergh.’ She looked around for somewhere to spit, but with the photographer nearby decided to swallow instead, nearly gagging as she did so.
Colin rapidly returned to his cart and his customers, wishing the girl would bugger off. It’s a bleedin’ eel, he thought, what did the daft cow expect?
Elizabeth ushered the couple to one side. ‘So how did you feel about the ceremony?’ she asked.
‘Well, it’s who we really are, isn’t it?’ The young man, like his girlfriend, was eager to make an impression and he said all the things he thought the reporter might want to hear. ‘A grand military history … proud to be British …’
Elizabeth jotted down several quotes, which she thought would look apt beside a picture of the couple with the Cockney and his jellied eels, but it was time to move on. She’d explored the civilians’ reaction to the day, now she needed the military point of view. Twenty minutes later, she realised just what an uphill battle she was facing. The hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers now mingling with the crowd seemed to belong to two categories only.
‘Ah yes, good show, wasn’t it,’ said the major, and the colonel, and the others of senior rank whom sheapproached. They posed happily enough for Walter, but the moment she attempted to interview them their manner became patronising and dismissive. ‘Yes, yes, very good show indeed. Excellent turnout all round.’ Then, one by one, they proceeded to ignore her. Elizabeth came to the conclusion that they found her confronting. They felt threatened to be seen publicly taking a female member of the press seriously, she
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