Two for Three Farthings by Mary Jane Staples

And she was silent. He tried, but he couldn’t cheer her up or get her to say anything. They kept walking, Orrice with his eyes open on the lookout for coppers on their beat. They sat on doorsteps now and again to rest. Orrice hung on as best as he could to some optimism as they walked and walked. They both felt that everyone who passed them was certain to be going home to a warm kitchen fireside.
    They dodged a copper in Brandon Street when they were thinking of entering Peabody’s Buildings and huddling up together on a landing. Their elusive tactics took them into Larcom Street and to St John’s Church.
    â€˜â€™Ere, we could go in there, Effel,’ whispered Orrice.
    Effel spoke for the first time in an hour. It was gone ten o’clock.
    â€˜It don’t ’ave no beds,’ she said.
    â€˜Well, it’s a church, yer date.’
    â€˜I know that, I ain’t daft,’ said Effel.
    â€˜We could sleep on a pew,’ said Orrice.
    â€˜A’right,’ said Effel tiredly.
    They went in. The darkness of the church seemed to make it like a vast cavern of mystery, black with night. Effel clutched her brother’s hand. Orrice made a decision.
    â€˜Let’s go ’ome, sis. There won’t be no-one there now. We got the alarm clock, we can ’ave it go off at six and creep out before anyone sees us. Come on.’
    Effel accompanied him gladly. She forced her weary legs to make the journey along the Walworth Road. Late trams ran by, and there were some lights in addition to street lamps. They both watched out for coppers, Orrice keeping to himself the worry that Aunt Glad might have locked the front door of the house. Much to his relief she hadn’t. The latchcord was in place, and the door opened when he pulled it. They went in. Their home seemed cold and lifeless, as if no-one belonged to it any more. But their beds were rapturous to them. Orrice first found matches and a candle so that he could set the old alarm clock. Then he looked in on Effel by the light of the candle. She was fast asleep in her bed. She’d taken her boots off, and that was all. She’d slipped into bed with everything else on. Orrice went to his own bed and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.
    He was up the moment the alarm went off. He couldn’t get Effel up. He woke her, but he couldn’t get her to move. The warmth of the bed and its familiarity were something she was reluctant to give up. He went downstairs and put the kettle on. The gas ran out after a minute, and he put a penny in the meter. Then he made a pot of tea, and took a cup up to his sister. There was still a little milk and sugar in the larder. He woke Effel up again, and she greeted the hot tea with instant bliss. He managed to get her out of bed after that and made her wash at the scullery sink, using hot water from the kettle in a bowl, and he had a good wash himself.
    They crept out of the house just before seven, after they’d eaten some of their bread. The morning light was growing, and they hastened up the street to the Walworth Road before anyone saw them.
    They spent the day in and around East Street market. The market offered them scenes and sounds that were comforting and familiar, and it also offered them crowds in which to hide from bobbies. Orrice said they’d best start looking for an empty house in the streets on the other side of the Walworth Road when they’d had some hot Bovril and toast. Effel liked toast. The day was overcast, with a threat of rain and a slightly chilly breeze, and Effel was in need of something hot. Orrice took her to Toni’s Refreshment Rooms at ten o’clock. Toni’s dark eyebrows lifted ferociously when he saw them. Maria cast a smile.
    â€˜You kids, what-a you want this time, eh?’ asked Toni.
    â€˜â€™Ow much is two ’ot Bovrils and two slices of toast?’ asked Orrice.
    â€˜Bovril? Bovril? What-a you think, I run a