A London Christmas in 1937

So, as the actual ‘Day’ looms down upon us, and the certainty of another Christmas watching children delve into their huge pile of presents, I wanted to take a little time to imagine the thoughts of someone to whom Christmas still meant something other than thinking of themselves. Take a few minutes to read the story of young Alice Cranton.

Should you ever happen to be in Trafalgar Square in London, then take a few moments, if you will, to examine the fine statues of the lions which guard Nelson’s Column. One of these huge, noble beasts has a little piece missing from his left ear. Victim it seems to some malady or other back in his passed. 

Now, if you can, sit upon this lion’s back and look directly over his head. You will see a road, doubtlessly busy with traffic these days. A short distance up this road, and barely noticeable from where you are now sat, there will be a small alleyway. 

In days long gone by, this alleyway used to be wider and was used far more frequently, (it being a useful short-cut from the grand houses beyond, to the commercial centre of the city.) 

If you were to take the short walk up the road and into the alley, what would you see these days? Well, you would find much the same as you would in any back alley in any city in the world. Cardboard boxes, thrown out by the hotels and shops, the occasional piece of graffiti painted on the wall, making some social comment or other, or maybe just pronouncing the love of one to another in bright spray-paint colour. 

However, in this alley, I’ll wager that sat about half way along on the right, her tired old back resting against the wall, you will find Alice Cranton. In her frail old hands will be a tray, and upon that tray there will be a handful of pegs. Let me tell you a story about Alice Cranton........ 

The tale I wish to tell you took place in that alleyway some 62 years ago, in the Christmas of 1937. Alice will have been a bright-eyed energetic little girl of 9 that year. 

At five - thirty every morning Alice would be dressed and outside, for her father had given her the most important of jobs. She would wrap up best she could manage against the biting cold of the winter and happily skip along the route from their two-roomed home to the rear of the big, expensive houses in Wykeham Place. Once there, she would wait patiently for the morning’s rubbish to be thrown out of those important houses and then she would start to rummage through the refuse, her large pale green eyes searching quickly and efficiently through the discarded items looking for stale bread. 

At home, they never threw bread away; it could be used for a long time after many of these grand people had rejected it. Rich people, Alice thought, were not really as clever as many people imagined they were. She had often peered into the scullery of one of these fine buildings, and watched with amusement as the cook carefully removed the best cuts of bacon and the most succulent looking sausages from the breakfast trays before sending the remaining fayre up to the master’s and mistress’ breakfast tables. No, rich important people weren’t so clever!! 

Alice would spend over an hour carefully searching through the daily rubbish, always remembering to leave the area at least as tidy as it had been before she arrived. Her father had always told her that this was the most important thing to remember when rummaging through the waste of the rich. By seven o’clock, on a good day, Alice would have found maybe five or six pieces of bread. 

She knew that 5 pieces of bread would make 3 bags of breadcrumbs, each which could be sold in Trafalgar Square for a penny. 3 pennies was not at all a bad days work for Alice. 

Each morning, pieces of bread held carefully in her upturned apron, Alice would skip and dance her way to Trafalgar Square by way of the alleyway. She always took that route, mostly for two reasons. 

You see, back in ‘37, the alleyway was a much busier place. Gentlemen in their suits would walk smartly towards their places of work; bowler hats neatly perched on the proud heads and black umbrellas swaying with regimented precision as they marched onwards. These busy men were not Alice’s customers, but along the alleyway all manner of people would be trying to sell their wares to these affluent customers. Rarely did Alice ever see a gentleman stop to buy anything, even indeed to take the time to say good morning to any of the vendors. 

One of these street traders was Alice’s first reason for always walking through the alleyway. His name was Nick, he was a tall rotund man and Alice could only imagine how old he was, his face being almost completely obscured by his long grey whiskers. Nick had the biggest smile imaginable and eyes that seemed to dance. Nick had only started selling his hand-made willow tree pegs that winter and was new to the alley, but he and Alice had got on immediately. Every morning she would gallop up to his spot against the wall of a large shop and wave her little arms in an exaggerated hello. Nick would guffaw and chuckle with glee as his little friend approached and would do a little dance - his burly frame moving surprisingly easily as he hopped from one booted foot to the other. He would then rest back against the warmth of the wall, for on the other side of it was the kitchen of a big hotel. 

“Good morning Miss Alice!” he would bellow. His deep voice echoing strongly around the alley. 

“Good morning Sir,” she would reply, smiling so beautifully that her pretty little face would seemingly light up the entire morning... 

“And just how many bags of breadcrumbs will you be making for those hungry little pigeons today young lady?” he would enquire. 

“Two will be more than enough for my father and I Sir” at this point Alice would always hand over two pieces of stale bread, the best two, and Nick would accept them gratefully but with sadness in his eyes. 

Alice would then continue her journey along the road to where the second reason for her route could be found. In the window of a small toyshop was Gemima, a little rag-doll. It had long red hair and freckles and little sewn-on lips that perpetually smiled. Gemima wore a long, bright yellow pinafore dress with pink flowers on it and Alice loved that doll. 

She knew she had to reach Trafalgar Square as early as she could, so that she could sell her breadcrumbs to the people who wanted to feed the hundreds of pigeons, which gathered there, but Alice always took a moment to stare at Gemima. The little label in the doll’s lap said 4 pennies. Alice could read the price all on her own. Her father had taught her to read. He used to have a good job as the assistant to the assistant of a very important lawyer, and before his illness, he and his daughter had a comfortable life. He had bought her a book, the story of Little Red Riding Hood, and they would read it together in the candlelight before going to bed. 

Alice knew that money was important and so she dutifully put all thoughts of owning that little doll out of her mind. Still, seeing it every morning was a treat she allowed herself. 

She would breathe out a huge sigh and continue on her way, her little skipping dance a little less sprightly from that point onwards. 

Often Alice would have made her breadcrumbs, carefully separated them into equal sized paper bags, which she bought from another trader at 1 penny for 50, and sold her bird-food by midday. 

As requested by her father, she would then go straight home with the money before she could be robbed. 

On the way back through the alley, she would glance fleetingly at Gemima and wave cheerily at Nick, always noticing that his tray of about 40 pegs rarely decreased in number. 

Christmas Eve, her father told her, would be a very busy day and that he was sure that she could find enough bread to make 5 or even 6 bags of breadcrumbs, because the well-off people would have had parties over the preceding week-end. 

As usual her father was correct. Alice found enough bread to make up 6 bags and she was so pleased that she barely noticed the frostbite on her fingertips. The alleyway was quieter than usual, but she smiled a big smile as she saw Nick in his usual spot, warming his back against the wall 

“Good morning Miss Alice, Merry Christmas to you!!” he waved and his eyes beamed with joy as his friend approached. 

“Good morning to you too Sir. And a very Happy Christmas to you and your family!!” 

His smile faded slightly. “My family, little Alice is a large one. I have no sons or daughters, but I am brother to many. Tonight will be a busy night for me. Once I have sold my pegs I have many, many people to visit. Don’t you think that willow pegs would make a fine gift for someone?” 

Alice regarded the old man with utter fondness. “I have some extra bread for you today Sir.” She duly handed Nick all of the bread she had collected. 

The old man accepted the bread with thanks and Alice turned to head home. Her father would be sure to understand, for he was a good man. 

Had she continued her usual walk, Alice would have noticed that Gemima was no longer sat in the toyshop window. 

Christmas Eve night of 1937 was a bitterly cold night. The streets of London were turned white by a flurry of snow. The homeless and poor did not spend a miserable time exposed to the elements however, for each man woman and child who had no-where to live, was given a piece of fresh warm bread and a cup of wild-mushroom soup by a mysterious old man. 

Alice too, when she awoke at her usual hour of 5 o’clock, shivering in the cold and pulling her little blanket around her shoulders, noticed something at the end of her bed. It was a little rag-doll with a bright yellow dress. Its long red hair flowing down its back. 

Alice did not have to sell breadcrumbs that morning, father said no one would be buying and besides, the little shack in which they lived seemed to be full of nice things to eat. Alice had no more idea where all the food came from, than her father had of where the little doll had appeared from. 

Christmas day of 1937 in London was a very happy day. 

When Alice returned to her work on Boxing Day, the alley was full of its normal traders except that Nick was no longer there. She was never to see him again..........

And what, I hear you ask, of Alice today. What became of her that she spends her days sitting in the alley at the spot where Nick used to sell his pegs?

Well, dear reader, fear not. Alice was a clever girl and she went on to do great things. After her father died of his tuberculosis she started writing and became a famous author. Alice owns one of those big important houses in Wykeham place. 

However, each morning, Miss Cranton takes a walk down to that alley and sits against the wall. She can feel the presence of a good old friend when she sits there and she is happy. She knows who he is now. It took her several years to be sure. She knows he can’t be with her in person, for he is a truly busy man. But as she sits there, a little rag-doll concealed within her coat, Alice and Nick talk about the olden days. She even has his old tray of pegs that she found on Boxing Day, many, many years ago. 

Those and the little doll with the sewn-on smile are her most treasured possessions.