The Verminous Hazards of Research

June 27, 2013 | By | 7 Replies More

I’ve always enjoyed ‘doing research’ especially when my old darling was alive and we travelled together.

Revisiting a favourite town or discovering a new one, reading contemporary newspapers, following leads not knowing where they would take us was a happy occupation.

I liked the uncertainty of it. The surprises.

I’ve been down a coal mine, all over the Tower of London, sailed the Mediterranean and the Caribbean, following Nelson’s trail, and once, when I wasn’t expecting it, I explored one of the old 19th century Wentworth Buildings in the East End.

Author Beryl Kingston

Author Beryl Kingston

The book I was writing was about a love affair between a Jewish boy and an Irish Catholic girl and was set in Whitechapel at the turn of the century. I’d known Club Row and Petticoat Lane since I was a child but I went back to explore the whole place thoroughly, from the sweatshops in Fashion Street to the slums in Wilson Street, wondering what it must have been like to live in one of the new tenements that had been built for the deserving poor.

Then I turned another grubby corner and there it was, huge, solid, strongly built and still clearly labelled Wentworth Buildings. I couldn’t believe my luck.

I thought they’d all been pulled down long since. It was boarded up, ready for demolition and there were signs pasted on the boards telling the world to ‘Keep Out’ and warning that it was ‘Dangerous’ in large red letters.

But I wasn’t going let a little thing like that deter me.

One of the boards had lost several nails. It didn’t take me long to pull it to one side and I was in.

It was a fascinating place, stinkingly dirty and with daunting stone stairs. The original draconian signs instructing the tenants that children were not allowed to play in the inner courtyard and that washing could only be hung out on Mondays were still in faded place on the walls, and the flats were an eye-opener. The front door opened to reveal a WC – what a luxury that would have been after chamber pots – and all the other rooms led out of one another so that no space was wasted on corridors. The living room had a sizeable fireplace and the bedrooms had smaller ones, so providing they could afford the coal the tenants could keep warm. And the kitchen, which was next to the WC, had a copper for the washing, a sink and a cooking range. I drew plans and made notes to my heart’s content. It was a wonderful find.

It was growing dark by the time I emerged and my old darling thought we ought to be getting home so off we went to Victoria.  I was so high and happy I didn’t notice how much I was scratching myself until we pulled out of East Croydon and then I looked down and saw that my legs were covered in small red lumps. I’d been bitten.

‘You’ve caught a flea,’ my old darling said.

‘I’ll bet. Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out the minute we get in.’

Author Beryl Kingston and her husband Roy

Author Beryl Kingston and her husband Roy

Which we did, he running a bath while I stripped off my clothes. I was scratching like a lunatic, leaving red marks all over my arms and legs. It was a wonderful relief to sink into the water, at least the heat soothed the itch.

While my old darling gathered up my clothes and sped off to put them in the washing machine, I ducked my head and held it underwater for as long as I could. If I had caught a flea I was going to drown the horrid thing. When I finally lifted my head I looked at the water around me to see if I could see any sign of it.

It wasn’t a flea. I was sharing my bath with scores of the things, some floating, some swimming, but as far as I could see all horribly alive.

When I’d been wrapped in a towel and the corpses had all been flushed away, my old darling checked me all over from the hair on my head to soles of my feet and pronounced me flea-free.

‘That’ll larn yer to go trespassing,” he said, laughing at me.

It didn’t, of course. But that’s another story.

 

Beryl has been writing for 75 years (she started when she was seven) and has 23 or 24 books published.  Her sales passed the million mark after book 12. She married her darling when she was nineteen and they were together for 53 years, eleven months and six days and were only parted by his death. She has three children, five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren with a fourth on the way.  She enjoys writing and doesn’t count words.

Follow her on twitter @berylkingston or find out more about her on her website www.berylkingston.co.uk.

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Category: About Women Writers, Women, Books, Being a Writer, Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing

Comments (7)

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  1. Old buildings will have their little surprises 🙂 Isn’t it strange how these kinds of events turn to cherished memories with the passing of time?

  2. I SO enjoyed this piece! I identified so strongly with you, Beryl, and understand how the thrill of discovery can consume a writer-researcher to the point that unrelated issues–like an army of fleas–go utterly unnoticed. I once crawled inside a crumbling coke oven–all in the name of research, mind you–never noticing that the back of the thing was buckled to the point of near-collapse. (I got a spirited scolding from my husband when he saw my photos.) I can just see you exploring that old ruin, gleefully scribbling notes, completely impervious to the insects, equally gleeful, exploring their unexpected, but most welcome new habitat–your clothing. Oh yes, the outcome was temporarily unpleasant, but you lived to tell us the tale–thank you!–and I suspect you’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. What are a few bites, compared to the amazing information you were able to gather?

  3. Gill Paul says:

    What a wonderful memory! It’s the little details like the signs saying children weren’t allowed to play in the courtyard and washing could only be hung out on Mondays that give historical fiction their authenticity. I love that glimpse into the lives of the previous tenants. Do you try to visit the locations of all your books? Do you take photographs and notes?

    And I wonder if you ever found out what those little creatures were?… I shudder to think!

    • Hi there Gill,

      Yes, I visit all the locations, several times during the year while I’m writing the book so that I can get to know it in all seasons. Lots of photographs and notes.

      And the creatures were fleas. They were probably left behind by a vagrant and hatched out and jumped on me when they smelt dinner.

  4. Anne Mackle says:

    Why am I not surprised this happened to you Beryl? I can see your old darling shaking his head at you. How wonderful to be able to draw a p,an of the building for your book,you struck gold there,but those fleas are making me itch.

  5. Thank you for leaving a comment, Tana. Walls fairly roar at me sometimes. The Tower of London was humming with stories.
    And what a lovely thing to say about me and the Old Darling. We had a good life and it’s lovely to know it comes across.
    Do keep in touch.

  6. Tana Bevan says:

    How fascinating to have been able to step back in time!

    Having heard the expression “If the walls could talk, what stories they would tell,” Do you think while exploring the Wentworth Building you tapped into any talking walls? Even if the walls chose to remain silent, I would imagine simply being there stoked your imagination until it ignited. What a wonderful adventure.

    As for the fleas, well it sounds as though that wasn’t too steep of an admission price.

    Thank you for sharing a wonderful memory with your “Old Darling.” The love, excitement, and vibrancy you two shared comes across loud and clear in the photo.

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