The Potato Factory

The four children kept their own counsel. They were reared as orphans and knew when to keep out of the way. Nevertheless, David and Ann did not take easily to Ikey treating them like children and, what's more, in a rude and imperious manner. Ikey failed to grasp this; as a child of eight he had been on the streets selling oranges and lemons and his father had beaten him severely if he held back a single penny earned. Now he demanded only that David give him a half portion of his salary. He expected Ann, who had obtained work as a shop assistant, to hand over her entire wage.

They found Ikey smelly and dirty and, as he seldom addressed them by their names, they had little reason to feel he cared for them. In fact, for the most part, he seemed to forget who they were, frequently referring to the nearest child as, 'You, c'mere!' The two younger children were terrified of him and fled at his approach.

Hannah had taken David aside when Ikey first arrived and carefully explained the reason why he should always appear to side with his father. David immediately understood the future advantage to him so he readily agreed. He capitulated to Ikey's demands for money, and dutifully took Ikey's side in his parents' frequent arguments.

But Ikey was not an easy friend to make, and he considered his son a fool to be exploited and humiliated. The young man's patience was growing increasingly thin. He had never liked Ikey, but now he found that he loathed him. David warned his mother that, whatever the reward, he could not take much more.

Hannah, aware that time was running out, decided to broach the subject of the Whitechapel safe with Ikey. She cooked him a mutton stew well flavoured with rosemary, and followed it with fresh curds. She then joined him at the kitchen table after he had pronounced the meal much to his liking.

'Ikey, it's six months we've been together.' Hannah smiled brightly and spread her hands. 'And,' she sighed, '

'ere we still are!'

Ikey let out a loud burp. 'So?'

'Well, we should begin to, you know, make plans, don't you think?'

'Plan? What plans?'

'The safe?'

Ikey picked at his teeth with the sharp nail of his pinkie, retrieved a tiny morsel of meat, glanced at it briefly, then placed his finger back into his mouth and sucked the sliver from it. 'We can't do nothing until I have a full pardon, my dear. It would be too great a risk if we were to be seen to come into a great fortune while we are both still ticket o' leave lags.'

'We could send David to England. 'E could return with the money and purchase property on the stum and to yer instructions,' Hannah suggested.

'And just 'ow would we send 'im?' Ikey asked, a fair degree of sarcasm in his voice. Then he shrugged. 'We are penniless, my dear, stony broke and without a brass razoo!'

'The cottage in Hobart – we could sell it. That would be sufficient with some to spare.'

'And 'ow do we know we may trust him?' Ikey asked.

'But 'e's our son!' Hannah protested.

'So?'

'E's our own flesh and blood, and a fine young man what we should be proud to call our own!'

'Is that so, my dear? 'E were a boy when 'e went into the orphanage, and 'e came out a man. But what sort of man, eh? We don't know, we ain't been there to watch 'im grow. What sort of boys do you think come from orphanages then? I know boys well, very well! Let me tell you somethin' for nothin', boys what has been in an orphanage are good for bloody nothin' and not to be trusted under any circumstances.'

'David be a lovely boy, Ikey! 'Ard working and most clever with numbers!'

'I don't like 'im, too clever for 'is own good, and there is much of the weasel in 'im.' Ikey paused. 'It be 'is smile, all friendly like, but it comes with eyes 'ard as agate stones. Orphanage boys be all the same, dead sneaky and not to be trusted at all and under no circumstances whatsoever!'

'Well then, what about John or Moses?' Hannah asked. Her two sons in Sydney had always been a part of her contingency plan. 'They could leave from Sydney, nobody'd know, come back, invest the money like ya say they should, and when we gets our pardon it's happily ever after fer us, ain't that right, lovey?'

'Those two useless buggers!' Ikey exploded. 'Soon as we were nicked they scarpered, gorn, back to Sydney! No stickin' around to bring comfort, or to see if you or I could be assigned to them as servants. They simply sells up the shop,' Ikey thumped his chest several times, 'what yours bloody truly bought for ' em in Hobart and buggers off with the money, leaving us to fend for ourselves!'

'That's not fair, Ikey!' Hannah exclaimed. 'They tried to get me assigned, but the magistrate wouldn't 'ave no bar of it. John first, then Moses later, both tried.'

'Bullshit! They didn't try 'ard enough. What about me? They didn't try to get me assigned to them, did they? Not a letter, not a morsel o' concern these six years!'

'Ikey, you was road gang! You couldn't be assigned to nobody now could ya?'

'They could 'ave tried, anyway,' Ikey growled. 'They're no bloody good, spoilt by their mother they was! I wouldn't trust 'em further than I could blow me snot!'

'What then?' Hannah said exasperated. '

'Ow are we gunna get the stuff out o' the peter if we can't trust our own kind to fetch it? You tell me.'

'I got a plan. You give me your set o' numbers and I'll take care of it,' Ikey said morosely, though suddenly his heart started to beat faster.

'What's ya take me for, meshugannah or summink?' Hannah asked, astonished. 'What plan? Let me hear yer plan, Ikey Solomon.'

'I can't tell you, it involves someone what has agreed to co-operate and what must remain a secret.'

'Secret, is it?' Hannah stood up abruptly from the table, her chair scooting off behind her. 'Some person what's secret? You've told some person what's secret 'bout the bloody safe, 'ave ya?' She paused, her nostrils dilating as her temper rose. But when she spoke again her voice, though menacing, remained even. 'It's 'er, ain't it?'

Ikey looked up at his wife in surprise. '

'Er? What do you mean, 'er?'

'It's 'er, it's Mary bloody Abacus, ain't it!' Hannah leaned forward, pressing her palms down flat on the table, her shoulders hunched directly over the seated Ikey.

'Of course not! Whatever gave you such a peculiar notion, my dear?' Ikey tried to keep his voice calm, though Hannah's presence so near to him was unsettling.

Hannah's eyes narrowed and her face, now pulled into a furious expression, almost matched her flame-coloured hair.

'You bastard! Ya want me fuckin' numbers to give to that goyim slut, don't ya? That fuckin' dog's breath was gunna be the one to knap the ding!'

Hannah looked about her for something with which to strike Ikey, and he, sensing it was time to escape, fled from the room and out into the street.

'You bastard, you'll get nuffink from me, ya 'ear!' Hannah screamed after him, shaking her small fist at Ikey's rapidly diminishing back.

Ikey made for the nearest public house, ordered a double brandy and found a corner to himself. He had never been a drinking man and a double of brandy was usually more than enough to put him on his ear. But this time the liquor seemed to act in a benign way, bringing back into focus that glorious time when he was a leading member of London's criminal class. 'Practically the Lord Mayor o' thieves and villains. Prince o' Fences!' he mumbled pitifully to himself. It had a grand ring to it. Though now, on this miserable little island, it all seemed to be spun from the gossamer of an excitable imagination.

As the brandy worked its way through Ikey's bloodstream he began to imagine that it had been another life altogether. A primary existence, lived before this one of endless misery and despair, where his money had bought him respect and the royal title of thieves. Men had touched the brim of their cloth caps and mumbled a respectful greeting as he passed by or stood beside the ratting ring. Now he was reduced to human vermin, dirt, scum, the dregs of society, less even than the crud that clung to the hairy arses of the settlers who had the nerve to call themselves gentlemen.