The Ballad of Billy Bean, page 1
Contents
Praise for The Ballad of Billy Bean
The Ballad of Billy Bean
Copyright © 2022 Ian Lewis. All rights reserved.
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
HISTORICAL NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Praise for The Ballad of Billy Bean
“Billy Bean’s story is told, like a ballad, via compelling snapshots from his colourful life. Readers will root for this scrappy hero doing whatever it takes to come up in life—even when he doesn’t deserve it.”
- David Michael Slater, author of Sparks
“I particularly liked the sense that you could hear the voices of Billy and Clara—and it is a great setting for a story.”
- Clare West, Joint Action for Herefordshire Libraries
“I like the way the story has two points of view, and Billy isn’t just a goodie. And I like the emotion in the story.”
- Anna, age 10
“I like the way the language sets it in the past and I really like the ending.”
- Edward, age 10
“I couldn’t stop reading! It would work well in a class situation, particularly with questions at the end.”
- Theresa Thomas, teacher
The Ballad of Billy Bean
Ian Lewis
Fitzroy Books
Copyright © 2022 Ian Lewis. All rights reserved.
Published by Fitzroy Books
An imprint of
Regal House Publishing, LLC
Raleigh, NC 27587
All rights reserved
https://fitzroybooks.com
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN -13 (paperback): 9781646032099
ISBN -13 (epub): 9781646032105
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021936000
All efforts were made to determine the copyright holders and obtain their permissions in any circumstance where copyrighted material was used. The publisher apologizes if any errors were made during this process, or if any omissions occurred. If noted, please contact the publisher and all efforts will be made to incorporate permissions in future editions.
Interior and cover design by Lafayette & Greene
Cover images © by C.B. Royal
Regal House Publishing, LLC
https://regalhousepublishing.com
The following is a work of fiction created by the author. All names, individuals, characters, places, items, brands, events, etc. were either the product of the author or were used fictitiously. Any name, place, event, person, brand, or item, current or past, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Regal House Publishing.
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
The Ballad of Billy Bean
1
CHARLIE AIN’T COMING BACK
Billy
“Run, boy! Run!”
Didn’t need telling, did I? Could hear the banging and thundering on the door. Could hear the house waking and its bad-tempered servants. “What’s the matter, now?” they’ll be saying. “Look at the time. Well past midnight. What’s so important it can’t wait?”
Well, I know the answer to that. It’s me. Somebody grassed on us, and I gotta get out quick or I’ll be left holding the baby. Lucky it’s not a real baby, ain’t it? And lucky I’m a real acrobat-type show-off. So I open the window, step onto the sill, and I’m gone quicker than you can say Jack be nimble. I’m down and running like a cat before they even know I’m there. All those years of training in the circus. All those terrible shows in the Winter Gardens in the cold, cold seaside. No one can catch me. Not no one.
Too late for Alf and Ernie, though. They’re old and slow. They’ll be having a longish unplanned holiday now. Pentonville or maybe Brixton, Wormwood Scrubs—only the best prisons, of course…
The old heart’s thumping, though, ain’t it just? I mean, say they caught me, and say I spent five years enjoying His Majesty’s pleasure—well, I’d be old by then. Nearly nineteen by then. Not a boy wonder no more. Right? Who wants a boy wonder that’s old as your granddad?
Best to dodge about a bit, even if you think you got away. Can’t be too careful. So I weave about the streets; I stick in the shadows around the parks, and I keep running. Must be a couple of miles. Now here’s the river. Down the watersteps to the beach.
“Who’s that?”
“S’only me, George. It’s Billy.”
“Running again, Billy?”
“Just a little rest, George.”
So here I am in the quiet and the dark under the bridge. Good for a little rest until the tide comes in.
***
I’m a happy person, really. Mostly. But it’s a bit chill in the early dawning when you just want to turn over and sleep. Time and tide, they say. If I’m not moving in a minute the river will be over my feet. Waterloo. You think it’s called that because of the water? Nah, only joking.
There’s not many people up and about yet. Like I’ve got the streets all to myself. Five o’clock the tower says, and daylight. Summer just about hanging on with the tips of its claws. We’re good for another few weeks before it gets hard out here. Maybe I’ll find something by then.
So I’m off to the Fun Factory. If Mr. Karno takes me on again, that’ll be me sorted for a week or two—maybe more. He won’t ever commit himself, but if you’re lucky things just roll on. Until suddenly you’re out again, like last month. Actually, I’ll be asking Syd. He saw me first. Juggling on the street, making a fool of myself for pennies—and distracting people so they wouldn’t notice their pockets being picked. We did all right out of it, but I like it better on the stage. And it’s safer, most of the time. Except if you get an ugly crowd. You never know why they’re ugly. Sometimes they look sweet as pie and suddenly they turn. Other times they’re all drunk and you’re getting ready to duck the apples and old bits of bread, but they just sit there and laugh like we’re the answer to all their troubles.
Trouble with it being so early is, not even the bakers’ shops are open. Bread still cooking, not ready yet. Oh, wait a minute. What’s that down there? I do believe it’s a baker’s barrow, all being loaded up. So now I walk past as innocent as you please…and I just happens to be passing the barrow while the lad’s going back to get another tray, and I just happens to be a bit clumsy and knock against the handles, and, oh dear, lucky I caught that loaf before it hit the ground. Better move on sharpish, now. What’s that voice I hear behind me?
***
So I’m sitting outside the Fun Factory (it’s just a couple of houses knocked together, down in Camberwell, but we all call it the Fun Factory) and I’m waiting for a bit of life to show, eating my breakfast, when along comes our Clara.
“Hello, Billy,” she says.
“Hello, my darlin’. You working here today?”
She certainly is, she says. Lots of mopping and mending and generally cleaning up after everyone. She’s a little angel, Clara, but a bit difficult sometimes. You know what I mean? You think you’re getting on all right and then suddenly she closes the door on you. Nice looking, though, so you put up with a lot you wouldn’t take from someone ugly.
And here’s Syd, at last. “Hello, Billy,” he says.
“Hello, Mr. Chaplin,” I say, respectful as you please.
“Come along, then, Billy. I think we might have something for you today.”
And that makes my heart glad, I can tell you. I give a little burp.
“Whoops. Must be the bread,” I say.
Well, I haven’t been there very long when I can see that something’s going on. I mean, it’s always a buzzing kind of a place, but there’s more today. Syd and some of the other high-ups rushing around with expressions on their faces. Something has happened, I think to myself. I wonder what it is. But when I open my mouth, all I get is, “Not now, Billy. You just sit there for a while, there’s a good lad.”
Clara finds out first. She doesn’t so much come to tell me as I grab her when she’s rushing past. She’s trying to shake free, but I can be quite strong when I want.
“What’s going on?”
“There’ve been telegrams,” she says, “from America. Charlie and a couple of them others ain’t coming back.”
I whistle and I lean back in my corner. So that’s it. There’s a Karno company working in America with some of the best people in it. If they’re leaving the guv’nor, then there’s going to be trouble. I can see that. But I can smile, too, because it means maybe there’s an opening for someone good like me.
And here’s more trouble. I just happen to look out the window and what do I see but a couple of blue uniforms? Bit of a shock, there. Now, ’course it’s possible they’re joke policemen that belong to the company, but I ain’t going to wait around to find out. I sprints out the back, through the yard, and I’m away down the street.
Trouble is, it’s a respectable area—be
Well, let’s not spin this out. Suffice it to say this is not my lucky day. I get caught.
“I didn’t do nothing,” I say, humble as you please. “I was here all yesterday and all night.” ’Course, they don’t believe me. “Ask Mr. Syd,” I say. So they drag me back to the Fun Factory and call for Syd, and I stand there, whistling to myself, and looking confident like I know they’re going to find out their mistake. And I’m wondering what Syd’s going to do.
He’s a nice guy, Syd, but he’s straight. Well, mostly straight. I heard he had a tough growing up too, so he ain’t no toff. He knows what’s what. And he knows his answer is going to change my life, one way or the other.
“Well, Mr. Chaplin?” says the man in blue—not the tall one, but the little fat one, his moustache all bristling and wobbling like there’s a squirrel trying to get out. “Where was the boy?”
He’s straight in there, old Syd. Not even the tiniest pause.
“Why, he was working here all day yesterday, and he slept here on the floor, because he finished so late,” he says—and he stares the bluebottle straight in the eye.
The bluebottle don’t like it—but he ain’t going to be put off so easy.
“We have information,” he says, “from two apprehended thieves, that there was a boy with them.”
“And did they say it was our Billy here?” asks Syd, still cool as a cucumber. The bluebottle coughs, “Not by name, but—”
“I don’t think there can be a ‘but,’ officer—unless it might be you.” Syd smiles as charming as he can. “Thank you for protecting our lives and our property, but, as I say, Billy Bean here was working for me at the time in question.” And he stares him down until the two of them waddle away.
Then he grabs me by the ear and drags me to the back of the workshop.
“What’s going on, Billy? Keep out of trouble, I said, or we’ll have no more to do with you.”
Well, there’s nothing I can say, is there? So that’s what I do.
“You want to stay with us?” he says after a while. I nod and I look meek and mild as I can. He thinks for a little bit.
“Okay, Billy,” he says. “We’ll send you to America so you’re out of the way. And you’ll keep your hands clean, won’t you?” I nod like it’s going out of fashion. “Because I won’t do this again,” he says. “Next time I’ll let them have you.”
Clara
It’s so long ago. You know, if I shut my eyes I can believe that when I open them, cheeky young Billy will walk through that door. I can see him in front of me like someone you talked to just yesterday. But it’s been nearly eighty years, hasn’t it? There I go again. You don’t want to hear about me, you’re here because of Billy. You want to know about that day—the day when it all started.
Well, Syd turned to me and he said, “And you’ll be going with them, Clara. Somebody has to look after them.”
I thought I hadn’t heard him properly, but I had. I didn’t want to go to America. And I hated Billy Bean. He was a nuisance, Billy was. Right from the first day I met him. He was a little cock of the walk. He grinned a lot and laughed a lot and was so sure that everyone loved him. Well, he annoyed the pants off me.
It was only because I was a girl. They said the lads needed someone to look after them, and I was exactly right because I brought up all my brothers and sisters. You’d think they’d understand that I’d finished with that. I wanted someone to look after me. That’s what I wanted.
It didn’t do any good, though. Before I knew it, I was on a cold wet Liverpool quayside rushing around like a mother hen collecting my little chickadees. And then I heard a shouting and a rumpus behind me, and I turned and there was a commotion in the crowd, and Billy Bean came running. And what makes me most angry is that I wasn’t surprised. In no time he was past me and up the gangway and disappeared aboard the ship. He caught my eye as he ran past—and he grinned. My heart sank. It really did. Down to my boots.
But you can’t just stand around in the rain feeling sorry for yourself. I picked up my bags and went on up the gangway.
And Billy got away with it again, of course. They couldn’t find him once he was on board, and the ship was sailing, so they had to give up.
Not much later, I stood on the deck in the wind and spray, watching the grey old port of Liverpool disappear under the gloomy clouds, all the time wishing myself back in London. Soon I couldn’t see anything at all but the waves below and the occasional seagull above. All around the sky melted into the cloud and I couldn’t tell one from the other. So I drew my shawl around me and went down below. And who should be the first person I saw but our Billy, strolling along the corridor to our cabins.
“What was it this time, Billy?” I snapped. “Somebody’s watch? Or just a loaf of bread?”
He looked upset. “What are you on about, lovely Clara?” he said—as if that would melt my heart. I gave a grunt and walked on past him. What was I going to do with him?
Billy
She don’t like me, our Clara. Thinks I’m rough and stupid. Probably she’s right. But didn’t I have a high old time on that dockside? Well, he deserves it if he don’t look after his watch—what did he expect, leaving it dangling like that? Got what was coming, I say. Don‘t you think?
She’s pretty though, ain’t she just—Clara? Makes this dull old ship a sight more interesting.
So we’re off to Americay seeking our fortunes. Loads of us here, all in the same boat together. Same boat! Geddit? I’ll be on the boards in New York next week sometime, treading my way to fame and fortune. Maybe. And all these other souls? Some of them might even be in the audience, cheering me on.
It ain’t going to be enough, though. I know what Syd’s brother is doing. I seen one or two of those movies—that’s what they call ’em. Moving Pictures. Movies. That’s where the future is, don’t you think? I mean, just look at it. You do a show on a stage, and there’s a few hundred, maybe a thousand people watching. And you do it a few times. And maybe ten thousand people see you. But those movies. They show hundreds of times all over the place. That’s the real business. That’s what you got to be doing. So—don’t tell anyone now, ’cos they’ll find out soon enough—what I’m planning is, I’ll be slipping out of New York and off where Charlie has gone.
Do I know him? Yes, ’course I do. A little bit. We kind of overlapped; did a few shows together, then he went off in the America Company. He was doing all right, though. Good for ’isself, and good for Fred Karno. Until he left, of course. Our Fred was not pleased. Not even a tiny bit. So I got to be careful, ’cos I bet he can do a bit in the way of blacklisting if he wants, can old Fred. Once I’m gone, he won’t let me back again. It’s the movies or nothing for me…
***
Clara’s angry today. Maybe it’s my fault, I dunno. See, it’s a real bore on a ship. There’s nothing to see, and all the passengers moon around like sheep with constipation, and the food ain’t so great, and there’s nowhere to go. So you got to cheer people up a little bit, haven’t you? So I get us five lads together.
“What do we do?” I ask, and they all look stupid, like they wouldn’t even recognise their own faces in a mirror. “I mean, what are we?” But that don’t get nothing from ’em either. “We’re entertainers,” I say, to help them out. And they nod like a group of monkeys.
“So let’s entertain,” I say, “’cos I’m bored out of my skull staring at the water.”
