Back Home: In London with Karl Marx (The Williamson Papers) by Tom Williams

Author:Tom Williams [Williams, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Big Red
Published: 2021-11-27T05:00:00+00:00

I can think of nothing of interest to say about that morning. We visited half-a-dozen shops and passed half-a-dozen sovereigns. Criminal work, like any other sort of work, becomes mechanical and dull. There is an element of risk, of course, but less so than in many other forms of employment. In any case, familiarity soon takes the edge off the danger. There is danger simply being out on the street. After less than a month in London, I had already seen the body of a man crushed by a runaway cart. It happens all the time: the horses are frightened by a sudden noise, a dog playfully nips at their legs, or they slip as the cart pulls downhill and, panicking, gather their legs beneath them and bolt. The crowd gasps, a constable pushes through the mass of people to take charge, a woman sobs – but nobody considers that they would be safer indoors. So it was for Susan and me. As we went about our unlawful business, I saw a pickpocket taken up by a constable and, for a moment, I reflected that we might share his fate, but then we saw a card case in a shop window and moved mechanically into our, by now well-rehearsed, routine.

We took our lunch at the Pantheon, walking through the imposing columns of the Oxford Street entrance like a couple of swells. We had yet to work our business in this place. It called itself a bazaar rather than a department store and, despite its elaborate architecture, I had not realised what a great variety of goods were sold there. Its appearance suggested that it had once been very grand, but it was clearly past its best. Many of the shops catered for children and Susan was captivated by the monkeys gambolling in a pet shop window. While she was thus occupied I looked about and noticed that the variety of businesses operating under this roof provided an ideal opportunity for us to pass off a considerable amount of coin in one afternoon.

Susan’s excitement as the monkeys bounded over to grimace at her through the glass drew me back to the present. I wished I could share her simple delight in small things. For myself, I was appalled at how quickly and completely I had taken to the criminal life, so that where others saw innocent amusement, I saw only the opportunity for deception.

At least I could pause from my felonious labour and enjoy our meal. We made our way to the tea rooms, where a light luncheon (cold ham and tongue with salad) was served while we watched the fish swimming around the fountain that decorated the centre of the place. Despite the background bustle of women – for they were mainly women – coming and going, it was peaceful and, for the first time in a while, I felt I could relax. The lettuce was wilting and the pieces of celery in the salad far from crisp, but my companion pronounced it excellent.

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