Every night, he brushed down the coat and polished the brass buttons until they gleamed. His job at the telegraph office meant that he was able to buy bread every day and maybe even a bit of beef occasionally. Mum would smile and pat his head when he came home with fresh bread and a small cut of meat.

Harry would always speak up, bragging about how he was now decorating hats rather than just cutting felt. John did not envy him that job, however. It meant spending twelve hours every day but Sunday, bent over the worktable in a crowded room with dim lighting. In addition, Harry had to put up with their father’s constant jibes about the kind of boy who spent his life ‘sticking fucking shiny bits and feathers on hats’.

The old man himself was most often too insensible with the gin to work many days in a week. Mam still went out to do laundry for several families, which helped a bit. All in all, things were somewhat better than they had been,

John was miserable.

Oh, he did not mind the job; in fact, he enjoyed being able to run all over London. Liked ringing the bells at the doors of grand houses in Mayfair and chatting with the young maids who sometimes opened those doors and who were clearly impressed by his uniform. They batted their eyes at him and giggled. Of course, he enjoyed the salary, small as it was and the occasional extra pence or two a stone-faced butler would sometimes give him. And he was not picking up dog shite all day.

So all of that was good.

The full story can be read at So Strong, So Certain, So Lost! After you’ve read the story, leave a comment, mydogwatson would love to hear from you!

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