New Intro to Cavendish Mansions
New Intro To Cavendish Mansions
Cavendish Mansions’, thundered the bearded Victorian philanthropist, to the crowds of excited townsfolk, on a bright spring morning about four million years ago. His watery eyes glittering, he cuts the billowing yellow ribbon and throws his top hat in the air. Signalling tumultuous cheering, the flutter of ticker tape and hats of every shape and size flung skyward. Hordes of semi-naked children and ragged men and women, fresh from the Clerkenwell Workhouse, flood into the courtyard. Covering their heads from the falling hats and clutching shiny brass keys they crowd up the various stairwells and into their posh new abodes.
It must have looked pretty smart back then, through the great arched entrance into the courtyard and eight floors of shining red brick Victoriana. Bright white window surrounds on every floor. I wonder what Mr. Bearded Philanthropist would have made of it today. Unspoilt, all original features. Fixtures and fittings untouched by regular maintenance ever since. En-suite toilet off tiny kitchenette, sink and ascot. Mum asleep on her bed in the living room and me in the bedroom. He probably would have approved, unfortunately the rest of the world had moved on somewhat in that time.
Mum was working in a bar in Soho and she didn’t get back till late. She was out for the count. I slipped past her bed and straight into the gas rebate stacked neatly on the table, three cardboard 10ps, a couple of Chinese coins and two pounds fifty. I took thirty pence,four fags from the packet of Player’s Navy Cut and headed out. The landings were open to the elements. The stairs were deadly, completely worn down. Smooth and hard as marble. Only drunks or babies could survive a fall down these.
We lived on the seventh floor. I gazed out over the balcony across the rooftops of my kingdom. Wet and grey, and winter. Down in the courtyard Tiger and my best mate, Andrew Chalk, who everyone knew as Chalky, were kicking around a soggy leather football, to no great avail. Chalky was born on Halloween and I was born on Friday the thirteenth. A right little pair of nightmares wewere too.
Bong! The ball slammed into the enormous metal bins that lined the outside wall. ‘Go on there, Jeoorjie Best!’ ‘Piss off . . . come down and play!’ exhorted a puffing Chalky.
