The Dockyard Wife

He sat in the Bell & Lantern with

His pipe and with his beer,

The streets were wet on a misty night

With the pub, the only cheer,

He’d only married the month before

To a girl, not half his age,

And laid it out like a written law,

‘You must make a living wage.’

He said that he’d been disabled by

A burst of cannon shot,

Unleashed by one of the Frenchmen

On his sloop, ‘The Camelot’

He said that he’d done his duty by

His country and the King,

So she would have to support them both

By doing anything.

She wondered what he had meant at first

But soon was disabused,

When he ripped open her bodice, saying

‘What you’ve got, you’ll use.

There’s sailors down at the docks each night

Who’ve been at sea too long,

They’ll pay for a bit of comfort, girl,

I want you to be strong.’

He chose the most of her wardrobe and

He threw away her drawers,

He said, ‘Whenever you greet one, you say,

‘What is mine, is yours.’

He chose a long cotton dress, he said

Was much more like a shift,

‘You have to be more than available,

It’s easier to lift.’

He wouldn’t be moved by the tears she shed,

How much she would implore,

His eyes were hard as her feelings bled,

His word would be the law,

He sent her out as the moon rose up

With its faint reflected light,

‘Make sure you bring all the money back

When you’re finished for the night.’

She wandered along dark alleyways

And she saw their shadow shapes,

Standing by darkened buildings, some

With caps and some with capes,

Their eyes would follow her down the lanes

Until just one would shout,

‘Now there’s the prettiest dolly bird,

What are you doing out?’

She’d soon get used to the smell of them,

Tobacco, gin and beer,

They'd come in close for a feel of her,

She’d try to hide her fear,

They’d ask how much for a little touch

She would say a shilling down,

If they were more of a gentleman

She would ask for half a crown.

Most of them took her standing up

With her dress up to her waist,

Or bent her over a barrel, it

Depended all on taste,

She’d work right through to the midnight hour

It depended on the trade,

He’d ask in the Bell & Lantern just

How often she’d been laid.

A good night, often she’d bring a pound

That he’d put down on the bar,

And pay for a round of drinks for mates

And for her, a pot or jar,

She’d blush and sit in the corner while

They’d leer and peer and joke,

The bolder ones would approach him, ask

‘How much for a friendly poke?’

He’d say, ‘She’s my little money box,

It will cost you half a quid,

But you must be nice, she’s sugar and spice

And she’ll tell me what you did.’

Then one might lay his money down, say

I’m feeling like a ride,

While he would laugh at his other half,

‘You can take the girl outside.’

One night when out on the dockyard she

Looked bleakly up at the stars,

And saw the Moon through the mist and gloom

Sitting right next to Mars,

So back at the Bell & Lantern she

Picked up and shattered a glass,

Lunged up, and thrust it into his face,

With Mars in her eyes, at last.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Dear goodness, how your words romped through that evil tale! No gentle history here, no love and garlands of justice but a cold bleak tale in your usual fine meter. The truth of it stings, because in spite of it being penned in fluent 'rhyme', tis cold fact from not only past but happening today in so called modern civilisation! Fine work here, even though dark.

[TPK Stories]

I thought this was going to have a sad ending and was glad when the girl fought back. Good story.

[T.S. Sky]

Always a pleasure to read your work. I'm glad the girl decided to fight back.

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed this tale. You made the characters come alive and entertaining. Always a pleasure to read your work my friend.
Coyote

[Valentine]

Another awful tale of sad truths in the real world. I wish you had made his suffering at the end a bit longer and much more gruesome. Pay the cad back so to say! Valentine

[Tony Jordan]

Gott in Hemmel !! Are you sure he didn't serve on the HMS Pimp-afore?

He deserved every last shard of that beaker, the toe-rag!!
Great piece David - and I bet it happened - at least once. :S

[Leigh]

Love the way you write, it is so fluid and natural