Confessions of a Tradesman

by Frank Thomas Bullen

The climax for which I had been so long and so ignorantly waiting came in dramatic fashion. Not, of course, as I had expected it to come, for to tell the plain simple truth I had for a long time thought that it would arrive by my falling dead in the street, and I exercised my imagination continually on the possible scenes afterwards. There was nothing much to wonder at in this for I almost always felt at this time as if I was, as the Spaniards say, Gastados, used up, had nothing at all left inside. But on this eventful evening I was working away as usual, "fitting up," in trade terms, at my glass cutting bench, when, without the slightest warning, the whole ceiling of the shop fell down, from wall to wall it tore away in one great mass of rotten plaster, smashing everything in its fall and filling the shop with dust and ruin. An earthquake could not have been more comprehensive as regards the internal fittings of the shop. My blessings upon the loafing scoundrels who slapped that rubbish up against the laths above, entirely careless of what happened as long as it stuck there till they got their money. They did me better service than they ever dreamed of. A big chunk of plaster having hit me on the head I was for a moment dazed and partly suffocated by the dust as well, but I saw my broken lamps flaring up towards the network of tindery laths above, and instinctively I dropped on my hands and knees to grope my way to the gas meter. I got rather badly cut, but I found the meter and turned off the gas, just in time to save the house from catching fire.

I can hear some cynic say, "Silly ass, why didn't he let it catch fire and burn down, he could have made a bit out of it then." Perhaps so, but I was not prepared to make a bit, and I had trained myself in habits of honesty (now don't laugh, for many people do, and I am no great exception) so that my first and only thought at that juncture was to prevent the greater calamity of fire. Groping my way back along the counter, the dust having somewhat subsided I saw my wife, white and trembling, at the door of the shop parlour. On a sudden impulse I laughed loudly. In that instant I saw that the long looked for deliverance had come at last. But she said, "Oh, what's the matter? Are you all right?" meaning was I sane. I answered cheerily, "No doubt about that. I'm all right, and for good or evil I've done with this business. This means a full stop. I can't go on, however much I might want to."

Then I became aware that the outside of the shop was crowded with people who had heard the crash, and with the intense curiosity of a London crowd had accumulated with the idea of seeing what was "up." This sight caused my mirth to subside, for like most Englishmen I hate a crowd, hate to be pried upon, especially at a time like that. We like to fight our troubles alone, or at most with one or two chosen chums. On the platform it is different, the more facing you then the better, but afterwards, half a dozen will make you feel awkward. So I went to the door, and said appealingly, "What do you want?" There was no reply, so with a sigh I went on. "The ceiling of my shop has fallen down and ruined my stock. That's all. There's plenty of trouble, but it's mine, and you people can only add to it by crowding round here." With this I seized my "long arm," a pole with a hook to it, and marching out pulled the shutters down. I daresay a lot of them stood for a long time staring at the shutters, a practice of London crowds that is in curious variance to their usual alertness, but I do not know, for I did not look out again that night.

Having bolted up as securely as if I feared a raid I came back to the parlour, where my wife met me, still with that doubting look in her eyes, and said, "Whatever will you do?" "Do," I replied, "I shall do the only thing that is now possible, I shall go up to Bankruptcy Buildings in the morning and file my petition." "How do you do that?" she queried. "I don't know anything about it, but I can learn, and shall learn I doubt not pretty quick," I answered. "And in any case it doesn't matter much now, for I am absolutely certain that this is what I have been unconsciously waiting for so long." As the matter was not yet quite plain to her I went on to point out the absolutely ruinous condition of the house with respect to the other ceilings, which did not, however, make the place uninhabitable. The shop was quite another matter. For in the first place the bulk of my stock of pictures was smashed, in the next my three costly lamps would require at least £5 spent upon them to put them in working order again, while I could not possibly open the shop again for business in that forlorn and dilapidated condition.

Now the landlord had simply scoffed at the idea of doing anything to the premises in the way of repairs, telling me, with some indignation, what was indeed true, that the house had just been practically rebuilt, although taking no notice of my demur that the work had been so badly done that it had long ago required doing all over again. In addition to all these things I was very near the end of a second quarter in which I had paid no rent, and I should have been diffident, to put it delicately, in any case of approaching the landlord upon the subject of repairs unless I could do so with £20 in my hand.

To say that I had no money wherewith to get these repairs done would be too bold a platitude, for I never had any money that I could call my own, I never spent a penny upon the imperative needs of my family or myself, without a sense of guilt, of dishonesty, because I knew that it rightly belonged to someone else. But perhaps I should not have accepted the fiat of that collapsed ceiling so readily, had I not, metaphorically speaking, been in a state of physical decay, and inviting a coup de grâce. At anyrate I was perfectly satisfied in my own mind that it was a direct interposition of the awful power of Providence in my little ephemeral affairs, and after a few mouthfuls of bread and cheese I went to bed with a lighter heart than I had borne for many a day.

I arose in the morning at daylight, refreshed by my good rest, which in itself was most unusual, but to me is a proof how largely fatigue is induced by worry. My first thought was the ruin below, and as soon as I had drunk my tea, I faced it. Pushing the shutters up and letting the light stream in, I surveyed the scene and saw that it was far more ghastly than I had realised last night. In fact it quite fascinated me, and I stood staring at it for about ten minutes, softly whistling the while, until I suddenly came to myself with a jerk, and commenced to clear up a bit. But it was a painful business because of its obvious hopelessness. Still something had to be done in order to get in and out, and besides I had got so used to work that employment, whether remunerative or not, was an absolute necessity.

Another thing which made this occupation so painful to me was the handling of the broken children of my labours, my picture frames. Every one of them had been a source of pride to me as I finished it, and stood it up to contemplate it; and to see them all mutilated, spoiled, and scattered was to me a most depressing sight. Still, by sheer force of habit, I worked on, and succeeded in getting a sufficient clearance made for present purposes by the time I had to prepare for the office. Not that I intended to do any office work that day, for quite different plans were in my mind.

I reached the office at the usual time, and, without uncovering my table, sought my kindly chief and told him that I was at last compelled to take his often reiterated advice and go to Carey Street (the Bankruptcy Court). Hurriedly I explained the circumstances to him, finding that he was entirely in favour of my action. Then I made out the usual application for a day's leave (to be deducted from my summer vacation), handed it in, and left.