Bleamy's Corner

By Tobias Garrett

The Bleamy family, three strong-willed Scots, are forced to leave their drought-besieged farm for London in 1802. Twelve-year-old Jeremy Bleamy soon loses both parents—his father to consumption and his mother, who jumps from London Bridge in her grief. Now an evicted orphan with less rights than a stray dog, he sets up shelter in a corner between two buildings with all he has left in the world—his parents kitchen table and a few assorted belongings. Lonely, cold, hungry, but too proud to accept charity, he works dangerous jobs to stay alive. He is also constantly threatened by orphan hunters who steal young boys and sell them to factories, as nothing more than slaves. With only his brains and unshakable resolve to help him, Jeremy is caught up in a struggle for his life at a time when the lives of orphans were of no consequence…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Opal Books
• Release date: Sep 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781644370100

Tobias Garrett

Tobias Garrett knows firsthand how ugly situations become for a individual living in poverty with no sense of direction or no formal education background. After Tobias become incarceration he worked diligently to achieve a higher education to obtain empowerment, and extend his hand back to others. Every opportunity presented itself he converse with male and female lecturing to them the significant behind obtaining a education. Furthermore he explain to them without a formal education you will remain impotent. Today that same young man who once was lost, has been reborn again with the help and support from Yah, his brothers of the struggle and last, but not least his mother Irene who he adore. He have lived the street and though not unscathed, he survived, and in an attempt to attone for his wrongs, to give back to his community, and to help parents navigate the parental mistakes that caused him to become susceptible to the streets, he has compiled the solutions within the papers of this book.

Book preview

The Bleamy family, three strong-willed Scots, are forced to leave their drought-besieged farm for London in 1802. Twelve-year-old Jeremy Bleamy soon loses both parents--his father to consumption and his mother, who jumps from London Bridge in her grief. Now an evicted orphan with less rights than a stray dog, he sets up shelter in a corner between two buildings with all he has left in the world--his parents kitchen table and a few assorted belongings. Lonely, cold, hungry, but too proud to accept charity, he works dangerous jobs to stay alive. He is also constantly threatened by orphan hunters who steal young boys and sell them to factories, as nothing more than slaves. With only his brains and unshakable resolve to help him, Jeremy is caught up in a struggle for his life at a time when the lives of orphans were of no consequence...

KUDOS FOR BLEAMY’S CORNER

In Bleamy’s Corner by Tobias Garrett, Jeremy Bleamy is orphaned at twelve years old in London in 1802. Since orphans have less rights than stray dogs and Jeremy has no family to turn to, he is constantly in danger of being stolen by orphan hunters and sold into slavery. Then there are the rival gangs with rules that Jeremy, who is certainly not streetwise, violates without knowing it. Struggling to stay alive, he has to take dangerous jobs while avoiding the cruel and unscrupulous adults who would love to hurt and/or eliminate him. It’s a very hard life for anyone not born into money, but especially for one so young and vulnerable. Well written, fast paced, and intense, the story has a ring of truth rare in historical fiction. A great read. ~ Taylor Jones, The Review Team of Taylor Jones & Regan Murphy

Bleamy’s Corner by Tobias Garrett is the story of a twelve-year-old boy in London in 1802. Jeremy Bleamy and his parents move to London from Scotland when their farm fails due to the drought. Jeremy’s father promises him a better life, but it is not to be. His father soon succumbs to typhoid and dies. His mother also gets typhoid and, in her grief over losing his father, she commits suicide, leaving Jeremy to fend for himself. She leaves Jeremy a note, telling him to go home to his grandparents who will be glad to take him in. However, when Jeremy writes to his grandparents, he learns that his grandfather has also died, and his grandmother is forced to move in with her sister. There is no room for Jeremy. So he is forced to find his own way in life, taking dangerous jobs, dodging orphan hunters, and dealing with cruel adults with no scruples and even less concern for innocent and vulnerable children. While the main character is only twelve, this coming-of-age story is not only for young adults. It gives us a window into the past when life was not only hard, it was deadly. Well written and authentic, Bleamy’s Corner is a book for young and old alike. A worthy effort from this new author. ~ Regan Murphy, The Review Team of Taylor Jones & Regan Murphy

Bleamy’s Corner

Tobias Garrett

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright © 2018 by Tobias Garrett

Cover Design by Willow Smith

All cover art copyright © 2018

All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-644370-10-0

EXCERPT

I had just lost my father, and now this...

My mother came to me and kissed me softly on my forehead. Her first affection since my father’s death. I drifted into my best sleep in weeks. But just before dawn, a strange silence woke me. Something was wrong. I could not place my mind upon it, and it itched at me. When my mother kissed me, a tear had fallen upon my cheek. I could still feel the spot where the salt tightened my skin. I arose and looked about the two rooms of our flat. She was not there. Why would she leave in the middle of the night? I put on my wool coat, shoes, knitted hat and hurried out to look for her.

The moon shone hazily through the snowfall, creating a large and saintly halo. The creeping morning tinted the horizon odd shades of red. At the front steps of our building lay a set of fresh and lonely footprints, barely filled with new snow. Stepping into them, my foot fit perfectly. My mother and I shared the same size shoes. My stomach felt sickly as I followed the tracks down Tooley Street--there was not a soul in sight. I had never, in my two months in the city, seen London Bridge so empty. Nothing stirred in any direction. It was as if the world had quietly come to an end, and I, Jeremy Bleamy, was the only person left.

DEDICATION

For my mother, Betty Garrett, who when I first started writing told me to keep my day job. But as I wrote more, and she helped me correct my work, she became keen to the idea that I could be an author.

Chapter 1

Cold Beginnings

Happiness is hard to hold on to.

Baldrich Bleamy, my father, lay bedridden with typhus. The weather was horribly cold this November, 1802, a week before my twelfth birthday. Only a month had passed since our family journeyed from our failed farm in Kilmarnock, Scotland, to London, the City of Hope.

I had never heard of such a sickness, but mother said it was common and came from bad air, with which the crowded city was filled. It began with heavy coughing. Then came the fever.

Mother kept me away from him as best she could. Jeremy, let your father rest. Please don’t get so close to him. We cannot have you fall ill, too.

It was an awful way to wait for death. Slowly, painfully, he left this world the day before Christmas. It crushed everything I believed in to watch my father leave me. If it killed a strong person such as my father, what chance had I?

My mother began to cry most of the time. His death not only broke her heart, but stole her will to carry on. She stopped talking, eating, and sleeping. Then, as if the world was not mean enough, she too began to cough. Three days later, I saw blood on her handkerchief. I could not bear the thought of her choking to death as my father had.

By the middle of January, my mother’s cough had gotten worse. I was frightened. I retreated to my bed and tried to sleep away the fear, wishing I would awaken from the nightmare.

I did not know if sadness or her sickness caused mother to ignore me, but it happened at the time I needed her most. Her color faded with each day, the sadness heavy in her hollow eyes. When she looked at me, it was as though I was not there. I shuddered. Her sunken eyes would always haunt me.

A week later, as I lay in bed, my mother came to me and kissed me softly on my forehead. Her first affection since my father’s death. I drifted into my best sleep in weeks. But just before dawn, a strange silence woke me. Something was wrong. I could not place my mind upon it, and it itched at me. When my mother kissed me, a tear had fallen upon my cheek. I could still feel the spot where the salt tightened my skin. I arose and looked about the two rooms of our flat. She was not there. Why would she leave in the middle of the night? I put on my wool coat, shoes, knitted hat and hurried out to look for her.

The moon shone hazily through the snowfall, creating a large and saintly halo. The creeping morning tinted the horizon odd shades of red. At the front steps of our building lay a set of fresh and lonely footprints, barely filled with new snow. Stepping into them, my foot fit perfectly. My mother and I shared the same size shoes. My stomach felt sickly as I followed the tracks down Tooley Street--there was not a soul in sight. I had never, in my two months in the city, seen London Bridge so empty. Nothing stirred in any direction. It was as if the world had quietly come to an end, and I, Jeremy Bleamy, was the only person left.

I followed the prints down to the center of the bridge. They led in a small circle then turned to the bridge’s east side. Atop the bridge, the fall to the deadly waters below was blocked only by brick columns spaced about four paces apart. They might stop a wagon from going over, but not my mother. My heart beat hard in my throat as I stood frozen in the quiet.

On shaky legs, I forced my way to the edge where the footprints ended. The snow was packed as if she had paced about for a time. I searched frantically for signs that she had walked away. Seeing none, I peered over the edge into the icy, swift waters of the River Thames.

My mind screamed, No! My father gone, and now my mother. What chance did I have in this cold city? I stood unsteadily and saw only one direction for myself--to follow my mother.

It would take little effort. Falling would be easy. The cold water would do the rest.

I crumpled down in the snow and stared down into the black river. Its gentle sound belied that it had just swallowed my mother.

The snowflakes were shinny in the rising sun as they fell, only to have the water also take their lives. The thick snow muffled all sound, save the soft gurgle of the river as it flowed against the legs of the bridge. Inside my head, my breathing was loud, as was my pounding heart. Tears came slowly then became a flood.

The snow steadily covered me and somehow felt warm--a blanket protecting me from the bad things I had seen.

A sign of life interrupted my thoughts--a barking dog--far off and familiar. My mind floated to the past, in Kilmarnock and of my dog Gulliver, back on the farm, and the first hint of a smile parted my lips in weeks.

Chapter 2

Past beginnings

Hindsight often brings clarity of vision

to those who are forced to remember.

My father had been a man robust of character and sturdy of nature. We both were graced with a thick mess of brown hair atop and thoughtful faces below. My mother, Ellie, like us in no way, had hair as red and fine as a linen Christmas scarf. Her face was beautiful, and she had a kindness that I had yet to see from anyone else. My father said she had candle eyes, for the flicker of life and happiness always shone in them.

He met my mother at a wedding in Glasgow, when they were both but eighteen years of age. My father was the son of a farmer from the lower highlands, part Welsh and part Scottish. Mother was all Scot, and proud of it. They married six months after they met. Almost nine months later, I, Jeremy Bleamy, arrived in Scotland. A happier baby I could not have been, or so I was later told.

We farmed a section of land off London Road near Kilmarnock, next to my grandfather’s farm. And now, for the first time anyone could remember in seventeen years, the spring rains did not come. The year before, rainfall had been meager, but now the ground cracked. Soon afterward, the Irvine River ran dry. Our wheat and oat fields withered, and, as with our neighbors, hunger and worry lived with us.

So, as it was with most of our neighbors, my parents made plans to be off to London to make our way in life. They did not seem upset by what many would consider a failure. A farm, my father explained to me, lived by the generosity of nature. When the rains failed to come, it was no fault of anyone.

But plans changed, and we decided to give it another month, hoping for rain. Not a drop--to fill the pond, to feed the stream--came to wet our hopes. Selling everything we could not load on the wagon, including our two skinny cows, was hard, but leaving my dog, Gulliver, meant leaving the happiest part of my heart behind. My mother decided Gulliver would be at home with the town tailor and librarian, Mr. Stitchworthy. He was a kind man who shared his tailor shop with two bookcases filled with books collected over the years from the townspeople. I knew Mr. Stitchworthy would take good care of Gulliver, and my beloved dog might be comforted being near the books I loved.

The days passed slowly, bringing not a single cloud. The day before we were to leave, I decided to run away with Gulliver. I made it known that it was not an idle threat. To calm me down, my father gently took my hand and sat me down on the bench next to him beside the barn door.

Jeremy, I know this is the hardest thing you have ever had to do, but we have no choice. The farm, the thing I love most--after you and your mother--has died. I cannot afford to wait and see if it comes back to life, for if we stay through the winter and the rains still do not come, we shall starve. I have secured a job at a shingle factory in London owned by Mr. Topmender who is from Kilmarnock. He has assured me a place to rent when we arrive. We have some money from what your grandfather paid me for the farm. It is a heavy decision, I know. Gulliver has been part of our family, and it breaks my heart to leave him, but...

I listened patiently and knew he was right, but to leave part of our family behind was not going well with me. We cannot leave Gulliver, I insisted.

Jeremy, we are going to a big city. Nothing like what you can see or imagine from your books. It will be an exciting and challenging new place for us, but an unhappy world for Gulliver.

Why?

Well, son, there are not many trees, and you know how he loves running through the forest. There aren’t many plants on top of that. And the air...well, it’s a little thick. And--

"And why, after all that, are we going there?"

Opportunity, Jeremy. You may not have a grasp of that word yet, but trust me, when you are older, you will understand its importance.

I know a little about the world. Do I have the opportunity to stay here with Gulliver?

No, son. I have to do what is best for the family.

I stood up and faced my father. So, you decided what is best for the family, and that is to go to this terrible city. And if Gulliver is not going, then you are saying he is not part of the family. Why not let him decide? Let him come with us, and if he doesn’t like it, he can go back to Mr. Stitchworthy’s.

My father smiled and squeezed my knee. Jeremy, it’s not that simple. To be truthful, the rooms that I have rented in London do not allow for animals. Not even a chicken.

I heard his words, but I gave it one last try. Chickens! You place Gulliver in the same company as chickens? He is family. How can we leave family? He saved your life!

Son, he saved the cows’ lives when he woke us when the barn caught fire. And as much as I love milk, a cow has never been family.

He saw I had no humor, so he patted my back and left me to my mourning.

As he walked away, I noticed his shoulders hung low. My temper left me. My father’s heart was as sad as mine.

I sat there alone in my grief until I was interrupted by the cause of it all--Gulliver ran from the woods, his tongue and tail trying to tell me the story of his morning. It must have been exciting, for he pulled on my sleeve, asking me to come so he could show me what he had found. I was not in the mood for a romp in the woods. He sat in front of me and stared at me as if he understood that now was not the time for play. Tears began to trickle down my cheek. His paws were in my lap as he licked my face. I hugged him, and he licked me more urgently and whimpered. It caused a burst of tears so great, I felt I could water and save the whole farm.

Jeremy?

My mother had stood watching the farewell. She brushed a tear from her eye and sat on the bench next to me. Gulliver looked from me to her, perhaps wondering who was going to fix this problem.

You need to take Gulliver to the tailor’s shop before Mr. Stitchworthy closes.

I can’t, Mother. I just can’t leave him.

I know. We are all leaving something dear behind. She looked at me and another tear hung from her eye. When it fell, she hugged me tightly, and we cried together. Gulliver put a paw on each of our thighs and joined in, whimpering woefully.

That afternoon, Gulliver ran before me, satisfied that all was well. I carried a cloth bag with my worldly possessions. My parents, whom I would miss very much, were too busy packing the cart for the trip to pay much attention to me. They had taken my threat to leave idly, but I was determined to stay in Kilmarnock.

The walk to town was dusty, as the winds kicked up clouds of what had once been the rich dirt from farms. Gulliver beat me to the top of the small hill that looked down on Kilmarnock, a once happy and quiet town. Now half the people had left. Nothing was green, and bits of rubbish swirled in the hot wind about the streets. I slowed down and my heart thumped. I would never see my parents again. Tears were about to spill when I heard--

Jeremy. I am so glad I caught you before you left.

It was Priscilla, the girl I was going to ask to run away with me. She was my reading partner and unaccountably embarrassing friend. I say unaccountably, for it was my mother’s favorite word. It once had been her word for the day--a teaching tool I think she learned from as much as I did. Being in Priscilla’s presence caused me such embarrassment. My tongue often stopped working properly--for some unaccountable reason--and my face blushed as bright as a rooster’s comb.

She looked as pretty as I had ever seen her. She wore her Sunday dress, yet I was sure it was Tuesday. She bent over and scratched Gulliver’s ear, and he danced around like it was the best feeling in the world. She had a way with him, which made me jealous. I practiced--the scratch--many times on Gulliver, but he had yet to dance like that for me.

Glen O’Connell, as white-skinned as his hair was red, walked toward us. As he came closer, he smiled at Priscilla and his gait took on a cocky swagger. She smiled at him in a more flirty way than I had ever noticed. My blood heated, and I wondered if I could finally take him in a fight. If he said or did the wrong thing, I would give him a beating like he had many times given me.

Hello, Pris, he said.

I hated the stupid nickname he had given her.

Then he looked at me and actually smiled. Hello, Jer. You’re leaving, I hear. I wish you luck.

He was the nicest he had ever been to me. But his attention went quickly back to Priscilla.

They stared at each other for a horribly long time as if I didn’t exist. I noticed Glen’s face was red and then, more sickeningly, so was hers.

He attempted to talk. G--goodbye. He walked away, his swagger gone.

I resentfully realized Priscilla caused the same unaccountable affliction in Glen as she did in me. Even more disturbing, I realized she liked Glen very much. I was just a friend.

I watched Gulliver as he begged for more ear scratching from Priscilla, but her eyes were still tied to Glen as he walked away. I looked at the ground. I was, until that moment, going to invite her to go away with me. She was half the reason I would run away. I heard Gulliver’s stomach grumble, then mine, which reminded me of what I already knew. I’d be back home by supper.

You are leaving tomorrow? she asked.

I hesitated and watched while she scratched Gulliver again, who again went wild at her touch. Just as well. He would be seeing a lot more of her. I was losing them both. I had, until today, suspected that someday Priscilla and I would be married and live on a farm with Gulliver and raise wheat and puppies. Now those dreams were gone.

Yes. We are packed up for the trip. Off to London to make our fortune. I tried to sound happy but felt an all too familiar ache in my belly.

You will write me? she asked.

I perked up. Yes every...well, once a week.

She laughed, That would be wonderful.

***

The next morning, when I awoke, Mother stood in the doorway, giving me that motherly look.

Jeremy. I’m afraid Gulliver ran away from Mr. Stitchworthy. He’s back home.

I rose from bed. I will take him back.

No time. Your father is packed and eager to go. Priscilla came by earlier and brought us some fresh baked bread for our journey.

You did not wake me? I was mad.

She insisted I not.

But, Mother, I--

She was crying, Jeremy.

I could not stop the smile that woke my face. She was?

Yes. We tried to get Gulliver to go back to town with her but he kept running away. You will have to tie him to the gate, and Priscilla will tell Mr. Stitchworthy to come and get him.

When I went out and found Gulliver, he was so happy he could not find room in his mouth for his tongue. My joy over Priscilla’s sorrow washed away. I double-tied him to a post, and when he saw us leave, I thought he would strangle himself as he pulled to follow. It took all my strength not to jump off the wagon and run back to him. But I now knew I could not change anything or anyone’s mind. I was as helpless as my dog. My life was so unfair.

I bounced all day in the back of the wagon, facing Kilmarnock, and spoke not a word to my parents. Gulliver, Priscilla, and the farm were fading away from sight as my heart broke. I had never felt so lonely in my life.

Chapter 3

Reborn from the Snow

Not until death does one realize

their own life is so dependent on others.

I didn’t know how many hours later I awoke from my thoughts--to the same bad world I was trying to forget.

Hands shook my shoulders, and I jumped awake. It had to be my mother. My eyelashes had frozen together, but I forced them apart then brushed the snow from atop my head. I struggled up, only to see the face of Miss Molly Cavendish, one of three sisters who occupied a flat down the hall. She was as cranky as a witch with many likenesses--most fearful, a wart without end on the tip of her nose.

Jeremy, what’s the matter with ya? What ya doin’ sittin’ covered in snow? Yer mother know ya planted yerself here? Wait till she hears of this. If’n losin’ your father was a punch and now you actin’ all queer and freezin’ yourself to boot. Better get a-movin’ as a wagon won’t be as kind ta ya as me. Run ya right over. Yes, they will. They got no mind for anythin’. Why, if ya sat here a bit longer, the snow would have topped ya little head and ya’d be a goner by them big old wagon wheels. Heard it happen before. I tell ya right, yer coursin’ to make happen agin’.

I got up slowly.

Where’s yur mum? she asked.

Without thinking, I said, She jumped off the bridge.

Her voice rose into a jumble of questions. I trudged slowly through the thick snow back to the flat, my legs and soul in mutiny. I had reached the steps when I heard Miss Molly yelling more gibberish.

Mr. Crankberry, the landlord of our building, appeared at the front door, keen to know what Miss Molly was going on about. This in itself was odd, as the tall, skinny and stern-faced man was prone to ignore us, save on rent day. I was almost past him, when he grabbed my arm roughly.

Is it true?

I looked up to him, not getting his meaning.

Well, lad, is it true? Now your mother has taken a dive?

The words bit me. I pulled my arm