Chapter Text
It had been illegal for over 30 years to use children to clean chimneys, but in the winter of 1911 rumors began to circulate among the sweeps of London that one of their own was using a child. At first the rumors were vague, like curls of smoke, but soon they began to coalesce into a coherent story. The child was a little boy unable to speak or understand when people spoke to him. Some said he was deaf, but others said he was feeble minded. Some said the sweep had stolen him from an orphanage or an asylum. The sweep never spoke to the boy. Instead he grabbed, pushed or slapped the child until the boy did what the sweep wanted.
The good sweeps of London were horrified and kept a watch for the malevolent sweep and the little boy. But the sweep and the child moved in the half shadow of their world as insubstantial as the chimney smoke itself. Bert was especially worried. He knew that a delightful romp with Mary Poppins on London’s rooftops was different than the grim reality of a child forced to climb a narrow chimney. A child like that, without Mary Poppins to protect him, was in terrible danger. Bert visited each house on Cherry Tree Lane. He explained the situation and asked each family to keep an eye out for a sweep and a child. If anyone spotted the pair they should find a policeman or another chimney sweep at once.
It was Admiral Boom who saw the pair on a rainy morning in early spring. He was up on deck of his house looking through his telescope. The sweep and the little boy were crossing the park towards the street on the other side. The boy stumbled and the big man grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. He continued to grip the small child and the Admiral could see that the little boy was crying. His mind working rapidly Admiral Boom shouted to Mr. Binnacle. Run, he said, and stop the sweep. Pretend that the Admiral wanted his chimney cleaned. Once the pair was in the house, Mr. Binnacle must leave and find Bert or a policeman. The Admiral would keep them in the house as long as he could.
The plan worked well except that it took Mr. Binnacle a long time to find Bert. The rain had kept Bert from his usual outdoor jobs and Mr. Binnacle had to search over a large area before he found him. Fortunately, he spotted Constable Jones at almost the same time. The three men hurried back to Cherry Tree Lane,
Inside Admiral Boom’s house things were not going well. The Admiral had shown the sweep and the boy into his study where the coals of last night’s fire were still warm in the fireplace. If the Admiral thought that live coals might slow the sweep down he was mistaken. The sweep, a large surly man whose name was Scrugg, brought out a bucket and shovel from his tool cart and began scooping the hot coals into it. While the sweep was busy the Admiral studied the little boy accompanying him. He was filthy and the ragged clothes he had on were clearly not warm enough for the chilly morning. Now that he was closer the Admiral could see that the skin on the boy’s elbows and knees was scraped raw and his eyes were red rimmed and sore. The Admiral guessed that he was five or maybe six years old. Silently the little boy helped spread dust covers on the furniture and arrange the brushes in front of the fire place. The sweep didn’t even try to speak to him, merely grunting or grabbing the boy by the arm and pushing him in the direction he wanted him to go.
Suddenly, the sweep grabbed the boy by the collar, pressed a small brush in his hand , and shoved him towards the fireplace. Without a sound the boy vanished up the chimney. It happened so quickly and noiselessly that the Admiral was taken by surprise. “Here now!” he exclaimed, “You can’t do that. Get him down!”
The sweep turned to look at the Admiral and grinned. “Too late for that,” he said, “He’s a retard. He only knows but one way and that’s up.”
Furiously the Admiral gripped his cane and tried to think. He was closer to 70 than 60 and he had a bad leg. He knew he was no match physically compared to the sweep, but he was desperate to get the boy out of the chimney. In the meantime scrabbling sounds in the flue and a rain of soot marked the boy’s progress. Then the sounds abruptly stopped.
“Stuck,” muttered the sweep. He leaned into the fireplace and called threateningly up the chimney. “Jack! Get a move on or I’ll light the fire under ya! I got the coals right here to do it.” And he banged his shovel against the pail as proof.
“You will not!” shouted the Admiral and brought his cane down on the sweep’s head. “Hey!” shouted the startled sweep and swung his fist around. The blow caught the Admiral and sent him crashing into the wall. Just then the front door burst open and Bert and Mr. Binnacle came running into the room.
“Little boy,” gasped the admiral, “trapped in the chimney.”
Bert had no clear memory of what he did next. Mr. Binnacle told him that he had taken a mighty swing at the sweep and hit him so hard he knocked him down. Then Bert had grabbed the man and flung him into the hall. What Bert would never forget came after that.
Bert stood in the fireplace desperately listening for any sound. He knew the chimney from experience. About twelve feet up it narrowed abruptly and that was the most likely spot for the little boy to be caught. He hoped and prayed that the boy hadn’t been trapped further up. There was no way Bert would be able to get his body through the narrow opening to rescue the child. Quickly he grabbed his handkerchief and tied it over his mouth and nose.
“Does he have a name?” he asked.
“The sweep called him Jack,” wheezed the Admiral.
“Alright, up I go then,” said Bert and using his elbows and knees in the corners of the chimney he began to work his way up the flue.
It was pitch black inside the chimney and the bricks were still uncomfortably warm from last night’s fire. The air was hot and suffocating. The boy’s progress had dislodged a great deal of soot and Bert, thankful for his handkerchief, had to shake it off his face. He found the child where he expected. The left leg had slipped and the little boy had slid back wedging himself in the tight space with the right leg bent in front of him. Bert could feel the dangling left leg. He braced his knees against the walls of the chimney and moved his hand upwards where he could feel the small bottom and the right foot. Mercifully the child was still alive and hadn’t suffocated in the poisoned air of the flue. Bert could feel the shuddering sobs running through the little body though as yet the boy hadn’t made any attempt to cry out or speak.
Bert braced himself in the chimney with his knees in the corners. He thought if he could push upward on the bottom while pulling gently on the foot he could dislodge the child. But he desperately needed the boy to relax or the tension in his body would keep him in that position. Trying to keep his voice gentle Bert began speaking. “Jack, is your name Jack? My name’s Bert, I’m going to help you. It’s going to be all right.” For what seemed like an eternity Bert crooned and spoke to the child. He sang bits of songs and nursery rhymes and kept up a soft patter of words trying to soothe him. All the while Bert kept pressure on the boy’s bottom while pulling on the foot. The stress on his knees was growing unbearable and Bert feared they would give way before he could get Jack free of the chimney.
Then just as Bert felt his knees slip the little body moved, the right leg came loose and Jack started to fall. Bert slid down the chimney with him trying to control the descent and protect the little boy from further bruising. They landed in a heap in the fireplace.
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Bert sat in the Admiral’s armchair cradling the child, who was now in his arms wrapped in a blanket. Though the boy continued to sob silently, he still hadn’t spoken, and this worried Bert almost more than the bruises he could see on the little boy’s arms and legs. Jack (if that really was his name) was holding tightly to Bert’s coat and refusing to let go. Bert shifted so that he could hold the shaking child a little more comfortably.
Constable Jones had chased after the sweep, who as soon as he got up from the floor where Bert had thrown him had run off. Though he had pursued him for several blocks the sweep had a head start and Constable Jones lost him in the alleys of the business area. Now he was taking statements from the Admiral and Mr. Binnacle, but Bert noticed that he wasn’t writing anything down.
Bert nodded toward the boy in his arms and said, “We should take him to a hospital or a doctor and get him looked at. Make sure that he’s all right.”
Constable Jones looked at Bert and the other two men. He was a kind man with children of his own and his heart was aching over the plight of this little boy. He spoke softly but clearly. “That may not be such a good idea. There’s something wrong with the boy. He hasn’t spoken a word and he doesn’t seem to understand when we speak to him. The sweep called him a ‘retard.’ There’s a good chance he came from an asylum.” He looked somberly at Bert. “There’s only one close by and it’s a bad place. Children can disappear real fast in there. The sweep wouldn’t have had to kidnap him, just bribe one of the staff to give the boy to him.”
“If I take him to a hospital the authorities will get involved and there’s a good chance he’ll be sent back there or somewhere just as bad. As for the sweep, it’s unlikely he’ll be arrested. Who will press charges if the victim can’t speak and has been shuffled away out of sight and mind?”
Constable Jones paused and spoke deliberately, “It would be better for the boy if he stays out of the system. I can’t take him home with me and the Admiral can’t keep him. It would cause too much talk, and questions would get asked. But if someone lower down took him, an itinerant laborer say, who works a bunch of odd jobs and stays different places, it might not get noticed so much. He could say that the boy was a relative or his ‘apprentice.’ I’m not saying it would be permanent but it’d give us some time to figure out who he is and find him somewhere safe to live.”
It made sense. The half shadow of the chimney sweep world had made it possible for the sweep to move for months with the child, unnoticed by the rest of London. The same shadow could be used to protect him.
Bert looked down at the little boy in his arms. The shaking had gradually subsided while the men were talking and the tight grip on Bert’s coat had relaxed a little. The eyes were closed and the regular breathing suggested that the exhausted child had fallen asleep. Bert looked up. He met Constable Jones’ eyes and gave him a brief nod.