AN EAST-END SATURDAY NIGHT
by
F. Raymond Coulson & Robert M. Angus (1914)

Saturday night in Bethnal Green, naptha lamps a-flarin’
Along the gutters for nearly a mile, and men and wimmen blarin’
Men and wimmen with kippers and whelks, taters, beans and marrers
Nearly a mile in Bethnal Green, nothin’ but costers barrers.

Saturday crowds in Bethnal Green, Sunday dinners a-buyin’
Some without the money to buy, lookin’ and longin’ and sighin’
Kids wot ‘aven’t been washed for years, mopping up ‘apenny ices
Mothers o’ families gittin’ their meat, an’ battin’ the butcher’s prices.

Pubs and the fried fish shops all full, wives in blazin’ rages
‘Usbands up to the same old game, blewin’ the whole weeks wages
Fat old wimmen o’ sixteen stone, simperin’, drunk, and leary
Little gals leading their fathers home, staggerin’, boozed and bleary.

Pickpockets, blokes on the kinch-in’ lay, fellars and gals a-mashin’
Twig young ‘Arry acrost the way, givin’ his tart a thrashin’
And twig that little bare foot kid _ looks as if she was dyin’
Sobbin’ as if she’d break ‘er ‘eart. Wonder what set her cryin’.

Follar that bare-foot kid of eight, into a lonely turnin’
Follar ‘er up to a fust floor back where a taller candle’s burnin’
Father awaitin’ there for ‘er and don’t e’ welcome her?
That little kid’s been out to beg, for money, for drink for father.

“Only two pence? why, dash your eyes (There’s a look on ‘is mug like killin’)
I told yer not to show yer face until you’d copped a shillin’.”
Father ups with ‘is ‘eavy fist, swears he’ll smash and blind her
An’ out she dashes, that terrified kid, with that ‘orrible face behind her.

Out she dashes and runs and runs, pantin’ with tears a-flowin’
Out through the crowd in Bethnal Green too frightened to look where she’s goin’
There’s a roar in ‘er ears like the roar of the sea. There’s a buzzin’, a- whirlin’ an’ hummin’
‘Ere’s the last bus comin’ up Bethnal Green, but that kid don’t see it comin’.

Yells and shrieks, an’ a surgin’ crowd, last bus stops in a hurry
“Lift ‘er on to a stretcher, Jim, Orle rite, mum, don’t you worry
A doctor won’t be no good to ‘er. God bless yer she’s gorn to clover”
Saturday night in Bethnal Green, an’ another kid run over.