Beers Cooperage no longer retained any trace of the manufacture of
casks and barrels which some departed cooper had doubtless carried on
there in bygone days. It consisted of a row of half a dozen very small
cottages, with still smaller enclosures in front, which looked as
though they might once have been meant for gardens. A last reminder of
the time when Beers Cooperage had considered itself to be in a rural
neighbourhood lingered on the window-sills of some of these cottages,
which were ornamented with miniature wooden railings and five-barred
gates, a touch of rustic fancy of which the modern Londoner has become
incapable. Yet though the inhabitants of Beers Cooperage could not have
originated these quaint decorations, and had probably never seen the
country sights they were meant to recall, they took a pathetic pride
in possessing them, and as soon as one of the railings or gates showed
signs of decay it was carefully repaired.
Who knows what influence such trifles have over all of us? It is
certain that the dwellers in Beers Cooperage were generally quieter
and more decent in their lives than most of their neighbours. One
or two of them kept singing-birds, instead of terriers to kill rats
with. The inmate of one house, a poor cripple, had even set himself
resolutely to make his front garden a reality instead of a name, by
planting a row of wallflowers, bought full-grown from a coster-monger,
in what he evidently considered a bed. These plants, which perished
periodically, and were regularly renewed, were regarded with reverence
by the neighbours, and attracted pilgrims to view them from two or
three streets away. But on the rare occasions when they burst into
bloom of their own accord, no profane hand was allowed to come too near
them. After being reverently smelled at a distance by the dwellers in
the Cooperage, the blossoms were culled with anxious pride by their
proprietor, and made into a nosegay for the Duchess, who carried them
home with her, and set them on the table of her oratory. They were the
only flowers ever seen on that simple altar.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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