You may have heard or read about two urchins by the name of Timmy and Harry. Even though these two were unrelated they shared a strong character trait not easily found outside of ancestral ties. They did not know the notion of fear. Whereas urchin Roddy would find himself in an occasional mishap, he was not the sort who would expressly look for such situations. Timmy and Harry would. Another difference between Roddy and the fearless ones can be established by their mode of return. Roddy would frequently be returned by a varied host of Londoners who knew about the young boys wanderings. On the other hand Timmy and Harry would either come back on their own (usually with cuts and bruises) or would have to be picked up at the nearest convenient jail. This fact did not seem to face them at all and very soon they started bragging about their mishaps, which in fact was their ticket out of Her Majesty’s custody, since the constables could not wait to find out what the two had done this time around. Frequently bets were made as to how long the duo would stay out of trouble and the local constables joined in quite often. I am recounting all of this previous history to ensure that the reader has a proper view of these two tykes. Perhaps it is more for my own benefit since the tale I am about to commit to paper would otherwise be regarded as a result of an evening with lady Absinthe.

It is today the 23^st of December 1886 and this morning I received a small note via anonymous urchin. The note was a label rubbed off a beer bottle, apparently in some haste. On the back was written in pencil in a crude hand: “At Bel Warf noon be there H and T.” It was a miracle that they could write anything spelled remotely legible since neither of them had had any kind of education. They must have obviously meant Bell Warf and knowing these two they were probably awaiting the unloading of either something edible or valuable. Luckily I received the note early enough and with a little persuasion I managed to get out of the store around 11 with an excuse of having to buy cleaning supplies. Hubbard did not clean much himself and our cleaning lady barely had the most basic knowledge of hygiene and so the old watchmaker was not surprised when I offered a hand.

I took an unofficial cab, which dropped me off close to the West Indies Docks on High Street. Unofficial cabs are what people of my class take most frequently. You find a cabbie that has a fare that goes roughly on your direction and for a decent discount you either sit next of him or hidden on the back, holding on for dear life. If you’re familiar with the city of London you will know that you can close your eyes and know where you are by smell alone. Inside the heart of the city you will smell the food peddlers and small shops selling anything from vegetables and matches to small trinkets and tiny instruments. All around you a barrage of smells bombarded you at any time but as with spices from the Far-East they blend can become its own memory fabric. I’ve always been sensitive to my surroundings, stalls, lamps and especially the buildings can make a deep impression on me. Once I found myself standing at the center of St. Paul’s Cathedral and realized I could not move. My own tiny self in relation to the vast open space enclosed by the high dome made my soul freeze and with it my legs. I vaguely remember crawling towards one of the side entrances and must have sat there for quite some time before I could make my way out. For me the only way an environment can be absorbed safely sometimes is by smell alone. Most people respond to a fragrance as if it is either present or not. Not so for me, an odor can be layered from the ground up or be stationary as if trapped in an invisible column. Even solid walls are possible, for which creation cabbage seems exceptionally well suited. Spices have a special association, much more so than perfumes. Spices stay and opening a fresh tin of some exotic blend can forever change a room. Perfumes are flighty, they try to linger but fade faster than the memories they create. Every time I ride or walk the labyrinth that is London it amazes me how much rain effects the smell of its streets. My favorites are the roads with large brick houses. Rain extracts earthy fragrances. One can even smell hardness and permanence. Towards the docks the olfactory landscape changes completely and salt water takes over. Rain on metal creates its own hardness but a bitter one, a menacing warning. Rust adds to that a unique form of permanence and if I think of the words to describe the sensation it would have to be a visiting solidity.

I arrived with 30 minutes to spare and should be enough time. Bell Warf was close but not close enough. Walking down Rope Street towards the water made my way onto Narrow Street from which you could see Trinity Stairs and Stone Stairs. Beyond that lay Bell Warf a somewhat smaller area suited for loading of cargo that came directly from the city instead of having to be stored in warehouses. Within the dock area of London each company had their own assignments and ships coming in would moor in their assigned docks. Bell Warf was used for ships that came without assignment. It was clear from afar that something out of the ordinary was being shipped. A strong musky smell lay as a thick carpet over the area. Unusual sounds could be heard from various directions. Upon closer inspection large boxes with bright colors could be seen stacked on the cobblestone streets right in front of a large ship, clearly an ocean liner. Spectators were held at a distance by a group of coppers. Not that it would be possible to get close in this chaos. I spotted a bright red box that had the name “Sarasini” painted on it in festive script. The name was not familiar and I asked one of the constables what it meant. “Don’t you know son it’s the circus, circus Sarasini from the mainland. They are shipping out lad you missed it”, he said as if he himself was part of the entourage. Before he turned to politely request that two young ladies keep a safe distance from the boxes of animals he pointed to a flyer tacked to one of the lampposts. Circus Sarrasini was apparently on a world tour. They had begun in their hometown of Dresden in Germany and were working their way through Europe and currently shipping out to America. It was quite a spectacle and many of the bystanders would gladly have given money to get just a little closer. Members of the circus were apparently enjoying themselves and performed small feats gravity defying stunts before they went on board. Jugglers were tossing balls or anything else they could get their hands one, frequently followed by ecstatic little screams from the young lady to whom the items belonged.

No sign of Tim and Harry and nobody I recognized to ask. Dock people pretty well stick to themselves and the urchins you find around here do not mettle with the city kids. Seeing all the animals, supplies and artists enter, I suddenly had a vision of a modern day Noah's Ark. Two elephants, two tigers, two lions, two ballerinas. As my eyes wandered over the spectacle I could not help but move back to the two tiny figures in dresses making their way into the ship. Both girls were wearing bright chiffon frocks covered with a shawl which they kept tightly closed around their heads. Something in their gait seemed slightly stiff for young girls whom you would expect to move flightily and gracefully. Right when the two had made their way onto the ship the shortest one quickly turned around, looked in my direction and winked. There was no mistake about it, this was clearly young Timmy. I could not see them anymore after they quickly had made their way somewhere inside the bowls of the ship. Just in case someone found them and kicked them off the ship I waited a while. They must have found a good hiding place because Sebastian told me later that evening that nobody had seen the two young lads anywhere since that morning.