5 Cont. Oliver Twist - Read By Stephanie Poppins

Oliver Twist, written by Charles Dickens in the 19th Century, tells the story of an orphan boy and his adventures in London's slums. Oliver is captured by, and forced to work among, pickpockets and thieves until redeemed by a gentleman who has taken an interest in him.

In this episode, Oliver has his first day on the job...

Transcript

Hello. Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph, Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition into a great night's sleep. Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten. But before we begin, Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now. Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh. That's it. Now close your eyes and feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you. It is time to relax and fully let go. There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go. Happy listening. Chapter 5 continued. The occasion for Oliver's debut was not long in coming. Half an hour after breakfast the next morning, Mr. Bumble entered the shop and, Supporting his cane against the counter, Drew forth his last straw. His cane against the counter drew forth his large leather pocketbook, From which he selected a small scrap of paper, Which he handed over to Salbery. Aha, Said the undertaker, Glancing over it with a lively countenance. An order for a coughing, Eh? For a coughing first and a parochial funeral afterwards, Replied Mr. Bumble, Fastening the strap of the leather pocketbook, Which, Like himself, Was very corpulent. Benton, Said the undertaker, Looking from the scrap of paper to Mr. Bumble. I've never heard that name before. Bumble shook his head as he replied. Obstinate people, Mr. Salbery, Very obstinate. Proud too, I'm afraid, Sir. Proud, Eh? Exclaimed Mr. Salbery with a sneer. Come, That's too much. Oh, It's sickening, Replied the beadle. Antimonial, Mr. Salbery. So it is, Acquiesced the undertaker. We only heard of the family the night before last, Said the beadle, And we shouldn't have known anything about them then. Only a woman who lodges in the same house made an application to the parochial committee for them to send the parochial surgeon to see a woman as was very bad. He'd gone out to dinner, But his apprentice, Which is a very clever lad, Sent him some medicine in a blackened bottle offhand. Ah, There's Promptus, Said the undertaker. Promptus indeed, Replied the beadle. But what's the consequence? What's the ungrateful behaviour of these rebels, Sir? Why, The husband sends back word the medicine won't suit his wife's complaint, And so she shan't take it. She shan't take it, Sir. Good, Strong, Wholesome medicine as was given with great success to two Irish labourers and a cold heaver only a week before. Sent him for nothing with a blackened bottle in, And he sends word back she shan't take it, Sir. As the atrocity presented itself to Mr Bumble's mind in full force, He struck the counter sharply with his cane and became flushed with indignation. Well, Said the undertaker, I never did. Never did, Sir, Ejaculated the beadle. No, Nor nobody never did, But now she's dead. We've got to bury her, And that's the direction, And the sooner it's done, The better. Thus saying, Mr Bumble put on his cocked hat, Wrong side first, In a fever of parochial excitement, And flounced out of the shop. Why, He was so angry, Oliver, He forgot even to ask after you, Said Mrs Salbery, Looking after the beadle as he strode down the street. Yes, Sir, Replied Oliver, Who had carefully kept himself out of sight during the interview, And who was shaking from the pain of the incident. He'd needn't have taken the trouble to shrink from Mr Bumble's glance, However, For that functionary, On whom the prediction of the gentleman in the white waistcoat had made a very strong impression, Thought that now the undertaker had got Oliver upon trial, The subject was better avoided, Until such time as he should be firmly bound for seven years, And all danger of his being returned upon the hands of the parish should be thus effectually and legally overcome. Well, Said Mr Salbery, Taking up his hat, The sooner this job's done, The better. Noah, Look after the shop. Oliver, Put on your cap and come with me. Oliver obeyed and followed his master on his professional mission. They walked on for some time through the most crowded and densely inhabited part of the town, And then, Striking down a narrow street more dirty and miserable than any they'd passed through yet, Paused to look for the house which was the object of their search. The houses on either side were high and large, But very old and tenanted by people of the poorest class, As their neglected appearance would have sufficiently denoted without the concurrent testimony afforded by the squatted looks of the few men and women, Who, With folded arms and bodies half doubled, Occasionally skulked along. A great many of the tenements had shop fronts, But these were fast closed and mouldering away, Only the upper rooms being inhabited. Some houses, Which had become insecure from age and decay, Were prevented from falling into the street by huge beams of wood reared against the walls and firmly planted in the road. But even these crazy dens seemed to have been selected as the knightly haunts of some houseless wretches, For many of the rough boards which supplied the place of door and window were wrenched from their positions, To afford an aperture wide enough for the passage of a human body. The kennel was stagnant and filthy. The very rats which here and there lay putrefying in its rottenness were hideous with famine. There was neither knock nor bell-handle at the open door where Oliver and his master stopped. So, Groping his way cautiously through the dark passage and bidding Oliver keep close to him and not be afraid, The undertaker mounted to the top of the first flight of stairs. Stumbling against a door on the landing, He rapped at it with his knuckles. It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. The undertaker at once saw enough of what the room contained to know it was the apartment to which he'd been directed. He stepped in and Oliver was there. Oliver followed him. There was no fire in the room, But a man was crouching mechanically over the empty stove. An old woman, Too, Had drawn a low stall to the cold hearth and was sitting beside him. There were some ragged children in another corner and in a small recess opposite the door, There lay upon the ground something covered with an old blanket. Oliver shuddered as he cast his eyes towards the place and crept involuntarily closer to his master, For though it was covered up, The boy felt that it was a corpse. The man's face was thin and very pale. His hair and beard were grisly. His eyes were bloodshot. The old woman's face was wrinkled. Her two remaining teeth protruded over her upper lip and her eyes were bright and piercing. Oliver was afraid to look at either her or the man. They seemed so like the rats he'd seen outside. Nobody should go near her, Said the man, Starting fiercely up as the undertaker approached the recess. Keep back, Damn you, Keep back if you've a life to lose. Nonsense, My good man, Said the undertaker, Who was pretty well used to misery in all its shapes. Nonsense. Now I tell you, Said the man, Clenching his hands and stamping furiously on the floor, I tell you I won't have her put into the ground. She couldn't rest there. The worms would worry her, Not eat her. She's so worn away. The undertaker offered no reply to this raving but produced a tape from his pocket, Knelt down for a moment by the side of the body. Now, Said the man, Bursting into tears and sinking on his knees at the feet of the dead woman. Kneel down, Kneel down, Kneel round her, Every one of you, And mark my words. Now I say she was starved to death. I never knew how bad she was till the fever came upon her and then her bones were starting through the skin. There was neither fire nor candle. She died in the dark. She couldn't even see her children's faces though we heard her gasping out their names. I begged for her in the streets and they sent me to prison. When I came back she was dying and all the blood in my heart dried up for they starved her to death. I swear it before the God that saw it, They starved her. He twined his hands in his hair and with a loud scream rolled grovelling upon the floor, His eyes fixed and the foam covering his lips. The terrified children cried bitterly. But the old woman who had hitherto remained as quiet as if she'd been wholly deaf to all that passed, Menaced them into silence. Having unloosened the cravat of the man who still remained extended on the ground, She tottered towards the undertaker. She was my daughter, Said the old woman, Nodding her head in the direction of the corpse and speaking with an idiotic leer, Most ghastly than even the presence of death in such a place. Lord, Lord. Well, It is strange that I who gave birth to her and was a woman then should be alive and merry now and she lying there so cold and stiff. To think of it, It's as good as a play, As good as a play. As the wretched creature mumbled and chuckled in her hideous merriment, The undertaker turned to go away. Stop, Said the old woman in a loud whisper. Will she be buried tomorrow, The next day or tonight? I laid her out and I must walk, You know. Send me a large cloak, A good warm one, For it's bitter cold. We should have cake and wine too before we go. Never mind, Send some bread, Only a loaf of bread and a cup of water. Shall we have some bread, Dear? She said eagerly, Catching at the undertaker's coat. As he once more moved towards the door. Yes, Yes, Said the undertaker. Of course, Anything you like. He disengaged himself from the old woman's grasp and drawing Oliver after him, Hurried away. The next day, The family having been meanwhile relieved with a half-courtened loaf and a piece of cheese left with them by Mr. Bumble himself. Oliver and his master returned to the miserable abode where Mr. Bumble had already arrived, Accompanied by four men from the workhouse who were to act as bearers. An old black cloak has been thrown over the rags of the old woman and the man and the bear coffin, Having been screwed down, Was hoisted on the shoulders of the bearers and carried into the street. Now, Now, You must put your best leg forward, Old lady, Whispered Salbery in the old woman's ear. We are rather late and it won't do to keep the clergyman waiting. Move on, My men, As quick as you like. Thus directed, The bearers trotted on under their light burden and the two mourners kept as near them as they could. Mr. Bumble and Salbery walked at a good smart pace in front, And Oliver, Whose legs were not so long as his master's, Ran by the side. There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. Salbery had anticipated, However, For when they reached the obscure corner of the churchyard in which the nettles grew and where the parish graves were made, The clergyman had not arrived and the clerk who was sitting by the vestry room fire seemed to think it by no means improbable. It might be an hour or so before he came. So they put the beer on the brink of the grave and the two mourners waited patiently in the damp clay with a cold rain drizzling down, While the ragged boys, Whom the spectacle had attracted to the churchyard, Played a noisy game of hide and seek among the tombstones, Or varied their amusements by jumping backwards and forwards over the coffin. Mr. Salbery and Bumble, Being personal friends of the clerk, Sat by the fire with him and read the paper. At length, After a lapse of something more than an hour, Mr. Bumble and Salbery and the clerk were seen running towards the grave. Immediately afterwards, The clergyman appeared Mr. Bumble then thrashed a boy or two to keep up appearances and the reverend gentleman, Having read as much of the burial service as could be compressed into four minutes, Gave his surplus to the clerk and walked away again. Now Bill, Said Salbery to the gravedigger, Fill up. It was no very difficult task, It was no very difficult task, For the grave was so full that the uppermost coffin was within a few feet of the surface. The gravedigger shoveled in the earth, Stamped it loosely down with his feet, Shouldered his spade and walked off, Followed by the boys, Who murmured very loud complaints at the fun being over so soon. Come, My good fellow, Said Bumble, Tapping the man on the back. They want me to shut up the yard. The man, Who had never once moved since he had taken his station by the graveside, Started, Raised his head, Stared at the person who had addressed him, Walked forward for a few paces and fell down in a swoon. The crazy old woman was too much occupied in bewailing the loss of her cloak, Which the undertaker had taken off, To pay him any attention. So they threw a can of cold water over him and when he came to, Saw him safely out of the churchyard, Locked the gate and departed on their different ways. Well, Oliver, Said Salbery as they walked home, How do you like it? Pretty well, Thank you, Sir, Replied Oliver with considerable hesitation. Not very much, Sir. You'll get used to it in time, Oliver, Said Salbery. Nothing when you are used to it, My boy. Oliver wondered in his own mind whether it had taken a very long time to get Mr. Salbery used to it, But he thought it better not to ask the question and walked back to the shop, Thinking over all he had seen and heard.