Page 228 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

What she must have suffered nobody knows,
O unhappy Bella!
And when the morning dawned so red,
Alas, alas, poor Bella was dead,
Sent so young to her lonely bed
By a wicked, heartless, cruel deceiver.

So thus, you see, do what you will,
The fruits of sin are suffering still,
O unhappy Bella!
As into the grave they laid her low,
The men said, ‘Alas, but life is so,’
But the women chanted, sweet and low,
‘It’s all the men, the dirty bastards!’

Written by a woman, perhaps.
William and Fred, the singers of this song, were thor-
ough scallywags, the sort of men who get tramps a bad
name. They happened to know that the Tramp Major at
Cromley had a stock of old clothes, which were to be given
at need to casuals. Before going in William and Fred took
off their boots, ripped the seams and cut pieces off the soles,
more or less ruining them. Then they applied for two pairs
of boots, and the Tramp Major, seeing how bad their boots
were, gave them almost new pairs. William and Fred were
scarcely outside the spike in the morning before they had
sold these boots for one and ninepence. It seemed to them
quite worth while, for one and ninepence, to make their
own boots practically unwearable.