MY LIFE IN GREENWICH
My new home was No. 96 Annandale Road, quite close to Mazehill Station.
It was a little two-story house, a regular suburban type. My room was at
the back of the house; such a tiny room that when they put in a single
bed, a wash-stand and a desk, I could hardly move. Underneath my window
was a cemetery. There were a few trees. Every morning at dawn a
blackbird used to sing on the top of a tree. It was first time in my
life to hear blackbirds. They have such a beautiful voice, and I was so
happy to be awakened by them in the morning. My landlady told me that
one of the blackbirds laid eggs on that tree, so the husband bird sang
every morning to please his wife bird. Then she said, “You see, in
England husbands always take great care of their wives. Even the
blackbirds do so. If you marry in England you must do the same.” I was
so amused with that.
My Japanese friend took me to Goldsmith Institute in the evenings,
where I was introduced to the teachers--Mr. Marriott and Mr. Buckman in
Life Class, and Mr. Firn in Design Class. I belonged to Mr. Marriott’s
class, and started the life study.
On Sunday, my Japanese friend and I used to go to Plumstead and
Shooter’s Hill. With the latter I was quite familiar when I read Charles
Dickens’ “Tale of Two Cities,” and I recollected that story of the
Highlander as if it were really happening.
The time came when my Japanese friend had to go back to Japan, but I
still stayed in the same house and enjoyed my homely life all the same.
The landlord’s name was Mr. Watson. He was a collector of the Prudential
Life Assurance Company. He was about sixty years old, and he had such a
benevolent-looking face, like that famous picture of Sir John Millais’s
“Victory, O Lord.” He had beautiful long gray beard and whiskers. His
gentle and tender eyes were sunk in his face. They were so tender,
especially when he smiled. I used to call him “Moses,” and made him as
my model to study “the old Englishman” whenever he and I both had time.
His wife was only thirty-two or thirty-three, very jolly and
extraordinarily kind-hearted woman. She used to come into my room every
day when I was out, and brush my clothes and make “order” inside of my
drawers. First time in my life since I left home that all my socks and
underwears were mended! She took a great trouble of shopping “something”
especially for my suppers every day, and after hard work at the office
and hard study at the school these suppers were great treats for me.
They had two daughters--Elsie and Winnie. The elder was eleven and the
younger was eight. They both were very pretty girls. Elsie was very
affectionate and rather shy; she used to like to read and play the
piano. Winnie was rather like a Persian cat, and petted by everybody.
She had such big round blue eyes like owl’s, and beautiful curls of
chocolate hair, and a fresh complexion. She looked really like a doll. I
often tried to draw her portrait, but it was too difficult for me. She
was my idol! These two girls used to sit on my both sides, and were “so
earnest to hear some stories about abroad.” I used to tell them about
Japan, Sandwich Islands, and America. One day I told them how beautiful
were those California wild poppies growing on a vast field. They wanted
to go there. I said, “But there is a most dangerous thing there. It is a
poisonous snake called Rattlesnake. If this snake bites people, they die
immediately. Only the way to escape death from this terrible snake is to
cut off the part where it bit. If that snake bite my hand I would cut
off my hand at once; if it were my feet, I would cut off my feet.”
The children looked at me with some curious expression. They both were
quite silent for a while. Elsie broke out first. “If that snake bites
your head, would you cut off your own head at once?”
I could not answer.
Winnie was very serious, and said, “Elsie, don’t ask such a question. If
Mr. Markino cut off his head he could not come to live with us.” Elsie
was quite sorry. I took both heads of these angel-like, innocent English
children under my two arms, and kissed them most tenderly.
I must mention another instance to show how the younger girl was
attached to me, and what a curio-comic girl she was. One evening, I was
so tired and dull. The landlady said, “Mr. Markino, I suppose you have
got a cold, you need some mixture.” By this she meant whisky. But Winnie
was listening, and immediately she ran out of doors. After a few minutes
she came back and threw a little packet at me, and said, “’Ere you are!”
It was a real mixture for a cold. I learnt afterwards that she went to a
chemist and bought it with her own money.
Saturdays were their “great days.” All other week-days I had to leave
the house before they got up, so that I could reach the office in time
after the train and bus journey from Mazehill to Gloucester Terrace; and
they were generally in bed when I went back after the school. I had no
chance to see them on those days. On Saturdays the office closed half
day. I used to buy oranges or apples at Charing Cross Station and put
them in my pockets. They were always waiting me at the Mazehill Station.
They often waited two or three hours there when I was too busy at the
office. Soon as I got off the train they would search all my pockets and
find out “something.” Then they were so happy. I used to carry Winnie on
my back, while Elsie pulled my coat to guide me to home. If I had an
early afternoon I used to take them to London to see Zoo, Parks, or some
music halls. They were too frightened of traffics to cross the road; I
used to carry them in my arms, one each time, to the other side. We
spent Sundays generally at Greenwich Park. They were so proud to their
children friends because they had walk with a Japanese “gentleman.” What
a different thought from those California children!
The landlady used to say to me, “Oh, Mr. Markino, please don’t spoil my
children so. I don’t know what will become of them after all this.”
At this time I wrote all my London life to some Japanese friends in San
Francisco. They all envied me much.
I stayed at this most comfortable home for about a year and a half. Then
that poor old Watson died. His wife was so upset. She could not survive
more than half a year and died, leaving those poor children alone in
this world. I was obliged to remove to a new diggings at New Cross. I
was no less sad than those poor children.
They had some rich relative among the English Navy. This naval officer
sent them to a boarding-school. Since then I did not hear of them for
such a long time. Just the time when “The Color of London” was published
in 1907, I found a letter addressed to my publishers, with a Canadian
stamp on it. It was from Winnie. She told me in her letter that soon
after she and her sister finished the school, they both went to St.
John, where their aunt was. She wanted to write me so often, but did not
know my address. At last, to her delight, she saw some reviews of my
book in a paper, and she hurried to write to me.
I answered her immediately, asking her if she would like some toy-books.
I got her answer like this: “My dear Mr. Markino, you cannot imagine how
delighted I was to hear from you after all. I am afraid you are still
thinking of me as a little ‘Toby’ in a pinafore. But remember, I am
seventeen, and I believe I am a few inches taller than you now....”
One of her photographs came with this letter. Indeed, she was quite a
handsome young lady! How wonderful Time passes by so quick! If my art
could grow up at the same rate as this little friend, I should be a
great master by this time!
A few weeks later I got another letter from her, saying that she had “a
nice young man with a very kind heart,” &c., &c. She asked my advice
whether to marry or not. I persuaded her to marry. A wedding-card came
to me half a year later. Alas, my own art is not in the stage of
marriage yet!
Elsie, the elder girl, began to write to me too. In all her letters she
expressed how happy she was in Canada. Last Christmas she sent me a
beautifully bound book of Longfellow, with these words on the
frontispage--“Recollecting all your kindness long, long ages ago.”