A Modern Day Take on a Traditional Story

“Oh....You’re the new skivvy, thank God for that!”

 A modern day take on a well known traditional story

Elana Poniatowska looked at the grubby, dog eared, printed card pinned to the notice board in the run down discount store. Although obviously printed on a computer in different inks and fonts and with an official looking logo Elana thought the clumsy and rather false wording was not written by a native Polish speaker. There was no doubt, however, about what it said and as Elana read it her heart quickened. Taking out her shopping list she scribbled the main points onto the back of the scrap of paper, pulled her thin anorak around her and went out onto the windswept street, her purchases, in the polythene bag, banging against her leg.

Two days later, Elana stood in a long queue that wound its way up a narrow staircase. The stairwell smelled of stale urine, the walls peeling and a feeling of cold and damp permeated all. In her hand she clutched the scrap of paper on which she had written the details of the notice. In the inside pocket of her anorak she could feel her passport, her birth certificate and the envelope containing her short life’s savings, just over 1200 zloty, which she had just drawn out of the hole in the wall near to the flat where she lived with her mother and two younger brothers. Two hours later Elana stood handing all the money that she had in the world across an old battered table to a surly, middle aged, chain smoking woman. The woman counted the money and then, without taking the cigarette from her mouth, said in heavily accented Polish, “Next Wednesday, six in the morning. Don’t be late, we won’t wait”.

v   

The windscreen wipers on the battered mini-bus struggled to keep the windscreen clear as the rain fell from the sky. Crossing the Channel had been long and rough. Elana and the three other young girls in the group had pooled what little money they had to buy coffee and sandwiches as the ferry battled across the waters. Now, they all sat, ten of them plus the driver at English immigration control. The driver handed over the eleven passports and the immigration official looked at the van, peering at its occupants through the grimy, rain spattered windows. But then, to everyone’s relief, they were waved on their way – England! London! Suddenly the mini-bus was filled with relaxed faces and chatter. Soon they would have the work they had been promised when they had paid to the middle aged woman. Soon they would have money to spare. Elana would enjoy London and be able to send money home to her ailing mother and younger brothers. Who knows, thought Elana, maybe I will find a rich English man to marry! Throughout Elana’s young life times had been hard, an ailing mother and young brothers to care for and little money coming in to the tiny flat where they lived. Schooling had been hit and miss, so often was she needed to care for her little family and she had left school with few qualifications – the result being that finding well paid work had been difficult at the best of times. But now all would be different - London! Elana put her head back and watched the rain drenched countryside slip by, the old engine struggling to keep going as it followed the M2 towards London. She smiled as she remembered the story once read as a little girl about a man called Dick Whittington who went to London and became rich because, the story said, the streets were paved with gold. Elana knew the story wasn’t really true – the bit about the gold streets anyway – but she knew for sure that very rich people lived in London and so there would be plenty of work. The woman with the cigarettes had promised her. Elana would earn lots of money enough to send some home and still enjoy the bright lights and life of this great city and everything would be good.

v   

Clutching a scrap of paper Elana walked up the street lined with smart German cars – Mercedes, Porche and BMWs. Eventually she came to number 47. She checked the scrap of paper and stood looking at the imposing looking house.  Three storeys, steps going up to the front door and steps going down to a door below street level. Nervously, Elana bit her lip. She knew that her English was far from perfect; she had always done well enough at school with languages but this was something different. Would they understand her? Would they laugh at her attempts with the language? What would they be like? What would be expected of her? All she knew was that she was to look after two teenage girls and do a little general housekeeping for their mother who worked in the City. She had asked how much she would be paid, how many hours a week she had to work, what time she would have off but had received little back from the woman with the cigarette who had been waiting in the rain in central London to greet the mini-bus on its arrival. Each of the young passengers had been given scraps of paper with addresses, basic directions and a few coins for their bus fare. That was it and Elana suddenly felt very alone.

Here she was in a strange city and deep down Elana was a little troubled. Her life savings had gone to the chain smoking woman and the mini-bus driver had handed the passports to this woman. She had told the group of anxious young faces standing on the pavement in the rain at the side of the mini bus that she would look after the passports – for “safe keeping” and anyway, “it’s the law in England” she had said. No one dared question this.  One of the other girls had asked how and when they would be paid. “Don’t you worry none about that – your wages are paid directly to me at the agency” said the woman – “You’ll get what you’re entitled to after I’ve taken my commission each week”.  Elana was a little troubled as she climbed the steps to the front door and knocked.

The door opened. “Yeh, who are you? You can piss off if yer selling anyfink or if yer one of them Bible punchers” said the scowling, large featured, teenage girl who opened it. In the background the pulsating beat of rock music.  Elana stood there unsure of what to say. “I have come.......I am au pair. My name Elana” she struggled with these few English words that she had practised as she had walked down the street. The girl, heavily and clumsily made up, her brilliant red lips a gash across her face looked down at Elana, standing nervously on the door step. “Watcha say? – can’t hear yer”. Elana repeated the words. “Come again, can’t ya talk proper I can’t understand you bleedin’ foreigners. You’d think you’d learn proper English before you come ‘ere”. Elana again repeated the few words and the girl scowled – “Oh, right.... you’re the new skivvy, thank God for that – come in then and get yer skates on, the place is a bloody tip. Mother’s a lazy cow – never does nothin’ – up in the City all day poncin’ about with them banker friends of ‘ers. Whatcha say your name was?” Elana, understood little of what the girl said, her English lessons in Poland hadn’t included English spoken like this. She had, however, picked out the word ‘name’ so she repeated it slowly: “E..l..a..n..a,....... Elana, Elana  Poniatowska”.  The teenager emitted a cruel, braying laugh: “Christ, that’s a right bleedin’ mouthful!.....I’ll call you Ella Ponsi.....Well come on then, don’t just stand there like a wet weekend”. Picking up her back pack, Elana stepped into the hallway and tried to smile at the girl to give the impression that she understood and was friendly. The girl merely scowled and then shouted at the top of her voice “Sis, the new skivvy’s ‘ere – foreign cow with a stupid grin and can’t ‘ardly speak no English. Think she’s called Elli Ponsi or somefink – can’t understand a word she sez.” A voice bellowed from deep inside the house “Well tell the dozy tart to get busy – Mother’s fancy man is coming round later. She’ll go ape if the place is still a mess after last night’s bash.”

Elena, her doubts now changing to real anxiety, tried desperately to piece together the strange conversation in this alien language and nervously smiled again at the girl. “Don’t know what you’re so bleedin’ ‘appy about, Cinderella, or whatever yer friggin’ name is. You’ll be smilin’ on t’other side of yer face when you’ve been here a few hours” scowled the girl and she emitted another braying laugh as she shoved Elana along the hallway. Elana, hugged the back pack containing the few things that she owned to her chest; she was alone with this terrifying teenager and her family with no passport or money and nowhere else to go in this frightening place. Elana was suddenly very worried. 

Tony Beale: Jan 2017