about the book

Dublin 1911

When Eliza Kane and her brother Jonty move from the leafy suburbs of Rathmines to a tenement flat on Henrietta Street they are in for a shock. Pigs and ponies in the yard, rats in the hallways and cockroaches or ‘clocks’ underfoot!

When they meet their new neighbour, Annie, a kind and practical teenager and her brothers, and a travelling circus comes to town, offering them both jobs, helping Madam Ada, the bee charmer, and Albert the dog trainer, things start to look up.

When a tragedy happens in the tenements, Eliza, Jonty and their new friends spring into action.

 A tale of family, friendship and finding a new home, with touch of magical bees!

reviews

‘I enjoyed every single page’ Judi Curtin

‘Captivating’ Marita Conlon-McKenna

‘A charming book’ The Echo

‘Dublin-set historical fiction from the wonderfully versatile Sarah Webb & a timely look at poor housing conditions in the city, among other things. Historical fiction is really really really REALLY hard & it's done well here - I tip my hat’ Claire Hennessy

‘Eliza, the heroine of Sarah Webb’s historical novel The Little Bee Charmer of Henrietta Street is also struggling to adjust to changing circumstances. Following the death of her mother and the sudden debility of her father, Eliza has moved from leafy Rathmines to the top floor of a tenement on Henrietta Street. Suddenly she is the cook, the cleaner, the wage-earner for the family, but this is turn-of-the-century Dublin, and on Henrietta Street Eliza is surrounded by children who also need to work. Webb writes assuredly about the time period, and the book is rich in historical detail, from the architectural features of the tenement to the surrounding cityscape, from the studied art of illumination to the care and training of bees. However, authenticity is never at the expense of action. Eliza’s rascally brother Jonty makes sure of that, as does the arrival of the Zozimus Wilde Travelling Circus to Dublin, with its trained animals and its bewitching bee-charmer, who casts a spell upon Eliza. For extra interest, each chapter is headed by a sweet bee fact, and the scattered illustrations from Rachel Corcoran provide a visual dimension to Webb’s winsome, heart-tugging tale.’ Irish Times

‘Webb’s careful research into Dublin tenement life in the early 1900s is woven lightly into the magical story of young artist Eliza and her brother Jonty.’ Sunday Independent

‘Sarah Webb has yet again delivered a fantastic adventure of change, family, and friendship.’ Books Ireland

read the first chapter

Friday 19th May 1911

‘Moving?’ Jonty stares at Papa. ‘What do you mean we’re moving? This is our home.’

‘I’m sorry, Jonty,’ Papa says. ‘I wish it hadn’t come to this but we have to sell this house to pay off all our debts.’ Papa is slumped in his maroon velvet armchair by the window. He’s aged years since Mama died, today he looks like an old man, his face pale and whiskery.

‘I’ve found us rooms on Henrietta Street,’ he continues. ‘We’ll be sharing a large townhouse with some other families. It will be perfect for the three of us. There’s a small workshop in the back yard, and there are boys your age in the house to play with, Jonty. I asked especially.’

My brother perks up a bit at this. He’s small for his age and the boys on our road call him ‘Baba Jonty’. The more he protests, the more they tease him.

‘A yard?’ he says. ‘Is there a garden? And a tree with a swing? Can Oboe come too?’ Oboe is our dog, a black Labrador.

Papa rubs his hands over his face. ‘Jonty, please don’t make this any harder than it already is. There are plenty of parks nearby. And Oboe’s going to be a hunting dog on an estate in Wicklow. It’s all arranged. You know how much he likes chasing birds. He’ll fit right in.’

Jonty’s face drops. He loves Oboe. None of this is Papa’s fault, I know he’s trying to make the best of things, but the changes will be hard.

Jonty opens his mouth to protest but I say quickly ‘Jonty, don’t be upset. It’ll be fun. A new adventure.’

‘Why are you being so calm?’ he says. He stares at me with his soft grey eyes, seal-skin Mama used to call the colour, and I look away.

‘You know, don’t you?’ he says. ‘About moving. I can’t believe you kept it a secret. Traitor! ’

My cheeks flame. He’s right.

Jonty turns to Papa. ‘Why did you tell Eliza and not me? It’s not fair! I’m not moving. You can’t make me.’

Papa goes quiet, stares down at his hands and twists his gold signet ring around and around on his finger. I know this can’t be easy on him either, especially without Mama. People said he wouldn’t be able to raise two children on his own, that we should be sent to distant relatives in West Cork, but he was determined to keep our small family together. So I know I have to help do that too, no matter what.

‘Jonty,’ I say. ‘Go upstairs and start packing your things. I’ll help if you like.’

He glares at me. ‘Don’t tell me what to do, you’re not Mama.’ He storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I wince, his sharp words are like a punch to my stomach, almost winding me. I know I’m Mama! And I miss her too, so much. Before she passed, Mama asked me to look after Papa and Jonty and I’m doing my best, but it’s not easy.

When Papa first told me about the move last Friday, I begged him to tell Jonty too but he said he didn’t have the energy for a week’s worth of Jonty’s theatrics.

Like Jonty, I was shocked when I heard. I pleaded with Papa to change his mind but he explained that we have no money. He’d borrowed heavily to buy printing machinery for his business. When his eyesight started to fade he’d found it more and more difficult to work and eventually had to stop altogether. The house now belongs to the bank and we are homeless.

I went quiet when he told me and I felt all shivery inside. This was terrible news – losing the business and the house.  – and I didn’t know what to say. Sensing I was upset this he added ‘We’re not destitute, Eliza, please try not to worry. We have some money to tide us over but we’re going to have to tighten our purse strings. Live a simpler life. I can’t do this without you, poppet. I need your help.’

‘Of course, Papa,’ I said, my voice a whisper.

‘I’m so sorry, Eliza.’ There were tears in his cloudy eyes so I hugged him, blinking back my own tears.

‘I’m sorry you had to bear the brunt of Jonty’s anger, Eliza,’ Papa says now, bringing me back to the present.

‘That’s all right, Papa.’

Whack! I see Jonty out the window, hitting the oak tree in the garden with one of the bendy bamboo sticks that supports Mama’s runner beans. Mama’s precious garden – her vegetable patch, her raspberry bushes, her plum trees, the wall of climbing pink roses she was so proud of, and what she called her honey bee bed, planted with lots of flowers bees love – they will all have to stay behind too.

My heart squeezes thinking about how she used to put sugar water on the top of her hand and honey bees would sip it, happily humming.

‘Bees are a gardener’s best friend,’ she told me. ‘No bees to pollinate the plants, no plums or raspberries. Would you like to try?’ She nodded at the glass of sugar water.

I shook my head. I’m a little afraid of bees, ever since I stood on one in the garden when I was six. It stung the arch of my foot and I remember Mama pulling out the stinger with metal tweezers, rubbing honey onto my red, throbbing skin and wrapping a white bandage around it.

Mama always put honey on stings, cuts and bruises, she said it has magical healing properties. She rubbed it on her own skin so much she used to smell like honey, warm and sweet.

I wish I was as brave as mama. I need to be brave right now.

Whack! Jonty is really going for it with that stick. I feel so sorry for my little brother. It’s only been six months since Mama died and I know he’s missing her dreadfully. We all are, although Papa rarely talks about her.

‘Should I go after him, Papa? He’s outside attacking the compost heap.’ Jonty has started thrashing Mama’s pile of old clippings and grass cuttings, sending a storm of tiny black dots into the air. Fruit flies. Jonty stands back, gently waving them away from his face. My brother literally wouldn’t hurt a fly!

‘No,’ Papa says. ‘Leave him outside.’

Papa’s right. Jonty’s like a wild animal – four walls cage him in. He’s always better outside. He loves being outside. I have no idea how he’s going to cope in a small flat in the heart of Dublin city.