The Girl from the Docklands Café

by June Tate

  ‘McGonigall! Over here.’

  Conor pushed his way to the front and waited for the other two men to be chosen, then they made their way to the ship they would be working on. He kept his head down knowing that today he’d be taking orders instead of giving them, which would stick in his craw, but at least he was working. When he saw that Bill Brown was part of the gang, he thought it ironic. After all, he’d been the one to get him the job, although Bill was unaware of this fact. They nodded to each other and then the work began.

  The men began loading the cargo into the nets before the cranes carried them from the quayside over to the ship’s hold. It was heavy work and, by the end of the day, Conor’s leg ached. But despite that and the fact he was working as an ordinary docker, he felt happier than he’d been for some time. He felt he’d regained his manhood. He was once again earning. He and Bill walked home together.

  They chatted about everything except the day’s work. Bill didn’t bring up the subject and thought he’d wait until Conor did first, but the Irishman didn’t mention it and so Bill took his lead from that. They parted at their front doors.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ Bill said.

  ‘Indeed, you will,’ answered Conor as he’d been told he would be needed for the week.

  Jessie was in the kitchen when she heard Conor return. She walked into the living room and saw her husband wearing his work clothes, covered in dirt. She was at a loss for words.

  Conor burst out laughing at her surprise and, picking her up, he spun her round, and then put her down. ‘Close your mouth, darlin’, or you’ll catch a fly!’

  ‘What on earth is going on?’

  ‘I’m working again. Not as a stevedore, for the moment anyway, but I was at the call-on and got taken on for a week. Make us a cuppa, darlin’, I’m parched, then I’ll take a bath.’

  She went into the kitchen to fill the kettle. At least Conor looked happy for once and she was grateful for that, and if he had swallowed his pride and taken a lesser position she had nothing but admiration for him, knowing just how hard it would have been for him. She put the kettle on the hob and filled some large saucepans with water to warm, ready to start filling the bath, then sat down to wait.

  ‘I’m working in the same gang as Bill next door,’ he said. ‘I don’t like the gang boss, Dave Jennings. He treats his men like cattle – without respect. That’s no way to get them working happily. A happy workforce is a good workforce. There is such an air of resentment; you can feel it as he shouts his orders. He also takes ten per cent of their wage – Bill told us, remember?’

  ‘Don’t the men say anything?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, love. One wrong word and he’ll replace you. Nobody can afford to say anything.’

  This concerned Jessie, knowing Conor’s short fuse. He commanded respect and he’d earned it over the years. She couldn’t see him lasting very long under those circumstances.

  Conor, eventually, had his bath and sat down in clean clothes to eat his meal. He put his leg up on a stool to rest it, but Jessie had noticed how swollen it was and had soaked a towel in cold water, rung it out and made him pull up his trouser leg so she could wrap it round his limb. She didn’t make a fuss: having told Conor he needed to take his time to let the muscles grow strong again, she knew he wouldn’t want to be reminded of it.

  He didn’t comment either, except to thank her and, by the time they retired to bed, the swelling had subsided.

  The following morning in the cafe, as Nancy and Jessie were preparing the vegetables, the postman delivered a letter addressed to her. She was puzzled as she opened it as she wasn’t expecting any mail. She read it and let out a cry of surprise.

  ‘What is it, Jessie? Is something wrong?’ Nancy added, seeing the look on her employer’s face.

  ‘The lease of the shop has been sold,’ she said. ‘They are writing to inform me, and the new owner will be calling on me soon.’

  ‘Is that bad news or good?’

  ‘It all depends. If the rent is still the same it doesn’t matter, but a new owner may have new ideas for the premises. I do have a contract, so it shouldn’t make much difference. We will just have to wait and see.’

  A few days passed and no one came to see her, so Jessie imagined all was well until, just as she was about to lock up on the third day, Larry Forbes arrived.

  ‘I’m sorry, but we’re closed!’ she said sharply.

  He stepped inside. ‘I don’t want anything to eat, Mrs McGonigall, thank you.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’

  ‘That really is not the tone to use when talking to your landlord,’ he said.

  ‘My landlord? What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Didn’t you get a letter saying the lease of the premises has been sold?’

  It suddenly all fell into place. She glared at the man facing her. ‘You bought the lease?’

  He pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Yes, I did. The property is now mine. You are now my tenant.’

  She just shook her head. ‘By hook or by crook, eh? You just couldn’t take no for an answer. Very well, Mr Forbes, you obviously came here to say something.’ She drew out a chair and sat opposite him. ‘Speak up!’

  ‘The monthly rental will stay the same.’

  This surprised Jessie, who thought the first thing he’d do, was to increase it.

  ‘However, I will expect ten per cent of your weekly take.’

  This she wasn’t expecting. ‘Like hell you will!’

  He shrugged. ‘Take it or leave it. The choice is yours. In the small print of your old contract, it stipulates that all arrangements are only applicable to the present owner. If the lease is sold, changes can be made by the new owner. If you want to keep your business, you’ll agree. After all, had I put up the rent you would have had to pay the amount, busy or not. At least this way if you have a quiet week then it won’t be so costly.’

  Jessie was livid, knowing that he could do such a thing legally. She gave a wry smile. ‘I have to hand it to you, you are a clever bastard and a devious one. I have no choice, as you well know.’

  ‘Then let’s shake on it.’ He held out his hand.

  Jessie looked at his hand with distaste. ‘We don’t have to go that far; I’ve said yes, that’s enough.’

  ‘Not quite.’ He took a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘Here is a new contract for you to sign. It’s for six months, not a year, saying the rent is the same but agreeing to the new proposal. I’ll wait while you read it; it won’t take long.’ He handed her a pen and sat back.

  Inside, Jessie was fuming. She wanted to stuff the paper down his throat, but she controlled her temper. This was not the time. The contract was laid out clearly, but stipulating that the new agreement began the following week. She read through the agreement, then, picking up the pen, she signed her name with a flourish and pushed it across the table.

  Forbes got to his feet. ‘Oh, just one more thing. I’ll have someone from my office work at the tills taking the money, keeping a record of the daily take, totting up at the end of the week.’ As Jessie made to argue, he continued, ‘After all, it would be so easy not to enter the odd meal here and there … with you being so busy, you know. It’ll be one job less for you to have to worry about.’

  Jessie erupted. ‘Well I’m not paying their wages and that is not negotiable!’

  ‘No, I’ll do that, Mrs McGonigall, have no fear. He’s working for me, not you. Good day to you.’

  Nancy came rushing out of the kitchen, having been listening intently. ‘Oh, Jessie, that man is a devil. Didn’t I tell you!’

  Jessie lit a cigarette and handed one to her friend. ‘He’s got me over a barrel and he knows it. But not a word to the customers; I don’t want them knowing. We’ll just carry on as usual, but if there is some way out of this mess, I’ll bloody well find it. I don’t intend working for that man a minute longer than I have to.’ She decided not to share her dilemma with her husband.
It wasn’t his problem, it was hers. But she thought it ironic that now both of them would be handing over a percentage of their hard-earned money!

  Chapter Ten

  At the end of the week, Conor stood with his colleagues, waiting for his pay packet. Jennings handed his over and Conor read the front showing his daily earnings and the total, plus the ten per cent taken out. He looked up at Jennings, feigning ignorance of the deal.

  ‘What’s this? I’m short here.’

  Jennings just gave him a cursory glance. ‘It’s what I charge for the privilege of being in my gang, instead of waiting in the call-on. You work well and I’m offering you a place, but you have to pay for it. Any problem with that?’

  The offer of a place was too good to turn down at the moment, so Conor swallowed his anger. He would accept hoping that he’d soon be back in his old position. It was money coming in, after all.

  ‘No problem,’ he said and walked away. He was furious that he’d let the man get away with this duplicity, but vowed when he was back as a stevedore, he’d shop him and let the authorities know what was happening.

  That evening after a bath and a meal, Conor and Jessie went across the road to the Builders Arms for a game of darts and a drink, but Conor noticed that Jessie was far from her usual exuberant self. As the game finished, they sat down.

  ‘Something wrong, darlin’? You’re very quiet tonight.’

  ‘No, just tired,’ she said. ‘It’s been a busy week. I’m looking forward to a lazy Sunday.’ But all the time she was contemplating having a stranger standing at her till, making a note of every penny that was passed over, watching her every move.

  On Monday morning, as was usual, Jessie and Nancy arrived early to prepare and cook the food for the day. Just before eight o’clock, there was a knock on the door. A young man stood there waiting to be let in. Dressed in a smart suit with waistcoat and stiff collar and a tie, he looked so out of place that Jessie had to hide a smile.

  She opened the door. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m from Mr Forbes,’ he said somewhat arrogantly. ‘I’m here to be in charge of the till.’

  ‘No, mister – wrong. I am in charge here, my friend, nobody else. You are here as a cashier to take the money and be polite to my customers, so change your tone of voice or you’ll be leaving with my foot up your arse! Do I make myself clear?’

  There was a look of dismay and surprise on his face.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She stood aside, locking the door behind him and walked over to the counter. ‘Here is the till. The bills go on this spike as they’re paid. There’s a five-pound float, check it now and, as you’ll be the only one taking the money, any shortages, I expect you to make them up.’

  He looked astonished, then angry. ‘I wasn’t advised about that by Mr Forbes,’ he protested.

  ‘Really?’ said Jessie. ‘Well, I’m telling you. After all, any shortages will be through an error on your part, not mine, and I can’t afford any mistakes. And another thing: if we get really busy, I expect you to earn your money and remove empty plates from the table and take them to the kitchen.’

  ‘Mr Forbes didn’t say anything about that either,’ he said angrily. ‘I’m not here to do menial tasks!’

  ‘This is a business; there is nothing menial about working here. We work hard for our money and I have a reputation to uphold. You will not be allowed to undermine it! Here’s a cloth. After you’ve checked the float, wipe down those tables. We’ll be open in ten minutes and I’m busy.’ At his hesitation, she added, ‘If we are not ready for service, there won’t be any money for you to take. Any questions?’

  He saw the anger in her eyes and decided this was perhaps not a woman to cross. If he returned empty-handed, his boss would be furious. He reluctantly took the damp cloth.

  Nancy was giggling quietly when Jessie returned to the kitchen. ‘That told him, Jess! Arrogant little prig. Today may prove to be interesting when the men come in.’

  Indeed, it was. Seeing a new person at the till and a smartly dressed young man at that, Jessie was ribbed unmercifully.

  ‘Does your husband know about this, Jessie? Sneaking a man in on the premises? And a posh one, at that!’

  Jessie laughed. ‘Come off it, Jim. He’s far too young. I like a real man, not a boy.’

  Henry Marshall, the young man in question, felt his cheeks redden at the joshing and was already regretting being sent here to work. He’d been lambasted by the lady who ran the place, made to do a menial task and now he was the butt of the jokes coming thick and fast. He was not comfortable at all. But the smell of food invaded his nostrils and, as plates came by one by one, it made him feel hungry.

  At first, Henry stood at the till taking the money with an imperious air, which really annoyed Jessie. But as it got busy, she took the opportunity of demoralising him.

  ‘Clear that table, young man and wipe it down,’ Jessie ordered time after time. ‘Come along, we’ll need it again in a minute. You’re costing me money and Mr Forbes won’t like that when I tell him!’

  He had little choice with all the customers watching him. As he worked, he began to sweat with the heat of the cafe and his collar felt as if it was choking him. Taking out the handkerchief from his top pocket, he wiped his forehead.

  ‘What’s it feel like, working for a living?’ asked one of the customers, grinning broadly. ‘Dressed like a kipper and all.’

  Henry looked at the man with undisguised distaste. ‘There’s no reason to be rude!’ he said.

  Then he became flustered as the others laughed at his discomfort.

  Halfway through the day, Jessie handed him a sandwich and a mug of tea as he stood at the desk.

  He was absolutely parched, and he thanked her and drank from the mug. Looking at his fob watch, he saw he had at least another hour to go before he could cash up and wondered how he would survive such a dreadful day.

  Eventually, it was closing time and Jessie locked the door. Henry started counting the cash in the till and totting up the bills. To his great relief, there were no discrepancies.

  Jessie came out of the kitchen and stood by the counter. ‘Well, everything alright?’

  Henry, having recovered his equilibrium, said, ‘To the penny.’

  Jessie made no comment except to hand him a bag, telling him to put the money and bills inside and a copy of his tally for the day. ‘Make sure you date it,’ she ordered. ‘We don’t want any mix up.’

  When he was finished, he looked at her and said, ‘I’ll be here again in the morning.’

  ‘If I were you, young man, I’d wear something less formal. You saw how busy we were. You don’t need a waistcoat, and that stiff collar is too much in the heat of the cafe. I can’t waste time on you if you pass out on me. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs McGonigall. I understand. Good day to you.’ He waited for her to unlock the door and left the cafe. Outside, he walked a few paces, then stopped and breathed in deeply. ‘Thank God for some fresh air,’ he muttered. But as he strolled away, he knew he couldn’t possibly do this indefinitely. Just the thought of tomorrow was bad enough. All he wanted now was to go home, change his clothes and sink into a hot bath to ease his aching bones.

  While all this had been going on, Daisy Brown had been dealing with Doris and Maggie, her customers, who had come along for a final fitting. By this time, the three of them had become good friends, exchanging personal problems, as you do. Daisy had been telling them how Bill’s foreman stopped ten per cent of all his men’s wages.

  ‘That’s bloody criminal!’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘Christ Almighty! The poor buggers don’t earn a fortune. Why don’t they all refuse?’

  Daisy looked at her in surprise. ‘It’s obvious. They’d lose their jobs – that’s why. You should see the men at the call-on each morning. It’s pathetic how they have to scramble to be chosen to work. Lots of them have kids to feed as well as rent to pay. It’s inhuman, that’s what it i
s. But does Dave Jennings care? Does he hell!’

  Doris and Maggie looked at each other on hearing the name, but made no comment until they were outside.

  ‘Isn’t Dave Jennings one of your punters?’ Doris asked her friend.

  ‘Yes, nasty piece of work. Treats me like dirt, but is eager enough to lay me down.’

  ‘I bet he treats his men the same,’ remarked Doris. ‘Pity we can’t help Daisy’s husband, though. She’s a good girl and talented. If only she could find someone to back her, she could open her own business.’

  ‘Yes, and pigs might fly!’ They left for Canal Walk to start work.

  The following morning, Henry Marshall walked reluctantly towards the cafe, dreading what lay ahead. But he’d taken Jessie’s advice and wore a lighter jacket over his trousers, a shirt with a softer collar and had dispensed with his waistcoat. He’d been told to report to Larry Forbes at the end of the day and he wondered what he’d have to say about his attire. Forbes was a stickler about the appearance of his staff.

  As Jessie let him in, she noticed the changes as he walked over to the till and checked the float. Everything was ready for service in the cafe, so she didn’t need to give the new cashier a job. His relief was noticeable. But as the day progressed that changed and he found himself clearing tables as they became vacant, letting the waiting men take a seat.

  As he watched Jessie serving, he had to admire her. She was fast and efficient, but she still made time to talk to her customers and he could see how popular she was with the men. He just couldn’t understand why his employer would want to be involved with this business. It was unlike any of his others and, at the end of the day; he left the cafe and made his way to the office of his boss.