Fred decided that Bessie could help out more behind the counter and Carrie should spend more time with the child instead of employing another nurse. ‘It’ll only be for a year or so. Rachel’s gonna be startin’ school then,’ he told her.
Carrie could understand the thinking behind Fred’s decision and she was angry. ‘I s’pose yer fink I’ll ferget about the plans fer the cafe now,’ she grated. ‘Well, I won’t. Yer just frightened ter take a chance, Fred. If we got that place next door an’ spent a few bob renovatin’ it we could double our takin’s, why can’t yer see it?’
‘It’ll take all the money we’ve saved,’ he barked at her. ‘I’m not prepared ter lose it all on a wild idea, so ferget it.’
Carrie could see that there was no way she would get him to change his mind for the present and she reluctantly decided to hold her fire.
The winter months were hard for the Bradleys. Trade along the wharves had diminished and their takings fell. Fred was quick to point out the folly of expanding at such a time but Carrie stuck to her argument.
‘It’s the same everywhere. We’re not the only business that’s feelin’ the pinch, an’ at least we’re ’oldin’ our own,’ she told him. ‘If we put in a bid I reckon we could get that place fer next to nuffink, the way fings are. We don’t ’ave ter rush in an’ do it up all at once. We could do it bit by bit.’
Fred merely shook his head and got on with his cooking to the chagrin of his ambitious young wife, who was determined to succeed with her plans for expansion before the year was out.
During the summer months trouble was brewing along the waterfront as the dock owners tried to cut their overheads by reducing the workforce, and longstanding agreements between them and the union on manning levels were scrapped. Constant bickering between the two sides and frequent stoppages aggravated the situation, and when winter set in and the seasonal trade brought more work the arguments over workforce numbers increased. Don Jacobs held many meetings in the little back room of the Bradleys’ cafe during the periods of strife, seeking co-operation from the local cartage firms through their union representatives. Many local firms enjoyed good rapport with the dockers’ union but there were some which seemed constantly to hamper the negotiations, and one of these was Galloway Transport Contractors.
In early December 1923 Don Jacobs held an important meeting with all the union shop stewards from his own branch and those of the local transport branch. Carrie and Fred stayed open late that night and the dining rooms were packed with angry union men, who listened intently while Don Jacobs was on his feet.
‘Cutting the mannin’ levels is like askin’ starvin’ men ter eat less bread,’ he began with passion. ‘It’s criminal, an’ it’s downright dangerous as well. We all know very well there’s a turn-round time fer those ships, an’ unless we can stick ter those times we’re not gonna earn a wage. Now I wanna impress on all our bruvvers from the transport branch that when six men ’ave gotta do the work of eight then safety procedures go up the bloody chimney. Yer’ve only gotta look at the accidents over the past year ter see that. We’ve ’ad two fatalities an’ more than a dozen bad injuries along our stretch o’ the water, an’ I tell yer, bruvvers, it’s not acceptable!’
A roar of approval greeted Don Jacobs’ angry words and he held up his hands for silence. ‘Now on Monday we’re tellin’ the employers we’ve ’ad enough, an’ we all know what their next move’s gonna be. They’re gonna put the screws on us. They’ll provoke a stoppage, an’ yer all know what that means.’
‘Scabs an’ blacklegs!’ the cry went up.
‘That’s right. They’re gonna take on scab labour,’ the union leader concurred. ‘But no matter who they take on, they can’t put the cart before the ’orse. If the cargoes don’t get shifted they can’t operate. That’s where our transport bruvvers can ’elp us. What we’re askin’ yer ter do is not ter cross picket lines, it’s as simple as that. If we’ve got a dispute you’ll know it, ’cos our pickets are gonna be at the gates. Turn yer carts an’ vans round, that’s what we’re askin’, bruvvers.’
‘What about us?’ one man asked, his voice rising above the din. ‘What ’appens when we get the sack fer refusin’ ter cross picket lines?’
‘I’ll tell yer what’ll ’appen, bruvver,’ Jacobs replied. ‘Any employer who sacks a carman fer not crossin’ picket lines won’t get the time o’ day from us dockers. When the stoppage is over an’ that cartage firm sends a van down ter the wharves we’ll refuse ter touch it. That firm’s gonna be blacklisted fer evermore. Any firm that tries it on wiv us is gonna be put out o’ business as far as dock deliveries an’ collections are concerned.’
The tall figure of Sharkey Morris pushed his way to the front of the gathering. ‘Tell that ter George Galloway,’ he called out. ‘Me an’ Soapy Symonds worked fer that no-good whoreson once an’ we wouldn’t cross picket lines at the London Dock. We ended up gettin’ put off. Galloway don’t take any notice o’ threats, does ’e, Soapy?’
A smaller figure pushed his way to the front beside his friend. ‘Galloway got union tickets fer ’is carmen after ’e got rid of us. ’Ow d’yer account fer that then?’ he yelled angrily.
One of the transport union officials stepped up alongside Don Jacobs. ‘We know what’s bin ’appenin’ in the past but it’s all bin sorted out,’ he shouted above the noise. ‘What we’re tellin’ you is from now on no firm’s gonna put a few bob in anybody’s pocket ter get tickets if they’re blacklisted. Yer can rely on it.’
As the men cheered and pushed forward one man slipped quietly out of the dining rooms. No one noticed him leave except Carrie, who was busy laying out mugs on the counter.
When the meeting had adjourned and a few union officials were sitting together with Don Jacobs in the back room, Carrie mentioned what she had seen. ‘I bet Galloway knows all about this meetin’ already, Don,’ she remarked as she put down a tray of tea on the table in front of them.
The union man looked at her with surprise showing on his face. ‘What makes yer say that, luv?’ he asked.
‘When yer meetin’ was goin’ on I saw one bloke slip out the door,’ she told him.
The union group looked at each other. ‘Yer can’t stop it, I s’pose,’ a shop steward said with resignation, shaking his head. ‘There’s always one in every meetin’.’
‘Did yer recognise the man, Carrie?’ Don asked her.
She shook her head. ‘’E’s not one o’ my customers, as far as I know,’ she replied.
As they were leaving one of the men took Don Jacobs to one side. ‘I’d watch yer step, pal,’ he warned. ‘There’s a nasty element that’s out ter cripple us. One or two o’ my men ’ave bin threatened an’ ole Bill Gordon got badly duffed up one night as ’e was goin’ ’ome from a meetin’. We can’t pin it down but it looks like these troublemakers ’ave bin brought in from somewhere, an’ yer can bet yer life those monkey firms are be’ind it.’
Don Jacobs shrugged his shoulders dismissively. ‘It comes wiv the job,’ he said. ‘If I’d taken all the threats made against me seriously I wouldn’t be doin’ what I’m doin’ now, Pete, that’s fer sure.’
Don Jacobs bade his friend good night and walked off along the foggy lane, feeling unduly troubled by what he had said. Normally he would have taken no notice of the warning, but tonight he felt apprehensive about what might happen.
Chapter Twelve
Billy Sullivan had managed to survive at the soapmakers. Every morning he donned his clogs, rubber apron and rubber gloves and wrapped a meatcloth around his neck, before feeding the rotting, maggoty bones into a boiler. He gritted his teeth and fought back his feelings of nausea, vowing to stick at the job until he was promoted to the other, less nasty tasks of skimming the fats, mixing and filtering. Unfortunately for him he was a good worker and he kept the boilers going at full stretch, much to the delight of the factory foreman who conveniently overlooked him for promotion. During the warm summer when the temperature in the fac
tory rose to an almost unbearable degree and the stench became virtually overpowering Billy stuck at his job, and as the winter set in he felt that he had well and truly served his time and had earned a promotion. One Monday morning in December he had a word with the foreman and told him it was about time he was considered for a better job in the factory.
‘It’s over a year now since I started an’ I ain’t complained,’ Billy told him. ‘I fink it’s about time yer put me on somefing else.’
‘Well, I ain’t got nuffink else for yer, so yer’ll ’ave ter get on wiv what yer bin doin’,’ the foreman said abruptly.
‘Now look, mate,’ Billy persisted. ‘I don’t fink I’m bein’ unreasonable but I reckon it’s time yer give me a change.’
‘Don’t yer “mate” me. I ain’t your mate. It’s Mr Thomas ter you,’ the foreman shouted at him. ‘Now get ter work, Sullivan, or yer’ll be in trouble.’
Billy had felt for a long while that trouble was destined to become his middle name. He slowly and deliberately took off his clogs, his rubber gloves and his apron, unwrapped the meatcloth from around his neck and then grabbed the startled foreman by his lapels and pulled him towards him.
‘Now listen ’ere, yer toffee-nosed little git,’ he snarled. ‘If it wasn’t fer yer wife an’ kids I’d put yer in the boiler wiv all them maggoty bones an’ turn yer inter soap. Now piss orf an’ sort me out somefing else, I’ve ’ad enough o’ this job.’
The foreman struggled free and stepped back a pace. ‘Yer can’t talk ter me like that!’ he croaked with disbelief. ‘I’ll see the guv’nor about yer, see if I don’t.’
‘Well, yer’d better ’ave somefink werfwhile ter tell ’im then,’ Billy said in a menacing tone.
‘Keep away from me!’ the foreman cried, backing away as the young ex-boxer made towards him.
Billy shot his hand out, grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and swung him round. He slipped his other hand between the foreman’s legs and hoisted him up, and before he could do anything about it the man found himself being carried horizontally towards a large storage container. With a deep growl, Billy lifted him higher and then dropped him into a stinking, rotting mass of animal bones.
All work had stopped on the factory floor by now, and Billy turned and lifted his clenched fists above his head in a sign of triumph, then, smiling broadly, walked away.
It was the week before Christmas when Carrie found that she was pregnant again. Her first reaction was one of anger. She had been trying to get Fred to relent and give his blessing to her plans for the dining rooms, and to that end had tried to heal the rift that seemed to be widening between them. Fred had promised to be careful but now what she had been dreading had happened, and she felt he had intended it that way to make her drop her ideas once and for all. He wouldn’t succeed, she told herself. One day she was going to see her dream come true.
On Christmas morning when Rachel opened her presents and Carrie saw the look of delight on her pretty face she felt guilty at her own selfishness. Rachel should have a sister or brother to play with instead of growing up to be an only child, she thought, and the anger she had harboured towards her husband left her.
Fred was overjoyed when Carrie told him he was to be a father again, and to her delight he promised that as soon as the child was born he would reconsider her plans for the business.
‘We’re gonna be a bigger family an’ we’ll ’ave ter fink about schoolin’ and such. Maybe fings’ll be better by then,’ he told her.
Carrie realised that for a long time she had been ignoring her motherly instincts in her desire for a more profitable business, and now, instead of bank loans and monthly figures, began to dream of whether the baby would be a boy or girl and what he or she would look like. She trusted Fred’s promise to her and she found herself growing warmer to him during the Christmas period.
During the week before Christmas a very unseasonal meeting took place at the Galloway yard office in Page Street.
George Galloway sat at a roll-top desk leaning his elbow on the blotting pad, a glass of whisky held in his huge hand. He was heavily built, with a full moustache and thick, grey-streaked hair swept back from his lined and furrowed forehead, and beneath his bushy eyebrows his eyes were dark and brooding. He had on a grey pinstriped double-breasted suit which was unbuttoned, revealing a silver watch chain with a gold medallion hanging from the centre. His black, half-suede boots were highly polished and he had a prosperous look about him.
The younger Galloway was a handsome man of dark complexion and well built. He sat opposite the desk and looked at his father while he spoke at length, ignoring the other person at the meeting.
‘Albert Whalley told me last night they’re getting themselves organised,’ he was saying. ‘The meeting went on for over two hours and all the main union people were there, Don Jacobs is the ringleader. He primed them all up with the need to join forces and all that nonsense, and he declared that they’d black the firms which wouldn’t play the union game. I tell you, Father, it’s nothing to laugh about. You won’t be able to bribe these new officials. According to Whalley they were all at the meeting and all for an outright strike. It won’t be merely a question of talking to the right man and putting some money his way. From what I can make out they’re a bolshie crowd.’
‘What about Don Jacobs?’ the elder Galloway asked, his fingers toying with the gold medallion. ‘What’s ’is pedigree?’
Frank Galloway shrugged his shoulders. ‘Whalley told me he’s a dedicated union man. He’s well respected by the rank and file and there’s no way you’ll be able to get to him with money.’
George Galloway took his arm from the desktop and sat up straight in his swivel chair, swinging around to face the immaculately dressed figure who sat with his chair tilted back against the far wall. ‘What would you suggest then, Gerry?’ he asked him.
The man brought his chair away from the wall and uncrossed his arms, dusting an imagined piece of fluff from his coat cuff. ‘Well, it seems to me that we’re talking personalities here,’ he said in a cultured voice. ‘When ignorant people like these get behind someone with a little bit of charisma they tend to treat him as though he’s some sort of god. Strike at that person and the ranks have got a martyr. Hit out at the small fry around him, though, and it’s a different story. It’s like pulling the ladder from under him. If there’s a loyal following the whole thing becomes futile. What I’m saying is, concentrate on the ordinary man in the street. Get Jacobs’ workers worried for their own skins and you’re more than halfway there.’
‘What d’yer mean, Gerry? We can’t take on all the dockers, more than two-thirds o’ the people round ’ere work in the docks,’ George Galloway said in a gruff voice.
The smartly dressed man studied his hands for a few moments before replying. ‘I wasn’t thinking of attacking the masses,’ he said quietly. ‘Where did they hold the meeting last night?’
The elder Galloway shook his head vigorously. ‘No, Gerry, that’s out o’ the question. The meetin’ was ’eld at Bradleys’ cafe in Cotton Lane an’ the bloke that owns it is married ter Will Tanner’s daughter. Will Tanner an’ me grew up tergevver round ’ere an’ ’e worked fer me fer a number o’ years. We ’ad our disagreements durin’ all that time an’ I ’ad ter get rid of ’im, but I don’t want ’is family touched.’
The well-dressed man smiled briefly, showing his large yellowing teeth. ‘I wasn’t thinking of persons, more of property, George,’ he replied.
George Galloway shook his head again. ‘It’s too risky,’ he said quickly. ‘Somebody could get ’urt.’
Frank Galloway looked from one man to the other and thought about the time Gerry Macedo had intervened on his behalf. Maitland’s warehouse had been destroyed and Will Tanner left to perish. Macedo was not one to do things by half. The younger Galloway’s only concern was that his own dealings with the man should be kept from his father. The old man had read in the newspaper of the fire at Joe Maitland
’s Dockhead warehouse, and how William Tanner has been rescued from the blaze in the nick of time. He had said then that Maitland must have crossed someone or other and it was an act of retribution. If he ever found out the true reason behind the arson and the malicious attack on Will Tanner he would be more than a trifle upset to say the least, Frank thought.
Gerry Macedo stood up and reached for his homburg which he twirled around in his hands, studying it for signs of dust. ‘Let me know what decision you come to, George,’ he said. ‘You know where to contact me.’
George stood up and shook hands with Macedo, who then stretched out his hand to the younger Galloway. ‘I’ll be seeing you soon, Frank,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you can come over for a few drinks? It’s quite a nice place. We tend to dissuade the riff-raff. Bring the wife along, I’m sure she’ll enjoy the cabaret.’
Once Gerry Macedo had left the office George Galloway turned to his son. ‘I don’t want Carrie Tanner or ’er old man touched, d’yer ’ear, Frank?’ he said firmly. ‘I fink we should stick ter what we agreed. Yer persuaded me ter bring Macedo over this side o’ the water ter deal wiv the problem an’ that means sortin’ out the union, not runnin’ riot. I wanna stay in business an’ it’s werf the money I’m gonna pay ’im, but on my terms. When those union pals o’ mine went out of office an’ that new lot came in I knew the same as you did that fings were gonna change. I wanted ter put pressure on Ted Marriot an’ ’is crowd ter ease off on us. They wouldn’t listen as well yer know. What was I s’posed ter do, lay down an’ die? No, Frank, I ain’t ready ter lose all that I’ve strived for all these years. I ain’t gonna be told where I can trade an’ where I can’t.’
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 16