‘Terrible fing that was,’ Sadie remarked. ‘Ter come in like that an’ smash the place up. My Gawd, it was enough ter send the pair of ’em round the twist.’
‘It cost Carrie ’er baby,’ Nellie said with quiet disgust. ‘She was really upset at first, but Fred was a diamond. ’E wouldn’t let ’er do a fing. Mind yer, it was early days. She just ’ad a flood an’ that was it.’
‘It must ’ave bin the shock,’ Maisie said, slipping her hands into the armholes of her apron.
Florrie took out her tiny silver snuffbox and tapped the lid with her first two fingers. ‘When my second ole man pissed orf I went up the Kings Arms an’ got sloshed,’ she told the gathering. ‘That was shock made me do it. They wasn’t gonna let me in there by meself but I jus’ told ’em if they refused ter serve me I was gonna chuck a brick frew the winder. Mind yer, I’m talkin’ about before they opened that snug bar. Gawdsend that was.’
‘I bet that trouble cost your Carrie an’ Fred a packet ter put right, didn’t it?’ Sadie asked.
‘The dockers got a collection up an’ some of ’em come in an’ ’elped clean the place up. Good as gold they was. The union give ’em some money as well,’ Nellie replied, sipping her tea.
‘I wonder if they’ll ever get ter the bottom of it,’ Florrie said. ‘From what yer’ve told me I should fink that Galloway family was be’ind it. I reckon it was the same people who done Carrie’s place that done the union bloke up.’
Nellie nodded. ‘I’m convinced it was the same crowd what set about my Will,’ she said with conviction. ‘I mean ter say, we’ve ’ad some ructions round ’ere an’ a few street fights but yer always knew what it was about. It’s a different fing when yer get yer place smashed up an’ people get ’urt by complete strangers. I’m sure there’s a link between what ’appened ter my Will an’ Carrie’s trouble, as well as that Don Jacobs gettin’ done up. It could be somebody from over the water. There’s some rough blokes over that side.’
Florrie had taken a pinch of snuff and the others waited until the tall, angular woman had had her sneeze before they continued the discussion.
‘’Ave yer seen anyfing o’ that Elsie Wishart?’ Sadie asked Nellie.
‘As a matter o’ fact I bumped inter the woman only the ovver day,’ Nellie told them. ‘She looks ill. I asked ’er if she was all right an’ if there was anyfing I could do fer ’er but she jus’ shook ’er ’ead. That daughter of ’ers can’t be found. My Carrie went round ter tell ’er about what ’appened to ’er muvver but she’d moved. There was no address so there was nuffink Carrie could do. Elsie was upset when Carrie wrote to ’er. She was livin’ wiv ’er sister at the time, by all accounts. Anyway, since the woman’s bin back she’s bin keepin’ ’erself to ’erself. I speak to ’er when I see ’er in the turnin’ but I don’t fink she’s got any friends in the street.’
‘D’yer fink ’er daughter would ’ave anyfing ter do wiv ’er after what’s ’appened?’ Sadie asked.
‘Gawd knows,’ Nellie replied. ‘After all, the gel was very close to ’er farvver an’ she’s always gonna blame ’er muvver fer what ’appened to ’im, it stan’s ter reason. The woman’s ter be pitied though. I always say there’s two sides ter the story. Yer don’t know what prompted ’er ter get friendly wiv that Frank Galloway in the first place. P’raps ’er ole man was never ’ome, or she might ’ave thought ’e ’ad a fancy piece. We’ll never know.’
Florrie tapped on her snuffbox again and Sadie’s eyes went up to the ceiling as she caught Nellie’s look.
‘I saw ole Mrs Bromsgrove the ovver day,’ Maisie said suddenly. ‘I ain’t seen ’er about fer ages. Apparently she’s bin in Guy’s. ’Ad it all taken away,’ she said, making a face and pointing to her stomach dramatically.
‘I saw Maggie Jones down the market this mornin’,’ Florrie announced. ‘She was tellin’ me ’er son Percy’s in trouble again. She reckons ’e got sloshed the ovver night an’ whacked a copper. Anyway they reckon ’e’s goin’ away this time.’
‘’As ’e done it before then?’ Sadie asked.
‘Every time ’e gets pissed ’e wants ter fight everybody,’ Maisie interrupted. ‘Mind yer ’e knows who ter pick on. I couldn’t see ’im pickin’ on your Billy. Or your Danny,’ she remarked, turning to Nellie.
Sadie watched Florrie’s head go back and her eyes flutter, then she waited for the loud sneeze. ‘I started ter tell yer about my Billy before Nellie come,’ she said to Florrie. ‘Yer know ’e lost ’is job?’
The women nodded their heads and Florrie put her snuffbox away, much to the others’ delight.
‘Fightin’, wasn’t it?’ Maisie queried.
‘Well, it was, sort of, but this time I reckon my Billy was right,’ Sadie told her. ‘’E was workin’ at that soap-makers fer over a year an’ ter tell yer the trufe I dunno ’ow ’e stuck it. Anyway ’e thought it was time they took ’im orf that bone-boilin’ an’ ’e asked ’em fer a change. The foreman give ’im a lot o’ lip an’ Billy shoved ’im in wiv the bones. Tricky git ’e was accordin’ ter Billy. Anyway, ’e got ’is comeuppance.’
‘What’s ’e doin’ now then?’ Florrie asked.
‘Sittin’ around the place fer most o’ the day,’ Sadie replied. ‘’E’s lookin’ out fer somefing else though. ’E still goes on about that gymnasium ’e wants to open, but like I told ’im, “Yer don’t get somefing fer nuffing, Billy.”’
‘’Ere, I know what I was gonna ask yer. ’Ow’s ole ’Arold bearin’ up?’ Nellie asked the other women.
Florrie shook her head sadly. ‘I saw ’im the ovver day walkin’ up the street fer ’is paper an’ ’e looks terrible,’ she remarked. ‘They was so close. Mind yer, poor Aggie led ’im a dog’s life over that place of ’ers. ’E ’ad ter take ’is boots orf before she’d let ’im in the ’ouse. It’s gone ter the dogs since she died. Did yer notice the front step as yer passed, Nell? Never ’ad a bit o’ whitenin’ on it since the funeral. It stinks o’ catshit too. I don’t fink ’e bovvers ter tell yer the trufe. I offered ter clean the place fer ’im the ovver day but ’e told me ’e can manage. I can’t do any more but offer.’
Sadie got up and collected the empty teacups. ‘Well, I’ll get us anuvver cup then I must get on wiv the tea,’ she told them. ‘I’ll ’ave Daniel in soon. ’Im an’ Billy’s gone down Millwall.’
Carrie had recovered from the ordeal she and Fred had endured just after Christmas, but her husband seemed nervous and short-tempered at times. It was unlike him, Carrie thought, but put it down to her losing the baby. It was as though Fred blamed her for causing the raid on the cafe, and there was no denying that it was she who insisted the union meetings should take place there. What had also upset him was her intention to let the union men continue holding their meetings in the little back room.
‘We can’t let ruffians dictate to us, Fred,’ she told him. ‘Besides, I fink we owe it ter the customers. They’re all in the union, or at least most of ’em are. If we tell Don Jacobs ’e can’t use the back room any more what d’yer reckon ’e’s gonna feel like? ’E could ’ave chucked it all in after nearly gettin’ killed but ’e never. ’E’s got the guts still ter be the union leader an’ we should let ’im see we’re wiv ’im, an’ ’is men.’
Fred was still apprehensive but he nodded his agreement, knowing that Carrie was right. The customers had been very generous with the collection and he knew that for most of them money was tight. The union too had given them money to replace the cooking utensils, and now at last things were back to normal. For how long though? Fred asked himself. Was there likely to be a war of attrition along the riverfront, or could there be a settlement of the outstanding disputes between the employers and unions now that a Labour Government was in power? Perhaps it might be worth giving Carrie’s ideas some consideration once the winter was over and the river trade improved, he thought. It might cheer her up and help her get over losing the baby.
It was during the early spring of
’24 when Nellie Tanner was suddenly roused from her afternoon nap in the front room by voices in the street below. They seemed loud and excited, and when Nellie rubbed her eyes and glanced out of the window she saw groups of women standing by the front doors of their little houses opposite. She opened the window and leaned on the sill, aware that for all those women to be standing there something must have happened. Mrs Jolly who lived below her was walking towards the block and Nellie called down to her: ‘What is it, Gert?’
Mrs Jolly waved her hand in front of her and shook her head dramatically. ‘She’s done it. They’ve jus’ took ’er away,’ she called back.
Nellie went to her front door and waited until she heard Gert Jolly’s footsteps on the landing below then leaned over the banisters. ‘Is it Elsie?’ she asked the elderly woman.
‘That’s right, luv,’ Gert replied. ‘She’s jus’ gassed ’erself. Mrs Corrigan found ’er. She smelt the gas in ’er flat, ’cos she lives right above ’er. She went down wiv ’er old man an’ ’e broke the door down but it was too late. She’d put ’er ’ead in the oven. Terrible fing when yer come ter fink about it.’
Nellie shook her head sadly. ‘I was only talkin’ to ’er the ovver day. She looked ill then. What terrible fings must ’ave bin goin’ frew ’er mind ter make ’er do it,’ she sighed.
Gert Jolly put down her shopping bag and fished in her purse for her key. ‘I’m jus’ gonna make a cup o’ tea. Pop down if yer like,’ she said with a reassuring smile.
Nellie had not spoken to the woman more than once or twice but she felt it would be nice to make her acquaintance. ‘All right, luv, I’ll jus’ get me key,’ she called down.
The two women sat by the empty grate and Nellie listened, her eyes straying up to the spray of daffodils standing in a vase on the mantelshelf, while Gert Jolly told her about her family.
‘We used ter live over in Jamaica Road,’ she was saying, ‘right next door ter the pie an’ mash shop. My Albert was a saddler, Gawd rest ’is soul. ’E used ter do a lot o’ work fer the gentry what lived in Tyburn Square. They used to own ’orsean’-traps, a lot of ’em did. Elsie come from there, yer know. ’Er ole man was a solicitor.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Nellie said. ‘It was my Danny that pulled Elsie out o’ the river that first time she tried ter do away wiv ’erself. She was lucky then. The way that tide was runnin’ she could ’ave bin washed away. As it ’appened my Danny, ’e’s a lighterman yer know, ’e saw Elsie walk down those steps inter the water an’ ’e jumped in an’ caught ’er by ’er coat. The lad could ’ave bin drowned ’imself.’
‘I remember the time,’ Gert told her. ‘Mrs Porter told me all about it. ’Er ole man told ’er, an ’e got the news from Fred Bradley who owns that cafe jus’ round the corner. Mrs Porter’s ole man is a carman an’ ’e used the cafe a lot, yer see. That’s your Carrie’s ’usband, ain’t it? I was surprised when Mrs Porter told me it was your daughter who was married ter Fred Bradley.’
Nellie sipped her tea. ‘My Danny dragged Elsie across the turnin’ ter the dinin’ rooms an’ Carrie managed ter revive ’er,’ she continued. ‘She sat ’er by the fire an’ give ’er some brandy that Fred ’ad in the cupboard. It was a freezin’ night an’ the poor cow was like a block of ice. Anyway the next day Elsie told Carrie what made ’er do it an’ then my gel went ter see Elsie’s daughter ter let ’er know what ’ad ’appened.’
‘Elsie’s daughter?’ the woman said incredulously.
‘That’s right,’ Nellie said, puzzled by the woman’s tone. ‘Elsie gave my gel the address of ’er daughter an’ . . .’
‘Elsie Wishart’s daughter died of diphtheria in 1910. She was only four years old,’ Gert Jolly told her.
‘But I don’t understand,’ Nellie said, feeling suddenly thrown. ‘When Carrie went ter Catford ter see the gel the people there told ’er that the young woman ’ad left an’ didn’t leave an address.’
‘That would be Elsie’s younger sister. ’Er name’s Wishart too,’ Gert replied.
‘I still don’t understand,’ Nellie said frowning. ‘Wishart is Elsie’s married name, ain’t it?’
Gert Jolly smiled. ‘Phyllis Wishart, Elsie’s younger sister, married Elsie’s ’usband’s cousin. Both the women married inter the same family, yer see.’
‘So Elsie was makin’ that story up about ’er daughter,’ Nellie ventured.
‘Well, I don’t know what the woman told your Carrie, but I can guess,’ Gert said, smiling sadly. ‘Elsie used ter talk about ’er daughter as though she was still alive, an’ she’s bin dead fer fourteen years nigh.’
‘My Carrie told me Elsie said she see ’er daughter in the market and the gel turned ’er back on ’er,’ Nellie recalled. ‘Elsie said that the gel wouldn’t fergive ’er fer causin’ ’er farvver ter take ’is own life.’
‘It wasn’t Elsie’s fault ’er ’usband ’ung ’imself,’ Gert said, shaking her head. ‘Elsie Wishart was a lovely woman, an’ a good wife an’ muvver. Me an’ my Albert knew the family well. It was a tragedy losin’ their only child. Elsie couldn’t ’ave any more. ’Er ’usband Lawrence went on the booze after the child died an’ ’is business started ter go down the drain. A year later ter the day Lawrence ’ung ’imself from the banisters. Elsie found ’im jus’ swingin’ there stone cold. I remember the date well. It was March the seventh, 1911. I remember it ’cos that was my Albert’s birthday.’
‘That’s terday’s date,’ Nellie remarked.
‘That’s right,’ Gert said quietly, pointing to the spray of daffodils. ‘I always buy a few flowers ter celebrate Albert’s birthday.’
Broomhead Smith was absent from the Bermondsey streets having an enforced rest. The totter had dropped a heavy piece of old iron on his big toe and it swelled up like a balloon. He could not get his boot on and he realised it would be pointless trying to carry on with his totting wearing one boot and one carpet slipper. He decided that he could at least manage to tidy up the shed where he stabled his faithful old horse and also kept his old lumber. The nag seemed to be enjoying the rest and Broomhead swore that the animal had a grin on its face when it looked at him.
The day went well and while he was tidying up Broomhead found bits and pieces which he had mislaid months ago. He discovered what he considered to be quite a few saleable items lying around, and with the thought of earning money on them he struggled to get fit for the road once more. Every night he soaked his foot in salt water and soon the nail of his big toe dropped off. The swelling was going down nicely and the toe was not so painful now, he found, taking a swig of brandy from the hip flask that was his constant companion. It was just as well. The owner of the shed was after his rent, and so was the landlord of his little two-up two-down house around the corner in Weston Street. With a bit of luck he would be riding through the backstreets again on Monday morning, he told himself cheerfully.
Broomhead had not counted on his horse’s clumsiness however, and when it stepped back on his tender toe he let out a yell that could be heard in the Tower Bridge Road market.
It was another two weeks before the totter’s damaged toe could take his weight and by then his plight was desperate. The landlord was threatening Broomhead with eviction unless the rent was paid forthwith, and the owner of the shed had also issued him with an ultimatum. The totter had thought of selling his nag for horsemeat, but by the look of the animal he would have thought himself lucky to get the price of a packet of Woodbines. Maybe it would be better to sell the business and go into something else, he considered. Broomhead’s problem was that he only knew totting, and he had to admit that he wasn’t very successful in that profession.
At last Broomhead was back on the streets, and as he vainly urged his tired nag to greater effort he pondered on his future. Perhaps he should find himself a comfortable widow, he thought to himself. There were a few around, although he could not remember any in these parts. He would then be able to get up at a civilised time and stroll up for the morning
paper, clean a few windows and maybe brighten up the front doorstep to keep the peace, then saunter off to the pub for his daily constitutional. It seemed a perfect idea, but where was he to find such a catch? All the women around these streets were struggling to make ends meet and they were the hardest people to bargain with he had ever come across.
Broomhead had just coaxed his horse into Page Street when he was hailed by a woman who was cleaning her step. ‘D’yer take mangles?’ she said.
‘I take anyfing within reason, missus,’ he told her.
‘Well, my ole man brought me a new wringer an’ I gotta get rid o’ the old one,’ she said.
Broomhead climbed down from his cart and followed the woman out to the back yard, where there was a wringer showing clear signs of rust. ‘Is this it?’ he asked.
‘Nah, that’s me new one. There’s me old one under that sheet,’ she told him.
Broomhead lifted his trilby and scratched his head while she fiddled with the strings that secured the cover. ‘Tell me somfink, missus. Why keep an old wringer under a sheet an’ leave the new one out in the weavver?’ he asked her.
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 18