‘It seems ’e’s gettin’ married,’ Joe replied.
‘So ’e’s finally gonna do it, ’ William said smiling. ‘Well, it must ’ave bin bloody ’ard fer the lad ter turn that offer down, Joe.’
The warehouse owner leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, I’ll ’ave ter phone up the agent an’ cancel the option on that site,’ he sighed. ‘Never mind, it might all be fer the best.’
Annie McCafferty was feeling upset as she got ready to meet Billy Sullivan. It had been a tiring day and one of the children she was attending to had shown signs of measles and she had had to bring in the doctor. Now as she prepared for an evening walk along the riverside she thought of her stay in Dublin and of the promise she had made to herself that when she got back to Bermondsey she would experience something of life while she was still young. She wondered if things would ever work out the way she had hoped. Billy was a very nice young man whom she had grown to love. He had kissed her on their first time out together but she had pressed her lips together so firmly she hardly felt it. He had laughed at her and showed her just how a kiss should be given and received. He had been very courteous, however, and he had not made her feel cheap or wanton.
Since that first time out together she had grown more daring, and now she kissed him passionately with her lips open on his. He had at first pressed his body to hers until she felt he was being too forward, but now she wanted him to kiss her, take her in his arms and crush her to him. The natural feelings which had grown in her with his passionate embraces had become so overpowering that she was aching for more. It would be unthinkable to go any further outside of marriage, she knew, but whenever Billy kissed her goodnight she was left with a deep ache that only he could take away. Now there seemed to be no immediate opportunity to get married and to have the family she desired more than anything. It would be hopeless while his dream was unfulfilled.
Annie walked along the tree-lined path from her flat behind Jamaica Road and saw Billy walking towards her. Usually she met him at the main road but tonight he was early. His face was glowing as he came up to her and kissed her unashamedly on the lips in full view of the flats.
‘Billy Sullivan,’ she reproached him, trying to remain serious. ‘Whatever next?’
He smiled as he took her arm. ‘There’s somefink I’ve gotta tell yer,’ he said excitedly.
They arrived at the junction with Jamaica Road. ‘What is it, Billy?’ she asked, aware of his impatience.
‘I went ter see Joe Maitland terday,’ he said. ‘’E’s Carrie’s farvver’s guv’nor. Well, what d’yer fink? ’E’s only offered me a bit o’ land fer the gymnasium.’
‘Why, that’s really good,’ Annie replied, trying to hide her disappointment.
‘I gotta tell yer somefink though,’ he said, taking her arm and propelling her across the main road.
‘What is it?’ she asked, feeling him almost pulling her along.
They had reached the small public garden beside a little Methodist chapel and Billy led the way in. It was near dusk and the winter sky above was turning from a golden red to a deeper smouldering violet. Seagulls wheeled noisily overhead and a tram rattled by, then all was quiet.
‘I told ’im no,’ Billy said, grinning widely.
‘You what?’ Annie said, aghast.
‘I told ’im straight, Annie. I told ’im there was somefing much more important at the moment, I told ’im I was gonna get married.’
She felt the tears rising in her eyes. ‘Am I hearing you right?’ she asked him.
He took her in his arms and squeezed her tightly. ‘Will yer marry me, Annie?’
‘Yes please, Billy. Oh, yes please,’ she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.
He pulled her down on to a wooden bench and she sat upright facing him, her face glowing with happiness. ‘I thought you were desperate to get that gym,’ she said, still feeling bewildered.
‘I want that gymnasium badly, Annie, believe me, but there’s somefing I want much more,’ he told her tenderly. ‘I want you. I want ter marry yer an’ ’ave lots o’ babies wiv yer. The gym can wait. We can’t. If we’re gonna ’ave lots o’ babies we can’t afford ter wait.’
She laughed at his serious look and then they were embracing. The feeling of love flowed over her body and through her veins, until she was consumed with her love and desire for him. Without saying anything she got up and took his hand, and he did not resist as she led the way out of the small secluded garden. It was chilly now and the wind was getting up. Her warm flat beckoned them and Annie knew that tonight she was going to experience the fullness of life.
1926 began cold and bleak with the river trade almost at a standstill, and the sight of dockers and rivermen standing around in the cold riverside lanes had long since come to be accepted as inevitable for the time of year. The death of Ronald James was given little space in the local papers save for the mention that his firm was trading at a loss, which was seen by readers as the most likely cause of his taking his own life. Rumours were rife along the riverfront, however, and the word soon spread among the dock workers that he had liked the horses and had run up a large debt with the bookies. The firm continued to trade under his name and very soon the tragedy was almost forgotten in the face of the rivermen’s many urgent problems.
In Page Street the venerable women gathered as usual in Sadie’s front parlour or in Florrie Axford’s home and discussed the crucial topics of the day. Florrie was feeling pleased at the way her little ploy had gone and the saying ‘dropping a carrot’ never failed to raise secret smiles from her confederates. Maudie Mycroft was excluded from the little secret but it was she who had benefited by Florrie’s idea.
It had been common knowledge during the previous year that something was going on between Alice Johnson and Broomhead Smith and it was no surprise to the local women when word got out that they had finally married. Broomhead’s cart had been parked outside Alice’s front door during the late afternoons and well into the evenings and it had become a standing joke even amongst the men of the street when they gathered at the Kings Arms. Ernest Mycroft had heard the jokes about Broomhead’s philandering and had seen the cart parked there for himself but he took little notice of it, what with the affairs of the Bermondsey Communist Party preoccupying his waking hours. He became concerned, however, when one well-meaning lady told him to watch points because Broomhead’s cart was now often seen parked outside his front door in the evenings. Ernest then suddenly decided that spending his evenings distributing leaflets and tracts about the local communities was not so important as keeping an eye on Maudie. His work suffered and his comrades at the Party office became convinced that Ernest Mycroft’s enthusiasm was waning. Maudie however was pleasantly surprised at his sudden desire to stay at home and she responded by cooking him his favourite meals and paying him the little attentions that she had previously neglected.
Ernest was troubled. He suspected that her little kindnesses were an attempt on her part to make amends for leading a double life, and he even thought about challenging the local totter to own up that he was having an affair with Maudie. His pride prevented him, however, and he suffered agonies of uncertainty. She was not that sort of person, he told himself. She was now in her early sixties and too old for that sort of carrying on. Alice Johnson was about the same age as Maudie though and it didn’t stop her entertaining the totter, he realised.
Ernest was torn between looking after his own interests and bringing down the Government, and after a lengthy period of staying home and making sure that Broomhead’s cart was firmly parked a few doors away outside Alice Johnson’s house he decided that maybe he had been paying too much attention to a rumour-monger. He started attending various meetings once more and delivering Party messages around the backstreets warning of the dire consequences of capitalist overproduction, only to be stopped in the street by another well-wisher who calmly told him that Broomhead’s cart was outside his front door again.
Ernest decided ang
rily that enough was enough. He had once suspected Maudie of a liaison with one Peter the Painter, and now it was Broomhead the totter. Well, the Bermondsey Communist Party would have to find themselves another loyal worker, he told himself. The continuance of his long-term marriage was more important than destroying the Government and Ernest promptly resigned.
Florrie Axford and her friend Maisie Dougall were no longer able to play their little game now, and no more carrots came to be discreetly dropped outside Maudie’s front door to entice the scraggy nag along the kerb as soon as Ernest had departed.
The dining rooms in Cotton Lane were the scene of many union meetings during the early months of ’26, and when the miners were locked out the mood of conflict intensified. Don Jacobs told his men in no uncertain terms that a General Strike was on the cards.
‘The pit owners ’ave locked the men out an’ they don’t only want more hours out of ’em, they want ’em ter take a drop in wages as well,’ he declaimed. ‘It’s somefing we can’t let ’appen. The miners ’ave laid it on the line. “Not a penny off the pay, not a minute on the day.” That’s what they’ve told the bosses, an’ that’s what we’ve got ter support ’em over. It’s the miners terday an’ the dockers termorrer.’
Jacobs had found backing from his men but Fred looked glum as he sat with Carrie in the little front room over the cafe that evening.
‘We’ve ’ad strikes before, Carrie, but if it’s a General Strike we might as well close down,’ he said gloomily ‘Nobody’s gonna be comin’ in ’ere, that’s fer sure.’
Carrie tried to sound optimistic. ‘I don’t fink it’ll come to a General Strike,’ she said. ‘They’ll back down when they know everybody’s comin’ out on strike. There’ll be no buses or trams, no trains, an’ the ships’ll be linin’ up in the river.’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Fred replied. ‘An’ what’s more there’ll be fightin’ in the streets once the army get sent in. It nearly ’appened when the Welsh miners come out on strike. The army was gonna open fire on ’em.’
Carrie sighed and stared down into the glowing hearth. Fred was getting worse, she thought sadly. He had never been an optimist, but lately he seemed depressed, and he was not looking himself. In fact he looked ill. There were dark circles around his eyes and his face seemed to have aged. Their love life had ceased to exist and all he seemed to do these days was sleep in the chair until it was time for bed and then he was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. He had always been suspicious of her feelings for other men but in the past she had managed to reassure him that there was no one other than him. She could not honestly say that to him now, and she began to feel that his growing silence and his complete lack of physical feeling for her might mean that he had already convinced himself there was now someone else in her life. What was she to do? she wondered. What would be the outcome of her passionate affair with Joe Maitland?
One thing was certain, she told herself, Fred would never know from her. She could never bring herself to hurt him unnecessarily. He was a good, kind man despite everything. He had taken her as a bride even though he knew that his feelings for her would not be reciprocated in the way he might wish. Nevertheless he had provided a home for her and now she had her own independence inasmuch as she held her own bank book. There was just ninety pounds in the account, but it was her savings, the money she was assiduously putting aside to help get her parents out of the slum block in Bacon Street. She had never really denied to herself that it was the reason for her marrying Fred in the first place. Whatever happened in the future that money was going to remain in her account until there was enough for her to achieve her goal.
Fred was already snoring and Carrie picked up the evening paper. There was one item of local interest which caught her eye. Beneath a picture of the Town Music Hall there was a report which said that the old building was being demolished to make way for a new block of workers’ flats. The article contained a brief history of the old music hall and mentioned that its fate had caused dissent among the local councillors and two of them, Councillors Bartholomew and Greenedge, had resigned. Carrie’s thoughts turned immediately to Joe Maitland. He could take pride in the fact that it was his determination which had helped thwart Gerry Macedo’s plans to corrupt business in the riverside boroughs for his own criminal ends. The local organisations and clubs had been successful in their agitation, but it seemed very sad that one of the architects of the victorious campaign had seen fit to take his own life.
It had been a busy day at the Druid Street warehouse and during the late afternoon Joe Maitland called his manager into the office. ‘Will, I’m takin’ a young lad on, an’ ’e starts next week. I don’t want yer luggin’ those cases around, d’yer ’ear?’
‘I can manage, Joe. It’s no great ’ardship,’ William replied firmly, looking his boss in the eye.
‘I know that, Will, but those provisions are not like ’andlin’ the regular stuff. They’re bloody ’eavy. I’ve seen Cruncher puffin’ an’ blowin’, an’ ’e’s strong enough. You take it easy, Will, yer not a young man anymore. Let the ovvers do the graft an’ you jus’ keep yer eye on ’em. Yer’ll ’ave enough ter do keepin’ tags on all the stock. Besides, I’m buyin’ more an’ more provisions. They’re goin’ very well as a matter o’ fact an’ I’m gonna need more space. As it ’appens I’ve jus’ completed a deal on a site for a new ware’ouse. It’s in Wilson Street, along from Galloway’s yard.’
‘I’m pleased for yer, Joe,’ William replied, leaning back in his chair. It was welcome news that there was another young man starting, he thought. Those cases were getting heavy and Joe was right, he wasn’t a young man anymore. If Nellie had had her way he would have retired when he was sixty-five, but he had insisted he would remain with Joe Maitland as long as he was wanted. He was now turned sixty-six and the heavy lifting was telling on him. He realised though that he might be forced to stop, along with everyone else.
‘There’s a lot o’ talk about a General Strike,’ he remarked after a while. ‘D’yer fink it’ll mean everybody’s gotta come out?’
Joe shrugged his shoulders. ‘I fink if it does come off it’ll stop the public transport an’ the docks o’ course. As fer the factories, I should say the large ones’ll be affected but the smaller ones will stay open. It’s a matter o’ conscience. Personally I fink the miners ’ave got a genuine grievance, but as a businessman I shouldn’t be sayin’ that, should I?’
William stared down at his clasped hands. ‘I was never in the union. Galloway wouldn’t ’ear of it, as yer know, but even ’e ’ad ter knuckle down. Accordin’ ter one of ’is carmen who comes in the Kings Arms the unions are talkin’ wiv ’im. Now ’e’s got that ovver yard in Wilson Street an’ ’e’s runnin’ lorries ’e’s got ter be careful ’ow ’e treats ’em or ’e won’t get a look in at the docks an’ wharves. Mind yer, there was a time I never thought I’d see the day ole George Galloway ’ad the union in ’is yard.’
Joe settled down to his paperwork as soon as William Tanner left the office. It had been quiet lately, he thought. Too quiet, perhaps. There was little news filtering his way from contacts in East London and he wondered if he had been overcautious in varying his route home and securing his flat since he received the warning letter. The nights were getting lighter now and as time went on the chances of his coming to harm would diminish. Nevertheless he would still have to be careful, he realised. Gerry Macedo and his cronies were not the sort of people who were likely to forget.
In Page Street the new Mrs Smith had quickly asserted her dominance over Broomhead and she had made him miserable. He was living in her house, she declared, and subject to her rules and regulations. He had been required to smarten himself up, despite his protestations that totters did not usually go out on their carts in pinstripe suits. He had had to be very careful of his footwear too. Alice would not let him into the house if there was a trace of horse dung on his boots, and she also insisted that his horse be smartened up, somet
hing which irked Broomhead more than her demands on his person. That scruffy nag had become a laughing stock among his pals, or rather he had, he thought sullenly. Braiding a drayhorse or a thoroughbred was one thing but trying to make that bag of bones look anything other than a cross between a donkey and a mule was like asking him to go to church every Sunday.
Broomhead had not had the worst of it, however. One Saturday evening Alice looked up from her sewing and said, ‘I fink we should go ter church termorrer.’
Broomhead shook his head vigorously and shuddered. ‘No fear, Alice,’ he protested. ‘I’d be uneasy in church. Besides, Sunday mornin’s I ’ave me lay in.’
‘Well, I fink yer better ferget yer lay in, Bill,’ she told him. ‘I’m goin’ ter church, an’ if the neighbours see me goin’ on me own they’ll fink we don’t get on anymore.’
‘Sod the neighbours,’ Broomhead blurted out. ‘Why should yer worry about what the neighbours fink? There’s that skinny ole cow Florrie Axford. She looks like a good dinner wouldn’t do ’er any ’arm. Then there’s that dopey mare Maisie Dougall. I reckon she’s about as attractive as the back of a number sixty-eight tram. Then there’s that Maudie Mycroft woman. Fancy yer bein’ worried what the likes o’ them fink! Maudie couldn’t afford ter criticise the likes o’ you. She’s a scatty mare too. I don’t know who’s the worst, ’er or Maisie. As fer the rest of ’em, sod ’em, that’s what I say.’
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 30