‘What’s the latest about Joe Maitland?’ Florrie asked.
‘The case comes up next week,’ Nellie told her.
‘I ’ope ’e gets orf,’ Florrie remarked. ‘’E’s a nice fella is Joe. Good as gold ter me when ’e was lodgin’ at my place. I mean ter say, it ain’t as if ’e’s ’urt anybody.’
The women nodded sympathetically and Florrie got out her snuffbox.
‘’Ere, I know what I was gonna tell yer,’ Maisie said quickly. ‘Yer remember that ugly git Jack Oxford who used ter work at the stables? Well, I saw ’im at the market the ovver mornin’. Arm in arm wiv a big woman ’e was. ’E ’ad a nice suit on, an’ a collar an’ tie. ’E did look smart.’
The first round of snippets over, Florrie took a pinch of snuff and Sadie went out to make the tea. There was still much to discuss, but Sadie had decided earlier she would not mention the fact that her daughter-in-law was pregnant. She was well aware that all her friends were rather good at simple arithmetic.
Joe Maitland stood trial at the Old Bailey. The case dragged on for two days and when he was found guilty his previous conviction was read out. Carrie was sitting in the public gallery and she covered her face with her hands as she heard the judge sentence him to seven years’ imprisonment.
1931
Chapter Twenty-Four
Carrie slipped the bolts on the front door and looked in on Rachel who was finishing wiping down the tables. ‘C’mon, luv, let’s get some tea,’ she said, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. ‘I want ter get fings sorted out wiv yer farvver.’
Rachel took off the apron which reached down almost to the floor and looked closely at her mother. ‘S’posin’ Dad won’t agree, Mum? Yer know ’e’s not gonna like the idea,’ she replied.
Carrie took her daughter’s hands and pulled her down into one of the bench seats with her. ‘Now listen ter me, Rachel,’ she began, looking into the eleven-year-old’s deep blue eyes. ‘I’ve ’ad ter run this place fer the past five years since yer dad ’ad the stroke. It’s not bin easy but I’ve made it pay. We’ve built up an established trade an’ a lot o’ goodwill. I’ve got what I fink is a fair price an’ I can’t let it pass.’
The young girl looked down at her clasped hands and studied her thumb-nails for a few moments. ‘It’s bin Dad’s life. This cafe is all ’e knows,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t see ’im bein’ ’appy about it.’
Carrie looked at her pretty, flaxen-haired daughter with a warm light in her eyes. ‘Fer five years yer farvver’s sat in that room upstairs ’ardly ever movin’ out of it, unless it was when I took ’im fer a walk along the riverside. ’E’s gettin’ slowly worse, Rachel. I can’t let ’im die in that room. Besides, there’s space in the new place fer yer gran an’ gran’farvver. It’s gettin’ ’ard fer ’em ter climb all those stairs in the Buildin’s. Yer gotta remember, yer gran’farvver’s seventy-two this year.’
‘I know, Mum, an’ ’e’ll be really ’appy bein’ around ’orses again, won’t ’e?’
Carrie nodded. ‘When I told ’im me plans ’e was so excited. Yer gran was a bit worried in case it don’t work out, but Gran’farvver soon talked ’er round.’
‘It will, Mum. I know it will,’ Rachel said, her young face lighting up.
Carrie slipped out of her seat and together with Rachel she climbed the stairs to the front room over the shop. Fred was sitting back in his chair beside the empty grate, staring towards the window, and when the two women entered the room he looked up slowly, as though the movement was painful.
‘Is the shop closed?’ he said in his slow voice.
Carrie nodded and sat down facing him. ‘’Ow yer feelin’, luv?’ she asked with concern.
He nodded in reply, his head moving slowly. ‘Well, are yer gonna tell me all about yer plans?’ he said, forcing a crooked smile that left the right side of his face unchanged.
Carrie was taken aback, but she reached out and laid her hands on his. ‘Sam’s made us an offer fer the cafe an’ there’s a cartage business goin’ in Salmon Lane we can afford, Fred,’ she said encouragingly. ‘There’s a nice ’ouse included an’ yer’ll be able ter spend the day on the ground floor. There’s room fer me mum an’ dad too.’
Fred looked into the empty grate for a few moments then his eyes came up to meet hers. ‘I might be infirm, but I’ve still got me ’earin’, Carrie,’ he reminded her, ‘an’ some o’ the time when I’ve bin sittin’ ’ere wiv me eyes closed I wasn’t asleep. I’ve ’eard yer talkin’ about yer plans fer the future.’
‘Well, don’t yer fink it’s a good idea, Fred?’ she asked.
His eyes seemed to cloud as he looked at the excited expression on his wife’s face. ‘Yer’ve cared fer me as well as ’avin’ the business ter run an’ it couldn’t ’ave bin easy by any means. If it ’adn’t ’ave bin fer yer the place would ’ave gone ter the wall. I reckon yer’ve got a right ter wanna sell it. I’m only worried in case yer takin’ on too much wiv the cartage business. After all, it ain’t a woman’s sort o’ work.’
‘Yer ferget I was brought up wiv ’orses,’ she said quickly, playfully tapping his hand. ‘Besides, me dad’s still pretty sprightly an’ ’e can give us all the advice we need. There’s a lot o’ carmen who’d be glad of a job wiv us as well.’
‘Yer keep sayin’ “us”, Carrie,’ he muttered sadly. ‘I’m not gonna be able to ’elp yer the way I am.’
She smiled at him. ‘Look, luv. The business is yours as much as mine. All right, I’m managin’ it, but I never make any moves until I’ve got yer approval, yer know that. Besides, I’ve done all right by us so far, an’ I jus’ know we’ll do well in the cartage business, I jus’ know it.’
‘What about the contracts? Can we get enough work ter make a go of it?’ he asked. ‘Yer said yerself there’s more an’ more firms changin’ ter motor vans. Even Galloway’s got rid of all ’is ’orses.’
Carrie leaned forward, eager to reassure him. ‘Galloway could ’ave got regular dock collections an’ deliveries if ’e’d ’ave unionised earlier. Instead ’e went fer the long-distance work wiv lorries. There’s a lot o’ local work goin’ beggin’ an’ we can undercut the motorised firms. Our carmen would all be in the union too, an’ they’ll ’ave no trouble wiv the dockers. Also there’s two good contracts goin’ wiv the business. If we can be relied on we’ll keep the work wiv the leavver-buyers an’ also the rum merchants. Galloway lost those contracts ’cos o’ the way ’e ’andled ’em. I won’t make that mistake, believe me.’
Fred forced a wan smile. ‘No, I don’t believe yer would.’
‘Well, what d’yer say, luv? Can I start the ball rollin’?’ Carrie asked him excitedly.
Fred nodded. ‘Yer might as well. Yer wouldn’t take no fer an answer anyway, would yer?’ he said.
Carrie stood over him and slipped her hands around his neck. ‘I’ll make it work fer us, Fred. Fer the three of us,’ she told him, touching her lips to his forehead in a gentle kiss.
Billy Sullivan stepped out of his house in Page Street and walked proudly beside Annie who was carrying their new baby in her arms. It was a bright Sunday morning and they were off to the christening at St Joseph’s Church. Billy was holding on to four-year-old Patrick and two-year-old Brendan who yawned widely as he toddled along the turning. Sadie was waiting at her front door. She called out to her husband Daniel and the Sullivan tribe increased as they walked towards Jamaica Road. Sadie stepped out of her house holding on to Daniel’s arm and Shaun followed on with his wife Teresa who was carrying the baby. Behind them came the twins Pat and Terry with their wives Dolly and Frances, each holding the hands of their two children. Joe brought up the rear holding the arm of his wife Sara, who was carrying their new baby.
Florrie Axford stood at her front door talking to Maisie Dougall. Now turned seventy-two, Florrie was still upright and alert, and she nodded to the Sullivan family as they passed. ‘It looks like they’re after startin’ a football team,’ sh
e joked. ‘Billy seems ter be makin’ up fer lost time too.’
Maisie was now in her mid-sixties and had become even more plump over the past few years. ‘They’ll be runnin’ out o’ names soon,’ she laughed.
The two women watched the Sullivan tribe leave the narrow turning then they got back down to serious matters. ‘’Ere, Flo, ’ave yer ’eard about that Ellie Roffey who’s bin creatin’ merry ’ell up at the market?’
Florrie shook her head. ‘Who’s she?’
‘Red Ellie they call ’er,’ Maisie went on. ‘Apparently she’s one o’ those Communists, so they say. Anyway, there’s bin a bit o’ trouble wiv the stall’olders an’ the Council over the pitches by all accounts, an’ this Ellie’s bin fightin’ fer the stall’olders. She ’ad a stall ’erself once an’ everybody knows ’er. Apparently she’s bin a widow since she was twenty-three an’ she was left wiv two young children. I was talkin’ ter that Tommy Allnut - you know ’im, ’im who’s got the fruit stall outside the ironmonger’s. Well, ’e was tellin’ me that this Ellie got chucked out of ’er ’ouse when ’er kids were jus’ babies an’ she got some ’elp from the Communists. That’s why she joined ’em, so Tommy Allnut reckons. ’E said she’s bin fightin’ fer people’s rights ever since.’
‘We could do wiv somebody like ’er ter fight ole Galloway about our places,’ Florrie replied. ‘It’s a bloody disgrace the way ’e’s let these ’ouses go. D’yer know, I’ve told that rent collector a dozen times about my roof but nuffink’s bin done.’
‘I know,’ Maisie said. ‘My place is the same. I’ve got the water comin’ in my upstairs rooms an’ I’m sure the ceilin’s gonna come down before long. P’raps we could see ’er about it.’
‘Would she be able ter do anyfing fer us?’ Florrie asked.
‘We can but try,’ Maisie said. ‘From what I understand this Red Ellie ’olds meetin’s every Friday night at the school in Fair Street. I’ll find out more about it an’ maybe we could get a few of the neighbours ter come wiv us. After all, everybody’s complainin’. What we got ter lose?’
‘Quite right,’ Florrie agreed. ‘I’ll ’ave a word wiv Sadie Sullivan when I go in there ternight. She’s invited me ter the christenin’ party. Are you goin?’
Maisie nodded. ‘I fink all the street’s goin’. Maudie said she’s bin invited, an’ that Alice Johnson too. I do ’ope ’er ole man won’t be there.’
Florrie reached into her apron for her snuffbox. ‘I don’t fink so. Sadie ain’t got no time fer ’im. She only invited Alice ’cos she borrered ’er pianer. I see it goin’ in early this mornin’.’
‘Is Alice gonna play it?’ Maisie asked.
‘I expect so. She can knock out a tune, so I’ve bin told.’
‘’Ere, is ’er ole man still in the choir?’
‘Nah. There was some trouble wiv the vicar, by all accounts,’ Florrie explained. ‘Apparently Broom’ead went in ter choir practice one night the worse fer drink an’ then annuver time ’e trod ’orse shit all up the aisle. What finished ’im was when ’e ’ad an argument wiv the vicar about gettin’ paid. ’E reckoned they should ’ave a collection fer the choir every Sunday. Mind yer, it was Maudie who told me, an’ yer can’t believe a word she ses. She gets everyfing arse-up’ards.’
Maisie watched and waited while Florrie went through her usual ritual, and after the loud sneeze she pointed along the turning. ‘That’s gonna cause a bit o’ trouble as well,’ she remarked.
Florrie nodded in agreement. It was common knowledge amongst the people of Page Street that George Galloway had decided to move all his lorries to the Wilson Street depot which had been enlarged. The new owner of the yard was going to be a rag-sorter and the news had upset everyone in the turning.
‘I thought it was bad enough wiv the stench an’ fumes o’ that petrol but now we’re gonna be plagued wiv rats an’ mice, mark my words,’ Florrie said disgustedly. ‘I remember that rag sorter’s in Bermondsey Lane. Yer used ter see the rats runnin’ across the road like a bleedin’ army. One of ’em run in ole Mrs Coffey’s passage one night an’ got in ’er bedroom. Up under the springs of ’er bed it went. ’Er ole man was scared out of ’is life but ole Elsie Coffey wasn’t. She killed it wiv a yard broom.’
‘Good Gawd,’ Maisie exclaimed. ‘I ’ope we’re not gonna ’ave the same trouble round ’ere. My ole man can’t stan’ rats eivver.’
The winkle stall had opened at the end of the turning and Florrie went inside her house to get her purse. ‘C’mon, Mais, let’s walk up the top,’ she suggested. ‘I’ve gotta get me tea, an’ I fancy a nice milk stout.’
The two women strolled down to Arnold’s seafood stall, where Florrie bought her usual half pint of winkles, then they sauntered into the Kings Arms, observed by Alice Johnson, who had been peering through her lace curtains for the past half hour, worrying in case it was her the two ladies were talking about.
Nellie Tanner sat with William in their drab flat in Bacon Buildings discussing the coming move. ‘If it all goes frew I don’t want yer gettin’ too involved wiv the ’orses, Will,’ she told him. ‘Yer not a young man any more an’ besides, yer done enough. Carrie wouldn’t expect yer ter do anyfing anyway. She’d be grateful fer yer advice.’
‘All right, Muvver, don’t go on so,’ William urged her. ‘Anybody’d fink I was a dodderin’ ole fool to ’ear yer talk. I can still get about, fank Gawd, an’ I’ve still got me faculties. I’ll be able ter look the ’orses over an’ make sure they don’t get ill-treated by any o’ the carmen. Some o’ the bleeders don’t value their ’orses. I’ve always said an ’orse’ll work till it drops, so yer gotta make sure they get their food an’ water. It’s very important, yer see.’
Nellie puffed loudly. ‘Yeah, all right, Will. I know what ’as ter be done, yer bin tellin’ me that fer the past thirty-odd years.’
William smiled at his wife. She was now in her sixty-second year and still a striking woman, he thought. Her hair was streaked with grey but her body was trim and upright. Her eyes were still bright too, he often noted, and she had lost none of her fiery nature. Things had been hard for her. Losing their son James in the war and then Charlie going off to India had been very sad occasions for both of them but Nellie seemed to have grieved longer than he. He knew that the memories of both the lads would always remain with him until his dying day, but Nellie seemed never to have quite come to terms with the double loss. It was as if Charlie had died too, William felt. He had never returned since he left early in 1919. All they had to remember him by was the bundle of letters from India which Nellie kept in a cardboard box under the bed. They were happy letters in the main. Charlie was now a regimental sergeant-major in the Indian Army and had married an Assam tea-planter’s daughter. They had two sons, William who was now seven years old and named after his grandfather, and Lawrence who was five. Often he had gone into the bedroom and seen Nellie reading through the letters, tears falling down her cheeks. It was the same when a new letter arrived every six months or so. She would read it through over and over again and then say that she lived in hope of seeing her Charlie and his family before she died. William hoped so too, but he thought that it would be a few more years before Charlie retired from the army, and he wondered with a sinking feeling whether seeing him again might not be like meeting a stranger.
‘D’yer fink she’ll make a go of it, Will?’ Nellie asked, interrupting his thoughts.
‘’Course she will,’ he replied, puffing on his pipe. ‘Our Carrie’s got a good start. Those ’orses of Buckman’s are well looked after. ’E was always strict about the way ’is carmen ’andled ’em. There’s four teams an’ they’ve all got a few years’ work left in ’em yet. Besides, yer know our Carrie. She won’t tolerate no nonsense wiv the carmen. They’ll get a fair deal an’ be lucky they’re workin’ fer ’er an’ not that ole goat Galloway.’
‘Yer right, Will,’ Nellie concurred. ‘We should fink ourselves lucky we’re gettin’ out o’ this bloody ’ove
l. She always said she’d get us out one day an’ she’s done it.’
‘Not yet she ain’t,’ William reminded her. ‘There’s a lot ter do yet. She’s got ter make sure the bank loan’s all right, then there’s the cafe ter be sold. I wouldn’t count yer chickens just yet. Fings could go wrong.’
‘Nuffink’s gonna go wrong,’ Nellie said firmly. ‘Carrie won’t let nuffink stand in ’er way now.’
William tapped his pipe on the edge of the grate and reached for his tobacco pouch. ‘I bin finkin’ about young Joe Maitland,’ he said suddenly. ‘Carrie told me ’e’s bin shifted ter Dartmoor.’
‘’Ow did Carrie come ter find that out?’ Nellie asked him.
‘’E wrote ’er a letter by all accounts,’ William replied.
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 34