Lofty looked uncomfortable as he fiddled with the shaft chain. ‘Mr Galloway used ter give us cards whenever we went ter the docks,’ he replied. ‘We never ’ad ter join ourselves.’
Carrie looked at the tall, thin carman with some sympathy. ‘Well, it won’t work like that anymore,’ she told him firmly. ‘George Galloway was bribin’ the union officials, but times ’ave changed. Everybody needs their own card now.’
The embarrassed man shook his head vigorously. ‘I couldn’t stand up in front of all those men at the union meetin’ an’ ask fer a card,’ he told her. ‘Besides, I ain’t got no money ter pay fer one.’
Carrie lowered her head in dismay. ‘Did Galloway tell yer that’s what yer ’ad ter do?’ she asked him incredulously.
Lofty Bamford nodded. ‘We all wanted ter join the union an’ Mr Galloway told us what we’d ’ave ter do. ’E said there’d be no trouble if we left it fer ’im ter sort out.’
Carrie felt her old detestation for George Galloway welling up inside her again. Lofty was a simple, hard-working man, and his good nature like that of many others had been manipulated by the crooked carter. One day Galloway would reap a sour crop, she hoped, but she had no time now to waste on thoughts of revenge. There was her business to take care of and a worried carman to be reassured.
‘Look, Lofty, you get out on the job, an’ when yer come in ternight I’ll ’ave a union application form ready fer yer signature,’ she told him. ‘’Ow’s that?’
Lofty looked down at his feet. ‘I can’t write, Mrs Bradley,’ he said in a low voice.
Carrie smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, Lofty, we’ll sort it out.’
A happy carman sent his team of cobs trotting out from the yard and Carrie breathed a huge sigh of relief as she set about the work in hand.
The gymnasium in Wilson Street was open from Monday to Friday and staffed by priests from the two Catholic churches in the area. Billy Sullivan and Danny Tanner both worked at the gym two evenings a week for which they were paid a nominal sum of one pound. The money was a godsend, especially for Billy, who was on short time and had been laid off twice already since Christmas. Both Billy and Danny had been good boxers during their younger days and their experience in the ring benefited the young lads who had joined the club. Soon there were youngsters who had progressed enough to be entered for contests and the two trainers talked about organising an inter-club competition.
‘I reckon we should challenge St Michael’s in Deptford,’ Billy remarked one evening. ‘They’ve got a good reputation.’
Danny was less enthusiastic. ‘I dunno,’ he replied. ‘I don’t fink our lads are ready fer the likes o’ them yet.’
‘Young Ginger Smith’s a match fer anybody ’is weight, an’ Shaun’s comin’ on nicely,’ Billy persisted. ‘I fink we should ’ave a word wiv Farvver Kerrigan an’ see if ’e can get the ball rollin’.’
Danny grinned at his old friend’s zeal. ‘I bet yer’d be in there yerself, given ’alf a chance,’ he said, nodding towards the roped square.
‘That I would,’ Billy replied, returning the grin. ‘Still, my own two boys are shapin’ up nicely. I’ll be enrollin’ ’em in a few years’ time.’
Danny was now the proud father of two young boys, Jamie and William, and he too was looking forward to the day when he could enrol them in the boxing club, although his pretty wife Iris was totally opposed to the idea and had told him so in no uncertain terms.
‘I reckon we should be able ter raise one champion between us,’ he joked.
Unknown to the two trainers, a cloud was looming on their horizon in the shape of one Mrs Hettie Donaldson who had been campaigning to ban the sport of boxing. Mrs Donaldson was a local councillor and she had made it known to all and sundry that if it were at all possible she would get a bye-law passed forbidding the sport within the borough. Most of the other councillors ignored Hettie’s stand against boxing but they were aware that she was beginning to enlist some support from other parts of the country. Hettie had heard of Murphy’s Gym and decided to see for herself just what was going on there. She invited a few loyal supporters to join her and a letter was sent off to Father Kerrigan asking for permission to visit the club one evening. Mrs Donaldson did not state her reasons for the visit, and the Council notepaper on which the letter was written led the priest to believe that it was merely to observe how well the club was doing.
On a Thursday evening Hettie Donaldson, accompanied by a Mrs Entwhistle from Lancashire and a Mrs Springall from Shropshire, descended upon the unsuspecting club just as two of the members were lacing up their gloves for a contest. Danny Tanner was acting as referee between the two lads who had fallen out with each other and decided to settle their differences in the ring.
By the time the introductions were over and Father Kerrigan had delegated Billy to show the women around, the contest had started and the two young lads were battering each other. One immediately received a bloodied nose, which caused Mrs Entwhistle to gasp and Mrs Donaldson to tut-tut noisily. Mrs Springall peered through her gold-rimmed spectacles, her eyes blinking like an owl’s as she tried to see what was amiss.
‘They’re killing each other. Why don’t you stop it?’ Mrs Entwhistle said quickly.
‘Stop it?’ Billy laughed. ‘Why? They’ve only just started. Wait till Frankie gets ’is second wind, ’e’ll murder the ovver lad.’
‘Oh my good God!’ Mrs Springall gasped, only just spotting the blood on Frankie’s face.
Hettie turned to Billy, her face dark with anger. ‘It’s barbaric. If I had my way I’d stop it,’ she said in a loud voice.
‘Nah, yer gotta give Frankie a chance ter get ’is own back,’ Billy remarked, grinning evilly at the women. ‘The ovver lad’s tirin’. Frankie should finish ’im in the next round.’
Mrs Entwhistle leaned into the ring and tugged at Danny’s trouser bottoms. ‘Stop them!’ she shouted.
Danny could not hear what the woman was saying above the shouts of encouragement coming from the young club members and he leaned over the ropes. ‘What d’yer say?’ he asked.
Frankie took advantage of having the referee’s back to him and promptly bit his opponent’s ear, provoking a roar of protest from the other lad.
‘Oi, Danny, ’e bit me!’
‘Oh no I never!’
‘Oh yes yer did!’
‘It was your fault. Yer tried ter put yer ’ead in me mouth.’
‘Well, yer shouldn’t ’ave busted me nose.’
‘Good Lord, they’re trying to eat each other!’ Mrs Springall cried out.
Danny waved the two lads back to their respective corners. ‘Right, you two, that’s enough. Get the gloves off and shake ’ands,’ he ordered.
Frankie walked over to his opponent and slipped his arm around the bigger lad’s shoulders. ‘It was a good fight, wasn’t it?’ he said grinning, blood still dripping from his nose.
‘Yeah. Yer nearly beat me, Frankie, but yer shouldn’t ’ave bit me ear.’
‘It was your fault.’
‘Oh no it wasn’t.’
‘Oh yes it was.’
Danny quickly stepped in before hostilities broke out again. ‘Now go an’ get cleaned up, you two, an’ if I ’ear any more arguin’ I’ll bash the pair o’ yer, understood?’
The two lads went off to the washroom, with their arms around each other, and Danny stepped from the ring to be properly introduced to the three women.
‘Tell me, Mr Tanner, what possible good can come from two young lads punching each other silly?’ Hettie Donaldson asked him.
Danny looked at the three women carefully before he answered. ‘In the first place those gloves are so well padded they’re ’ardly likely ter cause any lastin’ damage,’ he began. ‘An’ secondly I fink it’s better fer young lads ter settle their differences in the ring rather than clobberin’ each ovver over the ’ead wiv ’ouse bricks. Besides it’s a great sport, it teaches the kids discipline and sportsmanship.’
> ‘Well, I should make it clear that we are totally opposed to boys boxing,’ Hettie said in a loud voice. ‘We’ve come along here this evening to see for ourselves, and I must say we’re disgusted that you should stand by and see two little boys punching each other and drawing blood.’
‘Bloody ’ell, missus, it was a boxin’ match,’ Billy said quickly. ‘What d’yer expect ’em ter do, kiss each ovver?’
‘Well, I can tell you now that we’re going to do our very best to get this vile sport banned,’ Mrs Entwhistle chimed in.
‘Ter be honest, missus, I fink yer got about as much chance o’ gettin’ a pork chop out of a synagogue,’ Billy said, grinning at Danny.
Mrs Springall was incensed. ‘See these?’ she shouted at Billy. ‘They’re petition papers. My friends and I are petitioning the people around here to get something done. I’m sure the parents of these children should know just what is going on in this club.’
Billy’s face remained blank as he nodded. ‘Some people round ’ere are against boxin’ I must admit,’ he remarked. ‘P’raps I shouldn’t tell yer this, but if yer dead serious yer should start yer petition in Page Street. It’s only a few streets away. The woman at number thirty-seven might sign.’
The three outraged women took their leave rather abruptly and when the door had closed behind them Father Kerrigan appeared from the washroom where he had been hiding.
‘Number thirty-seven?’ he queried. ‘Isn’t that your mother’s house, Billy?’
Red Ellie Roffey was making a name for herself championing various causes in the neighbourhood while she was campaigning for a seat on the Borough Council. She had been helping a family in Dockhead who had fallen on hard times after the man of the house was badly injured in an accident. Alf Robins had lost three fingers in a press at the tin factory where he worked and his employers had denied responsibility, which prompted the Communist candidate for the borough to advise them that a substantial out-of-court settlement would be the most sensible attitude for them to take. Ellie was not getting through to them, however, and she had been a constant visitor to the Robins family during the last few days. It was during one of her visits that she learned that Jamie Robins, the eldest son, was working as a clerk for the Galloway cartage firm in nearby Wilson Street.
‘My Jamie’s a good boy,’ Mrs Robins said. ‘’E ’ands every penny over, an’ if it wasn’t fer ’im I don’t know ’ow we’d manage. Mind yer, though, I wish ’e ’ad a better job. That Galloway firm treats their workers very badly an’ I know my boy’s not very ’appy there.’
Ellie Roffey had no reason to like the Galloways after her recent confrontation with them and she suggested to Mrs Robins that maybe it would be better if young Jamie tried to find work with a more appreciative employer.
‘I’ve told ’im that,’ Mrs Robins replied. ‘Trouble is, my Jamie’s such a quiet boy. ’E’s not one ter push ’imself.’
The following day Red Ellie was out canvassing in the neighbourhood and as she strolled along Salmon Lane she spotted Carrie talking to Sharkey in the stable yard. The women in Page Street had told her about the Tanner family’s involvement with Galloway and how Carrie was working hard in building up her cartage business, and Ellie was curious to see for herself just what sort of a woman Carrie was. She realised that the Tanner girl would probably have little sympathy with a campaigning Communist whose main aim was the overthrow of the capitalist system, but her curiosity overcame her reluctance and she walked smartly into the yard.
‘I’m Ellie Roffey an’ I’ve ’eard about yer from Florrie Axford,’ she said.
Carrie knew of Red Ellie’s efforts on behalf of the Page Street women and she held out her hand. ‘Yer bin creatin’ quite a stir around ’ere, so I understand,’ she replied, a smile playing on her face.
For a few moments the women looked hard at each other as they stood together in the cobbled yard, each wary of the other’s strength of character. Ellie was the same height as Carrie though heavier, and like the Tanner girl she was in her early forties and carried herself proud and upright. She was as dark as Carrie was fair, with large, piercing brown eyes and black hair that was pulled back and tied with a ribbon at the nape of her neck.
‘I fink I’ve caused certain people a few sleepless nights,’ she said, suddenly grinning.
Carrie nodded towards the office. ‘Let’s go in there,’ she said.
Once she was seated Ellie leaned towards Carrie. ‘Look, I expect yer know that I’m campaignin’ fer a seat on the Council next month,’ she said, her eyes searching for some reaction in Carrie’s face. ‘I don’t expect yer ter be sympathetic ter what I stand for, you bein’ a business woman, but . . .’
‘Yer might be wrong,’ Carrie cut in, a smile hovering about her lips.
Ellie feared that Carrie might be mocking her and her eyes hardened. ‘I believe that workers are exploited by the capitalist plutocracy an’ they should fight fer a socialist government that takes care o’ them instead o’ panderin’ ter the moneyed minority,’ she said with conviction.
Carrie was looking down at her clasped hands, and her smile was wry as she raised her eyes to meet her visitor’s stare. ‘I know what yer mean about exploitation,’ she said with bitterness creeping into her voice. ‘My farvver knew better than most.’
Ellie nodded quickly. ‘Florrie Axford told me about yer farvver workin’ fer Galloway all those years an’ ’ow yer got chucked out o’ yer ’ome in the end. Is that what made yer go in business fer yerself?’ she asked a little accusingly.
‘Yeah, it was,’ Carrie replied. ‘When we lost our ’ome the only place we could find was Bacon Buildin’s. I didn’t want my mum an’ dad ter spend the rest o’ their lives in a slum that’s not fit fer pigs ter live in, so I ’ad ter do somefing. I’ve managed ter get ’em out o’ that ’ovel, fank Gawd. They live ’ere wiv me now. I’m glad ter say I run a business that’s doin’ fairly well, an’ I look after my carmen. We’re a union firm an’ there’s no exploitation ’ere.’
Ellie saw a certain look in Carrie’s eyes and she glanced quickly around the room. ‘D’yer do all the office work yerself or ’ave yer got a clerk?’ she asked.
Carrie shook her head. ‘I’ve bin finkin’ about takin’ somebody on. In fact I’ll ’ave to very shortly. I’m gonna need more time ter go out an’ win contracts, but I can’t while I’m tied ter the office an’ all this paperwork.’
Ellie smiled. ‘I know just the bloke fer you,’ she said with a wise look in her eye. ‘What’s more, I fink ’e’ll more than earn ’is pay.’
Carrie looked at her visitor with a puzzled frown. ‘What d’yer mean?’ she asked her.
Ellie sat forward in her chair. ‘I’ve bin ’elpin’ a family called Robins whose breadwinner ’as been injured at work, an’ in the process I found out that their lad Jamie does clerkin’ fer the Galloway firm. Jamie’s not very ’appy workin’ there an’ I’m sure that if yer offered ’im a job ’ere ’e’d jump at it. I should fink ’e’ll know all about the Galloway contracts and charges. Jus’ fink about the possibilities.’ She winked.
Carrie’s sharp mind was already working overtime. ‘Will yer be seein’ the Robins family in the near future?’ she asked.
Ellie grinned. ‘This evenin’, if there’s any reason to.’
Carrie grinned back at her. ‘’Ow about comin’ over ter the ’ouse an’ meetin’ me mum an’ dad? We can ’ave a nice cup o’ tea while we talk.’
‘Well, I don’t usually spend my time socialising wiv the bourgeoisie, but in this case I’ll make an exception,’ Ellie replied.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Throughout the rest of 1933 and into the new year things did not improve for the Bermondsey folk as factories continued on short-time working and trade at the docks and wharves slumped still further. Men fought to get a day’s work and many ended up spending long hours in the depressing and soul-destroying dole queues. The women had been struggling to make ends meet for a long time bu
t now it had become a battle to provide the bare necessities of life for their families. They found it almost impossible to pay for a doctor and treated illnesses with potions, herbs and home-made poultices. Cupboards were stripped bare and most of the spare bed linen joined the rings and trinkets in the pawnshops. Often pledges could not be redeemed and many people had the heartbreak of seeing their treasured items of jewellery put up for sale in the pawnbrokers’ windows.
For the two friends who ran boxing classes at Murphy’s Gymnasium things were very hard. Billy had been out of work off and on for the last two years and Danny was suffering too with the slump along the waterfront. However, to Billy’s great relief his wife Annie had regained her strength after the last difficult pregnancy and the baby, Mary Jane, was doing well. As much as Annie wanted a large brood she dreaded the thought of bearing any more children while her husband was unable to bring home a regular wage, and Billy shared her concern. Danny had a new son who was named Charlie and his wife Iris had now decided that three young mouths to feed were quite enough.
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 46