So her daily life went on, full and entirely predictable. One change came about in the evenings, though. She began to take an interest through friends at the Workers’ Education Institute in Mrs Pankhurst’s campaign to get women the vote. She went to a meeting and heard one of the Pankhurst daughters speak. She liked her ringing tones and call to action. But coming away, outside the hall, she felt it was for other women to act; women with money and good speaking voices and influence with politicians, not for working women like her. Besides, the direct action alarmed her. Frances wasn’t one for setting fire to post-boxes or smashing shop windows. Only, she went home and looked at pregnant Jess, and thought how unfair it was for women living in this man’s world. It made her feel helpless, watching Jess struggle.
At home, Robert joked his way through chores in the bar, pitting his strength against the thirty-six-gallon barrels as he rolled, tipped and heaved them on to their wooden gantry, alongside Joxer. Fixing them in place with wooden chocks and tapping the bung holes for Duke was his daily task, done in the early hours before he ventured down to the dockside. He held a blue ticket, second in line to the red-ticket men, but ahead of the casuals who turned up on these raw mornings with little hope of work.
The dockers’ living was always precarious, but Robert was healthy and often favoured because of his strength and good nature. Only, Chalky White seemed to have developed a grudge against him after the minor row in the pub, and he often put in a bad word with the gaffers, who themselves had to keep Chalky sweet. He knew all the angles and could exert a certain influence over who got work, so Robert’s heart would sink whenever he saw Chalky’s tall, pale figure in the queue. It was often a sign that he’d be turned away, back to hanging about at home or down at the boxing dub.
At twenty-two, and with too much time on his hands, he would drift into pubs former afield, knowing Duke would disapprove of any serious drinking bout on home territory. He’d heard what his pa said about the men who came in at Christmas, slammed their guinea on the bar and ordered drink for as long as the money lasted. This would send them home dead-drunk after five or six separate sessions, while their wives and kids went without. ‘A man who can’t hold his drink ain’t a proper man,’ Duke said. ‘And that includes knowing when to stop.’
Once or twice during the spring Robert took Ernie back to the Palace to watch Daisy and Hettie do their stage routines. The boy treated it like magic still, but it was beginning to bore Robert. He liked to spend more and more time with the ladies, and though Daisy would flirt gamely with both him and Ernie after the show, she’d begun to lose some of her sparkle. Anyway, they’d known each other for donkey’s years. He wanted grown-up, worldly women who knew their way around Frances could sniff and make comments about that ‘type’ of woman all she liked; it wouldn’t stop him from going out with them and having a good time.
Hettie confided her own worries about Daisy to Jess, who kept indoors most of the time these days.
‘There’s something up with her, and I can’t put my finger on it.’ She shrugged. ‘Why should I worry, that’s what I’d like to know?’ ‘I seen her the other day when you brought her up here. She looks all right to me.’ Jess had hold of one end of a sheet, Hettie the other. They were folding laundry.
‘No, she’s getting thin, losing her looks. And you seen how Robert was acting up to her, same as he always does. She hardly took no notice.’
‘Good thing, too. Rotten little flirt.’
‘Who, Robert?’ Hettie took the folded sheet and smoothed it flat on top of the pile on the table.
Jess laughed. ‘Yes, Robert! No, it’s Daisy I’m on about, ain’t it? It’s time she started to behave.’
Hettie had to admit it was true. ‘Only I still feel sorry for her, giving over most of her money to keep them kids fed. And she has to keep herself looking decent, too. You have to in our line of work. And she ain’t even twenty yet. It ain’t much of a life.’
‘Better than being in service,’ Jess reminded her.
‘Sorry, Jess, I never thought,’ Hettie took another sheet from the basket and tossed one end to Jess. ‘It ain’t all a bed of roses up at the Palace, you know.’
‘I never said it was.’
‘No, but I know that’s what people think. Anyway, I seen poor Daisy having a ding-dong battle with Archie Small when I came away last night. They was in the girls’ dressing room after the show. Archie was trying it on with Daisy as per usual, and she was pushing him off as quick as ever he came at her. You should’ve seen his chins wobble whenever she pushed him, never mind his horrible fat belly!’
‘Ugh!’ Jess shrieked and shook out the sheet with a sharp snap.
Hettie laughed. ‘See! And I’d’ve done the same if he came pestering me. Only, you can’t afford to go making enemies in that place. That’s why Daisy had to get in with Chalky White that time.’
‘Why?’ Placidly Jess folded the last sheet and glanced at her sister.
‘Because Freddie wanted her to.’
Jess tutted. ‘That ain’t right.’
‘No, it ain’t. And Daisy still gets the silly bleeders round the stage door bringing her chocolates all the time. She’s still as popular as ever, but there’s something going on with her. Like I said, I can’t put my finger on it.’
‘She out of her depth? I mean to say, one sweetheart bringing chocolates is nice for a girl. Three or four with chocolates is a headache.’ Jess lifted the pile of laundry and made off to the bedrooms. Tell her to give one of them to me if he’s halfway decent!’
Hettie stifled her laugh as Duke’s footsteps came upstairs. At the same time, Sadie shot in from the kitchen. ‘Here, you wasn’t listening, was you?’ Hettie made a grab for her youngest sister.
‘No. Listen, he’s coming now, Ett! Can you hear? Will you ask him now? You promised!’ Sadie tugged at Hettie’s arm.
‘I never. Any rate, why don’t you ask him yourself?’
‘Oh, Ett, please! He’ll say yes if you ask him!’ the undreamt of had happened to Sadie two days before. After school, Charlie Ogden had come up and asked her to go cycling that weekend. Now she needed her pa’s permission.
‘Pipe down!’ Hettie warned.
Duke opened the door. ‘Here, what you two up to?’ he asked Sadie had scrambled to the table to sit, but he’d heard her squeaking on to Hettie about something.
Hettie made a great show of clearing her throat. ‘Sadie’s got a young man!’ She came out with it, plain as a pikestaff.
Sadie yelped. ‘Oh, Ett, I haven’t!’
‘Well, then, you won’t want to go cycling with him if he don’t exist!’ She stood, hands on hips, a smile playing round her pretty mouth.
‘I do.’ Sadie gasped and darted at her. ‘Oh, Ett, how could you!’ She stopped, pulled her skirt straight and faced her father. Pa, can I go cycling on Sunday with Charlie Ogden?’ Her face flamed red with embarrassment. She’d kill Hettie after.
Duke brushed the ends of his grey moustache. Hettie could see his own eyes light up in a hidden grin. Well, my pet, there’s just one thing about that when you stop to think.’
‘What, Pa? Charlie’s a nice boy. He reads books!’ Sadie pleaded.
Duke nodded. ‘I dare say he does. But does he own a bicycle?’
She stared hard. ‘He’ll borrow one!’
‘Do you own a bicycle?’
‘I’ll borrow one an’ all!’
Duke checked the venue, grumbled about women on bicycles, but he was visibly weakening. Finally, despite his resolution to be strict with Sadie, he agreed. He remembered his own young days, before the army, when he and a gang of pals used to go cycling into the countryside. His youngest daughter was growing up, he realized. They had their share of troubles, but the family was sticking together. That was what mattered to him most of all.
Frances came home as Hettie got ready to go out to work. She gathered them round the supper table, with Ernie sitting opposite. ‘I’ve got a piece of really good news,’
she said, laying her gloves across her lap and leaning forward towards him.
Chapter Nine
At eighteen Ernie had never held down a job. He was willing and strong, but employers would look him up and down and decide against him. They set him against skinnier but brighter lads and weren’t to know that Ernie’s goodwill was worth more than sharp wit in the fetching and carrying kind of job Ernie wanted to do. So the family had to put up over the years with the general opinion that he was useless in the work sense. Duke could keep him busy in the pub and Ernie seemed happy helping Robert or Joxer to take delivery from the draymen, or to roll the empty barrels up the slope into their carts. But now things were about to change. ‘Henshaw’s want an errand boy,’ Frances announced. ‘The last one’s gone off hop picking for the summer and they need someone else.’
Henshaw’s was a thriving corner shop and eating-house on the edge of the market area up Duke Street. They did good business in the cafe selling hot pea soup and tea to the traders. The shop had also built up its own profits by running a good delivery service on orders for eggs and bread. Their errand boys were usually much younger than Ernie, Mr Henshaw raid Frances, but he knew him as a steady, strong lad and he might be willing to give him a go.
‘This last lad has left me in the lurch. You can’t get a steady delivery boy for love nor money,’ he said. He’d caught Frances in passing on her way back from work.
‘Ernie’s steady,’ she promised. Mr Henshaw was offering the chance of a lifetime.
‘And can he ride a bike?’
‘Yes, Robert taught him. He’s really very willing, Mr Henshaw. You won’t find a more willing lad than Ernie, and he won’t let you down like some.’
The shopkeeper, an upstanding Methodist, nodded. ‘Can he read the names on the orders, though? We never considered that, did we?’
Frances frowned. ‘Ernie can’t read, it’s true. But his memory’s good. You just have to tell him the name and he’ll remember it. He knows his numbers. You just show him the house number on the order and hell remember the rest.’
In the end Henshaw agreed. He and his wife, Bea, were childless after an early tragedy with their only son. The boy had died of scarlet fever and the couple had lost heart. But Henshaw had a soft spot for Ernie Parsons, who was known up and down the street as a gentle giant. Though he was often on the receiving end of the street boys’ name-calling and tricks, he was never seen to use his strength to retaliate. He would just stick his fists in his pockets and whistle, cap tilted back, looking straight ahead. And he knew these streets inside out, going up and down to the public baths, the football park, the market stalls.
‘Mr Henshaw will set you to work tomorrow morning, Ern, and he’ll see how you do. You’ll have to be up early and you’ll have to look smart. They’ll give you an apron at the shop, and they’ll show you what to do when you get there.’
Slowly Ernie took it all in. He was going to join the great London workforce. He’d be trusted to run errands and then he’d be paid for doing them. Mr Henshaw would give him a wage at the end of each week.
‘Oh, Ern, you’ll ride that nice bike with Henshaw’s name printed on, and you’ll carry all the stuff in that great basket on the front. It’ll be smashing.’ Hettie was delighted for him.
‘Pa?’ Ernie turned for advice. If his pa said yes, he’d love to try. But he was afraid that Duke would miss him too much in the pub. What would he do without him? That’s what his pa always said.
‘I don’t know, son. It’s a big step.’ Duke was worried. He wasn’t sure that Frances hadn’t overestimated Ernie. If he were to bite off more than he could chew, it could do real damage to the boy. Duke didn’t know if even Frances realized how much Ernie relied on slow, clear orders given to him step by step by someone who understood the way his mind worked. ‘He’s used to me telling him what to do,’ he explained.
‘But it’d do him good to learn something different, Pa. He can’t rely on you for ever!’ Frances glanced at Hettie and Jess for support. This was a sore subject for Duke. ‘The job will give him a whole new life. It’s time he had a go.’
‘Frank Henshaw will keep an eye on him, Pa,’ Hettie added. ‘If you ask me, it’s a good idea.’ She went up and kissed Ernie on the cheek. ‘I gotta go now, Ern. I hope it all works out. See you tomorrow.’ She breezed out with a wink at Robert. ‘See if you can talk the old man round,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t know.’ Duke sat stubbornly at the table, heavy forearms resting on the cloth. ‘I don’t want Ern to take a knock over it. What if Henshaw decides it ain’t working out?’
Solemnly Ernie looked from face to face as the family conference was played out. Sometimes he felt as if he wanted the chance to prove himself like Frances, Jess and Robert said. But other times he just wanted to stay in the bar and help his pa. ‘No, I’ll stay here!’ He put in a comment of his own at last. ‘Pa needs me.’
It brought Frances to a full stop. She turned to Duke in mute appeal.
The old man grinned then sighed. ‘No, Ern, I reckon you’d best give it a go. I can’t keep you here with me for ever, like Frances says.’ He stood up and put a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘I couldn’t sleep for thinking I’d ditched your chances over this. Go ahead, son, do it!’
Ernie sat opposite, looking suddenly down in the mouth.
‘No need to take on. I’m not saying I don’t need you no more! You can do this little job for Henshaw and you can still come home and help me and Robert with the barrels.’ Duke went and gave his shoulder a friendly slap when he saw the boy’s face light up again. ‘I only hope it’s the right thing, son, and I wish you luck.’
Frances was satisfied. Duke would always have to have the last word, of course, and she had to admit he was getting a bit contrary in his old age. He was set in his ways, but not too set to give way over the thorny problem with Jess, or to see reason over Ernie’s future now. She smiled at having performed the usual balancing trick, sizing people up and sorting out their problems. She was good at that; in a way it was like mixing minute quantities of medicine at work and weighing them on the little brass scales.
‘Well done, Frances,’ Jess said later. ‘Ern’s thrilled to bits.’
‘Yes. I’m sure it’ll help make him more responsible.’ Frances struggled for the right word. Even so, she went to bed that night with her fingers crossed, hoping to goodness that she was right.
So, during April, Duke Street got used to Ernie in his long white apron making his wobbly way between the stalls, his basket loaded with fresh bread and eggs. It was a wonder to see him keep his precarious balance on his sit-up-and-beg, his long Legs pedalling, his elbows stuck out wide. But the noises of the street didn’t distract him; not the roar of the taxi-cabs, nor the rattle of the tram-cars. He swerved round horses and carts, and barrows piled high with fruit. With total dedication he would steer his way to number 11 Meredith Close down the side of Coopers’, to the black door with the lion knocker; or to number 32 Oliver Street, past the Board School to the house with the broken basement window. He would deliver his goods and wobble back to Henshaw’s with his empty basket, perhaps stopping for a word with Nora Brady at her fish stall, or more likely Annie Wiggin, whose own stall stood right outside his corner shop. ‘Blimey, that was quick, Ern,’ Annie would call. Spring had arrived, so she’d switched her black shiny hat for a pale straw one, decked out with red ribbon from her range of haberdashery.
Ernie grinned. ‘Mr Henshaw says we got a busy day ahead of us.’
‘Oh well, better not hold you up, then.’ Annie could talk and serve at the same time, measuring lace along the length of her arm from shoulder to wrist, and throwing in an extra few inches for good measure. She would wrap it in a cone of white tissue paper, exchange it for money and give the right change without even pausing. ‘How’s that sister of yours getting on, Ena? The one with the baby. Is it born yet? Can’t be, else we’d all get an earful of its yelling through the window of a night Jess, ain’t it? T
ell her I was asking after her.’ Annie’s one-way conversation rattled on as Ernie propped his bike on its metal stand. ‘And tell your pa I was asking after him an’ all, miserable old bleeder!’
Mrs Henshaw was on the doorstep for a breath of air and her eyebrows shot up at Annie’s bad language. ‘Come along inside, Ernie. There’s another order ready here.’ Her primly curled head turned away.
Ernie followed her into the Aladdin’s cave of soup-tin pyramids and stacks of silver-wrapped chocolate bars while Annie grumbled on. ‘Bleeding slave-drivers. Call themselves Christians, they won’t even give the poor blighter five minutes’ peace. I know what I’d do with their bleeding orders if I was him!’ She jammed pins into a pincushion, voodoo style.
Late spring and early summer also brought perfect days for Sadie. Her bike rides with Charlie Ogden had become a regular thing since Duke’s first reluctant consent. Escaping from grimy Southwark on a Sunday morning, through Rotherhithe and the newer suburbs further east, they might stop off by the river at Thamesmead. Their more adventurous rides took them far afield along quiet country roads full of the scent of flowers, the woods and hedgerows. They would pile their bicycles alongside dozens of others at a country inn and step inside for ginger-beers out of stone bottles. Once, Sadie had ridden back home with a sheaf of bluebells tied across her handlebars, and their perfume had filled the living room.
Still Duke complained that women couldn’t ride bicycles to save their lives. ‘When a motor comes up behind, why they gives a scream and fells off,’ he teased. ‘I seen it.’
‘Pa!’ Sadie protested with a flounce out of the room. But she didn’t worry; her cycling trips with Charlie were too well established for her to mind much.
Charlie came to the tiny backyard of the Duke every fine Sunday. He now had a cycle on permanent loan from the lamed brother of one of the women who worked with his mother in the hosiery department at Coopers’. Sadie’s family had clubbed together to buy her a shiny new one of her own. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard his bell ring below, and she would be downstairs in a flash, not bothered about coat or hat.
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