by Mary Gibson
Matty had actually been surprised on her return from America that the borough was still so dependent on gaslight. Sam’s house in Vauban Street was lit by gas mantles as were half the houses in Bermondsey. But gradually she’d seen new electric street lamps popping up and the difference was astonishing. The light was cooler and brighter than gas, and suddenly dark alleys and courtyards had begun to reveal their night-time secrets as outdoor knocking shops and thieves’ marketplaces. She knew that her route home was now well lit and she still wanted to avoid too much time alone with Tom. He was just about to protest when one of the new electric lamp posts came into view, casting its cool circle of light on the pavement ahead of them. Tom grabbed her arm.
‘Blow me, Matty. I think someone’s trying to nick the electricity!’
She saw two men kneeling in the circle of light, one plugging what appeared to be a radio accumulator into a lamp post that had been adapted to power the cinemotor.
‘How did they get it open?’ Matty whispered as Tom pulled her back into the shadows.
‘Skeleton key. But I’ll have ’em, Matty.’ And with that Tom leaped out of the gloomy side court and into the light, shouting ‘Police!’ at the top of his lungs.
Matty had never seen two men move so quickly. One ripped the cable from the lamp post and the other picked up the accumulator and ran. She could hear his puffy, wheezy breath from where she stood and he hadn’t reached the corner before Tom caught up with him. Launching himself in a rugby tackle, he caught at the man’s turn-ups and tugged so hard that he and the accumulator went flying across the cobbles. Tom held on for dear life, but the man was obviously used to escaping from tight spots and was wriggling like a wet eel. Matty sprang forward to help, but by the time she reached Tom, he was sitting on the fog-wet cobbles, the accumulator at his side and a pair of trousers in his hands.
He held them up. ‘Wide’oh’s gonna have a chilly walk home tonight!’
And they both burst out laughing. ‘Was it Wide’oh?’
Tom grinned. ‘It was him all right. He went off like a puffing Billy. I could hear him all the way to Tower Bridge Road.’
‘Did you see the other one?’
Tom nodded and pulled a face. ‘I did and if Freddie Clark’s been saying he’s gone straight since he got married, then he’s telling pork pies! Help us up, Matty.’
She gave him a hand and something shot through her, as if she had been the one caught with her hand stuck in the lamp post, for the jolt she felt would get her into just as much trouble as a hundred volts of electricity, of that much she was sure.
*
Later that week Tom came to her with D.M.’s answer. ‘He looked at all Billy’s notes – I told you, he’s a good chap. But he just doesn’t think the boy’s bad enough to warrant it, Matty. They’ve only got the money to send half a dozen a year.’
‘I’m glad I never mentioned it to Sam,’ Matty said, feeling more dejected than she wanted to show. It had been good of Tom to ask for her.
Her next visit to Billy was a distressing one. She’d tried cheering him up with the story of Wide’oh.
‘He was only trying to nick the electric out of the lamp post! Typical Bermondsey, they’ll nick anything, even the light! You should have seen him, Billy, running away in nothing but his underpants!’
Billy loved the story, but laughter had left him breathless so she had to wait patiently for him to voice his request. ‘Sing us “Electricity”!’ he eventually got out. It was an old music hall favourite she’d once taught him and she immediately got out of her chair and paraded up and down in an imitation of Nellie Power.
Moonlight, limelight and the light of day,
Silber light and candlelight are not half so bright.
Gaslight, bude light soon will pass away,
All must take a back seat through electricity.
Billy tried joining in with the verse, which always made him laugh, though she was sure he didn’t fully understood the double entendres.
’Twill show us all the funny things folk did when it was dark,
And let us see some spooney couples kissing in the park.
Policemen down the areas then, must look-out or we might,
Find where our pies and cold meat go to by electric light.
But at the last line he fell back on to the pillows and grabbing his handkerchief from under his pillow, coughed into it till his breath was almost gone. When he lifted his face to her it was deathly pale and all his smiles had vanished.
13
All in the Family
August–September 1931
Tom’s office in the town hall was bursting at the seams. As the film department’s output had grown there was simply not enough space to store equipment, so they’d been loaned some space in the Fort Road Labour Institute for storing canisters of new film, archived artwork, camera and projectors. Matty was on her way to the institute to pick up some film and as she turned into Fort Road she was greeted by a solid mass of men, hundreds of them, queuing to get in. She’d read in the South London Press that the NUWM were planning a march to Westminster in a bid to have the means test withdrawn, and they’d asked for help in putting up hundreds of hunger marchers massing in London from all over the country. The Labour Institute had offered their premises and it was the NUWM’s presence there that prompted Matty to volunteer for the errand. The crowd of men and a handful of women were waiting to be given food and somewhere to sleep for the night. They were a cheerful bunch, considering that for some of them the success of their endeavour would determine if their families starved or not. Bursts of laughter punctuated the orderly line and Matty heard scouse and geordie accents in amongst the cockney, but they all seemed universally patient as the long queue inched its way towards the Labour Institute door.
She nipped to the front of the queue, explaining why she’d come, and was let in by volunteers who were directing marchers to the basement canteen, where soup and sandwiches were being served. Matty tagged along, for the film department’s store was in the basement, and after retrieving the canister she made her way up to the main lecture hall, which was set up as an operations room for the march. There was a long table where petitions, gathered from all parts of the country, were being counted and put into boxes. In the far corner was another table where organizers had co-opted the telephone; there a couple of young men were studying a map spread out on the table.
One leaned his left elbow on the table, dark hair falling across his face as he bent close to the map. Beside him a lanky young man with a floppy fringe of reddish-gold hair and round spectacles mirrored his position, leaning his right elbow to one side of the map, his left arm flung loosely round his companion’s shoulder. They looked like unequal twins, the one stocky and muscular, the other rangy and fine-boned. The tall one stood up, stretching his back, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his black trousers, which looked like they might once have belonged to an evening suit but were now paired with a collarless shirt and a threadbare V-neck Fair Isle jumper.
The blond young man looked up at her approach, but the first carried on studying the map, his dirty fingernail resting on a street north of the river. ‘I think this is the best place to join the main march. What d’you think, Feathers?’
She’d been certain she would find Will here. Since spotting him on the march down the Blue, she knew he’d thrown in his lot with the NUWM and she’d guessed he’d want to be here, in the thick of it as always. He must have told his friend about her, for she was in no doubt that Feathers had recognized her. He stuck out his hand. ‘How do you do – Miss Gilbie, is it? I’m Gerald Fetherstone.’
She shook his hand and waited for Will to acknowledge her, but his dark head stayed bent to the map.
‘Will, be a good chap and greet your visitor,’ Feathers said, with a pleasant smile.
Matty admired the young man’s courage. His ingrained good manners obviously overrode any fear he might have of rousing Will’s quicksilver temper. Will u
ncurled and forced himself to look at her. She’d seen him only that once, on the NUWM march, since the day he’d torn apart her world, and then his gaze had slid away, whether from dislike or shame, she hadn’t been able to discern. Now, looking into the dark, coal-bright eyes, she thought she knew which it had been.
‘May we offer you some tea, Miss Gilbie?’ Feathers asked, looking as though he might ring for the butler at any minute.
‘Thank you, that’s kind, Mr Fetherstone, but I think the canteen’s a bit busy now.’ She looked over her shoulder through the open hall door to the vestibule where a continuing stream of men was visible, making their way down to the basement.
‘Nonsense! Will, why don’t you take your... umm, Miss Gilbie downstairs. I’ll finish the route.’
Matty expected a growl from Will, but she’d obviously misunderstood the balance of his friendship with Feathers, for she saw nothing but a flicker of exasperated affection cross Will’s face before he pulled his jacket off the back of a chair and muttered, ‘Yes m’lud.’
She took that as an invitation and followed him down to the canteen. Claiming two chairs in the far corner, she watched as Will, holding mugs of steaming tea, negotiated his way round tables crammed with hungry men. The smell coming off the massed bodies added a damp mixture of dust and tobacco smoke to the predominant boiled-cabbage aroma coming from large urns of soup. There was an air of exhilaration in the room. Though experience must have told them otherwise, their faces spoke of a hope that their petition would make a difference this time. Matty understood. She felt better today about Billy because she was doing something, however fruitless it might prove. But so far, thanks to Feathers, it had gone far more smoothly than she could have hoped for. She steeled herself for the next part.
Will handed her the tea, sat down opposite and said something, but the loud chatter and frequent laughter from hundreds of marchers made it impossible to hear and she put her hand to her ear.
‘Why’ve you come here, Matty?’ he shouted at her.
She thought of how working men, presenting their petitions to parliament, must feel, surely a far more disconcerting prospect than the one before her. She took a deep breath.
‘I’ve come to borrow some money!’ she shouted back, loud enough for a few men to lift their eyes from their soup and stare at her. She heard one of them mumble, ‘You’ll be lucky, missus.’
Will looked uncomprehending for an instant and then to her surprise he threw back his head and laughed. ‘That’s a good one! You want to borrow from me? What makes you think I’ve got anything to give you, you’ve already had my money!’
‘I’m not talking about your mother’s money. I’m talking about your father’s.’
He shook his head and then gave her a knowing look. ‘You really are a little money-grubber aren’t you, Matty?’ He whistled between his teeth. ‘You never know someone until there’s money involved.’
‘You can talk, Will. You’re the one who took me to court and tried to blacken my name over a few hundred pounds I didn’t even want.’ She felt herself flush with anger at his accusation.
His face had lost its quizzical bemused expression and hardened. ‘No, but it seems you’ve managed to spend it already without too much trouble!’
‘You did get one thing right, Will, when you were rifling through my things. Frank was a wrong ’un. I wasn’t in debt to him, but I’ve paid him off anyway because I’m frightened of him. That’s where Eliza’s money’s gone, not on champagne at the Ritz!’
‘You’ve given it all to him! How could you let a man like that get his grubby claws into you, Matty?’
The flash of feeling in his dark eyes was what she’d been waiting for. She’d seen a similar fire in Sam’s eyes when it came to protecting his own, and now she grasped on to the glimmer of hope that her quest might not be in vain.
‘I made a mistake. Haven’t you ever made a mistake, Will?’
He looked at her steadily. ‘You know I have...’
It was perhaps the nearest to an apology she would ever get from her pig-headed, opinionated brother, for she had begun to think of him as such, and she didn’t look for more.
‘I’m not asking for myself. It’s for Billy. He’s in Guy’s with TB and I think he’ll die there if I can’t get him help.’
‘Sam’s Billy? Oh no, Matty. I’m sorry, but what help is there? If he’s got TB then...’ His voice trailed off and she interrupted him before he could voice the usual hopeless reaction to the disease.
‘But there is help! Except it’s in Switzerland. There’s a sanatorium school run by a Dr Rollier. The borough pays to send a few kids there every year, but they’ve turned Billy down. Will...’ She leaned forward, grasping his two hands in hers. ‘I know you think you’ve got no family any more, and to be honest that’s the way I felt, after you told me... it all seemed a lie. But I’ve found out that it’s not so easy to shake off your family. They’re part of us, Will, don’t matter whether we call them brother, uncle, cousin, nephew... I can see Sam and your grandad in your eyes and in spite of everything that’s happened between us, I can still feel what it was like to hold you as a little baby. And I can still see Billy, how he was when he was a tot... It’s those things that matter, Will.’
She could see that she’d held him and it was as if he were shedding a skin in front of her eyes. The part of him that had been swallowed up by misplaced anger and hurt began to emerge like sunshine through a dense fog. His face seemed to lighten visibly and he let out a deep sigh.
‘I’m sorry, Matty. I’d like to help Billy, but I really haven’t got any money. Our father left me his money in trust. It only comes to me after I’ve completed my degree and the way things are, well, I don’t think that’s going to happen.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve been rusticated.’
‘Rusticated?’
‘Suspended.’
‘What for?
‘Leading a hunger march through Trinity and draping the college quad with banners demanding the end of the means test.’
Matty groaned. ‘You idiot, can’t you apologize?’
He shook his head. ‘No good, I can’t go back until next term. Besides, I was thinking of chucking it in altogether. Other things seem more important, like the fact that a quarter of all men in this country are out of work!’
‘No, Will, don’t do that. My dad... your grandfather, he always dreamed one of his family would go to university. Did you know he passed through there on his way down from Hull on the old penny-farthing?’
Will shook his head.
‘Well, he told me the story about when he came to London, looking for work, and on the way he stopped to have a look round King’s College and imagined what it would be like to have one of his family go there... He would have been so proud of you, Will.’
‘I never knew that about Grandad. Perhaps I should have followed in his footsteps rather than my father’s – gone to King’s instead of Trinity – then I might have got into less trouble!’
She ran her hands through her hair. ‘Oh, I feel I’ve made such a mess of my life, Will. I had the chance to get out and now look at me... Don’t you do the same.’
He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher, then said finally, ‘I’m sorry, I’d help poor Billy if I could, but as I said, the funds aren’t there at the moment.’
‘I’ll just have to sell the house.’
‘No, not Ma’s house! There must be another way we can get hold of the money.’
‘Get hold of what money?’
Matty and Will looked up, startled. They’d both been so intent on their conversation that they’d failed to notice Feathers approach. Now he pulled up another chair and curled his long fingers around a mug of tea. He raised an eyebrow at Will. ‘Planning to rob a bank, dear fellow? Can I come too?’
‘Don’t get carried away, Feathers. I know you’re jealous of my Bermondsey heritage but we’re not all villains, you know.’
> ‘I’m not so sure I believe you. What was that charming ditty you taught me... if you see a copper come, ’it ’im on the ’ead and run?’ He looked pleased with his cockney impersonation, but Matty hadn’t been able to lift her deflated mood enough to enjoy it, which must have shown on her face for Feathers’ expression turned serious.
‘Is there some trouble?’ he asked Matty.
‘It’s a family matter,’ she replied awkwardly.
‘Feathers knows everything about our family,’ Will said, and then, ‘he’s my best friend.’
‘My dear chap.’ Feathers smiled in appreciation and stretched his long legs under Will’s chair. ‘So tell me all about the proposed heist!’
Will asked Matty to explain. When she’d finished Feathers adjusted his spectacles and reached into Will’s top pocket for a packet of cigarettes.
‘There seems to me only one sensible solution,’ he said, offering Matty a cigarette before flipping a silver lighter he’d dug out of his trouser pocket. He took a deep draw and exhaled before finishing his sentence. ‘As we’re all agreed that none of us is ready to join the Bermondsey mob, I’ll lend Will the “bunce” and he can repay me when he comes into his father’s money.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘What? “Bunce” not the right term?’
Matty was surprised at how readily Will agreed to Feathers’ offer. But she was grateful that their friendship seemed easy enough to counteract all Will’s prickly pride. As she got up to leave, Will was called aside by one of the marchers. Feathers shook her hand and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve told Will many times to make his peace with you, Miss Gilbie. He won’t admit this to you, but he realizes what a chump he’s been. I should think he’ll be grateful for the chance to—’
Here Will returned and interrupted Feathers, but she understood what the young man had meant to say. The cheque in her pocket was all the evidence she needed to convince her just how much Will wanted to make amends.
*
She came home to find a letter from Esme. Inside was a clipping from Variety magazine. The headline read Brit Bodyguards for the Stars and the accompanying photo showed a blonde-haired starlet in front of a flashy mansion, flanked by two fedora-wearing bodyguards. One of them she recognized: it was Frank. Matty felt a wave of nausea at the mere sight of him. Her heart thumped as she read the article about the growing need for film actors and celebrities to have their own bodyguards. Esme had highlighted the final paragraph: