Cockney Orphan

by Carol Rivers

  Billy’s eyes opened wider. ‘No kidding?’

  ‘Remember Joe Wallace, the middleweight from Lancashire, and Archie Johns, flyweight, from across the border? Little Willie Faulkner from Skegness?’ He glanced at Billy sideways. ‘Course you’ve probably not heard of them. A bit before your time.’

  Billy racked his brains. ‘Was they really your boys?’

  ‘They were, but they’ve all done so well they’ve pissed off to the States now.’

  ‘America!’ Billy yelped, spilling his drink. ‘That’s where I’m headed.’

  ‘Not surprised,’ Freddie agreed casually. ‘You’re wasted here.’ He held up his hands apologetically. ‘No offence to Taffy – but pub yards? Do me a favour, they’re carve-ups.’

  Billy swallowed hard. This was someone in the business who he could respect. Freddie signalled the barman for top-ups. When their glasses were filled he turned to Billy and frowned. ‘How much is Taffy’s rake-off?’

  Billy considered this. ‘I get five pounds if I win or not.’

  ‘Yes, but how much does he get?’

  ‘Dunno. Never asked.’

  Freddie nodded slowly, leaning his elbows on the bar. ‘Taffy is probably pocketing four times as much as you.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Keep it under your hat, of course.’

  Billy tried to do his sums. He’d never thought about Taffy’s earnings, just as long as he was getting his. Four times five was . . . Billy frowned, his brain working overtime. About twenty, wasn’t it? Blimey, enough, anyway. And it was him, Billy, who was doing all the work!

  ‘See what I mean?’ The blue eyes narrowed.

  ‘Yeah, I do.’

  ‘So ask yourself this. Why would Taffy want to change things? You wouldn’t get much for a three-rounder with gloves. You’d start right at the bottom again, to prove yourself like.’

  ‘Would I?’ Billy hadn’t thought of that either.

  ‘Your man is on to an earner with the pub larks. He’s not planning to see the back of it, is he? You’re an unlicensed fighter, so the bookie loves you, chum. But as a rookie boxer you’d be earning peanuts.’

  Suddenly it all fell into place. All Billy’s protests to Taffy to let him box, all useless as he wouldn’t be making them any money.

  Billy’s shoulders slumped. He pushed his hands down in his trouser pockets and tried to think straight. Freddie smacked his lips. ‘I’ve got to go, son.’ He gave Billy a pat on the shoulder. Then, turning, he pushed his way through the evening drinkers and disappeared.

  Billy tried to use his befuddled brain. What was he to do? He felt he was sliding into a pit he’d never be able to climb out of. He stared around him. At the unflattering décor and the dirty tables, the shabby clientele, his mates. He was champ all right, but of what? All in all, he had nothing and was nothing and would go on being nothing unless . . .

  He fought his way through the crowd, deaf to the flattery that an hour ago he was thriving on. The street was dark, the blackout still well in force. He looked to his left and saw Freddie just turning the corner.

  ‘Freddie, wait!’ Billy caught him up. ‘Will you take me on?’

  ‘I don’t know about that, son.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Dunno that it’d pay me—’

  ‘I’d take what you give me, I just want to box. To prove meself to everyone. All I need is a chance.’

  Freddie looked at him, then, leaning casually against the wall and ignoring the blackout, drew out a packet of cigarettes. Lighting up, he nodded thoughtfully. ‘We’ll have another little chat sometime.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Dunno. Tomorrow night maybe.’

  ‘Where?’

  Freddie shrugged, blowing smoke into the night air. ‘Here.’

  Billy watched him saunter away. He was filled with hope, yet was he being disloyal to Taffy? Well, he hadn’t done anything yet. And if Taffy wanted to keep him, then he’d have to match what Freddie could do.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Five bob says our office is first for the chop,’ Len English muttered to Connie as they joined the queue in the corridor outside Mr Dalton’s rooms. ‘They’ve got to make cuts with business going downhill like it has.’

  ‘The government might step in,’ Connie posed. ‘And take us over for the war effort.’

  ‘They could have their own people,’ Len speculated as they moved forward. ‘We might prove expendable.’

  ‘No one’s expendable in war. Everyone has to do something,’ Connie whispered as they entered the large outer office that was usually strictly off limits to the staff and reserved for Mr Dalton’s sole use. In front of them were rows of wooden chairs placed neatly in front of a small raised platform.

  ‘Blimey, this looks official,’ Len muttered as they filed in and sat down.

  ‘I’ve never been in here before.’ Ada looked cautiously around the room as the thirty or so other clerical workers and members of the typing pool joined them. Rumours had abounded as scarcity of petrol had crippled Dalton’s transport services. The import and exportation of food, vegetables and household goods had sunk to an all time low as the war had intensified. Government inspectors had visited the shop floor; Dalton’s, it was said, was ripe for requisitioning.

  ‘The ball-bearings factory up the road needs staff,’ Ada whispered suspiciously. ‘But if they think I’d work in one of them factories, they can think again. My fingernails would chip something rotten and I couldn’t stand the noise of those machines! Bang, crash in your ears all the time.’ She frowned across Len, who was sitting between them. ‘Anyway, I’m a trained shorthand typist like you, Con. Why should we work on a shop floor?’

  ‘Because you’ll have to, if that’s what the government wants,’ Len intervened. ‘You don’t get a choice, Ada. None of us do.’

  ‘Well, I’d rather piss off somewhere else,’ Ada said indignantly. ‘Sign up for the Land Army even.’

  ‘Can’t see you looking after pigs when you can’t even stand the smell of fish in the canteen.’ Len smiled ruefully. ‘And, anyway, what about Wally?’

  Ada shrugged carelessly. ‘What about him? He don’t even notice me around most of the time. And to tell you the truth, sharing a stable with a horse would be an improvement on living with his sister. At least horses don’t criticize and keep telling you how lucky you are to have a roof over your head. And they don’t pinch your clothes or spy on you, either! When I complain to Wally all he does is tell me to stop nagging and make the best of things. It would teach him a lesson if I left.’

  Connie knew things between Ada and Wally were at an all time low. But would she really consider joining the Land Army just for spite?

  ‘Shh, ladies.’ Len jerked his head as Mr Burns and Mr Layman, the workforce manager, entered the room and ascended the platform. Mr Dalton, leaning heavily on his stick, followed at a snail’s pace, aided by his secretary, Miss Cummings.

  What changes, Connie wondered, were in store for the employees of this once lucrative, but now ailing family firm? The bells of victory had been ringing over Britain for the last two days, the first time since the threat of invasion in 1939. General Montgomery had won the battle of El Alamein. Germany’s Afrika Korps had been plundered in the deserts of North Africa. The British had reason to celebrate and had been doing so for longer than twenty-four hours. But here at Dalton’s everyone was waiting anxiously for bad news.

  Connie stared unseeingly through the tall windows at the dense grey morning beyond. The weather reflected the mood inside, air heavy with mist from the river as it rolled over the glass. This was the way the river worked, unpredictable in its nature, as was the war.

  What would happen if she lost her job? Where would she go? What would she do? She had imagined the rest of her life spent here at Dalton’s, moving steadily up the ladder of success, one day to be sitting where Miss Cummings was now.

  Connie sighed softly. Once the picture had been clear in her mind. She had been prepared to sacrifi
ce marriage in her attempt to rise above poverty. But then the war, and Lucky, had come along. Now, unlike Ada, she didn’t care what work she did. Lucky came before everything.

  A stiff clearing of throat brought Connie back to earth. ‘Good morning,’ Mr Dalton said shakily as he rose to his feet with the aid of his stick. A stooped, aged figure in an old-fashioned pinstriped suit, he was rarely seen on the premises now. ‘This, unfortunately, is a duty I am reluctant to perform. But one that I must undertake to ensure that our business survives through the continuing conflict.’

  Heads turned and anxious looks were exchanged. The room remained silent as the old man continued. ‘I am afraid we can no longer rely on our import business or our transportation departments for revenue. Therefore – drastic changes need to be made.’ After sipping from a glass of water handed to him by Miss Cummings, he pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against his brow. ‘I am, however, relieved to say that, with our new management, we shall suffer no specific change to the numbers of workforce.’

  An audible sigh ran through the room. ‘What does he mean, new management?’ whispered Len, glancing at Connie. But before she could reply Mr Dalton continued.

  ‘Our company has been selected to assist the war effort, the details of which are rather – er – complicated. Therefore, I shall sit and listen with interest to the information provided by our new directors, the – er – United States Army.’ Mr Dalton sank down wearily on his chair.

  ‘What does he mean the United States Army?’ someone whispered behind them. ‘The old boy’s going barmy.’

  Soon everyone was talking at once, until with a rush of air the door flew open and two tall American servicemen strode in. One ascended the platform, the other seated himself in the front row.

  ‘Major Abraham T. Barker at your service,’ shouted the American soldier standing to attention on the platform. Everyone jumped as he added, ‘Here as representative of the United States of America, her people and government!’

  Silence descended.

  Mr Dalton nodded uncertainly. ‘Please continue, Major Barker.’

  ‘Absolutely, sir!’ The major cleared his throat and looked around. ‘Folks, first let me say how glad we are to be here in your country. It’s our intention to assist you in the winning of this war. Our men are fully briefed as to the pain you have suffered since ’39 and we come with respect and admiration, knowing that nothing can replace the loss of your possessions and, in some cases, loved ones. But we must look to the future and from this day on add our strength to yours. Guess you’ve noticed plenty of our uniforms around London lately? Well, you’ll be seeing them right up close now, on these fine premises of yours. Whilst you continue to do your jobs, we’ll do ours. Now, have we any questions?’

  No one moved a muscle or spoke. Connie was sitting, as everyone else was, in shock. No one knew if this was good or bad news. They all stared up at the smartly dressed major, who was waiting expectantly.

  ‘Go on, Len, ask a question.’ Ada nudged his elbow.

  ‘Why don’t you?’

  ‘’Cos you say things better.’

  Len turned to Connie. ‘Have you any questions, Con?’

  She nodded. ‘Ask if our jobs stay the same.’

  Len stood up and spoke in a quiet voice. ‘Do you mean we still continue to do our clerical work?’

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I mean.’

  ‘But,’ replied Len bewilderedly, ‘as everyone knows, our warehouses are almost empty.’

  Major Barker smiled an all-American smile. ‘Have no fear, sir, once Uncle Sam takes over, they’ll be overflowing.’

  ‘But what with?’

  ‘Weapons, sir. Your country’s armoury!’

  There was an audible gasp. Len steadied himself on the chair in front. ‘You mean guns, tanks, that sort of thing?’

  ‘That sort of thing,’ agreed the major.

  Len stood with his mouth open, until Ada pulled him down on his chair. ‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’

  Len blinked. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We’ll keep our jobs won’t we?’

  ‘To give you a clearer idea,’ the major continued before Len could reply, ‘Sergeant Clint Hershey here will tell you more.’

  The army officer in the front row stood up and took the major’s place. ‘Pleased to meet you all,’ he said in a soft drawl as he removed his cap to reveal a smooth blond crew cut beneath. ‘It’ll be my job to see that all goes smoothly and I’ll be around to help you folk in any way I can. Your books will be kept just the same, only it’ll be navy and army stuff you’ll be entering, ’stead of domestic goods.’

  ‘But you can’t load tanks on boats like you can vegetable and fruit,’ someone observed in the back row.

  ‘Yessir, you can,’ the sergeant replied politely. ‘That’s what we’re here for. To install our new system, get your show on the road. We have a new way of loading called roll-on, roll-off. Fork-lift trucks and pallets are used to shift heavy equipment as easily as you would a sack of potatoes. They enable us to stack warehouses higher, fill ships quicker and move weapons faster.’

  Connie wasn’t listening as the sergeant continued to explain how Dalton’s was going to become one of the country’s fastest shippers to the front lines of conflict. Instead, she was staring incredulously into the handsome face of the soldier who had bumped into her on Paddington station that day in summer, when she had been searching for Vic.

  Sergeant Clint Hershey was sitting in an army vehicle parked just inside the gates of Dalton’s. When he saw Connie and Ada he jumped out and hurried towards them.

  ‘Hi there, again!’

  Connie felt Ada grab her arm. ‘He’s talking to you, Con.’

  Connie was embarrassed as the sergeant removed his cap and smiled broadly. ‘Didn’t think I’d be so lucky as to meet you again.’ He held her eyes with his magnetic blue gaze, then put out his hand.

  Politely she took it. ‘Hello, er, Sergeant . . .’

  ‘Clint, ma’am. Just plain Clint.’

  ‘And I’m Ada Freeman, Connie’s best friend. We work together in the offices.’ Ada smiled sweetly as she held out her hand and the sergeant grasped it. ‘Connie didn’t tell me she knew you.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Connie said as Ada turned to look at her accusingly. ‘We bumped into each other at Paddington station, that’s all.’

  ‘I’d never forget a face like yours,’ Clint Hershey said as he transferred his attention back to Connie. ‘When I saw you today, sitting there, I thought gee-whiz, there’s the little lady that I almost ran over. Do you know, you were the first real person, other than ticket collectors, that I had a real conversation with in England?’

  Connie smiled awkwardly. ‘No, I didn’t realize that.’

  ‘Did you find your fiancé?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Yes, I did. He wasn’t far away.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt about that, ma’am.’

  Ada leaned forward. ‘Fancy that, bumping into Connie again. Who would have believed it?’

  ‘Sure is one hellava coincidence,’ he agreed, smiling at Connie. ‘You sure brightened my first day in England.’

  Connie smiled uncertainly. ‘Well, we’d better be going.’

  ‘Let me give you ladies a ride home in the truck.’

  ‘Oh, no – thank you.’ Connie pulled Ada’s arm discreetly. ‘We haven’t far to walk.’

  But Ada stood where she was. ‘Oh, Con, you can’t say no. I live farther away than you do. And look at the weather.’

  Sergeant Clint Hershey lifted his big hands. ‘It’s no trouble, ma’am. Gasoline and time are no problem for the US army. And that weather sure looks thick.’

  Connie didn’t want to be unfriendly, but she didn’t want to give him any encouragement either. If he was going to be working at Dalton’s it meant she might see him frequently and she didn’t want to start a habit she would later regret.

  ‘No, really,’ she dec
lined again. ‘I’d prefer to walk.’

  This time he nodded, but the disappointment was clear in his eyes. ‘Another time maybe.’ He turned and strode back to his truck.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ Ada demanded as she followed Connie out of the gate. ‘The poor bugger was only being friendly.’

  ‘You could have gone if you wanted to.’

  ‘And what would I have looked like, climbing in that thing on my own?’ Ada marched angrily beside her. They walked in silence until they turned the corner and then Ada burst out, ‘You can be a right snobby cow sometimes.’

  Connie stopped dead. ‘I wasn’t being snobby. I just didn’t want to start something that would be difficult to stop.’

  ‘It was just a lift he was offering.’

  ‘And what if he was there tomorrow night and the night after?’

  Ada shrugged. ‘So what? I wouldn’t say no.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t, Ada. That’s exactly the trouble. You’ve got a really good catch in Wally yet you’re always flirting with other blokes.’

  Ada’s face paled. ‘It’s none of your business what I do with blokes. And ain’t you the pot calling the kettle black! You never told me about Sergeant bloody Clint whatshisname did you?’

  ‘There was nothing to tell.’

  Ada laughed scornfully. ‘Pull the other one. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.’

  It was Connie’s turn to look angry. ‘Nonsense, Ada. I don’t even know him.’

  ‘Well, he seems to know you.’

  Connie knew they were heading for a serious disagreement. ‘Look, I’m not going to stand here arguing. As you said, what you do is your own business.’

  Ada looked so annoyed the ends of her hair were trembling. She spluttered something that Connie couldn’t understand then turned away, swinging her hips aggressively under her red coat.

  Connie was on the point of calling her back when she changed her mind. Perhaps they both needed to cool off. They were two opposites, which was the attraction of their friendship, but if they ever fell out, which was rare, it was never long before they were speaking again.

  Connie began to walk home. Her conscience was already pricking. Ada was unhappy. At the start of the Blitz she had been in love with Wally, refusing to leave London without him. Now, as their affair had cooled, her mood was unpredictable. Wally had been good for her, and whilst she was with him Ada had been content. Was Jean, Wally’s sister, the cause of all the trouble? Living with Wally’s family couldn’t be easy, especially as they were church going, which Ada wasn’t. Connie wished she had spent more time with her friend lately. Their lives had been so busy and talking over problems had been pushed to the background.