Tanner Trilogy 01 - Gaslight in Page Street

by Harry Bowling

  ‘Fanks, Fred. I’ll go out in a minute,’ he said calmly.

  Alec and Grace Crossley were gazing out through the windows and people were gathering in the street as Percy pulled his cap down over the top of his ears and strolled out of the Kings Arms. He shuffled calmly up to a military policeman sitting at the wheel of a car and gave him his special cross-eyed stare as he climbed in next to him. Percy had been doing that stare for years to make his friends laugh. He made one of his eyes turn so far inward that the pupil almost disappeared. The military policeman rounded on him angrily. ‘Oi! Get out this motor, yer stupid git,’ he growled.

  Percy looked appealingly at the soldier. ‘Gis a ride, mister,’ he said.

  ‘If yer don’t get out o’ this motor, I’ll knock yer bloody ’ead orf yer shoulders,’ the soldier snarled, leaning towards him threateningly.

  ‘I only wanted a ride,’ Percy moaned, climbing out of the vehicle.

  Mrs Jones was standing at her front door, having suffered the indignity of seeing her whole house being searched. As she spotted her son standing beside the army car, she nearly fainted on her doorstep.

  ‘We’ll be back,’ a policeman told her as he strode out of her house. ‘If yer son does show up, tell ’im ter give ’imself up straight away. The longer ’e overstays ’is leave, the worse it’s gonna be fer ’im when we do catch ’im.’

  Percy stepped back to let the other military policeman get into the vehicle, giving him one of his best stares and saluting eagerly. When they had left he grinned widely at his mother and walked calmly back into the pub.

  On a chill Sunday morning in September as the church bells were calling people to worship, Nora Flynn put on her hat and coat and smiled to herself. She always looked forward to the morning service at St James’s Church and particularly enjoyed the sermons given by the new minister. He was a fiery orator and the sound of his deep, cultured voice resounding throughout the lofty stone building filled her with a sense of calm. It was there too that she met her old friends and chatted with them after the service as they walked together through the well-tended gardens.

  Nora Flynn did not attend that morning service, however, for as she came down the stairs there was a loud knocking on the front door and she was confronted by an elderly army officer who brought the tragic news that Lieutenant Geoffrey Galloway had been killed on the Somme.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Throughout the cold winter months the curtains at number 22 Tyburn Square remained drawn. The draughty house had become almost like a mausoleum, with guarded voices speaking in whispers and footsteps sounding strangely loud in the silent rooms. Nora tried her best to comfort George in his grief and was saddened to see how the tragedy aged him. He had lost his upright posture and stooped as he trudged around, a shadow of his former self. Since the fateful Sunday in September, his eyes had grown more heavy-lidded and bleary with the amount of whisky he was drinking, and his hair had become totally grey. The running of the business had been left to Frank. The only time George left the house was late at night when he drove his trap through the gaslit streets down to the river, where he would sit watching the tide turn and the mists roll in.

  When she had recovered from the first shock of Geoffrey’s death Nora realised she had a painful duty to perform. Mary O’Reilly would have to be told. Nora’s eyes filled with tears as she went to the sideboard drawer and took out the slip of paper from inside her family bible. She remembered Geoffrey joking with her when he gave her his lady-friend’s address for safekeeping in case anything should happen to him. ‘Put it in your bible, Nora,’ he had said laughing. ‘Father won’t find it there, that’s for sure.’

  Geoffrey had told her that his lady-friend’s husband was always out of the house during the day, so on Tuesday morning Nora boarded a tram to Rotherhithe and then walked through the little backstreets to Mary O’Reilly’s home near the river. It was a three-storey house at the end of a narrow lane and Nora bit on her lip with dread as she climbed the four steps and knocked timidly on the front door.

  As soon as Mary opened the door she recognised Nora and her mouth sagged opened. ‘Oh no! Not Geoff?’ she gasped.

  Nora nodded slowly, reaching out her hand to clasp the young woman’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry. I had to come,’ she said softly. ‘I felt I ’ad ter tell yer. They told us last Sunday mornin’.’

  Mary closed her eyes tightly and swayed backwards, and as Nora took her by the arms she rested her head against the housekeeper’s shoulder. ‘I was dreadin’ this,’ she sobbed. ‘I knew it was gonna ’appen some day.’

  Nora helped the young woman into her cluttered parlour and made her sit down in an armchair. Mary was shaking with shock and she leant against the edge of the chair, clutching a handkerchief tightly in her shaking hands.

  Nora had noticed Mary’s condition. She put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Is it Geoffrey’s?’ she asked, knowing the answer already.

  Mary nodded. ‘I wrote an’ told ’im. I’ve got ’is last letter in the drawer. Geoff was gonna tell ’is father about us an’ the baby as soon as ’e got ’ome. Now ’e’ll never see ’is child,’ she sobbed.

  Nora made the distraught young woman a cup of strong tea, and when she saw that Mary had composed herself sufficiently she asked her, ‘Does yer ’usband know it’s not ’is?’

  Mary laughed bitterly. ‘We’ve not slept tergevver fer months. I couldn’t put off tellin’ ’im an’ as soon as I did ’e walked out. I couldn’t blame ’im, Nora,’ she sobbed. ‘’E was a good man despite everyfing, but ’e’s got ’is pride. I expected ’im ter give me a good ’idin’, or at least tell me what a slut I was, but ’e didn’t. ’E didn’t say anyfing. ’E jus’ left wivout a word. Oh Gawd! I jus’ want ter die.’

  Nora bent down and gripped Mary’s hands in hers. ‘Now listen ter me,’ she said firmly. ‘Yer got a duty ter look after yerself fer the baby’s sake. Young Geoffrey would ’ave bin so proud, ’specially if it’s a boy. Yer gotta go an’ see Geoff’s farvver soon as the baby’s born. ’E’ll be able ter provide fer both o’ yer.’

  Mary looked up at her visitor, her eyes red with crying. ‘I won’t take charity. I’ll manage some’ow,’ she said forcefully.

  Nora patted the young woman’s hand. ‘Yer must tell George Galloway,’ she urged her. ‘Wait till the time’s ripe an’ go an’ see ’im, Mary. Yer’ll need all the ’elp yer can get. Bring Geoff’s letter wiv yer, the ole man’ll ’ave ter believe yer then.’

  As Nora left the drab house in the lane by the river she felt the cold biting into her bones. She hoped the young woman would see sense and go to Galloway, but there had been something in her eyes that told Nora otherwise.

  Josephine had borne the tragic news with courage, and the following Monday evening attended her nursing training at the church hall as usual. She had tried to talk with her father and find some common comfort with him but found it impossible. Geoffrey’s death seemed to have widened the barrier between them and Josephine was left to grieve alone. She was determined to be strong and threw herself into her work, but each day as she gazed down at the sick and maimed soldiers on the endless rows of stretchers she thought of Geoffrey, and found herself mumbling frantic prayers that Charlie Tanner would return safely.

  The death in action of Geoffrey Galloway had saddened everyone who knew him. William Tanner was particularly upset. He had always found Geoff to be a friendly and easygoing young man with a serious side to his nature. He had managed the firm well and at times gone against his own father when he deemed it right. William felt that this was something Frank Galloway would not be inclined to do. The younger brother was less approachable than Geoffrey had been. He was more like his father and seemed to have the same ruthless streak.

  The young man’s death had come at a time when there was already a tense atmosphere in the yard. Jake Mitchell had grudgingly apologised for his assault on Jack Oxford but still displayed a sullen, mocking attitude. William could not help dwelling on the fros
ty meeting he had had with George the morning following the attack on the yard man. Galloway had spelt out in no uncertain terms the reasons why he was not prepared to get rid of Mitchell and there had been a thinly veiled threat in the owner’s words. William knew for certain now that if it ever came to a choice between him and Mitchell, he would be the one to go. In that eventuality Jack Oxford would be sacked too, William was sure, and he felt sorry for the tall, clumsy yard man. Jack did his work well enough and asked only that he be left alone to get on with it. He too had worked in the yard for many years, although William was well aware that this did not seem to count for much where Galloway was concerned. There was also a distinct likelihood that things would begin to change for the worse now that he had lost his elder son. William felt that the loss of Geoffrey would make Galloway even more ruthless than ever.

  During the quiet days of late December, after the Christmas festivities, Fred Bradley suddenly summoned up the courage to invite his young employee out for the evening. Carrie was wiping down the tables after the last customers had left, and Fred sauntered over looking a little awkward.

  ‘Look, Carrie, would yer like to come to the music ’all on Friday night?’ he said suddenly. ‘The Christmas revue’s still on at the Camberwell Palace, and it’s supposed ter be really good.’

  Carrie looked at him in surprise. ‘This Friday?’ she asked, too taken aback to say anything else.

  Fred nodded, his face flushing slightly. ‘Well, after all, everyone else has been enjoyin’ ’emselves over the ’oliday. The break’d do yer good,’ he said, smiling nervously. ‘As long as yer can put up wiv an old geezer like me escortin’ yer while all the young lads are away ...’

  Carrie was touched by Fred’s disarming remark, and the wide-eyed look of anticipation on his face made her chuckle. ‘All right, Fred,’ she replied. ‘Thank you, that’d be very nice.’

  ‘We can go in the first ’ouse,’ he went on, ‘an’ I’ll see yer back to yer front door, don’t worry.’

  As the time of the outing approached, Carrie began to feel apprehensive. She remembered the times she had gone to the music hall with Tommy and she was worried in case Fred tried to become too familiar with her. But it turned out to be a lovely evening.

  Fred looked smart in his tight-fitting suit, starched collar and sleeked-back dark hair, and he held his head proudly erect as he escorted Carrie along the Jamaica Road to the tram stop.

  The show was very entertaining, and Carrie was tickled by Fred’s noisy laugh. During the interval he bought her a packet of Nestlé’s chocolates wrapped in gold paper, which they shared, enjoying the sweet taste. When the lights dimmed for the second half of the show, Fred sat forward eagerly in his seat, looking directly in front of him as though afraid he might miss something, and Carrie was touched by his boyish enthusiasm.

  When the performance was over and the audience crowded into the street, Carrie held on to Fred’s arm tightly and screwed up her face against the cold as they waited at the tram stop.

  As good as his word, Fred saw her back to her home in Page Street, and as they walked they chatted together like old friends. At the front door Carrie thanked him for the evening and he made a slight, comical bow, smiling awkwardly. Then he turned away and walked off through the gaslight, whistling loudly as though to hide his embarrassment.

  A week later, at the beginning of January 1917, Carrie heard from one of the carmen who called in the café that Tommy Allen was home from the war. She was unable to glean much information from the customer except that Tommy was wounded and had got his discharge. The news threw Carrie into a state of confusion, wondering whether she should go to see him. She could still remember clearly all the anger and remorse she had experienced at the end of their affair, and yet despite all that had happened between them she was still very fond of Tommy.

  When she finished work that Saturday morning Carrie walked through the railway arches into St James’s Road and knocked on Tommy’s front door. She stood there waiting in the cold air for what seemed an eternity. Finally she heard noises in the passage and the door opened. Tommy seemed taken aback to see her but quickly invited her in and led the way into the tiny parlour. He was leaning on a walking stick and his left foot was heavily bandaged and encased in a boot that had been cut away at the instep.

  ‘One o’ the customers told me yer was ’ome,’ she said, sitting herself down beside the lighted kitchen range.

  Tommy smiled awkwardly. ‘News travels fast. I only got back a few days ago. I’ve been fer convalescence in Wales.’

  Carrie watched as he eased himself back in his chair and stretched out his bandaged foot towards the fire. ‘What ’appened?’ she asked.

  ‘Frostbite,’ he answered simply. He saw her enquiring look. ‘I lost me toes.’

  She winced visibly. ‘I’m so sorry. Are yer in a lot o’ pain?’

  He shook his head. ‘There’s not much pain now. The only problem is, I can’t walk prop’ly. I’ll be able ter do wivout this stick in time but I’ve gotta get used ter ’obblin’ about.’

  Carrie felt uncomfortable under his gaze and glanced towards the fire. Tommy pulled himself up straight in the chair. ‘I’m sorry, I should ’ave asked yer if yer wanted a cup o’ tea,’ he said quickly.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ she said, getting to her feet, but Tommy stood up and reached for the teapot.

  ‘I’ll do it. I’m not exactly useless,’ he remarked with a note of irritation in his voice.

  Carrie watched him as he poured the tea and could see that he had lost weight. He looked pale and drawn, and there were dark shadows around his eyes. His short-cropped dark hair showed signs of premature greying. ‘’Ow’s yer mum?’ she asked, trying to ease the tension.

  ‘She’s all right. She’s still wiv me bruvver,’ he answered, handing her the tea. ‘I’ll be ’avin’ ’er back, soon as I can.’

  She sipped in silence, her eyes straying down to his bandaged foot. She grew more uncomfortable, realising she could not think of anything to say.

  Tommy suddenly brightened. ‘I’m not complainin’. I was one o’ the lucky ones,’ he told her, smiling. ‘I was on a night patrol, the last in the line, an’ I slipped in a shell-’ole. It was freezin’ cold an’ I couldn’t call out. I jus’ sat there until the patrol come back. By that time I couldn’t feel me feet an’ that’s ’ow I got frostbite. As I say, though, I was one o’ the lucky ones. The next day I was carted off ter the forward ’ospital an’ at the same time me mates went over the top. It was sheer murder, so I was told. I could ’ave bin wiv ’em if I ’adn’t fell in that shell-’ole.’

  Carrie looked down into her empty cup. ‘My bruvvers are all in France. Danny, the youngest, ’as only jus’ gone over there,’ she said quietly.

  ‘They’ll be all right,’ Tommy said cheerfully. ‘It’ll be over soon. There was talk about an armistice when I was in the ’ospital.’

  ‘I ’ope yer right,’ she said with feeling. ‘We’re all worried sick. Me mum didn’t want Danny ter go, ’im bein’ the youngest, but ’e wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘None of us would,’ Tommy replied, easing his position in the chair. ‘Anyway, let’s change the subject. What about you?’

  ‘I’m well, an’ I’m still workin’ in the café,’ she told him. ‘It seems strange now, though. Most o’ the customers are older men. There’s only a few young ones come in. It’s the same in our street. All the young men ’ave gone in the army.’

  Tommy looked into the fire. ‘I bumped into Jean,’ he said suddenly, his eyes coming up to meet hers. ‘Yer remember me tellin’ yer about Jean? She was the young lady I used ter go out wiv. Apparently she’s split up wiv ’er bloke an’ we’ve been out a few times. She wants us ter get tergevver again.’

  ‘Will yer?’ Carrie asked him.

  ‘I dunno,’ he answered, prodding at a torn piece of linoleum with his walking stick. ‘It all went wrong before an’ now I’m takin’ me muvver back as well.’

  ‘D
oes Jean know?’ Carrie asked.

  ‘I told ’er, but she still wants us ter try an’ make a go of it,’ Tommy replied.

  Carrie’s eyes searched his for an indication. ‘Do yer really want to?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I’ve bin finkin’ over all that’s ’appened an’ I realised I didn’t give ’er a fair chance. It was the same wiv me an’ you, Carrie. We were doomed right from the start. I’ve decided ter try again wiv Jean, an’ this time I won’t let the ole lady come between us. One fing’s fer sure, though, I’ll never ferget our time tergevver. We did ’ave some good times, didn’t we?’

  Carrie nodded, a strange feeling of sadness and relief welling up inside her. Tommy had been her first love, but she knew that he was right. Their romance had been doomed to failure. She had come to accept their parting and realised that he had too. Although she was sad at the thought of what might have been, it was some relief to know that Tommy had a prospect of happiness.