Tanner Trilogy 01 - Gaslight in Page Street

by Harry Bowling

  Fred nodded. ‘Well, I’m askin’ yer ter be me wife,’ he said candidly. ‘I don’t expect yer ter make up yer mind straight away. Take all the time yer want, but remember I love yer. I fink I’ve loved yer from the first time I set eyes on yer.’

  Carrie felt a lump rising in her throat and she gulped hard. ‘I like yer a lot, Fred, but as I said once before, likin’s different ter love.’

  ‘It’s a good start,’ he said, smiling. ‘Likin’ can turn ter love. Yer could grow ter love me in time, Carrie. Yer’d never regret it, I promise yer.’

  She felt not at all threatened by Fred’s proposal, and was touched by the look in his large dark eyes. She reached out and laid her hand on his. ‘I’m really flattered,’ she said quietly. ‘But I can’t give yer an answer jus’ yet, Fred. There’s the war, an’ I’m worried sick over me bruvvers. Besides, I’ve jus’ come ter accept that I won’t be marryin’ Tommy, an’ now I’ve bin caught off balance.’

  Fred’s open face became very serious as he slipped his hand over hers. ‘Take all the time yer need, Carrie. Jus’ remember what I said. It’s taken me a long time ter come out an’ say I love yer, but it’s true, I swear it.’

  Carrie left the café feeling bewildered. She had been trying to restore some sense to her life and suddenly it had been turned upside down. It had surprised her when Fred first opened his heart to her, but this time he had made it very plain. He had actually said that he loved her and wanted her to love him in return. It was out of the question, she told herself, they were only friends. He was ten years older than her, and they had only walked out once together. They’d enjoyed themselves at the music hall, but it wasn’t how she had imagined love and marriage to be in her daydreams. She had always felt that it would be so exciting when she was courted, with her beau taking her in his arms and proposing to her in the moonlight. Then there would be the engagement, with both families meeting each other and making plans. She had held on to her dreams, even though her romance with Tommy had left her feeling unhappy and dispirited. In reality it had been so very different, with no moonlight and no arms about her. Instead she had faced him across a table and he had proposed to her over a cup of tea!

  Carrie was lost in thought as she walked along the dark street. It was quiet, with the yard gates locked and all the front doors shut against the cold. The corner gaslamp had been lit and its glow shone on the Tanners’ front door as she let herself in. Her mother was laying the table and Carrie noticed that she had a curious, puzzled look about her face.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked as she flopped down beside the burning fire and kicked off her shoes.

  ‘Gawd knows what’s goin’ on,’ Nellie replied, rubbing the side of her face. ‘A woman knocked ’ere about an hour ago with a note fer yer farvver. I told ’er ’e was in the yard but she wouldn’t go in there. She said it was urgent an’ could I give ’im the note soon as ’e got in.’

  ‘What did the note say?’ Carrie asked.

  Nellie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I dunno, it was in a sealed envelope. Anyway, when yer farvver read it ’e went straight out. All ’e said was fer me ter put ’is tea in the oven.’

  ‘Dad’s not got a fancy piece, as ’e?’ Carrie said, smiling. ‘What did the woman look like?’

  Nellie chuckled at the thought. ‘She was a big woman. In ’er fifties and well dressed. I’m sure I saw her go in the yard once. If it wasn’t ’er, it certainly looked like ’er.’

  ‘I wonder if it’s got anyfing ter do wiv that fire?’ Carrie asked.

  ‘Gawd knows,’ Nellie answered. ‘We’ll jus’ ’ave ter wait till yer farvver gets back. ’E could ’ave told me before ’e went out, ’e knows ’ow I worry.’

  ‘P’raps that’s why ’e didn’t tell yer, Mum. It might be somefink serious,’ Carrie remarked.

  ‘Maybe yer right. Anyway I’d better dish the tea up, I can’t keep it all in the oven,’ Nellie moaned.

  When the clock struck the hour of seven, she put down her embroidery and sighed loudly. ‘Where’s that farvver o’ yours got to?’ she complained. ‘Look at the bleedin’ time. That chop’ll be baked up. Jus’ wait till ’e gets in ’ere, I won’t ’alf give ’im a piece o’ my mind.’

  Suddenly Carrie cocked her head to one side. ‘That sounds like ’is footsteps now,’ she said.

  They heard the front door open and close and both stared at William as he walked into the room and collapsed into his fireside chair.

  ‘Where yer bin, fer Gawd’s sake?’ Nellie said irritably. ‘I didn’t know what ter fink.’

  William gave his wife and daughter an exhausted grin. ‘Yer never gonna believe this,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I couldn’t believe it meself.’

  ‘What is it?’ Nellie almost shouted in her impatience.

  ‘Jack Oxford’s alive an’ well,’ he said, reaching down to take off his boots.

  ‘Oh my Gawd!’ Nellie gasped.

  ‘’Ave yer seen ’im?’ Carrie asked excitedly.

  William leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply. ‘It’s a long story.

  ‘Well, go on then,’ Nellie urged him.

  ‘The note that woman gave yer said ter go ter this ’ouse in Abbey Street about Jack Oxford,’ he begun with an amused smile. ‘Anyway, when I got there this woman said that Jack ’ad only jus’ started lodgin’ wiv ’er the previous night an’ now ’e was upstairs in ’is room an’ wouldn’t come out. Accordin’ ter ’er, Jack left fer work this mornin’ an’ ten minutes later ’e was back. She thought ’e was took bad at first but when she ’eard ’im pacin’ the floor she got worried. She told me she’d ’eard about the fire from one o’ the ladies at the muvvers’ meetin’ an’ on the way ’ome she went an’ bought a paper. Anyway, she went up an’ ’ad a talk wiv ’im. Jack told ’er somebody stopped ’im on the way ter work an’ told ’im the police were lookin’ fer ’im about a fire. It must ’ave frightened the life out of ’im. Jack told ’er ter fetch me but not ter talk ter anybody else in the yard. I tell yer, Nell, when I saw Jack’s face I could ’ave cried. As yer know ’e can’t read an’ ’e asked me ter read out what was in the paper. ’Is landlady ’ad already read it out twice but ’e wanted ter ’ear it again.’

  Nellie and Carrie were sitting forward in their chairs, listening intently. ‘Did Jack know who it was in the fire?’ Nellie cut in. ‘Did yer tell ’im about the watch they found? It wasn’t in the paper, was it?’

  ‘I’m comin’ ter that,’ William replied. ‘Jack said that after ’e ’ad that row in the doss-’ouse wiv Arbuckle, ’e walked out. ’E said it was freezin’ cold an’ ’e decided ter kip under the arches in Druid Street. Apparently ’e knew some o’ the tramps who stayed there. One of ’em, Bernie I fink Jack said ’is name was, used ter be a teacher at Webb Street ragged school an’ Jack said ’e was wearin’ that same watch-an’-chain that the police found in the fire. This Bernie said ’e’d bought it from the pawnbroker’s in Tower Bridge Road ’cos ’e took a fancy ter the medallion on the chain. It was somefink ter do wiv the Freemasons accordin’ ter what ’e told Jack. ’E said it was a special symbol.’

  ‘’Ow did Jack know it was the same one?’ Nellie asked.

  ‘Well, one night Jack brought some o’ the tramps back ter kip down in the stables an’ that was the night the watch-an’chain got nicked out the office,’ William went on. ‘Jack knew which one o’ the tramps took it. It wasn’t one o’ the usual crowd, an’ ’e tried ter find ’im an’ get the watch back. One evenin’ Jack spotted this tramp an’ ’e chased ’im. The tramp run up on the railway lines an’ got killed by a train. Jack said ’e saw ’im layin’ there all mangled up but the watch-an’-chain was still fixed on the tramp’s waistcoat. It wasn’t even marked. Jack said ’e couldn’t bring ’imself ter take it off the body, but ’e’d know that watch-an’-chain anywhere after that night.’

  ‘So it was the school teacher, this Bernie fella, who died in the fire?’ Carrie guessed. ‘What made ’im leave the arches that
night an’ come down ’ere ter the stable?’

  ‘Well, that’s anuvver story,’ William said, taking out his cigarette tin. ‘Yer remember that carman Sammy Jackson.’

  ‘The one who beat Jack up over Mrs Jones’s daughter?’ Nellie asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ William replied. ‘Well, Jackson’s down on ’is luck an’ sleepin’ rough. ’Im an’ a few of ’is mates stumbled on the Druid Street tramps an’ tried ter take over their fire. Course, when Jackson spotted poor ole Jack, ’e started gettin’ nasty. They were all eyein’ Bernie’s watch-an’-chain too. After all, it must ’ave stood out. It ain’t the usual fing yer see on tramps, is it? Anyway, Jack an’ this Bernie left the arches in an ’urry. Jack said ’e was perished wiv the cold an’ the only place ’e could fink ter kip down was the stable.’

  ‘So Jack Oxford slept in the stable that night as well?’ Nellie butted in with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Yeah, ’e did,’ William went on. ‘But like yer said, Jack was scared o’ that geldin’ an’ ’e took Bernie up in the chaff loft. Jack said that Bernie wasn’t too ’appy about sleepin’ there. ’E said it was cold an’ draughty an’ decided ter kip down in the small stable where ’e’d slept the last time.’

  ‘Poor fella,’ Carrie said sadly. ‘If ’e’d ’ave done like Jack suggested, ’e wouldn’t ’ave died.’

  ‘Well, ’e started the fire some’ow,’ Nellie said. ‘If ’e’d ’ave slept in the chaff loft wiv Jack the two of ’em might ’ave gorn, an’ all the ’orses as well.’

  William glanced from one to the other with a serious look on his tired face. ‘Bernie didn’t start the fire,’ he told them. ‘’E was murdered.’

  ‘Not Jack!’ Nellie gasped.

  ‘It was Sammy Jackson who killed Bernie, an’ Jack saw ’im do it,’ William said darkly.

  ‘Sammy Jackson!’ the two women exclaimed in unison.

  William nodded. ‘Jackson must ’ave followed the pair of ’em back ter the stable. Jack told me that a little while after Bernie ’ad gone back down to the yard ’e ’eard a noise. ’E looked out o’ the loft just in time ter see Sammy Jackson aim a lighted paraffin lamp into the small stable. Jack said ’e shouted out an’ Jackson dashed back out o’ the yard. ’E said Bernie never stood a chance. The stable was filled wiv smoke an’ flames in seconds, an’ Bernie was drunk anyway, accordin’ ter Jack. ’E said ’e tried ter save ’im but the flames beat ’im back, an’ when ’e ’eard the wicket-gate bein’ unlocked ’e dashed out frew the back fence.’

  ‘My good Gawd!’ Nellie muttered. ‘What’ll ’appen now?’

  ‘Well, Jack’s job’s gorn, that’s fer certain,’ William said with conviction. ‘I’m not gonna be able ter do anyfing ter ’elp ’im this time. As fer Sammy Jackson, the police’ll pick ’im up soon. I left Jack at the police station makin’ a statement.’

  ‘What a terrible fing fer that Sammy Jackson ter do,’ Carrie said with a shiver.

  ‘’E must ’ave blamed Jack Oxford fer gettin’ ’im the sack an’ ’e saw ’is chance o’ gettin’ even,’ William remarked. ‘If it wasn’t fer the geldin’ bein’ in that stable, ’e would ’ave.’

  ‘It was strange that watch-an’-chain bein’ found the way it was,’ Nellie reflected. ‘It was a wonder the poor bleeder wasn’t wearin’ it.’

  William nodded his head slowly. ‘I s’pose ’e would ’ave been if ’e’d ’ave bin under the arches, but as ’e was on’ is own ’e prob’ly thought it was all right ter ’ang it up on the post. Who knows?’

  He lit his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘I s’pose the coppers’ll give it back ter Galloway when this is all over,’ he sighed. ‘If I was ’im I’d take the watch, chain an’ that bloody medallion an’ chuck the lot in the Thames. It’s brought nuffink but bad luck to everybody who’s worn the bloody fing.’

  On Tuesday morning Jack Oxford walked out of the Galloway yard for the last time, clutching his week’s pay. Will Tanner watched sadly as the tall, stooping figure ambled along the turning and disappeared from view. He had tried to plead on Jack’s behalf but George Galloway had ranted and raved, saying that the yard man was lucky to be getting any wages at all considering the money it was costing the firm to replace the stable. He was furious about the gelding too. It was nervous and jumpy because of the fire and unsuitable to be used in the trap. William had asked for time to work with it but the yard owner was adamant. ‘It’s goin’ ter the auctions. The bloody animal’s too dangerous now ter take out on the roads. That idiot Oxford’s got a lot ter answer for,’ he growled.

  Had George Galloway seen his ex-yard man’s face as he walked along the street that Tuesday morning he would have been even more angry. Jack was actually smiling to himself. The policemen had been very nice to him, he thought. They had thanked him for his help and said that they would have another chat with him when they caught Sammy Jackson. Jack was happy to be back in such nice lodgings and Amy Cuthbertson was looking into the possibility of getting him a job at a tannery in Long Lane. Amy knew the foreman there and the man had promised to speak on his behalf. It was so fortunate that he had bumped into her in Abbey Street on Sunday morning, he thought to himself. She told him her husband had left her for good and she was now taking in lodgers once more. Jack had jumped at the chance, and as he ambled out of Page Street for the last time with a huge grin on his face he felt that things were beginning to look up for him at last.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  As 1917 wore on the newspapers reported new, larger battles in France. Casualty lists grew, and like Ypres and the Somme before them, Messines, Cambrai and Passchendaele were becoming household names. During early summer the tragedy of war reached into yet another Bermondsey backstreet, when at the battle of Messines in June Private James Tanner of the East Surreys Regiment fell in action. Corporal Charles Tanner was wounded in the same offensive and one of the stretcher-bearers who helped carry him back from the line was his younger brother Danny.

  The summer of that year was a wretched time for the mourning Tanner family. Nellie became almost a recluse, hardly ever venturing out of the house after hearing the terrible news, and her friends in the street could do little to ease her pain. William went to the yard every morning, his grief bottled up inside him, and in the evening sat with his distraught wife in the silent, cheerless house that had once echoed with laughter and noise. Carrie too had to suffer her grief privately. Every day she put on a brave face and forced a smile as the carmen and dock workers came into the dining rooms. It was only when she was alone in her bedroom at night, clutching a photo of her eldest brother to her breast, that she let go, trying to ease the grinding, remorseless pain of her loss as she sobbed into the pillow.

  Carrie felt grateful for Fred Bradley’s support during that terrible time. He was very kind and understanding, and seemed to know instinctively when she needed to chat and be consoled and when he should remain discreetly in the background. Bessie was large-hearted too, although the well-meaning woman often upset Carrie by her open displays of sympathy and tears. There were times too when Bessie tried to cheer the young woman up with her tales of the buildings and only succeeded in making her more depressed and tearful than ever, and Fred would think desperately of ways to shut his kitchen-hand up.

  The only grain of comfort for the Tanner family during that long hot summer was receiving letters from the two boys in France. Danny wrote home often and Charlie sent an occasional letter from a hospital some way behind the lines. He made light of the fact that he was suffering from a bullet-wound in the chest and told them that he hoped to be sent home before the year was out. Little mention was made of their brother’s death since that first poignant, joint letter in which the surviving boys described visiting James’s grave, saying that they felt he was happy to be resting beside his fallen comrades.

  The huge toll of young life mounted, and during that hot summer John and Michael Sullivan were both killed in action, and Maisie Dougall’s son R
onald also fell. A terrible quietness seemed to descend over the little turning and folk held their heads low and talked in hushed voices as they stood on their doorsteps, in respect for the street’s fallen sons. Mrs Jones walked proud. Her son Percy had finally returned to the front and in July she read in the newspaper that he had won the Military Medal at Messines.

  The grieving Sadie Sullivan and her husband Daniel took on the War Office when their remaining sons got their call-up papers. Sadie argued angrily that the loss of two sons was price enough for any mother to pay. She finally won the day, and the twins, Pat and Terry, and the youngest boy, Shaun, were not required to go into the army. Every family in Page Street had signed Sadie’s petition and Florrie put into words on the bottom the thoughts of everyone: that in the three years of war so far Page Street had already given up the lives of four of its young men, two more had been wounded in battle, and another had won the Military Medal.

  The war was changing everyone’s life. Since his son’s death George Galloway had become morose and almost unapproachable. He barked out his orders and changed his mind regularly without reason. Nothing seemed to satisfy him. The carmen stayed clear of him and even his own son began to dread going into the office each morning. Nora Flynn did her best to bring a little light into the Galloway house but only rarely was she able to get George out of his room and away from the ever-present bottle of whisky. Her hopes had been raised when Frank told her that his wife Bella was pregnant; she had thought that the news might help rally her employer. George did brighten up for a short time, and it was evident how much he still cherished the idea of a grandson to carry the family name, but his depression soon returned and the bottle once again became his constant companion.