A Plague on Both Your Houses

by Ian Porter

  The councillor took up his cue.

  “Yes indeed. We have distributed powerful electrolytic disinfectant with instructions to gargle and rinse the throat daily. And council workers are now disinfecting the streets with Jeyes Fluid.”

  The local medical officer realised that this sounded just like the piecemeal tinkering he had previously criticised so he re-entered the conversation.

  “And furthermore we have printed handbills advising people to prepare their own gargles using permanganate of potassium and table salt. And we have also festooned the streets with placards and posters advising people to avoid crowds and keep bedrooms well ventilated.”

  “Excellent,” said the Chief Medical Officer. “And of course for the very worst cases, doctors and chemists have quinine.”

  Mentioning doctors was a mistake. This brought Alice naturally back into the conversation.

  “Quite so. My surgery is besieged by people demanding quinine. I exhaust my supplies as soon as I receive them. But quinine simply relieves the pain. It is no cure. I have been told there were recently ninety five deaths of children in London in one week alone. And one assumes such statistics take some time to collate. The situation must be worse by now.”

  The Chief Medical Officer was furious at such alarmist talk. And where on earth was this woman getting her information? It was far too accurate by half. That Pankhurst woman no doubt. But it was his job to allay such fears.

  “You have been told have you? By someone who knows someone who knows someone ad nauseum no doubt. I for one, and am I not surely the first who would know, have not heard anything along these lines. One hears many tall tales in these circumstances. Rest assured, the situation is under control.”

  “But the children…” was as far as Alice got with her reply before the Board of Education representative finally spoke up.

  Alice had hoped for support from this quarter. She was to be disappointed.

  “Ilford have closed their schools and now tell me they wished they had not. Eleven thousand children have been left to kick their heels. Most have flocked to cinemas. A corrupting influence I think you will all agree. And of course, they are more crowded and lacking in good ventilation than any school.”

  And so the argument went on. The life assurance man was Alice’s only ally. At one point he put forward an idea to issue instructions to reduce crowds on public transport, but this was shouted down even quicker than anything Alice had proffered. It was the general consensus that workers must not be impeded by any travel regulations. The war took precedence.

  The Chief Medical Officer had the final word.

  “It is not expedient to spend energy to reduce the impact of the flu. We must ignore the disease lest fear open the way to infection through the weakening of nerve power known as war weariness. Our major duty is to carry on.”

  Alice trudged home in low spirits. She had promised to inform Sylvia of what had occurred at the meeting. Not that she was going to find the time to see her friend any time soon.

  Chapter 32

  “The coffins were stacked one on top of the other. It was at that moment at the age of ten that my boyhood ended.”

  B.E.Copping, letter regarding

  his father’s funeral

  Nash started at Selby’s Funeral Directors on a Sunday. He had been due to start the following day but pressure of work had meant the firm were working on a Sunday for the first time, and he had been called in for a morning’s work. It had been depressingly busy. Mr Selby himself had come out of retirement to deal with the huge increase in administration. Timber for coffins was now rationed; forms needed to be filled in and presented to a timber controller for permits to be acquired. The manager, Mr Napier, was busy offering the relatives of the dear departed a cut price deal on cremation, but funeral insurance did not run to such expenditure. The other office worker, young Horace Wilkins, was spending his time trying to acquire the use of additional black horses, their own being close to exhaustion from so many trips to the cemetery.

  Nash soon heard why he had been employed. Not only was he to use his wood yard connections to get hold of any timber he could without the use of permits, but it was also hoped he might be able to acquire from underworld associates the odd horse. And like Napier and Wilkins, he was to double up as a coffin bearer too.

  On finishing his shift, Nash decided he needed to lift his spirits, so given he had a little bit of time to kill in any case, the local café beckoned. He thought he would have a cup of ‘River Lea and two of toast’ at Milo’s, before getting himself along to the People’s Palace in Mile End to meet Ruby at the end of her shift guarding the on-display German plane.

  Nash came out of Selby’s and crossed the Bow Road to a greengrocer’s shop opposite. The place did not look right. For one thing there was no display of fruit and veg outside. He peered through the window to see that what little stock was on display inside had begun to shrivel and discolour. The till was empty; it had been left open to deter burglars. A message read ‘Closed: All Sick’.

  Earlier in the war Nash had seen shop owners who had been bombed out, still opening to trade as a stall amidst the rubble. It was business as usual. And normally when a proprietor had an illness or injury, there was a sibling, cousin or mate who would help keep a shop open. Nash thought things must be bad to have come to such a pass. He turned and headed in the direction of the neighbouring café.

  A queue, made up exclusively of children, was spreading along the pavement outside Milo’s Dining Rooms. The queue was for the shop next door, Bailey’s Chemist. Nash’s curiosity was aroused. Instead of pushing through the queue to reach the front door of the café, he sauntered along the line to have a look in the chemist’s double bay windows. In both of them was a fine display of traditional apothecary jars, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. He asked the oldest looking lad in the queue what was going on.

  “They’ve got Dr Collis Brown’s chlorodyne in. Best thing there is for the flu they say,” said the boy. “Cheaper than getting the doctor out as well. They can’t do nothing for you no how.”

  That didn’t fully explain to Nash what was occurring.

  “So why’s it all you nippers in the line up?”

  “No Sunday School ’cause of the flu,” said the boy. “So the old dear sent me up here. And the others here are the same I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “What about during the week?” asked Nash. “Schools staying open are they?”

  “Yeah, but so many teachers are down with the flu, classes are just sent home a lot of the time. I’m a half-timer anyhow so as long as I get me name ticked off the register in the mornings, it counts as me being there half a day even when I get sent home. Suits me. I can get off to work sharp see.”

  Ruby had recently mentioned to Nash that the shortage of labour had led to children aged twelve to fourteen being allowed to work for up to thirty three hours a week so long as they attended half their school lessons. At the time Nash had thought cynically that if thirty three hours and half their lessons were the official limits, blind eyes would no doubt be turned to allow it to be more like forty hours and a quarter of lessons. But it was clear to him now that children could work for as long as their parents or guardians needed them to, with no censure.

  Some of the other children in the queue had overheard the conversation, so being bored with queueing decided it was time to serenade Nash with their rendition of a popular song, the words of which had been changed to reflect the times. A few likely lads started singing, but by the time the second line was being sung, pretty much the whole queue was joining in.

  “Don’t cry-ee, don’t sigh-ee, there’s a silver lining in the sky-ee. Bonsoir, old thing, cheerio, chin-chin, nah-poo, take the flu and die-ee.”

  Nash didn’t know how to react. Should he give them all a clip round the ear followed by a good talking to? No, one of them no doubt learnt it f
rom a parent, and quickly passed it on to their mates. It’s probably being sung in every factory and school. It was like the odd cheeriness Ruby had told him about in Trafalgar Square.

  People seemed to be in a good mood but read between the lines and there was sad resignation. There might be strikes everywhere, but the government needn’t have put those battleships in the Thames. Resignation did not lead to insurrection. Maybe Bert was right after all and they were there to help out with the flu. But the government didn’t seem overly bothered by the Spanish Lady so he doubted it. He turned on his heel and made his way into the café.

  ******

  Nash did not enjoy his visit to look at the captured plane. It reminded him of the last air-raid. Of that poor woman being sliced through by that piece of shrapnel. He wondered how on earth what was clearly not much more than a box with wings and an engine had caused such carnage.

  Ruby soon spotted her husband in the crowd. The two of them had agreed that he would come to see the plane just before her duty was due to end. A police van was then due to pick up her and Pemberton and drop them at Leman Street. Ruby would quickly change into her civvies while Nash was making his way by tube from Mile End to Aldgate East, a stone’s throw from the police station.

  The two of them were then going to spend a much needed Sunday afternoon at leisure together, enjoying the street theatre of the always very crowded Club Row animal market, and in particular the Sclater Street bird’s section.

  But first of all Nash had a little bit of work to do in the vicinity. The market was only a hop, skip and jump from Shoreditch railway station, inside the entrance of which Nash had agreed to meet briefly with one of his objectors. He was to give the man details of a job he had procured for him, as a grave-digger at Bethnal Green cemetery. It was not the sort of position that Nash would normally have been able to secure for one of his men, but the local authorities were struggling to keep up with the demand for six feet deep coffin-friendly holes in the ground.

  It would be too dangerous for a local off duty police officer to be seen anywhere near such a meeting so while her husband met the man, Ruby would make herself scarce by popping along to Nash’s favourite Jewish beigel shop at the top of Brick Lane, to pick them up a late dinner.

  The couple made their way through Spitalfields, heading past the Ladies Swimming Bath & Recreational Hall in Old Castle Street where they had once seen a Charlie Chaplin film. Nash then showed off his knowledge of the area by taking them down a series of alleys so claustrophobically narrow and high walled that they were dark even in the middle of what was a bright autumn day. And after passing through Spitalfields market, they crossed a run-down area of filthy old silk weaver’s houses, and in no time at all were approaching Shoreditch.

  They smelt and heard the animal market before they saw it. It would be very crowded so this was a cue for them to don their face masks. A cacophony of whimpers, yaps, yelps and barks soon informed them that they were arriving at the dogs section. New-born litters of puppies tumbled over each other in the window display of choice, which in an earlier life had been children’s cots. Older pups cowered docilely together in laundry baskets. Dangerous looking men had furry little faces peering nervously out from the inside of their jackets. On the cobbles stood lively sheepdogs, alert greyhounds, and strong bulldogs pulling at their leads. Some were the property of hawkers and dealers, others were the single animal of a poverty stricken pet owner eager to make a bob or two to keep their distance from the workhouse door.

  Pushing their way through the packed crowds, Ruby and Nash passed chickens in cages, cats in boxes and women selling bunches of cut flowers from baskets. They eventually reached Sclater Street, where the yelps were replaced by birdsong. There were cages of pretty birds to liven up the dullest of homes. Songbirds to lift the spirits; larks, thrushes, canaries, blue tits, minor birds. There were also pigeons, though the wartime ban on racing them due to concerns that enemy agents could use them to send messages, meant these birds were likely to be bought with a view to them joining some cabbage beneath a nice pie crust.

  St Leonard’s Church rang out the hour. It was time for Nash to get to his meeting. Ruby was so taken with the birds that she decided to stay in the market to decide which one they should buy to take home with them. She thought that after finishing his business Nash could return to the market and then the two of them could go together to the beigel shop. But her husband suggested that meeting up again in such a densely forested bit of humanity was easier said than done, so Ruby agreed to meet him outside St Leonard’s Church, just across the road from Shoreditch station.

  Nash’s meeting took somewhat longer than planned. He had expected to simply give the thankful objector the details of where and when to turn up for work, rates of pay etc. But he was met with less than enthusiasm. The man was the most extreme type of objector; an Absolutist. Such men refused to have anything to do with the war. Nash’s charge suspected he would end up digging graves for the bodies of soldiers.

  It was explained that ordinary people were dropping like flies from the Spanish Lady, so Nash could assure him that it would be the graves of these poor unfortunates he would be digging. The man countered that it could be the war that had caused the flu to mutate in to such a killer, and it was clearly the war that was spreading the disease, so why should he help perpetuate such a thing? Nash replied that the quicker bodies were under the ground, the quicker the disease was stopped. Grave digging could save thousands of lives.

  More umming and ahhing followed, with the man changing tack to state that he simply did not like the idea of digging graves. It was all rather too Burke & Hare for his liking. This had Nash start to lose his temper.

  He told the man with ferocious conviction that some poor bastard had to dig graves, and it might just as well be him. Was he too high and mighty for such work? Who the bloody hell did he think he was?!

  Nash was not a man you argued with when he was in a temper. And besides, his comments had hit home. The man also appreciated all the work Nash was doing for him and his fellow objectors, and the risks he was taking. So the man grudgingly agreed to start work as a grave-digger.

  All this meant that Ruby was left waiting outside the church, like a jilted bride. And her trousseau was a recently bought, caged canary. She had been excited with her purchase and had looked forward to showing her husband the latest, beautiful yellow addition to their household. But her mood had turned somewhat less bright than her bird’s plumage.

  Where the bloody hell is he? It doesn’t take half an hour to tell some feller he’s got a new job. She wagered that the man was so pleased he took Nashey down the pub. It was funny how even the strongest willed of men simply couldn’t refuse such a request. She could hear the excuse coming.

  “He insisted. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Pub was packed. Took an age to get served. Had to get him one back didn’t I? I drank up as soon as was decent.”

  Enough was enough. So much for her keeping her distance from an objector. She crossed Kingsland Road and headed for the station entrance. If her husband wasn’t there, there were pubs on the surrounding street corners. He would be in one of them, and she would be joining him and his drinking mate there to give them what for.

  At the entrance to the station Nash nodded a curt goodbye to his objector, who started to make his way towards the market. Nash hoped his wife had taken longer than expected to decide which bird to buy. If she hadn’t, she would have been waiting outside the church for quite a while. A peace token might be in order. A flower girl was standing just outside the station. He paid for a bunch of her stock, and was about to head in the same direction as his objector towards the main road traffic lights opposite the church, when he saw Ruby waiting to cross towards him. She had not spotted him, so he was about to wave when he saw something odd. He quickly turned on his heel and ducked back out of sight, inside the station.

  He had seen the copper R
uby was showing the ropes, Pemberton, dressed in his civvies, skulking behind one of the pillars of the church. It would have been easy to follow Ruby in a crowded market. The fellow must have followed the two of them all the way from Leman Street.

  Ruby had previously told him of her suspicions about this man but Nash had not given too much heed to her concerns. He had concluded that the fellow was probably just a rum cove. Now he knew she was right. But was Pemberton following her on police business or was he simply a wrong ‘un, interested in Ruby as a woman? If the former, could it have anything to do with Nash himself; his objector work? If it was the latter, the worry was that wrong ‘uns could turn violent against women. A quick punch on the nose might sort out the problem. And Nash would impress upon him that he had better tell his employers that his squashed nose was due to a nasty fall. If the police came after Nash, there would be more trouble than any pipsqueak copper could handle.

  Nash did not have time to ponder any further. Ruby walked into the station, spotted her husband and started to walk towards him with an expression on her face that told him that she had bought the canary she was carrying in double quick time and had been outside the church ever since.

  Nash gave Ruby a serious look and put his left index finger to his lips, then beckoned her with a nod over to the booking office. She immediately realised something was wrong and did as she was bid. Her husband quickly bought two platform tickets, and moments later the couple took the stairway up to the two platforms. Nash spotted some luggage trolleys so rather than go on to a platform, which would have left them exposed, he motioned to his wife to follow him.

  The couple spent the next minute or two crouched behind the trolleys, in whispered discussion, keeping their eye on the top of the stairs. As if on cue, their pursuer soon appeared. Nash looked at the tiny yellow new addition to his family which was hopping about in its cage inches from his face. He doubted making a shushing noise towards it would have the desired effect.