Bow Belles

by Bow Belles (retail) (epub)

  The first few weeks after Florrie’s disappearance had been frantic with activity. Kate had scoured the streets, markets, shops, public houses and hospitals, the small photo of Florrie, taken on her thirtieth birthday, always at the ready. Both Alice and Sally had been desperate to help, touring the outlying area, stopping people in the street, a duplicate copy of the photo Kate carried thrust into the startled faces of passers-by; but all to no avail. Oh, there were plenty who had recognised the attractive blonde-haired woman, but none who knew her whereabouts.

  William had taken to visiting the police station every day to make enquiries about his wife, a task he had gradually come to look forward to, seeing himself as a man of high standing going about important business. But, somewhere along the way, he seemed to have lost the real purpose of his mission, and when the police sergeant had politely but firmly asked him to stop calling in every day, and that if there was any news they would let him know, he had been crushed with disappointment. That day William had returned home furious at the sergeant’s dismissive words.

  He had taken it as a personal slight, and for hours had sulked and ranted on about the inefficiency of the police, his hurt pride taking precedence over the reason for his visits to the police station. Kate had sat silently in the armchair as he paced the floor, her heart sinking with every angry word he uttered. Yet even in his most volatile moments, Kate hadn’t seen an angry man; instead she had likened her father’s temper to that of Billy when in a tantrum. It was then, as if for the first time, that she truly saw her father as her mother had seen him: a child in a man’s body. She had seen something else that day. She had realised that her mother was fading fast from her father’s mind, and the knowledge brought with it a hurt so deep she wanted to scream at the puffed-up, portly man to shut up. To just shut up and go away.

  The girls, too, had lost interest after the first few months… No, that wasn’t fair, she rebuked herself silently. Her sisters still cared, still hoped their mother would return, but they were young and, like most of their age, they had adjusted to their new lives fairly quickly. But even that wasn’t quite true. Billy hadn’t forgotten his mother. A look of infinite sadness crossed Kate’s face. Poor Billy. She remembered vividly his first day at school, just a week after his mother had vanished. He hadn’t been able to understand why his mum wasn’t at home. Couldn’t comprehend a life without the presence of the woman who had always made him feel safe. As Kate had got him dressed for his first day, his lips had trembled, his blue eyes filled with bewildered tears as he’d asked over and over, ‘Where’s mummy?… I want my mummy!’ The memory brought a sharp sting to Kate’s eyes. Even now, the child still waited hopefully by the window every night, his eyes brightening every time he heard the sound of a woman’s footsteps near the house. Then the light would die as he realised it wasn’t his mum. It was probably someone’s mum, but that didn’t matter; he wasn’t interested in anyone else’s mum, he only wanted his own.

  Her deep reverie was suddenly shattered as a good number of the passengers began a quick shuffling to get off the tram, and when the conductor’s bellowing voice called out ‘Wapping’, her stomach lurched with apprehension. She had arrived.

  Needing a few extra minutes before leaving the safety of the tram bench, she focused on the scene around her. From the top deck of the tram she had a clear view of the rows of two-up two-down Georgian terrace houses built solely for dock workers. Intermingled with the houses were numerous shops and public houses to cater for the permanent inhabitants as well as the stream of men who passed through every day in search of work at the docks. From nearly all of the upstairs windows, lines of washing were stretched across the roads, hung out at the crack of dawn in an attempt to dry bedding and clothing before the surrounding factory chimneys, some as far away as Whitechapel and Stepney, began to spew out their obnoxious smoke and fumes. Being a predominately Roman Catholic area, Wapping also had its own churches and schools, the later subsidised by a local governing body. But overshadowing all else were the docks.

  The riverside itself was mostly hidden from the landward side, being lined with high buildings rather than roads, but the huge cranes were clearly visible, towering almost majestically above the dock gates, the tips of the iron girders seeming almost to touch the sky. The noises of engines, sirens and the rattle of cranes and anchor chains, along with the piercing whistles of ships and tugs, were a common experience shared by all who lived in dockland. As Kate rose to her feet, she shook her head ruefully. She must have been in a daydream not to have heard that racket; either that, or she was going deaf.

  ‘You be careful, love!’ The normally cheerful conductor, now worried, was hanging from his platform. ‘The docks are no place for a young lady like you.’

  When she turned and smiled, the middle-aged cockney did something he had never done in all his twenty working years; he leapt from the platform and abandoned his remaining passengers. Ignoring the irate shouts from the stranded men and women, he walked briskly towards the lovely girl, all the while shaking his head in perplexity.

  ‘Look, love, I’m worried about yer. Like I said, this ain’t no place fer the like of you, ’specially at this time of the day. Look at ’em, poor sods…’ He jerked his head at the burgeoning crowd of men heading towards Black Eagle Wharf, the Wapping entrance to the London docks. ‘There must be abaht five ’undred of ’em, and likely there’ll only be work enough fer twenty. They’re quiet enough now, but soon as the bells start and them doors swing open, it’ll be every man fer hisself.’

  He had great sympathy for the plight of the men who were gathering hopefully for a few days’ labour. Even from this distance he could see the desperate, haunted look etched deeply into each man’s face. ‘Besides, yer won’t be able ter get near the quay, if that’s where yer thinkin’ of going. Only them wot ’as business there is allowed in, so if you’re thinking of waiting till that lot’s gone ’ome, yer can ferget it. Yer wouldn’t get five yards before getting stopped by some snooty dock official or copper. They patrol down there, yer know, dozens of ’em…’ He paused, pushing his flat cap back from his forehead as he tried to conjure up the right words to dissuade the woman from continuing her hazardous journey.

  Kate smiled gently at the man’s anxiety, grateful for his concern, but wanting to be on her way before her nerve failed her. She had dressed simply in a plain burgundy skirt that fell in a straight line to her ankles, and a white blouse buttoned at the neck and cuffs; her waist- length golden hair was piled up beneath the straw bonnet. The modest attire should deflect any unwanted attention. But there was nothing she could do to disguise the heart-shaped face, or the beautiful green eyes that acted as a magnet to all who encountered them.

  The kindly man tried one last time. ‘Look, ain’t yer got any bruvvers or uncles who could come down ’ere ter ask after yer mum? What abaht yer dad? Does ’e know yer down ’ere?’

  Kate’s body stiffened. Her dad had long since given up hope of his wife coming home; in fact she seriously doubted if he wanted her back. Since losing his job, he had fretted at first but had soon adjusted to a leisurely life free from worry. He was quite willing to let his son bear the brunt of supporting the family, even though he knew the odd joint of meat or the bottles of wine and spirits, sugar, tea and various other items that made their lives more comfortable were pilfered by Alex from the warehouses.

  He was the one who had always been going on about honesty and respect for other people’s belongings. He was a hypocrite. A bloody hypocrite!… Oh, dear lord, what was she thinking. It wasn’t his fault. With only her meagre wage coming into the house, her father knew they were all dependent on Alex, and therefore he wasn’t about to do or say anything to upset his son. And who was she to judge, anyway? She ate the food and drank the tea like the rest of the family, even though some days every mouthful threatened to choke her. Basically honest, she deplored Alex’s nefarious dealings, but in the present circumstances she had little choice but to turn a blind eye
or starve, and she needed her strength now more than ever. A raucous shout jerked her from her reverie. Looking past the conductor, she saw two very angry red-faced men trying to attract the conductor’s attention.

  ‘You’d better get back before your passengers turn violent!’ She smiled again. ‘But thank you for your help. It was kind of you to pass the photograph around for me, but like I just said, you’d best get the tram moving before you have a riot on your hands. And don’t worry about me, I’ll be very careful, I promise. I came down early to catch the men before the gates open, and I’ve no intention of waiting around afterwards. Besides, I’ve a job to go to myself.’ With a fleeting smile, she turned on her heel, her head held high, displaying a confidence she was far from feeling as she followed the crowd of men heading for the dock gates.

  What if Alex were to see her? She had planned carefully, knowing her brother’s routine and acting on the knowledge that the fifteen-minute start she had given him would ensure he would be inside the docks. But still… What if he had stopped off for a drink or something to eat? What if she suddenly found him standing behind her, his face dark with anger at finding her here?

  Then she shook her head impatiently, angry with herself for wasting precious time. Taking a deep breath, she quickened her step.

  The air was fragrant with exotic spices and oils landed and stored in the warehouses, the heavy aromas mingling with the sharp salty breeze of the river. Warily she moved towards the huge shambling crowd, her heart thumping. She must be stark raving mad to have come down here, but it was her last hope. She’d been everywhere else in her search, and although these men looked desperate, they were at heart decent family men whose only thought was to get a few days’ work in order to put food into their families’ bellies. They were all dressed similarly in shabby jackets, flat caps and assorted coloured handkerchiefs tied round their throats. All these inconsequential details registered as Kate saw some of the men nudge their companions as she drew nearer.

  She had come down here early for a purpose. She had no intention of trying to get into the docks while the men were fighting for the brass tickets that would guarantee them at best a few days’ work: she wasn’t stupid. But at this time of day, when the crowd was waiting patiently, she hoped she could pass the photograph around. Watching the milling crowd, a feeling of hopelessness came over her. Her mum wouldn’t have come here; she wouldn’t know any of these men. But they came from far and wide, hundreds of men from all parts of London gathered in one spot. Maybe, just maybe, one of them would recognise Florrie from the photo. It was a slim chance, but after all this time Kate was desperate to try anything in order to find her mother. Taking her courage in both hands, she strode forward, and was immediately surrounded.

  ‘’Ello, darlin’, lookin’ fer me, are yer?’

  ‘Nah, it’s me she’s after, ain’t it, love?’

  Kate swallowed nervously. Approaching a middle-aged man who was eyeing her with a mixture of suspicion and concern, she said, ‘Excuse me, sir, I wonder if you can help me?’

  Almost immediately other men’s voices came at her, their tones jeering as they jostled her roughly.

  ‘I’ll ’elp yer, darlin’, just as soon as I’ve finished ’ere.’

  ‘An’ I’ll ’elp ’im ter ’elp yer, won’t I, Fred?’

  Her face flaming, she tried to keep her balance as more men crowded around her, and when a straying hand came out and rested familiarly on her bottom she spun round angrily, her hands raised to defend herself.

  ‘Leave the girl alone, the lot of you!’ The middle-aged man pushed his way towards Kate, his strong arms knocking aside those standing in his way. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, all of you.’ Pointing at one of the men, he said harshly, ‘What would your Mary say, Jack, if she could see you behaving like this?’ The man in question mumbled a reply before turning away, his head hung low, embarrassed at being singled out by the tough-talking docker.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Kate breathed gratefully as the men, still muttering, moved away, relieving the pressure on her body.

  Fumbling in her bag, she was about to take out the photograph when the bells that signalled the start of the day pealed out and the heavy gates were thrown open. Caught up in the frantic, milling crowd, she was swept forward, crying and trying to fight her way back to the safety of the street, but it was no use. The sheer force of the crowd bore her onwards. A few of the men tried to keep her upright, but such was their desperation to get to the front of the mob that they caused her more injury than help. Bruised, battered, her bonnet torn from her head, she was swept hurriedly on, frantically trying to keep her feet on the ground, knowing that if she fell she would be trampled underfoot by the surging bodies. The men’s shouts and cries as they tried to catch the attention of the foreman resounded around her bemused head. A seasoned docker, seeing her plight, hesitated briefly, then using brute force he bundled her to the far edge of the crowd and the comparative safety of an open doorway and a flight of stairs in one of the entrances to the tall buildings that surrounded the wharf.

  Shaking with fright, Kate stumbled up the stone steps before leaning heavily against a grimy brick wall. Then she saw him. Alex. She lowered her head, then cursed herself for her stupidity. He couldn’t see her from where he stood. All she could do now was to wait until the tickets had been given out and the crowd had dispersed.

  Still shaky, she kept her eyes on her brother… If he should by some fluke of bad luck see her… At that thought her back straightened, her chin jutted out defiantly. She didn’t need Alex’s permission. She would go where she wanted, when she wanted. Besides, she comforted herself, if he’d done as she’d asked and himself enquired round the docks, she would have had no need to come down here.

  But, like William, Alex had pushed Florrie from his mind. It was as if she no longer existed, and Kate couldn’t really blame him for his lack of interest. After all, it wasn’t his mother who was missing, and it wasn’t as if he and Florrie had ever got on. And he had tried to help at first, Kate had to give him credit for that. He’d gone back and forth to the Green Dragon trying to find out if Percy Smith knew where Florrie had gone that night, and such was his persistence that the landlord, thoroughly fed up with the constant harassment, had left that pub and taken up residence in another one in a different part of London… At least, that’s what Alex had told them all. Bowing her head against the treacherous thought, Kate chided herself for a suspicious mind. Alex had tried his best, and on top of that he had willingly taken on the responsibility for the entire family. She owed him a great deal; they all did.

  Resigning herself to waiting, Kate studied her brother with interest. He looked so efficient and important standing in the wooden pulpit that raised him above the crowd, the bowler hat, the mark of a foreman, sat as easily on his head as did the job he had to do. It couldn’t be easy for him, Kate mused sympathetically, having to pick a handful of men from this great sprawling mass, yet it was something he had to do every day. A feeling of pride and admiration rose in her breast. He was strong, her brother. Hard at times, and often short-tempered with William and the children, but who could blame him? It must be hard to be landed with the responsibility of them all when he could have his own house and his own family to take care of. Trying to shut out the frightening sights and sounds around her, Kate fixed her gaze on the imposing figure of her brother.

  Alex looked down from the wooden pulpit, his lips stretched wide in a mirthless grin. In front of the milling crowd held back by a strong chain, a dozen policemen and a few brave dock officials kept a wary eye on the fighting, desperate men. How he loved this part of his job. He had been foreman for over a year, ever since poor old Bill had had his accident. A crate had slipped its chains, crushing the unfortunate man’s legs. Nobody knew how the accident had happened, and Alex had stepped effortlessly into the role of the gaffer.

  From the crowd, men called out hopefully: ‘Hey, Alex! Alex, remember me… Mick Downley…’ ‘Mr
Browning… Mr Browning…’ ‘It’s me, sir, Jack Douglas, I’ve worked fer yer before…’ and so it went on.

  With each heartfelt plea, Alex’s smile grew wider. God! The power, the ultimate power he held in his hands. And these poor, pathetic fools, grovelling, degrading themselves for a couple of day’s work. His lip curled in contempt. Casting a practised eye over the crowd, he gestured to a few men he recognised as being good workers and saw the relief show clearly on the chosen dockers’ faces as they slipped the restricting chain to grab their brass tickets. A look of pure malice swept over his handsome face as the remaining hundreds continued to push forward, crying out piteously, some jumping on the backs of others, their arms raised high in a last frantic attempt to get his attention.

  From her vantage-point, Kate looked on in horror and disbelief as Alex raised his hands and threw the remaining brass tickets into the crowd before standing back and laughing as the men frantically fought for the precious objects that would guarantee them work. Sickened by what she was witnessing, she pressed herself further against the wall. The bastard! She swore to herself a word she would never have uttered aloud. How could he do something like that; and those poor, poor men! It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair.

  Her eyes seemed to strain from their sockets as she tried to find some vestige of familiarity in her brother’s face, but it was as if she were looking at a stranger; a cruel and wicked stranger. Unable to watch the spectacle that was unfolding, she turned towards the wall, but she couldn’t shut out the terrible sounds of men crying and cursing as they were punched and kicked mercilessly in the ruthless struggle for the brass tickets that lay strewn underfoot. Coats and hats were torn from the backs and heads of the fighting men, and when she cautiously opened her eyes she saw one man stagger, his ear hanging by a bloody thread. Stifling a scream, she covered her ears with her hands, her eyes pressed tightly shut against the unbridled brutality that was raging only a few feet away.