Tuppence to Tooley Street

by Harry Bowling

  If Biff had a weakness, it was his inability to pick a winner. Most of his hard-earned money was lost at the dog tracks. It had seemed to him that the obvious answer was to get a dog of his own. Unfortunately Shady Lady was lazy-a diet of Guinness and sausages did not appear to be successful–and on two occasions at least the dog didn’t even bother to leave the trap. But Biff would not give up, and he engaged the services of a trainer who was finally able to get the greyhound at least to run around the track. Eddie Kirkland told his pals that in his opinion Shady Lady was on a new diet, which probably included Biff’s special tonic.

  It was around noon when Danny walked sheepishly into the public bar and sidled up to the counter. The Globe was his local and he was prepared for some sort of reception. Becky Elliot took him completely by surprise however by grabbing his face in both hands and planting a kiss on his lips.

  ‘If it ain’t me ole Danny boy come ter see me,’ she laughed.

  Danny wiped the scented lipstick from his mouth as wellwishers slapped him on the back and asked how he was.

  Becky called the guv’nor into the public bar. ‘C’mon an’ see who’s just walked in, Eddie.’ The guv’nor shook hands warmly and told Becky to give Danny a pint on the house. Harriet Kirkland came over and put her hand on Danny’s. ‘Nice ter see yer back, luv. Are yer okay?’

  Danny nodded, his attention divided by people who wanted to buy him drinks and others firing questions at him.

  ‘Leave the boy alone,’ Becky said, prodding one of the customers in the ribs with her finger. ‘Let ’im drink ’is beer in peace, can’t yer?’

  When the excitement died down Danny took his drink and sat down to talk with ‘Bonky’ Williams and Johnny Ross. The two of them had been friends of Danny’s from school days. They were all about the same age and Bonky lived two doors away from Danny. He had got his name when, as a youngster, he lost his eye in an accident. The glass eye that he wore was often removed and laid down in front of unsuspecting victims in The Globe. Eddie Kirkland had threatened to bar him from the pub on more than one occasion, but Bonky spent well, and any altercation was quickly overcome by the lad buying drinks for the offended party. Johnny Ross was slight and dark-skinned. He limped noticeably owing to a tubercular ankle which had developed when he was very young. Johnny Ross had been involved in a few shady activities, and he was known to the police. He lived in Bermondsey Lane and worked as a labourer in the local vinegar factory.

  The Globe was packed and getting noisy and Becky’s raucous laughter could be heard above the din. Bonky was getting drunk and his good eye roved around the bar. Johnny nudged him. ‘’Ere. Don’t you start yer tricks. We don’t wanna get chucked out of ’ere.’

  Bonky grinned. ‘It’s okay, I’m jus’ lookin’.’

  Johnny turned his attention to Danny. ‘What yer gonna do now yer ’ome, me ole son?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Danny replied. ‘I’ve gotta sign on the Labour Exchange an’ get me cards on Monday.’

  ‘Take my tip, Danny, don’t let ’em palm yer orf wiv any ole job. Tell ’em yer a nerve-case, an’ yer gotta get somefink quiet. Tell ’em yer can’t stand noisy jobs.’

  ‘See if they’ve got a vacancy fer a shepherd, that’s a quiet job!’ Bonky piped in.

  ‘You be careful, Danny boy, if yer get too lippy they’ll suspend yer. Yer gotta be as crafty as they are,’ Johnny warned him. ‘You take ’is case. Go on, Bonky, tell ’im about you gettin’ suspended.’

  Bonky drained his glass and put a ten shilling note down on the table. ‘’Ere, get a round in, Johnny. We gotta cheer our ole mate up. ’E don’t look ’is ole natural self.’ He grinned and turned to Danny. ‘Yer look sort o’ different. You okay, son?’

  Danny put his glass down and leaned back in his chair. ‘I feel pissed. Mus’ be outta practice. Tell us about yer gettin’ suspended, then.’

  Bonky laughed. ‘Bloody scream it was. This geezer sends me fer a job at a glass factory down near Dock’ead. I goes inter the office an’ there’s a real darlin’ sittin’ down at the desk.’Course I get me Woodbines out an’ asks ’er fer a light. “We don’t allow smoking in here,” she says in a posh voice. Well straight away I’ve copped the needle. I’m sittin’ there dyin’ fer a fag, when the phone goes. “Mr Jones will see you now,” she says in this snotty voice. So in I goes all meek an’ mild. I’ve got me clean scarf on an’ I’ve ’ad a nice shave. I even took me ’at orf. Well, I takes one look at this geezer an’ straight away I don’t reckon ’im. ’E’s got shifty eyes an’ ’e’s wearin’ a collar two sizes too big. Now, I’m standin’ in front of ’im an’ ’e ain’t asked me ter sit down or anyfing. ’E asks me if I can count. “Yeah, ’course I can, mate,” I tells ’im. “My name is Mr Jones,”’e ses, all posh like. When ’e tells me what I’m s’pose ter do I done me piece.’

  ‘What did ’e want yer ter do then?’ Danny asked, trying not to laugh.

  ‘What did ’e want me ter do?’ repeated Bonky. ‘’E wanted me fer a glass inspector! D’you know what a glass inspector does?’

  ‘Well ’e inspects glass, I s’pose,’ Danny said, his eyes widening.

  ‘I’ll tell yer what a glass inspector does,’ Bonky went on. ‘’E sits in front of a machine all day long, an ’e looks at all the bottles goin’ along the belt. They give yer an ’ammer, and when a bottle goes past that’s got a flaw in it yer gotta smash it. Nine hours a day sittin’ on this stool, waitin’ ter smash bottles. I ask yer, ’ow could anybody stay sensible doin’ a job like that? If I’d took that job, me uvver eye would ’ave gorn in a couple o’ weeks.’

  Danny burst into laughter. ‘Did yer tell ’im ter poke the job?’

  Bonky looked indignant. ‘Gimme credit fer a bit o’ sense, Danny boy. I ’ad ter play me cards right, didn’t I? If ’e puts “Refusal” on me green card I’m in bovver at the labour office. I ’ad ter get ’im finkin’ I’m stupid, see. I got me chance when this office gel walks in the office wiv some papers. This geezer gives ’er a right lecherous look like the dirty ole git ’e is, an’ I takes me eye out, wipes it on me scarf, puts it back an’ I lets me tongue ’ang out as I watches ’er walk out the office. Yer should’ave seen ’is face. ’E must ’ave fought ’e was about ter take on a pervert. ’E looked jus’ like ole Bert Adams did when I stuck me eye on the table one night when ’e was pissed. Anyway, ’e scribbles “Not Suitable” on me green card an’ ’e ushers me outta the office like I’ve got galloping cock-rot, which suits me fine, ’cos I don’t fancy gettin’ suspended.’

  Danny looked at Bonky with a puzzled expression. ‘I fought Johnny said yer got suspended.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t that time. This was anuvver time.’

  Danny breathed a sigh of relief as Johnny came back with the filled glasses, and when Bonky Williams went off to the toilet Danny shook his head at Johnny. ‘Bonky’s gettin’ worse.’E jus’ gave me a real ear-’ole bashin’.’

  Johnny laughed. ‘If yer ask me, I reckon Bonky’s goin’ orf’is ’ead. Twice last week ’e took ’is eye out. And once in front o’ Mrs Brown from the Council. She went potty. I fought Eddie was gonna ban ’im fer sure.’

  The hour hand moved around towards two o’clock and Danny was feeling the effects of the drink. Bonky had got himself involved in a conversation at the bar counter. A couple of latecomers whom Danny recognised as friends of his father walked over and shook hands, but Danny politely refused their offers of drinks; it was time to leave while he was still able. He finished his beer and made to get up.

  Johnny looked up at the clock. ‘You goin’ already? It’s only two o’clock.’

  Danny nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s a long time since I’ve ’ad a good drink and I’m feelin’ a bit pissy.’

  ‘What about ternight? Fancy comin’ out fer a pint? We’re’avin’ a drink wiv Tony the bookie, up The Crown. ’E’s ’avin’ a bit of a knees-up at ’is place afterwards. There should be a few birds there, Danny boy. Tony always ’as good parties–if’e’s ’ad
a good day then the booze is flowin’.’

  ‘Okay,’ Danny replied, ‘if I get a couple of hours sleep this afternoon I might feel all right. I’ll see yer at The Crown about’alf-eight.’

  It was warm and sunny as Danny left The Globe. Tooley Street was quiet and deserted on that Saturday afternoon, with the wharves and warehouses closed for the weekend. In the ‘Pool’ –as the adjacent stretch of the Thames between London Bridge and Tower Bridge was known–small ships pulled against their anchors on the high tide, and out in the mainstream laden barges tethered in groups lay low in the water. The high sun lit up the silent quayside and the tall, still cranes, and it shone down on the white stonework of the Tower of London. A few strollers peered down from the grimy old London Bridge, but Tower Bridge was empty, except for the lonely City of London policeman who stood impassively, hands clasped behind his back, gazing downriver. The scene was peaceful and quiet, although the more discerning onlooker would not have been fooled; there were signs of war preparations. Fore and aft of the moored ships the tell-tale shapes of mounted guns beneath their tarpaulin covers could be seen. One of the ships wore the scars of battle where cannon shells had pierced the metal plating high in the bow. For the present the ships rested at anchor, but the usual feverish activity would begin on Monday morning, and on the evening tide the Tower Bridge would raise its cantilevers in salute as the craft sailed out of the Pool to join the Atlantic convoys.

  Dawson Street was noisy. A group of children were playing tin-can copper and a baby wailed in its bassinet. Aproned figures stood chatting in doorways, and outside number 14, old Charlie Perkins sat in his wicker chair, holding a clay pipe steady with a forefinger crooked over the brown-stained stem. His face was expressionless and he seemed oblivious to the noise of the children. To the street’s inhabitants, the sight of Charlie sitting outside his front door was as familiar as the street lampposts and the railway arch at the end of the turning.

  Danny walked unsteadily down the street and veered around Charlie Perkins’s outstretched legs. The railway arch seemed to be floating before his gaze and he blinked a couple of times. At his front door he swayed and peered closer at the number. He pulled hard on the knotted door string and almost fell headlong into the passage. Lucy came out from the parlour, her face showing her disgust at his condition.

  ‘You’re drunk,’ she muttered darkly.

  Danny put his finger up to his lips and grinned lopsidedly. He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. Slowly and deliberately he climbed the creaking stairs and staggered into his bedroom.

  It was after six o’clock when Connie carried a mug of tea up to his room and found him lying face down on the bed. She put the tea down on the chair and sat on the edge of his bed. The gentle pressure of her hand on his shoulder aroused Danny from the depths of sleep, and in his semi-conscious state he thought the hand on his shoulder was pushing him under the water and Danny called out in terror.

  Connie ruffled his hair, ‘Danny! Danny, it’s me, Connie. I’ve got yer tea. C’mon, it’s turned six.’

  The bed springs squealed as Danny turned over and looked up at the concerned expression on Connie’s face. His head was pounding and his mouth felt parched. He attempted a grin and Connie grinned back. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve bin in The Globe, an’ everybody bought yer a drink.’

  Danny reached for his tea with a shaky hand and swallowed a mouthful before replying. ‘I met Bonky an’ Johnny Ross,’ he said.

  ‘That’s strange,’ Connie mocked, ‘what are those two doin’ in The Globe?’

  Danny sat up against the bedrail and sipped his tea. ‘Bonky Williams ain’t changed,’ he said. ‘’E’s still messin’ around wiv that glass eye of ’is.’

  Connie shuddered. ‘I can’t stand them two. Johnny Ross is the worst. Dirty git wanted ter take me out last week. ’E said there was a party goin’ on somewhere.’

  Danny looked serious. ‘You keep away from Johnny Ross. I don’t want you ter get ’urt.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me, bruv,’ Connie laughed. ‘I’m goin’ steady.’

  ‘Oh, an’ who’s the lucky feller then?’

  Connie looked down at the floor, her cheeks flushing slightly. ‘’Is name’s Jimmy Ellis, an’ ’e’s in the Navy.’

  Danny showed mock horror. ‘Not Jimmy Ellis?’

  ‘You know ’im?’ Connie asked.

  ‘Know ’im? Course I know ’im, they call ’im “ugly Ellis”.’

  Connie looked angry. ‘’E’s not ugly. Jim’s good lookin’, an’’e’s very nice.’

  Danny put his hand on her arm. ‘I’m only pullin’ yer leg. I’ve never met the bloke, but if yer say ’e’s good lookin’ I’ll take yer word fer it.’

  Connie stood up. ‘You comin’ down fer yer tea? There’s fish an’ chips keepin’ ’ot in the oven. I can’t stay ’ere chattin’, I’ve got a date ternight.’ She made for the door then turned. ‘By the way, bruv, ’ave you bumped inter Kathy Thompson yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Danny answered, swinging his legs over onto the floor. ‘Why d’yer ask?’

  ‘No reason, ’cept I know yer used ter go out wiv ’er.’

  ‘That was a long while ago,’ Danny replied.

  Connie went to say something, then changed her mind and walked out of the room.

  Danny went down to the scullery and washed in the stone sink. The cold water revived him and the pounding in his head eased slightly. When he went into the parlour Lucy looked up from her armchair. ‘Hello, how’s your head?’

  Danny put his hand up to his forehead. ‘Thick,’ he whispered.

  Lucy got up. ‘You’d better sit in the chair. I’ll fetch your tea, it’s in the oven.’

  Danny sat at the table with his head resting on his hands. When Lucy came back with his meal Danny sat up straight in his chair. ‘Where is everybody?’ he asked.

  ‘Mum and Dad have gone over to see Dad’s cousin in Guy’s. She’s very ill. And Connie’s upstairs getting ready to go out.’

  ‘You in ternight?’ Danny asked as Lucy sat down facing him.

  ‘Ben’s coming round later. We’re going up West to see a concert.’ Lucy answered, her forefinger drawing imaginary circles on the tablecloth.

  Danny speared some chips on his fork and started eating. After a while he put down his knife and fork. ‘You worried about Ben?’ he asked. ‘The tribunal I mean.’

  Lucy folded her plump arms and leant on the table. ‘Naturally I’m worried. You see, Ben’s very sensitive, he couldn’t hurt a fly. Apart from running the youth club, he’s a regular church-goer. His parents were the same. He feels that killing is wrong, and he won’t change his thinking. Ben won’t put a uniform on. All right, I know you don’t agree with his point of view, and I know you don’t like him very much, but I hope to get married to him one day.’

  Danny scratched his head and looked into his sister’s dark eyes. ‘Listen, Lucy, it’s not that I don’t like Ben, but ’e’s different from me. I can’t take ’im up The Globe fer a pint, ’cos’e don’t drink. I can’t ’ave a conversation wiv ’im, ’cos we don’t speak the same language. We’re worlds apart. I know Ben’s not gonna change, an’ nor am I. Yer gotta see that. One fing’s fer sure though, if you an’ Ben wanna get married, you’ll get no trouble from me. Ben’s okay, and while we’re on the subject I’ll tell yer somefink else too. ’E ain’t no different from the rest of us in one respect. Killin’ people is wrong. The ’ole bloody war’s wrong. The way Ben sees it is that if everybody’eld the same views as ’im there’d be nobody ter fight the war. Trouble is, life ain’t like that. Nuffink’s gonna change. There’ll always be some bloody maniac ready ter start a war, an’ there’s no shortage o’ people ter do the dirty work. Maybe Ben’s got the right idea, I dunno. Good luck to ’im anyway. ’E’ll be all right at the tribunal.’

  Lucy smoothed the tablecloth and leaned back in her chair. ‘I’ve never heard you talk like this before, Danny. Everything was one big joke t
o you. You’ve got all serious.’

  Danny pushed his plate away and picked up his teacup. ‘I tell yer, sis, what I’ve seen of the war ’as made me fink. I lost a few good mates, an’ I’ve seen what the war does ter people, but d’yer know what shook me most of all? I was trampin’ along wiv our company, we were goin’ up ter relieve anuvver regiment. Casualties were bein’ brought back an’ we got off the road ter make room fer ’em. Right where we stopped was a stone memorial. There was plenty o’ names on that stone, I can tell yer. It was from the 1914 war. And there we was doin’ it all again twenty-six years later. I got ter finkin’, ’ow many more stones they gonna put up when this lot’s over? I tell yer, Lucy, I wanted ter run as far as I could, away from what I was seein’. Maybe Ben ’as got the right idea-I only wish most o’ the Germans agreed wiv ’im.’

  Lucy stood up and playfully ruffled his fair hair. ‘You know what Dad would say if he was here?’

  Danny laughed. ‘Put the kettle on,’ he mimicked.

  On the stroke of seven there was a knock on the front door and Danny went to answer it. A young sailor was standing on the doorstep. ‘I’m Jimmy. Is Connie there, please?’ he said with an eager expression on his face.

  Danny looked out of his bleary eyes at the slim young man who was a few inches shorter than his six feet. ‘I guessed who yer was. Connie’s bin tellin’ me all about yer bad ’abits.’