The official looked at Danny through his thick lenses and reluctantly pulled open the drawer of a small cabinet that sat at his elbow. He hummed tunelessly as he fingered through the small white cards until he found the right one. ‘Here we are, Mr Sutton, here’s something you could do. The Acme Glass Company are looking for glass inspectors. It’s a sitting down job, no hard work.’
The young cockney’s heart dropped. Bonky Williams had told him all about glass inspectors. He knew that he would not last more than a day at that job and he shook his head. ‘Yer mean ter tell me that’s the only job yer got fer me? What about all those vacancies frew the call-up? That’s a rubbish job, it’s soul-destroyin’. Yer must ’ave somefink else in that box.’
The official looked at Danny over his glasses. ‘I don’t think you understand. All those jobs you talk about are being filled by women. Yes, women. It releases the men for war-work and the forces, you see. We’ve got vacancies for manual workers, but you are disabled, aren’t you?’
It was the emphasis placed on the end of the sentence that finally brought Danny to the boil. He got up and put his hands on his hips, his pale face flushed angrily and the corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Now listen you,’ he exclaimed, his voice trembling, ‘I’ve bin sittin’ ’ere like a naughty school kid who’s waitin’ ter get ’is arse caned! Yer bin pissin’ me about wiv yer bloody papers an’ yer stupid remarks. Anybody listenin’ ter you would fink I wanted ter be disabled! D’yer know what it was like out in France? No, course yer don’t!’
The official opened his mouth to speak but Danny shouted a tirade of abuse. ‘If you fink I’m gonna sit ’ere an’ listen ter you prattin’ off wiv yer snide remarks, yer got anuvver fink comin’. What wiv yer twiddlin’ yer poxy fingers an’ eatin’ yer bloody pencils, an’ lookin’ at me like I’m somefink the cat dragged in, an’ then ’avin’ the gall ter offer me a poxy glass inspector’s job! I reckon yer takin’ the piss!’
The official’s face went white and the small cluster of purple veins on his temple started pulsating. He stood up and waved Danny to the door, ‘I’m not going to talk to you any more. I shall put in a report about your behaviour. It will be for the manager to decide what’s to be done.’
Danny leaned forward menacingly and the frightened Herbert Snelling backed away. ‘I tell yer somefink else, four-eyes, yer can do what yer like, an’ yer poxy manager can do the same. If yer fink I’m gonna sit in front of bottles all day wiv a’ammer in me ’and, yer more stupid than I thought yer was.’
Mr Snelling waved his unhelpful client to the door again. ‘We’ll see what the manager has to say.’
‘Get stuffed, an’ tell yer poxy manager ter do the same,’ Danny sneered as he stormed out of the office and into the coolness of the street.
Back in the office the harassed Mr Snelling sat down heavily in his chair. What was that he said about a hammer? he thought. What would a glass inspector be doing with a hammer? These ex-soldiers are getting worse!
Another member of the Sutton household was on her way to encounter officialdom that Monday morning. Lucy slipped her arm through Ben’s as they left Tooley Buildings and walked purposefully along the busy street. Horse carts were lined up outside the wharves and the bored nags were snorting into their nosebags. The narrow lanes that led down to the water-front were crowded as vehicles and carts were being loaded. Bundles of foodstuffs and other commodities were lashed tight and kicked out from loop-holes to hang suspended from crane chains. The loads were then slowly lowered onto waiting transport to the cries of: ‘Up a bit! Whoa! ’Old it, yer silly bastard!’
The shouts of the dockers rose above the din of clanking cranes and revving vans as the working week began. Along the busy Tooley Street lorries and horse carts continued to arrive, and people were hurrying about their business. Well-dressed office workers carried brief-cases and bundles of papers, and heavy-booted dockers and stevedores moved about on the street. Trams clattered by with their warning bells clanging, and the sounds of the river trade reverberated down along the narrow side lanes. The signs of war were apparent in the busy dockland street. Men were pasting up stark reminders that ‘Careless Talk Costs Lives’ and about what to do in the case of a gas attack. A military convoy of trucks clattered past towing heavy guns, and a bored-looking policeman ambled along, a gas mask pack and steel helmet slung over his shoulder.
Lucy gripped Ben’s arm tightly as they made their way to the magistrates’ court for the tribunal hearing at ten o’clock. A few people were hanging around outside the court building as Lucy and Ben approached. Ben was silent, his stomach tightening as they climbed the few steps and entered the high-ceilinged hall. A flight of wide marble steps led up to a narrow balcony which circled the hall and gave access to the first floor courtrooms. Some people were sitting on polished wooden benches with worried looks on their faces, while others studied the court schedule. Ben motioned Lucy to the notice-board and saw that Ben’s hearing was to be in court 4. His name was near the top of the list and he gave Lucy a wry smile.
‘At least we should get it over with quickly,’ he said.
They took a seat and watched as more people crowded into the hall and policemen moved among the crowd calling out names from their lists. Ben’s name was called and he was directed to the upper floor. The lovers sat down close together, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. Lucy saw the fear in his face, and she smiled encouragingly. She felt that they now belonged to each other, come what may, and Lucy was determined to remain strong for both of them.
The courtroom was panelled in oak and the windows were high up so that the sun’s rays did not penetrate down into the well of the court. Ben stood facing the five-man panel. The well of the court. Ben stood facing the five-man panel. The person seated in the centre announced himself as the chairman and each of the others introduced themselves in turn. Ben could sense the hostility as he waited for the chairman to begin. A sheet of paper was passed along from hand to hand, and he could only guess that it was his written statement to the panel. There was a slight mumbling from the back of the court and the chairman looked over his spectacles reprovingly. Ben knew that Lucy was sitting behind him and it gave him comfort.
‘You are Benjamin Morrison of 16 Tooley Buildings, Tooley Street, Bermondsey?’
Ben answered in the affirmative.
‘You registered on January the 6th as a conscientious objector, and subsequently presented this tribunal with a statement setting out your reasons for doing so?’
Ben nodded and was immediately rebuked by the chairman.
‘You must answer. A nod will not do. Is that quite clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you anyone to speak on your behalf?’
‘No, but I sent in a letter from—’ But the chairman interrupted him in mid-sentence.
‘I’m aware of the letter, Mr Morrison, I was coming to that.’
Ben gripped the rail in front of him. The hostility was becoming obvious and he began to tremble.
The chairman glanced at the person next to him and the questioning continued. ‘I have a letter here from the Reverend John Harris of the Tower Bridge Road Methodist Mission. He states that you are a regular attender at that church, and he goes on to say that you are a part-time youth club leader. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
Another member of the tribunal took up the questioning. ‘The letter also states that you intend to study for the cloth. Is that so?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long ago did you come to this decision?’
Ben coughed nervously. ‘I first decided over two years ago.’
‘Are you sure you did not come to this decision after the outbreak of war?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Can you provide this tribunal with any proof that would substantiate your assertion, Mr Morrison?’
‘No, sir. You only have my word, as a Christian.’
‘Mr Morrison,’ the interviewer went on, ‘
do you consider it wrong for this country of ours to be at war with Germany?’
Ben’s knuckles tightened on the rail. ‘I consider it wrong for people to kill each other.’
‘You think it is all right for the Germans to march into this country and kill our people? Because that is exactly what would happen if we did not defend ourselves.’
Ben looked hard at the questioner. ‘No, I think it is wrong for Germans to kill, or for anyone to kill another human being.’
‘I see, and are you conversant with the Holy Bible?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does the Bible tell you that killing is wrong?’
‘Yes.’
‘And does it not tell of how God led the Israelites into battle?’
‘Yes.’
The members of the tribunal exchanged glances and the chairman smirked. ‘Tell me, Mr Morrison, were you brought up in a Christian family?’
‘Yes, both my parents were practising Christians.’
‘Did your parents ever chastise you as a child?’
‘I was punished for doing wrong.’
‘Were you beaten?’
‘No, I was sent to bed early, or had privileges taken away.’
‘Are you prepared for the results of non-resistance?’
‘I know I must take the consequences. I realise that.’
‘Let me put this to you, Mr Morrison. God forbid the Germans ever get here, but in the event, if you happened to see a wounded German soldier lying in the street, would you render first aid?’
Ben felt himself being slowly forced into a corner from which there was no escape. He took a deep breath before answering. ‘I feel that every human being has the right to receive medical assistance, regardless.’
‘Regardless of what?’
‘Regardless of the fact that most people see it as being wrong to aid the enemy. I feel sure in my mind that we are all one family under God.’
‘Are you aware that the Royal Army Medical Corps picks up wounded soldiers from both sides in war, and that the medics are strictly a non-combatant corps?’
Ben sensed that the coup de grâce was not far off. ‘Yes, I would expect that to be so.’
‘Do you still say that despite what has been said you still object to wearing a military uniform?’
‘I feel that a military uniform represents a willingness of the wearer to kill.’
The tribunal members conferred for a few seconds, and Ben looked around at the panelled walls. He did not turn completely round to face Lucy, but he felt for her and knew of the anguish she was suffering. He looked back at the tribunal members and saw the nodding of heads.
‘Mr Morrison,’ the chairman began, ‘I suggest to you that you have been wasting our time. You have told us in the written statement that you intend to study for Holy Orders, but you cannot substantiate this. Reverend Harris also says in his letter that you intend to study for the Church. That is not a substantiation, it is merely a third party reiterating what you have said of your intentions–an indication of intent. You have provided no evidence of any communication between yourself and the Theological College. Reverend Harris does not tell us in his letter when you first confided in him about your intentions of taking Holy Orders. I put it to you that you first indicated your interest in the college after the outbreak of war. We have made note of the fact that you have stated you would succour the wounded. That is the role of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Therefore, the finding of this tribunal is that you will be called up into a non-combatant corps, subject to you passing the army medical. You will have to apply to be posted at the time of your medical. That is all.’
Chapter Eight
Alice Sutton sat in her small parlour talking to Annie Barnes. Annie was an old and trusted friend from the days when the two danced the ragtime and wept unashamedly into lace handkerchiefs each Saturday at the silent picture show. The two went back a long way, to the days of horse buses and wide summer bonnets, the days of hard toil in the local tannery for a few shillings a week. Alice and Annie had lived in the same street since they both married, within a year of each other. Annie Barnes was a confidante, and for her Alice made an exception to her rule of keeping the family business away from gossiping neighbours.
‘I tell yer, Annie, I’m fed up wiv the lot of it. I ’ad ter take’is suit round ter Fran Simpson terday. You ’eard all about it, I s’pose?’
Annie nodded. ‘Bit old fer fightin’, ain’t ’e?’ she said, her florid face puckering.
‘It’s that bleedin’ bitter, gets ’im real narky when ’e’s ’ad a few,’ Alice said, brushing an imaginary crumb from her dress and folding her thin arms.
Annie Barnes looked out of the window from her easy chair and saw the deepening redness settling over the chimney pots of the houses opposite. The evening was warm, and the lengthening shadows lent a tranquillity to the neat and tidy parlour. Outside in the street a few children played, their happy voices carrying into the house as they made the most of their games before being called in to face a scrubbing brush and Lifebuoy soap which tortured the eyes and stung the skin. In the quietness the metallic ticking of the clock on the mantelshelf sounded unusually loudly. Annie stirred her tea thoughtfully and waited for her friend to begin again. Alice made herself comfortable and sipped her tea.
Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Annie Barnes broached the subject. ‘Well, an’ ’ow did young Ben get on at the tribunal?’
Alice put down the cup and folded her arms. ‘’E’s gotta go in.’
‘Yer mean ’e’s gettin’ called up?’ Annie asked, surprise showing on her face.
‘From what Lucy told me, they was right gits. They’ve told Ben ’e’s gotta go in the non-compatible corps or somefink,’ Alice answered.
‘Yer mean like the medical blokes who look after the wounded?’
‘That’s right. Ter be honest wiv yer, I can’t see Ben doin’ that sort o’ job. ’E ain’t cut out fer it.’
‘Don’t you fret about that, Alice. It’s surprisin’ the fings yer do when yer ’ave to. Look at Fran Simpson’s eldest boy. Times I’ve seen ’im come ’ome from school cryin’ from bein’ bullied.’E’s a sergeant in the Coldstreams now.’
‘I ’ope yer right, Annie. Poor Lucy’s that cut up about it. From what she said, ’er Ben didn’t ’ave much choice. If ’e’d’ave refused they would ’ave locked ’im up and chucked away the key.’
Annie put the teacup back onto the table and reached inside her apron. She took out a tiny silver box and tapped on the lid with two fingers. ‘Wanna pinch?’
Alice shook her head.
‘’Ow’s your Connie? I saw ’er the uvver day with that young sailor, what’s ’is name, Jimmy, ain’t it?’ Annie spluttered as the snuff took effect.
‘Jimmy Ellis. ’E’s a nice boy, got luvverly manners. ’Is leave’s up ternight. I do ’ope nuffink ’appens to ’im, a lot of our ships are gettin’ sunk. It’s a right worry, what wiv one fing and anuvver.’
Annie smiled. ‘’E’ll be all right. ’Fore yer know where you are ’e’ll be ’ome on leave again.’
‘I do ’ope so, Annie. All this trouble and strife, an’ the worry of the invasion . . .’
Annie looked up at the window, as though she expected a German soldier to be peering in, then back at Alice. ‘You don’t really fink they’ll get ’ere, do yer? I mean ter say, they’ve gotta come over the water. What’s our boys gonna do, stan’ by an’ let’em walk in?’
‘I dunno,’ Alice replied. ‘I tell yer what though, that bleedin’ pamphlet they pushed frew the letter box scared the daylights outta me.’
‘What, that one about the invasion? My Bill tore it up,’e said there was nuffink ter worry about, but I’m not so sure.’
Alice got up and picked up the teapot. ‘Fer Gawd sake let’s change the subject. Wanna ’nuvver cup o’ tea?’
Annie took the refilled cup and went into her thoughtful stirring routine. ‘’Ere, Alice, I see your Danny this mor
nin’. ’E looked like ’e was in an ’urry. I see ’im runnin’ fer a tram up the top.’
Alice shook her head. ‘That boy’s worryin’ me. ’E ’ad a barney down the Labour Exchange terday. Apparently they offered ’im a job in some glass factory. I couldn’t get the rights of it, but ’e went mad. Told the bloke down there ter poke ’is job. Gawd knows what’s gonna ’appen now. I s’pose they’ll suspend ’im fer six weeks, that’s what usually ’appens when yer get lippy, or don’t take the job they offer yer.’
‘It’s a bleedin’ shame if yer ask me,’ Annie remarked. ‘Fellers are comin’ back wounded an’ what ’appens? They get some bloody jumped up git expectin’ ’em ter take the first fing they offer. Bloody disgrace I calls it.’
‘Yer gotta be fair though, Annie. That Danny’s always bin’ot ’eaded. It seems like ’e’s got worse since ’e’s come ’ome, ’e can be a cow-son at times.’
Annie sipped her tea. ‘Still, yer gotta give ’im a chance, luv. After all, ’e’s only bin ’ome a few days. It’ll take time, an’ there’s no ’arm in ’im.’
Alice smiled at her friend. ‘No, there’s no ’arm in ’im, but I do wish ’e’ d find a nice girl an’ settle down.’
‘’E’s sweet on young Kathy Thompson, ain’t ’e, Alice?’
‘I dunno, I fink she’s goin’ aroun’ wiv that Jack Mason.’
Annie puffed, ‘She wants ter keep away from ’im, ’e’s a bad one, is Jack Mason. My Bill’s told me a few stories about ’im.’
‘It’s ’er life, Annie. From what I can gavver, ’er farver leads’er a dog’s life. ’E’s always drunk, an’ ’e knocks ’is wife about. I see ’er the uvver day wiv a shiner.’
‘It’s enough ter drive the poor kid away, Alice.’
The street noises had died down and dusk began to settle over Dawson Street. The clock ticked loudly, and the two friends lapsed into comfortable silence, their conversation exhausted. Finally, Annie Barnes yawned and stood up. ‘Well, luv, I better be orf ’ome. My ole man’ll fink I’ve run away. What time is your lot comin’ in?’
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