Tuppence to Tooley Street

by Harry Bowling

  ‘I won’t ferget, madam. One blue an’ yeller budgie, answers ter the name of Bertie Smith. Okay?’

  Satisfied that she had done everything possible to secure Bertie’s return, the old lady toddled off. PC Entwhistle blew out his cheeks. He was only half–way through his shift, he had already allowed a criminal to escape, and now he was saddled with a missing budgie report. A policeman’s lot is not always a happy one, he thought grimly.

  Fat Stan was fuming. He stood against a wall while he recovered his breath and cursed the stupid idiot he had been chasing, and he cursed the constable who had caused him to lose his pinch. When he felt less exhausted Fat Stan walked slowly back to Clink Lane railway arch. The constable was still waiting there, hands behind his back. Stan gave him a blinding look. Bloody war, he thought to himself, they’re taking anyone on the Force these days.

  ‘No luck, sir?’ Constable Entwhistle asked.

  ‘Does it look like it?’ Stan sneered.

  At that moment Bonky decided it was time to give himself up to justice. He had realised there was a slip–up in the proceedings when he trotted out of the arch. His pursuer was not behind him. Puzzled, Bonky had popped into the little tobacconists on the corner of Bermondsey Lane for a packet of Woodbines. He knew the shopkeeper, and they began to chat away. Now, as he stepped from the shop and saw the two policemen standing by the arch, Bonky could see by the expressions on their faces that all was not well. He ambled up to them and took the betting slips from his pocket. ‘’Ere, you’d better ’ave these,’ he said, looking sheepishly at Fat Stan.

  PC Entwhistle reached for his truncheon, just in case Bonky should cut up rough.

  ‘All right, all right, I’ll deal wiv this,’ the fat detective growled, taking a handful of Bonky’s best coat in his grasp. ‘C’mon you, jus’ wait till I get you down the nick.’

  As quick as a flash Bonky put his hand up to his face and called out, ‘Mind me eye.’

  As Fat Stan steered him along Clink Lane Bonky brought his bunched fist down from his face and slowly unclenched it. A glass eye stared up at Fat Stan.

  The detective gagged. ‘Put that bleedin’ eye in yer pocket,’ he shouted, his face white. ‘An’ don’t give me any more trouble. You’re already on a good ’idin’ when I get yer down the station.’

  Bonky walked on passively beside the puffing detective. The police car had gone and Fat Stan cursed. ‘That’s anuvver one I owe yer, makin’ me walk all the way ter Dock’ead.’

  Bonky was beginning to feel depressed. Two pounds had seemed a good bargain when Johnny Ross put the deal to him. Getting a good hiding wasn’t in the deal. ‘Jus’ wait till I see that cripple bastard,’ Bonky mumbled.

  ‘What’s that?’ Fat Stan spat out.

  ‘Nuffink, jus’ finkin’.’

  ‘Well keep yer poxy thoughts ter yerself.’

  Behind lace curtains at number 18 Danny sat with Ginny Coombes. They stared out into the street for a time before Danny spoke. ‘I can’t understand it. Fat Stan should’ve got ’old of Bonky an’ brought ’im back by now.’

  ‘Maybe they’ve gone round Dawson Street,’ Ginny suggested.

  ‘They wouldn’t do that, unless Bonky’s playin’ a funny game. Yer never know wiv ’im. I don’t know why Johnny lined’im up. ’E should ’ave known. Jus’ wait till the guv’nor finds out, ’e’ll skin Johnny alive.’

  Ginny shook her head. ‘That Bonky’s as nutty as a fruit cake.’

  Danny looked up to the top of the street just in time to see the police car drive away. ‘That’s done it,’ he groaned.

  ‘What’s that?’ Ginny asked.

  ‘The police car’s pissed off.’

  Ginny looked through the curtains. ‘’Ere they come. The fat git’s got Bonky by the scruff of ’is neck. ’E must ’ave upset’im.’

  Danny peered through the curtains. ‘Blimey! Look at that tec’s face. Bonky’s in fer a rough time at the nick. ’E can be right evil when ’e’s put out. I remember Tony Arpino tellin’ me about one of ’is Italian mates. That fat bastard gave ’im a right goin’ over down the station.’

  ‘There’s nuffink we can do,’ Ginny said.

  Danny thought for a few seconds. Suddenly he clicked his fingers. ‘I’ve got it!’ he shouted. ‘Quick! Got any pills?’

  ‘Pills? What pills?’

  ‘Any sort,’ Danny said impatiently as Bonky and his captor drew level with the window.

  ‘I’ve only got these, they’re cascara.’

  Danny grabbed the three little white pills from Ginny’s hand and ran out into the street. Bonky and the detective were almost at the corner shop when he reached them. ‘Excuse me, mate, I’ve bin lookin’ everywhere fer ’im,’ Danny said, pointing to his pal.

  Fat Stan gave Danny a wicked look. ‘Yer can’t talk to ’im,’e’s nicked.’

  ‘I’ve got ’is pills ’ere, ’is landlady told me ter give ’em to’im,’ Danny said. ‘’E went out wivout ’em. They’re fer ’is ’eart.’E as ter take these every day, or ’e’s likely ter go off jus’ like that.’

  Fat Stan looked at Danny suspiciously. ‘’Is ’eart didn’t stop’im runnin’ away from me. The bastard nearly gave me an ’eart attack tryin’ ter catch ’im.’

  Danny shook his head sadly. ‘’E’ll never learn, Officer. One o’ these days ’e’s gonna do it all wrong.’

  Bonky was listening to the conversation with a pained look on his face. He wondered whether or not to have a heart attack there and then. He decided against it when the fat detective released his coat collar and took his wrist instead.

  The rest of the journey to Riverside Police Station was slightly more civilised. Fat Stan did not want any complications at this point. Bonky for his part walked on quietly. After a while he thought he ought to show some distress.

  ‘Can we slow down a bit, sir?’ he asked with a grimace. ‘I’m gettin’ a pain in me chest.’

  Fat Stan slowed down and gritted his teeth in anger. ‘Yer givin’ me a pain,’ he said.

  They had reached the junction with Tower Bridge Road and Bonky spotted the drinking fountain. ‘All right if I take me pills, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Go on then, I’m not stoppin’ yer, am I?’ snarled the detective.

  ‘I gotta take ’em wiv water, sir. They stick in me froat uvverwise.’

  Fat Stan released his grip on Bonky’s sleeve. ‘Go on then, an’ be quick about it.’

  At last they reached the police station. Bonky’s captor was in an ugly mood, now that his bit of sport was stymied by his prisoner’s condition. He had realised the danger of slapping a heart case around in the cell, and he decided that the sooner he got rid of the idiot the better. Bonky co–operated as the formalities were taken care of, and he was bailed to appear the following day on a charge of street gaming.

  As he walked home Bonky felt relieved, but by the time he reached his home in Dawson Street the relief had turned to pain. After frequent excursions to the toilet Binky was cursing Danny viciously.

  ‘Couldn’t ’e ’ave given me some Dolly Mixtures instead?’ he groaned aloud. ‘That fat pig wouldn’t ’ave known the difference.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Waterloo Station was a sea of colour as uniformed figures in Air Force and Royal Navy blues mingled with khaki. Every now and then there was a poignant glimpse of innocent bright summer dresses and waving summer bonnets as the military mingled with the civilian population, hurrying to and fro or waiting around on the noisy concourse. Announcements came over the tannoy scratchy–voiced and flat, and only when a train was re–routed to another platform did any passion appear in the tone. Among the milling passengers hurrying from the platforms or rushing to their trains, there were many who were just waiting, lolling around on hard benches, on bulging suitcases and on piles of kitbags and military packs. The big clock that hung from the arching girders clicked away the minutes of Sunday morning above the crowds. Harassed parents watched the clock as though it might suddenly sp
in, their stern glances defying their children to drop any ice cream down their best clothes. Their eyes darted from their tickets to the clock that hung high above them, and then to the platform number, almost in disbelief that everything was as it should be. Surely the suitcase clasp would snap and scatter clothes everywhere? Or little Mary would be sick, and young Billy would wander off just when the train arrived? But no, young Billy and little Mary were still there, looking perfectly happy. The noise of the protesting steam engines made them laugh and cover their ears, the soldiers and their guns were fascinating and soon they would be sitting in a big train watching the world whiz by.

  One young man watched the clock and eyed the soldiers with interest. There were five minutes to go before Alison’s train arrived at the station, and Danny had spent the last fifteen minutes pacing up and down, watching as groups of servicemen mustered by the platforms on their way to strengthen the garrisons along the South Coast. He felt some regret at not being a part of what was going on, and at the same time he was very relieved. He had been shot at, shelled and dumped in the sea, and he considered himself to have been very fortunate. If that shell fragment had been a little to one side he would have perished. He caught sight of a soldier with a Middlesex shoulder flash and he wondered how Oggy Murphy was. It seemed strange that he had only known the man for a very short time and had hardly spoken more than a few words to him, and yet he felt so close to him. They would probably never meet again but Danny knew he would often think of him and he would always wish him well, for he owed his life to that ugly gypsy.

  Slowly the minute hand crept around to one–fifteen, and Danny saw the billowing white smoke way down the line. The announcer’s voice crackled as he called out: ‘The one–seventeen from Dover is now approaching platform three.’ Danny walked slowly towards the ticket barrier and watched as the train came to a stop. Doors flew open and the platform was filled with hustling travellers as they struggled with luggage and kitbags. It was some time before he saw Alison. She was coming from the far end of the train and Danny could see her short dark hair bobbing around her ears as she walked briskly to the barrier. Danny had time to study her before she spotted him. She looked slightly slimmer than he remembered and she held her head high. The cotton half–coat which she was wearing over her summer dress was unbuttoned. Her feet look tiny in those high heels, he thought. She was holding a shoulder bag with one hand and in the other she was carrying a small suitcase. Her complexion was rosy and Danny was instantly captivated by her expression. She looked prettier than he remembered and he felt his heart start to beat faster.

  Alison saw him and her face broke into a warm smile. There was a delay at the barrier before she joined him and put down her suitcase. Danny held her arm as he kissed her softly on the cheek and she replied by squeezing his hand.

  ‘How are you, Danny? You look very well.’

  Danny flushed slightly as he grinned. ‘I’m fine. No pain, no aches. It’s nice ter see yer again. I’ve bin finkin’ about yer.’

  Alison displayed her even white teeth. ‘I bet you’ve not given me a thought, with all your old girlfriends clamouring round their hero.’

  Danny pulled a face and looked into her large dark eyes. ‘They’ve not come knockin’. Still, I might ’ave bin out at the time.’

  They laughed and Danny picked up her suitcase. ‘Would yer like a cuppa or a drink? They’re open till two.’

  Alison smiled. ‘A drink would be nice.’

  They walked quickly from the station and down the steps that led into Waterloo Road. They passed the Union Jack Club and took a side turning. Danny steered Alison through the door of The Bell and looked for a place to sit. He put her suitcase down and pulled out a chair from under an empty table. ‘What d’yer like?’

  ‘I’d like a shandy please.’

  Danny soon returned with the drinks and they sat facing each other. Alison had a sip of her shandy and then took out a powder compact from her handbag. ‘I must look a proper mess,’ she said, opening it and peering into the mirror. ‘You look fine,’ Danny replied, aware that his voice sounded strange.

  For some time they talked. Danny told her of his new job and made her laugh when he told her about Bonky Williams’s arrest. Alison told him that the pressure at the hospital had eased since Dunkirk, but that there were still some nasty cases to deal with due to accidents during training. Danny felt relaxed with her and asked her several questions about herself, but Alison quickly switched the conversation around to him. She liked the way he smiled self–consciously and the way his fair hair seemed to curl above his ears. She liked his warm manner and his blue eyes which seemed to bore into her at times. She knew that she would have to be careful. It would be quite easy to fall for someone like Danny, but it was too soon. She wanted breathing space and a friendship, not another romance now.

  Danny looked into her eyes and liked what he saw. She was so different from Kathy. Mystery shone in the depths of her eyes. She was alluring yet seemed somehow unobtainable. She both confused and attracted him, drawing him close yet keeping him distant. He felt no such conflict with Kathy. Their years together had built up between them an easy assurance, and implicit knowledge. It was a feeling of familiarity. But with Alison there was something that churned his insides, a challenge to be met. And there was a sense of urgency and it worried him. He would have to be careful, his impatience might be seen as a sign of immaturity, and Danny was anxious not to create a wrong impression. He realised then that he wanted her and he hoped she felt the same. He looked at her sweet face and imagined he was loving her. He could picture those dark eyes mirroring her sensations as he held her to him. He wondered what locked–up passions would be released if he were able to reach her intimately and love her completely. Alison had flushed at his intense look, and turned her face away. Danny suddenly smiled and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I was staring. You look a sight fer sore eyes.’

  Alison laughed. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

  They had been talking over empty glasses for some time without realising. When Danny noticed he reached for them but Alison stopped him. ‘I must get going, Danny, I promised my mum I’d look in on her old friends in London. They’ve got a dairy in Southwark Street. They said they’d put me up if I wanted to.’

  Danny grinned. ‘That’s not far from where I live.’

  ‘I know,’ Alison replied.

  Danny reached across the table and put his hand on hers. ‘Look, can I see yer ternight?’ he asked. ‘We could go fer a stroll, or a ride up West.’

  ‘I’d like that, but I really must make a move now or they’ll be worried. They know what train I came up on. I wrote and told them.’

  Outside the day was bright and warm. Alison took Danny’s arm as they walked down Waterloo Road. ‘D’yer wanna get a bus?’ he asked.

  ‘Let’s walk, it’s a lovely day,’ Alison said, and then added with concern, ‘that’s if you’re feeling up to it?’

  Danny threw out his chest. ‘I’m as fit as a fiddle. It’s not a long walk anyway. I know the back doubles.’

  They walked on and turned into the Cut. The wide market street was almost empty today and the shops were shuttered. A jellied eel stall stood outside a pub, and further along a circle of Salvationists were playing ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. A few children and some old men from the lodging house in Blackfriars stood listening to the music as Danny and Alison walked past, and one of the Salvationists held out a copy of the War Cry. Danny dropped a sixpence in the collection box and politely refused the magazine. ‘If I take that ’ome me dad’ll start ter worry. We’ve got one religious member of our family wivout me startin’ ter go all’oly.’

  Alison was curious, and so Danny explained all about Lucy and Ben. In return Alison told him about her upbringing in Wales. She told him of the huge family bible, and how all the births and deaths were recorded inside the cover. She said that there were pubs which would still not allow women inside and remained closed on the
Sabbath.

  ‘Sounds a mis’rable place on Sundays if yer ask me,’ Danny said, pulling a face. ‘What d’yer do fer amusement?’

  ‘Oh, we get by. There’s a lot of big families in Wales,’ Alison chuckled. ‘Then there’s the choirs. Welsh people love to sing, but you know that already.’

  Danny nodded. ‘Me mum loves ter listen to ’em on the wireless.’

  Alison’s face took on a look of sadness as she spoke of her dead father. ‘My dad was in a choir. He went to a local Baptist mission every Sunday evening. I remember when I was little Dad always sang as he cleaned his boots in the backyard on Sunday mornings. He said it was good practice. He had a beautiful voice. It seems such a long time ago now, but I can still remember him clearly.’

  They had reached Southwark Street and Alison pointed to the shopfront a little way ahead. ‘There it is, Morgan’s Dairies.’

  They walked across the street and Danny put the case down by the door. ‘When shall I call round? Will seven be okay?’

  ‘Can you make it eight? I must spend a bit of time with them,’ she said.

  Danny grinned and raised two fingers to his forehead. ‘Okay, ma’am. See yer then.’

  The smell of roast lamb and baked potatoes drifted up the passage as Danny let himself in. In the front parlour he saw the prone forms of his father and Joe Copeland sprawled out in the easy chairs with Sunday papers lying opened on their laps. Both had their mouths gaping and Frank was snoring. Danny walked out into the scullery and found his mother and Maggie washing up the dinner plates. Alice gave her son a long hard look. ‘And where might you ’ave bin? I’ve ’ad yet dinner in the oven fer ages.’

  Danny gave his mother a peck on the cheek. ‘Sorry, Ma. I met somebody.’

  ‘I guessed as much. You know I put the dinner up as soon as yer dad gets in from The Globe. ’Im an’ Joe ’ave ’ad theirs an’ fergot about it.’

  Danny glanced at Maggie and pulled a face. ‘I was waitin’ fer a train at Waterloo. I was meetin’ this nurse an’ I walked her . . .’