Tuppence to Tooley Street

by Harry Bowling

  At the Bricklayers Arms the large woman and her daughter got off the bus in front of Danny and Alison. Her child slept on peacefully. Danny took Alison’s arm as they crossed over into Tower Bridge Road and walked along the quiet thoroughfare. The night was closing in quickly, birds slumbered in the tall plane trees and stars twinkled down from a velvet expanse. They walked for a while until Alison broke the silence. ‘I’ve really enjoyed this evening, Danny,’ she said.

  ‘It’s bin ’an’some,’ he replied. ‘I was goin’ ter see if yer’d like ter meet me mate Tony Arpino, but the pubs are shut by now. By the way, what time yer s’posed ter be in by?’

  Alison shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I’ve got a key. The Morgans run a dairy, don’t forget. I expect they’ll be snoring by now.’

  They walked through a maze of drab grey backstreets and alleyways as the moon rose over lop–sided chimney pots and blue–grey slated roofs, and at last they reached Southwark Street. They halted at the dairy where there was a dark recess beside the shop front and Danny could see the empty milk carts through the slatted gates. The shadows closed round them as they moved together and held each other closely. Danny could smell the fragrance of Alison’s hair as he bent down and kissed her open mouth. Her breathing came faster as she responded to his embrace and her fingers stroked his fair hair while Danny’s searching hands ran down her back. Alison rested her head on his shoulder and he kissed her ear, his mouth moving down onto her smooth, soft neck. But suddenly Alison tensed; she stepped back from his embrace and put both hands on his shoulders. ‘You don’t like wasting time, Danny. Let me catch my breath,’ she said quickly.

  ‘I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw yer at the station. You’re really somefink, d’yer know that?’ Danny said smiling.

  ‘Go on, I bet you say that to all the girls,’ Alison chided.

  Danny’s face became serious and she felt his grip tighten. She could not trust herself to relax with him now that the first barrier was down. Her body cried out for him but her mind was troubled. It must not be like the last time, she vowed. Her painful memories had been kindled by his kiss and his searching hands had stirred her stifled feelings. She needed time to find herself again, there could be no hurried love until she was absolutely sure of herself. She knew in her heart that it would be so easy to give herself to him there and then. She tingled at his touch, but she needed to be certain that there would be an understanding, she had to make him see somehow. It was important for them both and she had to tell him everything.

  Danny gazed down at her and saw her eyes misting over. He pulled her gently to him and they remained quiet for a while, both content to let their early passions abate. Alison felt his arms relax their hold on her. ‘I must get in. It’s been a lovely time, but I’m feeling very tired, Danny. Do you mind?’

  Danny moved back and his hand went up to adjust his shirt collar. ‘What about termorrer? I mus’ see yer again before yer catch your train ’ome.’

  Alison looked into his pale blue eyes and saw the urgency there. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

  Danny’s face relaxed into a huge grin. ‘Look, I’m takin’ bets up until about one o’clock. We could ’ave all afternoon tergevver. What d’yer say?’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll come round fer yer at two o’clock.’

  Their goodnight kiss was soft, and Alison watched him as he walked off into the darkness.

  The figure standing in the dark doorway changed position to ease his aching foot and peered impatiently at his small silver pocket watch. It was half past midnight and the beat policeman had just appeared from Shad Thames. He turned left and walked slowly towards Dockhead with his hands clasped behind his back. Johnny Ross moved out of his hiding place and saw the tall figure of Con Baldwin coming towards him. The approaching figure jumped nervously as Johnny hissed at him. ‘Over ’ere, Con. It’s okay, the rozzer’s gone.’

  Con joined Johnny and they quickly crossed Tooley Street and walked into Shad Thames. The narrow cobbled lane was deathly quiet as they reached an arched doorway. Con took out a crowbar from beneath his coat and inserted it into the heavy brass padlock. Johnny held his breath. Had Ernie Baines done his job properly? If he had, the padlock would spring open under a little pressure. Con grunted with satisfaction as he removed the padlock and slipped the hasp. The heavy oak door creaked as it opened and they stepped inside.

  ‘’Urry up,’ Con hissed, ‘I’ll give yer five minutes an’ I’ll knock on the gate. Fer Gawd’s sake don’t move till I give yer the signal.’

  Johnny disappeared into the warehouse and Con stepped back into the lane and gingerly closed the warehouse door. He replaced the hasp and levered the doctored padlock back into place. Satisfied with his efforts he walked along Shad Thames and passed by the gate of the adjoining warehouse. He was ready to adopt a drunken pose should the policeman appear again, but he need not have worried–PC Harriman was hurrying on to the road works in Jamaica Road, where old Bill Jones the council night watchman was busy brewing up some fresh tea over his coke brazier.

  Johnny climbed the dark stone staircase to the roof. At the top of the stairs he put his weight against the iron fire door and it clattered open. He was now standing on the flat roof of the warehouse and he swallowed hard as he shut the door behind him. Johnny was only too aware that there was no way back. The door could only be opened from the inside. Ernie Baines had gone over the plan with him until Johnny was convinced he could find his way around blindfolded. Above him was the wide darkness of the night sky, and the fire escape staircase loomed up ahead. Johnny ducked low as he limped down the iron steps that ran down the outside of the building into the yard below. Ernie Baines has come up trumps this time, he thought. The laden lorry was there, standing by the massive iron–plated gate. Johnny hobbled quickly to the yard office, took out a scarf from his coat and wrapped it around his hand. Looking over his shoulder as though he expected to be seen he punched out the small glass panel of glass nearest to the door lock. As he left the office holding the bunch of keys Johnny heard a soft tap on the wicket gate. He threw the keys under the gap below the gate and soon Con Baldwin was in the yard beside him. While Johnny sorted out the keys for the main gate Con jumped up into the lorry cab and checked that the ignition key was there. Johnny beckoned urgently to him and the two of them pulled the heavy gate open. There was one more task left to do before they drove away. Johnny went over to a sand bin opposite the warehouse and lifted the lid. Con started up the lorry, drove it over to the gateway and stopped, then Johnny limped across the lane carrying a coiled length of rope that was knotted every couple of feet. Clambering up onto the cab roof he looped the rope over the spiked tips of the gate then hurried down into the cab as Con drove off.

  They drove the stolen lorry steadily along Dockhead. It was not unusual for lorries to use that route at night, traffic from all over the country began to arrive in the early hours ready to load and unload at the wharves and docks. Con and Johnny were confident that their cargo would be stowed safely before the theft was discovered. They could feel the gods of fortune smiling down on them as they reached their destination without being stopped. The warehouse theft went undetected until after Ernie Baines arrived for work and switched padlocks.

  Before he went off duty PC Harriman found himself having to answer some awkward questions. He should have patrolled Shad Thames once more before he finished his rounds, but the place gave him the creeps and he had opted out of his responsibilities in favour of another mug of old Bill’s tea. The Station Inspector called in Detective Constable Stanley Stockbridge after he had finished with Harriman. ‘I’m going to lay it on the line, Stockbridge,’ he said, ‘I want you off your fat arse and on your way to Sullivan’s Wharf at Shad Thames. The guv’nor there has reported that a lorry’s gone missing from his yard. Apparently they got in using a rope, they lassoed the spikes and shinned over the gate. On your way, Stockbridge.’

  Later, a phone call
from Limehouse Police Station informed him that a lorry belonging to George Sullivan and Sons, Wharfingers, had been found abandoned in a lorry rank outside the West India Docks.

  ‘It wasn’t exactly abandoned,’ the desk sergeant explained. ‘One of our constables found a couple o’ Chinese seamen asleep in the cab. They had adopted the vehicle. Their dabs were all over the cab.’

  ‘Can’t we nick ’em for theft?’ Inspector Flint asked.

  ‘No chance,’ was the reply. ‘We’re charging the two of ’em for an affray in a gambling house in Pennyfields. They sliced another Chink’s ear orf during an argument over a game of Mah Jong.’

  Inspector Flint shook his head sadly and looked out of his office window. Down below he could see the activity in the local timber yard. Two men were leisurely stacking pine planks while another worker lolled against a covered pile, busily engrossed in rolling a cigarette. Inspector Flint returned to his desk and picked up a pile of papers. That stupid fat Detective Constable had better come up with something pretty quick, or it’s back on the beat for him, he vowed. Inspector Flint was determined to ‘ginger up’ the station, as he put it. Already he had made some drastic changes in his efficiency campaign. Had Inspector Flint been gifted with X–ray vision he would have made more progress, for down in the timber yard behind a stack of deal boards, and out of sight of the station window, were three tons of corned beef and eighty cases of canned peaches.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the Monday morning of the 15th of July 1940 all the daily newspapers carried a front page report of the Prime Minister’s address to the nation. In the backstreets of dockland the speech was being discussed on doorsteps, in the corner shops and behind crisp lace curtains in the small parlours. Winston Churchill had seized the attention of almost everyone when he delivered what the papers were calling his masterful speech. Pubs had stopped serving to listen, and those with no wireless set had crowded round their neighbours’. The dire warning frightened the wits out of Granny Bell, as she confessed to the Brightmans. ‘’E fair put the fear o’ Gawd inter me last night,’ she said. ‘What wiv ’im goin’ on about fightin’’em in the streets. ’E said they’re comin’ any day now, by all accounts.’

  The content of the Prime Minister’s speech had an effect on Maggie Copeland too. She was now more than ever determined to see that Joe would allow the children to be evacuated from London. ‘Even ’e said it. London’s gonna be laid in ruins before we’d surrender.’

  Joe licked a dob of marmalade from his finger and shook his head in anger. ‘’Ow many times we bin over this? I’ve gotta get ter work, I ain’t got no time ter argue wiv yer.’

  Maggie threw down the morning paper. ‘It’s in there. Read it, sod yer! Read it!’

  Joe pulled a face and picked up his teacup. Maggie saw that she was getting nowhere with him and she sat down and pulled the paper towards her. ‘Listen ter what it says. “Be the ordeal sharp or long, or both, we shall seek no terms, we shall tolerate no parley. We may show mercy, but we shall ask none.” You listenin’?’

  Joe tried to hide a smile but Maggie saw his face and she got even more angry. She ran her finger along the type. ‘There’s more: “London itself, fought street by street, could easily devour an entire hostile army, and we would rather see London laid in ruins and ashes than it should be abjectly enslaved.” What about that then?’

  Joe felt the toast sticking in his throat and he realised he was late for work. ‘Look ’ere, luv, we’ll talk about it ternight, okay?’

  Maggie was having none of Joe’s procrastination. ‘We’ll talk about it now, or I’ll leave yer, Joe, I mean it!’

  Joe Copeland saw the determination in his wife’s eye and he pointed to the teapot. ‘All right, you win. Pour me anuvver cuppa, an’ we’ll talk.’

  ‘I thought you was late for work?’

  ‘Sod work. Let’s talk.’

  When The Globe opened Danny Sutton was the first one through the doors. He was soon joined by Johnny Ross who looked particularly pleased with himself.

  ‘You look like you jus’ found a fiver stickin’ ter yer shoe,’ Danny remarked.

  Johnny winked and called Eddie Kirkland over. ‘’Ere, Eddie, give me an’ me mate a drink, an’ ’ave one yerself.’

  The landlord of The Globe pulled a face. ‘Leave me out, Johnny. We ’ad a late session last night. Biff Bowden was in ’ere wiv some of ’is cronies. Even ’is dog got pissed.’

  The joke was lost on Danny, who sipped his drink thoughtfully. Johnny watched as Eddie moved away to serve an old gent who had just walked in, then he leaned over close to his pal. ‘Done a bit o’ business last night, we did. Might be able ter put some easy money your way.’

  Danny was used to Johnny’s boasting and he ignored the remark. Johnny looked around to make sure they were not being overheard and he put his hand to one side of his mouth. ‘We knocked over a ware’ouse. Got a lorry load o’ tinned stuff. Most of it’s spoken fer, but we’ve gotta punt the rest. I’m seein’ a bloke later terday. Fancy givin’ us an ’and? I’ll row yer in fer a few bob.’

  ‘Sorry, Johnny, I’ve got a date. I’m seein’ ’er soon as I’m finished takin’ the bets.’

  ‘Oh yeah? An’ who’s the lucky little bird then?’

  Danny leaned back and folded his arms. ‘Anybody ever told yer you’re a nosy git, Rossy?’ he said, his pale eyes glinting.

  Johnny grinned. ‘All right, all right, I’m only tryin’ ter be sociable.’

  ‘She’s a nurse I met when I was in ’ospital. I took ’er out last night. She comes from Wales, an’ she’s on leave,’ Danny said, hoping to satisfy his pal’s curiosity.

  ‘What’s she like?’ Johnny prompted.

  ‘She’s a little darlin’.’

  ‘Does she do a turn?’

  ‘Bloody ’ell, Johnny, you don’t stop, do yer?’ Danny exclaimed as he picked up the empty glasses and walked over to the bar.

  When he returned Johnny was ready with a suggestion. ‘’Ere, if yer wanna place ter take ’er, yer can use my drum. I’m goin’ up town ternight ter celebrate me good fortune. I won’t be’ome–if yer know what I mean.’

  Danny sat down and sipped his pint thoughtfully. There would be little time before Alison caught her train to Cardiff but then it might be some time before he could see her again. Trouble was, if he accepted Johnny’s offer, everyone in the pub would know within a day or two. But it wouldn’t hurt to take the key, just in case. ‘Okay,’ he said at last.

  ‘Okay what?’ Johnny said absently, fixing Eddie’s barmaid with a malevolent stare.

  ‘Okay, I’ll borrer yer key,’ Danny said.

  Johnny fished into his coat pocket and pulled out a key on a length of string. ‘There we are. The only fing is, don’t go blamin’ me if yer put ’er in the pudden club.’

  Danny finished his drink then glared at Johnny. ‘I ain’t cut out ter be a daddy. What do I do wiv the key when I’m finished wiv it?’

  ‘Leave it wiv Ginny Coombes. yer can spin ’er a yarn, she don’t ’ave ter know what yer borrered it for. I can call in fer it termorrer.’

  ‘I won’t tell ’er if you don’t,’ Danny mocked as he stood up to leave.

  Johnny gripped his pal’s arm. ‘You sure it’s a nurse yer takin’ out, an’ not Kathy Thompson?’

  Danny looked down at his friend with a murderous stare. ‘Yer gonna get yerself in a lot o’ trouble wiv that tongue o’ your’n. No it’s not Kathy Thompson. She’s not my concern since she shacked up wiv Jack Mason.’

  ‘Sorry, Danny,’ Johnny said. ‘Water under the ole bridge, eh? By the way, she was in ’ere fer a spell last night.’

  ‘Wiv ’im?’

  ‘Yeah, but they went out early. I was in the piss ’ole an’ I’eard ’em naggin’ each uvver as they went by the winder.’

  Danny walked to the door. ‘See yer aroun’, Johnny, an’ fanks fer the you know what.’

  Joe Copeland was not the only member of the Sutton famil
y who missed work that Monday morning. Connie had opened the paper and seen the heading: ‘Destroyer sunk’. Her heart pounded as she read on. ‘The Destroyer Prowler (Lt Cmdr W. Bass) has been sunk by a torpedo in the North Atlantic, it was announced by the Admiralty last night. There are reports of some survivors. The Prowler was launched at Greenock in 1935 and carried a complement of 145 officers and men. She had a speed of 36 knots and was armed with . . .’ Connie could read no more. Her eyes were swimming and she dropped her head onto the table. Almost immediately there was a knock on the door and sounds of someone in distress.

  Alice Sutton came into the parlour looking white and shaken. ‘Connie, luv, it’s Missus Ellis. She’s ’ad a telegram. It’s Jimmy.’

  The plump figure of Mrs Ellis followed Alice into the room. Her eyes were red from crying and her face was ashen. In her shaking hand she clenched a plain, buff–coloured envelope. Alice led her to a chair and Mrs Ellis sat down heavily. ‘It came late last night. I couldn’t come roun’ before, I was too upset.’

  Connie bit on her knuckles. ‘What does it say? Is Jimmy—?’

  Mrs Ellis held out the telegram. ‘You read it, Connie.’

  The young girl took out the buff slip with shaking hands and read it quickly. ‘It only says about ’is ship bein’ sunk an’ they’ll keep yer informed when there’s more news. I’ve jus’ read that much in the paper,’ she blurted out.

  Mrs Ellis dropped her head and sobbed. Connie got up and went over to her. She knelt down and clasped the distressed woman’s hand in hers. ‘Listen, Missus Ellis, Jimmy’s gonna be okay, I know ’e is. We’ve jus’ gotta wait.’