A Child's Voice Calling (17 page)

While Mabel bade a loving farewell to the Babies Mission, Alice’s school-leaving day found her unexpectedly tearful as she closed her desk at Hallam
Road school for the last time. One day she was a reluctant pupil living for the day when she would earn her living in the grown-up world, the next she was a hesitant fourteen-year-old looking for a job. With the general atmosphere of unrest almost palpable in the heatwave, Annie Court would not hear of Alice going further than walking distance to work, so she had to be content to assist at the sub-post office in Queen’s Road. Here she was not even allowed to touch the stamps, but only to serve sweets and newspapers under the eagle eye of Miss Chatt the sub-postmistress.

‘The silly old bag thinks the place would fall down if she wasn’t watching everybody through her pince-nez,’ Alice told her mother and sisters. ‘She’s taken a dislike to me already because Mr Munday smiles at me and says I look nice and cool in all this heat. It’s ’cause I wear short sleeves, like any sensible person.’

‘Well, don’t encourage the man, whatever you do.’ Annie was immediately on the alert. ‘Ought to be ashamed o’ himself, a married man making personal remarks to a girl no more than a child.’

‘Oh, he doesn’t mean anything by it, Mum. It’s just his way o’ making me feel at home in his poky little shop – and maybe to annoy Miss Chatt as well,’ answered Alice in a bored tone. ‘You should see the way she goes all coy and giggly when he comes out o’ his office. “Would you like a nice cup o’ tea, Mr Munday?” Never offers
me
one.’

‘I’m surprised she doesn’t expect yer to brew up for them both,’ said Mabel, a little amused.

‘Oh, no! No hand but hers must touch the special teapot she keeps for Mr Munday! She has a little kettle and a spirit lamp in a cubbyhole at the back, with a tin of McVitie’s biscuits, just for him an’ her.’

Annie clucked her tongue in disapproval, though whether at Miss Chatt’s foolish behaviour or Alice’s bold comments on it was not clear. Mabel knew that her young sister was already disillusioned with her job, though she earned eight shillings a week, as much as Mabel had been getting after three years of carefully attending to the young children at the Mission.

‘D’yer realise that the miners are askin’ for five miserable pence a shift?’ Albert demanded in disgust. ‘Men wiv families to feed, scared o’ seein’ ’em out on the streets to starve – an’
she
gets eight bob for standing be’ind a counter all day. It’s a bleedin’ scandal!’

As usual it was left to Mabel to keep the peace as best she could.

Meanwhile she had begun a new phase in her own life and although she’d felt nervous on her first day at the Anti-Viv, as the hospital was locally known, she very quickly settled in and showed herself to be the willing worker that Miss Carter had recommended. She was not at first allowed on the wards, but swept and dusted the doctors’ quarters, scoured pots and pans in the kitchen and sorted the laundry, some of which was foully stained and had to be sluiced by hand under cold running water. Knowing herself to be on trial, she tackled all these tasks with a will and earned the housekeeper’s approving nods; but she also got surly looks and sarcastic mutters from a certain Dot Watson, the girl who shared her shift and was supposed to show her the methods of working, where things were kept and so on. Mabel got given the worst jobs and set about them without complaining, which infuriated Dot all the more. She was one
of those unfortunate young women with plain looks and a grudge against the world; she had a natural suspicion of anyone who worked with cheerful good humour. It made her feel somehow inferior and she disliked Mabel so much so that she looked out for an opportunity to get her into some sort of trouble.

Still the heatwave persisted, with record high temperatures. Children died of dehydration, and men and women collapsed in the streets with heat exhaustion. All the windows of the Anti-Viv were opened to their fullest extent to let in a breath of air.

It was in this situation, one week into August, that Albert’s dire warnings of a workers’ revolt exploded into reality. The country woke up to find that a national strike of transport workers had brought London and other major industrial centres like Manchester, Liverpool and Birmingham to a standstill. Public incredulity and indignation were soon followed by widespread panic as the consequences became apparent. The city markets stood idle while on the wharves tons of accumulated fruit and vegetables rotted in the sweltering heat. The great railway terminals were eerily silent as passengers waited on platforms for trains that had ceased to run. Mailbags piled up, full of undelivered letters; food stocks began to run out in shops and the streets emptied as motor-buses and private vehicles felt the shortage of fuel.

Albert was jubilant. ‘They asked for it an’ by Gawd they bloody well got it, a complete stoppage!’ His dark eyes flashed in triumph. ‘We got ’em where we want ’em at last!’ He was out of the house from dawn till dusk, cheering Ben Tillett who publicly addressed the strikers at Tower Hill, exhorting them
to stand firm. And when the Home Secretary Mr Churchill cancelled police leave and called out armed troops to deal with public assemblies of strikers Albert was scornful. ‘’E’ll ’ave to fink again when ’e finds ’alf the military on our side! The territorials won’t touch us, they’re all in sympafy wiv our ideals!’

Late that night, tired of the tension within the family and irritated by the inconvenience caused by the strike, Jack Court rounded angrily on his son. ‘Ye’ll bring us all to disgrace, Albert, to say nothin’ o’ worryin’ yer mother to death.’

‘Oho, look ’oo’s talkin’,’ sneered Albert. ‘A model ’usband an’ farver ’oo never caused me muvver any trouble. Not much!’

Jack evaded the mocking black eyes so like his own and attempted a more conciliatory approach, glancing sideways at Mabel in an effort to enlist her support. ‘Look, Albert, it isn’t that I disagree with the principles o’ the Labour movement; in fact, I go along with a lot o’ what they stand for. It’s just that I wish ye’d remember for yer mother’s sake if for nobody else’s that this is a respectable household, and—’

Albert’s raucous yelp cut him short. ‘Is
that
wot it is? Well, blow me dahn, and there was me finkin’ it was a bookmaker’s ’ideout! Remember ’ow yer used to send me and the lads out runnin’ for yer? ‘Ow we gave the coppers the slip, comin’ rahnd the backyards wiv the bets?’

Jack flushed. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Albert, what do I have to say to show I
care
about yer?’

‘Save yer breaf,’ came the bitter reply. ‘Save yer sweet talk, Jack Court, for yer fancy women!’

‘
Albert
!’ gasped Mabel, instinctively putting a
finger to her lips, though Annie had gone to bed. Caught off guard, Jack stared blankly and had no reply to make. Something unsayable had been said out loud and Mabel felt bound to rebuke her brother. ‘Don’t yer ever
dare
let Mum hear yer say anythin’ like that, Albert. Not ever, d’ye hear?’

Albert glared and seemed about to speak again but glanced at Mabel and for her sake turned on his heel and clumped off upstairs to bed. Jack gave his daughter a brief, conspiratorial nod, which she did not acknowledge, nor did she say another word, but followed Albert upstairs.

It had been a very long, very hot day and Mabel felt as if she were sitting on a box of tinder that only needed one match to send it up in flames. And she blamed her father for it, far more than she blamed her hot-tempered brother.

The government itself was divided over the crisis. While Churchill condemned the strikers for endangering the nation’s industries and bringing the population to the verge of famine, as he said, the Labour MP Keir Hardie spoke up for them to mixed cheers and boos. When he joined a strike meeting alongside Ben Tillett at Tower Hill, the angry altercations with the forces of law and order turned to fisticuffs and fights escalated into riots. The police used truncheons, resulting in some broken skulls, and a number of arrests were made.

Harry Drover, unable to work, spent his time helping at an emergency Salvation Army shelter for strikers’ families, while keeping out of the political arguments. Late in the evening of the day of the Tower Hill riots he called at Sorrel Street to enquire about
Albert, but also to satisfy his longing for a sight of the girl he loved. He always said later that the Lord had directed him, because he landed in the middle of a family crisis. Albert had not come home from Tower Hill and Annie was frantic with worry.

‘I can just picture him lying injured somewhere, trampled underfoot, bleeding to death under a railway arch,’ she sobbed, while Jack tried to reassure her, thinking it more likely that Albert would be cooling his heels in a police cell.

Mabel raised weary eyes to Harry, melting his heart. ‘I’ll have to go and make some enquiries, Harry. None of us’ll get any sleep tonight else.’ She had worked all day and looked worn out, but anxiety for her brother overrode everything.

‘Then I’ll come with yer,’ he replied at once.

‘Oh,
will
yer, Harry? God bless yer!’ she said thankfully and when Jack made a token offer to accompany them it was quickly declined by Harry, who said that Mr Court would be better staying at home to comfort his wife.

‘My uniform’ll take me where others might not be allowed,’ he reminded them, thankful that he was wearing his bandsman’s jacket and cap with the letters SA prominently displayed.

‘For God’s sake be careful, Mabel,’ begged her mother, though with Harry’s arm through hers, Mabel had no fears for her safety.

On foot – for there were no buses – Mabel and Harry set out on the long walk into the city, over the river and eastwards to Tower Hill. They found it practically deserted after the violent scenes that had taken place only a few hours earlier.

A solitary policeman told Harry where casualties of the riot might be found. ‘There’s a lot of ’em in
custody for the night,’ he said, adding that some half-dozen young fellows, hardly more than boys, had been taken to St Katharine’s Infirmary, a one-time notorious workhouse on the edge of the docks. ‘Some of ’em got knocked about when the troops charged, but they’d no business bein’ there. Anyway, yer could ask, though if they’re under guard yer won’t get to see ’em.’

By now it was midnight and Mabel felt ready to drop, but she begged Harry to take her to the Infirmary. ‘If he’s in a police cell, he’ll at least be safe, but if he’s injured I
must
see him, Harry.’

‘Whatever yer say, Mabel, but if he’s not there I’m takin’ yer home. There’re still a few hansoms around.’

Holding his arm and half leaning her head on his shoulder, she let him lead her towards the grim old building that stood overlooking the disreputable Highway.

‘We can’t take no more in, we’re overfull already,’ said the hump-backed night porter who answered Harry’s ringing of the bell pull.

On hearing that they were not seeking admission but looking for the young lady’s brother, he grudgingly let them into the dimly lit entrance hall and fetched a sharp-faced woman in grey, who eyed them up and down and asked what they wanted. With an impatient clucking of her tongue she opened the Admissions Book and there, halfway down the list for the day, was the name of Albert Edward Court.

Mabel closed her eyes and put her hands together in thankfulness. ‘Oh, thank God! Let me see him, let me see him, please!’ she begged. ‘I must know how badly he’s hurt.’

‘’E’s under guard, along o’ some other young ruffians, so it’ll be up to the doctor whether yer see ’im or no,’ said the woman ungraciously, adding to the porter, ‘Ye’d better take ’em down.’

He led them along an echoing corridor to a ramshackle emergency ward where about fifteen injured men lay on pallets in the clothes they had worn on admission. Some were sleeping, some groaned as they lay, there were no nurses about and an aproned doctor was bandaging the leg of one of them, speaking quietly as he worked. Mabel caught her breath at the smell of blood, the sounds of pain – as always, she was moved by the sight of suffering.

The tired-looking doctor glanced up as they entered. ‘Yes? Who let you in?’

‘She sent ’em dahn from the front,’ wheezed the porter.

Harry approached the doctor. ‘My name’s Drover and this lady is Miss Court who’s lookin’ for her brother Albert Court,’ he explained civilly. ‘We’ve been told that he’s in here.’

The doctor noted his brass-buttoned jacket and the SA badge on his cap, and answered in a sympathetic manner. ‘From Tower Hill? That’s him over there. I must tell you that these men are all in police custody and I’m on duty as guard as well as doctor.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Not much comfort here, I’m afraid, it’s a converted storeroom, but—’

Mabel, however, had found her brother and was kneeling on the bare stone floor beside him. ‘Albert! Oh, Albert, it’s Mabel. What on earth’ve they done to yer?’

He turned his head quickly at the sound of her voice and winced involuntarily. His face was bruised and swollen, his left eye closed. His clothes were
filthy and streaked with blood and he had not even got a pillow. ‘Mabel—’ The swagger had completely left Albert, and he began to whimper like a lost and frightened child. ‘They walloped me round the ’ead, Mabel, and knocked poor ol’ Sam Mackintosh unconscious, I fought ’e was dead – some of ’em ran away, but I stayed wiv Sam an’ got beaten. I don’t know where ’e is – oh, Mabel, take me ’ome – take me ’ome!’

She gently took his bloodied, bandaged head on to her lap. ‘There, my poor boy, don’t cry, Mabel’s here,’ she murmured, though her own tears were flowing. ‘It’s all right now, Albert, dear, we’ve come to take yer home.’

Harry came over and also got down on his knees beside the boy. ‘How’s it goin’, ol’ chap?’

‘Is that ‘Arry? ’Ave yer come to take me ’ome an’ all?’

‘Yes, we’re both here, don’t worry,’ said Mabel soothingly.

The doctor was now standing above them. ‘As I said, these men are in police custody and due to appear before the magistrates in the morning, if they’re able,’ he said. ‘Your brother has a possible fractured skull, Miss Court, and extensive bruising. He needs to be kept under observation.’