Gaslight in Page Street (24 page)

‘No, Billy! No!’ she cried, feeling as though the day had suddenly been spoiled.

He ignored her protestations as his lips sought her neck. His broad chest pressed against her and she felt helpless in his firm hold on her. He was breathing heavily now. ‘Let me love yer, Carrie,’ he gasped. ‘Let me make love ter yer.’

She had become confused and frightened by his excitement and her whole body was shaking. It was wrong, she told herself. She had let him go on for too long and now he was holding her so tightly that it hurt. With a gasp, she finally managed to push him away. He sagged against the wall watching her warily.

Carrie pulled at her dress and reached behind her for her bonnet which was hanging from her neck on its pink ribbon. ‘Yer took advantage of me, Billy!’ she said angrily. ‘Yer tried ter make love ter me.’

He gave a grin as he moved away from the wall and straightened himself. ‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t ’elp it. Yer really are very pretty, Carrie,’ he said smoothly.

‘We’d better get on ’ome,’ she replied, feeling that the magic of the day had now gone.

They walked out from the narrow cobbled lane into Dockhead and along to Jamaica Road. They were both quiet, and when Billy glanced at her occasionally she returned his looks with a hardness in her eyes. It had been so nice in the park, she thought regretfully. They had talked freely of their hopes and aspirations, and it had felt so romantic when they sat together in the flower garden. It was her fault, she told herself. She should never have let him kiss her like that. Now he must be feeling cheated and angry inside at not being able to go further. Well, she was angry too. He had led her on and taken advantage of her naivety, and if she had not stopped him . . . He had tried to seduce her on their first time out together without considering her feelings and she was angry at his heedlessness. Mary at the factory had warned her of the way in which young men treated their lady friends. She knew that deep down she had wanted him to go on, to hold her and caress her body, but he had seemed to care only about his own passion and almost forgotten about her. She realised he would be angry now and would not feel like asking her to walk out with him any more. Well, she didn’t care, she told herself. One day she would give herself fully to a man, when she was ready to receive love and when it was the right time for her.

As the two walked back into Page Street, Carrie could see her mother standing at the front door. Florrie Axford was sitting in a rickety chair by her door talking to Maisie and Aggie. Billy’s mother Sadie was standing on the doorstep of her house, idly watching children playing hopscotch, and another group of women were chatting together on the bend of the turning. Billy had said nothing on the way back to the street and when they reached his house his younger brothers ran up to him. He gave Carrie a shrug of his shoulders and walked off down the turning.

As the summer light faded and darkness settled over the quiet square, Nora Flynn hummed contentedly. The evening meal had been a happy affair with the boys laughing and joking together and Josephine managing to capture her father’s interest for a while. Nora was happy that George seemed to be taking more notice of his only daughter now. It was hard for the child to grow up without a real mother, she thought, though she herself had tried to give Josephine love and protect her from certain things. The girl was thirteen now and growing up very pretty. Unlike her older brothers who were dark and favoured their father, Josephine had her mother’s fair hair and deep blue eyes. She had her mother’s good nature too, and seemed popular with the other young girls who lived in the immediate neighbourhood.

Nora had been careful in her new relationship with the girl’s father. She had not wanted it to be known that George was sleeping in her bed but the two young men of the house had realised some time ago and were happy for her, since they had grown to love her almost as much as their own mother. Josephine, on the other hand, was still very much a child and Nora had insisted to George that she must not be made aware of their liaison. Now, as she tidied up the dining room and folded the embroidered tablecloth, Nora could hear George talking to his sons in the front room. She took one more look about her before going upstairs to her embroidery.

In the large front room the heavy curtains had been drawn and the gaslamp turned high. George Galloway sat back in his armchair with a glass of Scotch at his elbow and a lighted cigar in his hand. He was much heavier in build than his two sons, having put on quite a lot of weight over the years, and he had re-grown his moustache which tended to make him look older than his fifty-three years. His face was heavy-jowled and flushed with the whisky and his dark eyes seemed to be half-closed as he eyed his sons. Facing him, Geoffrey sat back in his comfortable chair and idly twirled the contents of his glass as he listened to his father. Next to him sat his younger brother Frank, dressed for his evening out. There was a remarkable likeness between the boys who could have been mistaken for twins. Both had dark, wavy hair, although Frank was the heavier by almost a stone. Their eyes were dark and deep-set, their features clean and fine-cut.

‘I’m aware we’ve gotta be lookin’ ter the future,’ George said, puffing on his cigar. ‘What I don’t accept though is that ’orses are finished. Take the army, fer instance. They’re gettin’ motor lorries but their ’orses are still crucial, although they don’t get ’em from me now,’ he added ruefully. ‘I know that ’Atcher’s an’ some o’ the ovver carters ’ave got motor vans but they’re bigger concerns than us. Besides, where’re we gonna keep the vans if we get a couple? There’s no room in the yard an’ the turnin’s too narrer. Christ, I’d be ’avin’ anuvver demonstration on me ’ands if I brought motor vans in the turnin’.’

Geoffrey prodded the sheaf of papers on his lap. ‘That’s what I mean about getting another yard,’ he said. ‘There’s a list here of possible sites and they’re all going reasonably cheap. In a year or two prices are going to climb, what with all the space needed. Now’s the time to buy or lease some land, while there’s a slump. We could still run the yard at Page Street for a couple of years, then we could sell out at a nice profit. I agree with you that the yard’s too small for our future needs, that’s why I’m suggesting we get another site now.’

‘Geoffrey’s right, Father,’ Frank cut in. ‘The slump won’t last more than a year or two and then there’s going to be a rush for business. It seems to me that you can’t afford to wait much longer.’

George puffed nervously on his cigar. ‘What yer sayin’ is that we go over ter motors an’ get rid of all the ’orses?’

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘Not for a couple of years. We could pick up the longer-distance cartage with two motors and still see out the existing contracts. But if we don’t move, we’re going to get left behind. That’s a stone certainty, the way I see it,’ he concluded, leaning back in his chair.

George took the bottle of Scotch from the table at his elbow and replenished his glass. Geoffrey refused the offer of a refill but Frank took the proffered bottle and poured himself a large measure. For a while George was silent as he sipped his drink.

‘’Ave you two considered the ovver side o’ the coin?’ he asked suddenly. Their blank stares prompted him to go on. ‘Take the firms what’s goin’ over ter motor transport. They’ll be chasin’ after the distance work ’cos that’s where they’re gonna make their money. But motors are no good round the dock lanes an’ they’re bloody unreliable as well, by all accounts. Yer need ter remember also that yer gotta pay the van drivers more money ter drive the noisy fings. ’Orses are reliable. If yer feed and care for ’em, they’ll work till they drop, an’ never complain. Take my word fer it, there’s gonna be some good contracts comin’ up fer ’orse transport durin’ the next few years, I wanna be in from the off wiv my bids, an’ when some o’ the motor firms go out o’ business
that’ll
be the time ter step in wiv an offer, fer the business and the land. In the meantime we’ll carry on the way we’ve bin goin’. All right?’

His two sons nodded, each knowing that their father had made up his mind and there would be no shifting him. Frank got up and stretched in a leisurely fashion.

‘Well, I’d better be off,’ he said with a grin. ‘I’m joining a party and we’re going to a first night. As I said before, Geoff, you’re welcome to tag along. Who knows? You might meet some sweet young thing.’

Geoffrey declined the offer with a smile and a shake of his head. ‘I’ve got other plans tonight,’ he said casually.

On Sunday morning Page Street was up and about, and at nine o’clock William Tanner went into the stable yard and harnessed one of the Welsh cobs. At nine-thirty a sleepy-eyed Soapy Symonds trudged into the turning to the ribald comments of the women and drove an open cart out of the yard.

Florrie Axford was organising the women and she had something to say to Soapy as he sat up in the seat with the reins slack in his hands. ‘Oi! ’Ow we gonna get up there?’

Soapy was recovering slowly from his Saturday night at the Kings Arms. ‘Jump up. That’s what I ’ad ter do,’ he grumbled, miserable at having allowed himself to be talked into driving the women on their outing.

Florrie gave him a vile look and hurried into her house to get a chair. Soapy sat motionless while Florrie and Nellie Tanner did the roll-call.

‘There’s only fifteen. Who’s missin’?’ Florrie asked.

Aggie Temple came hurrying along the turning. ‘Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find me bonnet,’ she puffed.

Finally the women were all in position, sitting along both sides of the cart on two benches they had borrowed from the church hall. They were all wearing flowered bonnets, with the exception of Sadie Sullivan who had on an emerald green Bo Beep hat. Getting into the cart had been difficult for the revellers as they were all wearing long cotton dresses, but they were in good spirits as the cart moved off along the cobbled turning, watched by the male population who waved and joked with them. Soapy Symonds was feeling slightly better after Florrie had given him a swig from a bottle of ale, and he perked up no end when Aggie told him the women were going to pass the hat round on his behalf if he gave them a comfortable ride.

The journey was interrupted first by a water stop for the horse, and then at the roadside for the women to stretch their legs and pop behind the bushes. Soapy had been given his orders by Florrie: ‘Oi, you! No peepin’ or I’ll complain ter Galloway when we get ’ome.’

At last the happy merry-makers arrived at Epping Forest and Soapy turned the cart on to a side road which led directly into the greenery. He jumped down from his high seat, and after he had assisted the women from the back of the cart, Florrie presented him with a pint of ale which he downed almost in one gulp.

White tablecloths were laid out on the grass and the women sat down to their picnic. There was cheese, brawn and boiled bacon, freshly baked bread and margarine, cockles and shrimps, and jellied pork pies. There was ample liquid refreshment too, and as the food was devoured and bottles of ale and stout were attacked the party got under way. One of the women strummed on a banjo and Aggie did her impression of a clog dance. At the side of the path the horse munched on his oats and occasionally turned his head at the noise. Soapy had retired some way from the main group and opened his third bottle of ale, burping loudly as he swallowed large draughts.

It was later in the day when the first mishap occurred. Maggie Jones and Ida Bromsgrove went off to pick blackberries, and when Maggie fell into the brambles and got herself hopelessly entangled her friend ran back to get help. It took some time to release the unfortunate woman but she was unhurt, although her new dress had been ripped in places. It was not long after that when Aggie Temple slipped during one of her more vigorous dancing routines and sprained her ankle. Help was at hand however, and Nellie tore off strips from her petticoat and bound up Aggie’s ankle after first soaking the makeshift bandages in ale.

The day remained fine and warm and the revellers from Page Street wished that it could last forever, but when the sun began to go down the women decided they would have to leave their idyllic surroundings and return to grimy Bermondsey. As they gathered the remains of the food and drink and loaded them on to the cart they realised they were being observed by two elderly women who stood on the path nearby. They were wearing tweeds and smart hats, and each carried a cane hiking stick.

Maisie Dougall was by now feeling merry from the amount of ale she had consumed. She waved over to the women. ‘Fancy a swig, luvs?’ she said in a slurred voice.

‘Good God, I do believe they’re gypsies,’ the younger of the two whispered to her friend.

‘I don’t think so, Pearl,’ the older woman replied. ‘I think they’re factory girls from London. Isn’t it disgusting the way they’re carrying on?’

Pearl sniffed contemptuously as she dabbed at her neatly coiffured hair. ‘They’ve been drinking, Maud. I think it’s absolutely nauseating.’

Maisie had walked over to the outraged women. She held out a quart bottle of stout. ‘’Ere, gels, why don’t yer try a drop? Yer can’t beat a good drop o’ stout,’ she said, blinking in the effort to focus her eyes on them.

‘Take that nasty bottle away this minute, do you hear me?’ the older woman cried.

Maisie looked crestfallen. She turned to Sadie Sullivan who had walked over to see what was going on. ‘They don’t wanna drink, Sadie.’

Sadie’s large face was flushed under her bright green hat and she scowled as she observed the disapproving look on the two hikers’ faces. ‘Well, if yer don’t wanna be sociable, yer better piss orf out of it,’ she said quickly, thrusting out her chin.