Gaslight in Page Street (28 page)

Geoffrey winced. ‘Did you argue with the old man?’

William raised his eyebrows. ‘I tried ter talk ’im out of it but ’e’s the guv’nor. ’E wouldn’t be shifted. All I know is we’ll be in trouble wiv the union if those two are put off, Geoff. It’ll mean us bein’ blacklisted at the docks. If our carmen get sent away, there’s always ovver firms ter pick up the contracts.’

Geoffrey fidgeted with his tie. ‘Would you let the men join the union if it was left to you?’

William nodded. ‘Most o’ the cartage firms around Bermondsey are unionised now. In time any non-union firm is gonna find it difficult ter get contracts. I’ve tried ter tell yer farvver that we’ll be left wiv next ter nuffink unless ’e changes ’is mind, but ’e’s determined ter go on as usual. ’E’ll never change, unless it’s forced on ’im.’

Geoffrey sighed heavily. ‘I don’t know what to suggest. The old man won’t listen to me. I’ve wanted to bring a couple of lorries in as you know but he won’t even consider the idea. I’ve been after him to get another yard too but he won’t budge. I thought Frank would be able to persuade him otherwise but he couldn’t make him see the sense in it.’

William had his own reservations about the firm becoming mechanised but he refrained from making any comment, merely shrugging his shoulders instead. It seemed to him that it would only be a matter of time before all horses were replaced by lorries, and he thought with foreboding about his own future. Working with horses had been his life ever since he had started work at fourteen. He had been with Galloway for over twenty-eight years now and it would count for nothing if all the horses went.

‘It shouldn’t make any difference to you if we do get motor vans in, Will,’ Geoffrey said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘There’ll always be a place here for you. It’ll just mean adapting to a new way of working.’

William realised that his anxiety must be obvious and hid his fears behind a smile. ‘I’d better get back ter work.’

It was almost noon when Sharkey and Soapy drove their carts into the yard. ‘We’ve bin sent back,’ Soapy told the yard foreman. ‘We got turned away at the dock gates an’ the firm told us ter report back ’ere.’

William scratched his head in agitation. ‘Couldn’t yer go in the gates?’ he asked.

Sharkey looked pained. ‘I ain’t crossin’ no picket lines,’ he asserted. ‘It’s all right fer that guv’nor at the rum firm ter talk. It’s us what’s gonna get set about.’

Soapy nodded his agreement. ‘There was only a couple o’ coppers outside the gates an’ there was fousands o’ dockers. We’d ’ave got slaughtered if we’d tried ter go in.’

William pulled the two carmen to one side. ‘I was told ter sack the pair of yer if yer got sent back,’ he said solemnly.

‘Sack us!’ Sharkey gasped, his ruddy face growing even more flushed. ‘After all these years? I can’t believe it.’

‘I can,’ Soapy jumped in, fixing William with his bleary eyes. ‘Look at ’ow the ole bastard sacked the Blackwell bruvvers over that union business. Well, I ain’t takin’ it lyin’ down. I’m gonna go along ter Tooley Street an’ see the union blokes. I’ll get it stopped, you see if I don’t.’

‘What can they do?’ Sharkey grumbled. ‘It ain’t as though we was in the union ourselves.’

‘They can make it awkward, that’s what they can do,’ Soapy answered. ‘That’s why the likes of ’Atcher an’ Morgan let the union in. They ’ad the sense ter see what could ’appen. Trouble wiv Galloway is, ’e can’t see no furvver than ’is poxy nose. Well, I ’ope the union does somefink about it. I’m gonna see ’em anyway.’

William held his hands up. ‘Look, I’ll ’ave anuvver word wiv the ole man,’ he said quickly. ‘Not that it’ll do much good, but at least I’ll try. You two wait ’ere.’

George had been talking on the phone. When William walked into the office, he slammed the receiver down on to its hook. ‘That was the rum firm on the line,’ he growled. ‘They wasn’t too ’appy, as yer might expect. Did yer tell those two lazy gits they’re sacked?’

‘That’s what I wanted ter see yer about, George,’ the foreman said, closing the door behind him. ‘The union are not gonna let this trouble go away wivout tryin’ ter do somefing about it.’

‘Oh, an’ what can they do?’ George asked.

‘If yer’d jus’ listen fer a second yer’d realise there’s a lot they can do,’ William replied, feeling his anger rising. ‘Fer a start yer won’t get any more dock work. They’ll see ter that. Yer won’t get contracts from unionised firms neivver, an’ yer gonna be left wiv all the work no ovver firm would entertain. All right, yer’d keep the fellmongers’ contracts but who’d be ’appy doin’ that sort o’ work, apart from yer two new carmen? Let’s face it, George, who’d cart those stinkin’ skins fer you when they could get more money doin’ the same job fer Morgan? If yer ask me I reckon yer bein’ unreasonable askin’ Sharkey and Soapy ter cross picket lines.’

‘Oh, yer do, do yer?’ George exclaimed sarcastically, his heavy-lidded eyes brightening with anger as he glared at William. ‘What should I do? Pat ’em on the back an’ tell ’em it was all right? It’s a pity yer can’t see my side o’ fings fer a change. I’d expect yer ter show me a bit o’ loyalty after all the years we’ve known each ovver. Yer paid ter run the yard, not ter be a nursemaid ter those lazy bastards o’ mine.’

William felt his fists clenching and he drew in a deep breath in an effort to control his anger. ‘I fink that’s jus’ what Sharkey an’ Soapy might ’ave expected from you,’ he replied quickly. ‘They’d ’ave liked you ter show ’em a bit o’ loyalty. As fer me, I run this yard the way I see fit. Yer ’orses are in good condition an’ the carts are kept on the road. What’s more, I keep the peace as best I can. If yer don’t like the way I work, I suggest yer get yerself anuvver yard foreman.’

For a few moments the two glared at each other, then George slumped back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Sometimes yer puzzle me, Will,’ he said with a slight dismissive shake of his head. ‘Yer willin’ ter put yer job at risk fer a couple o’ pissy carmen. It was the same when I was gonna sack Jack Oxford. Sometimes I wonder jus’ where yer loyalties lie. All right, s’posin’ I reconsider an’ let yer change the work round - what would yer fink?’

‘What d’yer mean?’ William queried.

George leaned forward in his chair. ‘Well, would yer fink yer could barter yer job against any future decisions I might make which you don’t like? I tell yer now, if that’s the case yer’d better fink again. I won’t be ’eld ter ransom by you or anybody else. I make the decisions ’ere, jus’ remember that. This time, though, I’ll let yer ’ave yer way - but jus’ fink on what I’ve said. Now yer’d better go out an’ give them dopey pair the good news before I change me mind.’

Chapter Sixteen

Nellie Tanner was sitting having a chat with her friends from the street. ‘It’s bin a funny ole twelvemonth when yer come ter fink of it,’ she remarked. It seemed to her that the year had been fraught with trouble of one sort or another, and she was eager to see the back of it. ‘There was that trouble at Carrie’s firm an’ I felt sure she’d lost ’er job. It was touch an’ go fer a while but fank Gawd it all worked out right in the end.’

Florrie Axford eased her lean frame back in the armchair and reached into her apron for her snuff. ‘Yeah, it’s not bin a very nice year one way an’ anuvver. There was King Edward dyin’ in May, an’ all that short-time in the factories, then there was that comet flyin’ over. That was May, wasn’t it?’

Maisie Dougall put her hand to her cheek. ‘Don’t talk ter me about that comet,’ she said. ‘Maudie Mycroft drove me mad over that. She come inter my place worried out of ’er life, yer know ’ow she gets. Apparently ’er ole man frightened ’er by what ’e said. ’E told ’er that if it went off course and come down on us, that’d be the end o’ the world. Mind, though, Maudie’s as nervous as a kitten, she takes everyfing fer gospel. She was really upset when she come inter me. She said they was ’avin’ prayers about it at the muvvers’ meetin’.’

Florrie took a pinch of snuff from her tiny silver box and laid it on the back of her hand. ‘That’s the way the world’s gonna end, accordin’ ter the Bible,’ she said, putting her hand up to her nostrils and sniffing. ‘I remember readin’ somewhere in the Old Testament that the end of the world’ll come like a thief in the night.’

Nellie took the large iron kettle from the hob and filled the teapot. ‘I used ter read the Bible ter me muvver when I was a kid,’ she said, slowly stirring the tea-leaves. ‘I ’ad ter read a passage from it every night. She was very religious was my muvver. We used ter say grace before every meal an’ she wouldn’t allow no swearin’ in the ’ouse, not from us anyway. She used ter let fly though, when me farvver come in drunk. She was a country lady, yer see, an’ they say country people are very religious.’

Aggie Temple had been listening quietly to the conversation. She looked at Nellie. ‘Royalty’s s’posed ter be very religious,’ she remarked. ‘King Edward was by all accounts, an’ so’s the new King George. It ses in the paper they all go ter church every Sunday.’

‘That don’t make ’em religious,’ Florrie cut in. ‘They ’ave ter keep up appearances. Look at Sadie Sullivan. Every Sunday yer see ’er walkin’ down the turnin’ wiv ’er ole man an’ the seven boys on their way ter Mass. She does ’er ’Ail Marys - an’ then if anybody upsets ’er durin’ the week, she’ll clout ’em soon as wink.’

‘She’s quietened down a lot lately though,’ Nellie replied. ‘I fink that magistrate frightened ’er. ’E said the next time she goes in front of ’im, ’e’s gonna send ’er down.’

Maisie nodded. ‘Yer don’t see ’er boys fightin’ in the street the way they used to, do yer? They’re all growin’ up fast. Look at that Billy Sullivan. What a smart young fella ’e’s turned out ter be. ’E’s a boxer now, an’ doin’ very well, by all accounts. Is your Carrie still sweet on ’im, Nellie?’ she asked.

Nellie shook her head. ‘She only went out wiv ’im once. Nuffink come of it though. Mind you, I can’t say as I was sorry. I wouldn’t like my Carrie ter marry a boxer.’

When Nellie had filled the cups and passed them round, Aggie stirred her tea thoughtfully. ‘It’s gonna be anuvver bad year,’ she announced suddenly.

The women looked at her and Florrie laughed. ‘Don’t yer believe it! It’s gonna be a lot better than this year, Aggie, jus’ wait an’ see,’ she said with conviction.

Aggie shook her head. ‘I always get
Old Moore’s Almanac
every year, an’ it said in there that next year’s gonna be a bad one. It’s nearly always right.’

Nellie sat down and brushed the front of her long skirt. ‘’Ave yer seen that paper they shove frew the door every month?
Lamplight
it’s called. It’s always sayin’ the end o’ the world is nigh.’

Maisie shifted position in her chair and folded her arms over her plump figure. ‘Bleedin’ Job’s witness that is,’ she said quickly.

‘Don’t yer mean Job’s comforter?’ Florrie laughed.

Maisie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Yer know what I mean. If yer take notice o’ fings like that yer’d drive yerself inter an early grave. You take ole Mrs Brody who used ter live in Bacon Street. She was terrified o’ them sort o’ fings. I remember once when there was an eclipse an’ the sun was blacked out. Middle o’ the day it was. Anyway, she was convinced that it was the end o’ the world. She got right down on ’er ’ands an’ knees outside ’er front door an’ prayed. Bloody sight it was. There was ’er on ’er knees an’ ’er ole man staggerin’ up the street, pissed as a pudden. Singin’ at the top of ’is voice ’e was. Mind yer, ole Mrs Brody frightened the life out of ’alf the turnin’. Mrs Kelly was cryin’ an’ ole Granny Perry was standin’ by ’er front door wiv ’er shawl over ’er ’ead. All the kids run indoors, scared, an’ there was Mrs Brody’s ole man tryin’ ter lift ’er up. “Get up, yer scatty ole cow,” ’e said to ’er. “Who yer callin’ a scatty ole cow?” she shouted. Wiv that she jumps up an’ clouts ’im. ’E clouted ’er back, an’ before yer knew it they was ’avin’ a right ole bull an’ cow. By that time the sun was out again an’ everybody was at their doors watchin’. Gawd, I never laughed so much in all me life.’

When the laughter died down, Florrie raised her hand. ‘’Ere, talkin’ about that, what about my ole man?’ she began. ‘The first one, I mean. ’E was a violent git. Well, one night ’e come ’ome from work pissed out of ’is mind. ’E used ter work at the brewery an’ ’e was never sober, but this particular night ’e could ’ardly stand. ’E comes in an’ flops down at the table. “Where’s me so-an’-so tea?” ’e shouts out. I was in the scullery tryin’ ter keep ’is meal ’ot an’ I ses ter meself, “Florrie, yer in fer a pastin’ ternight.” Tell yer the trufe, I was terrified of ’im. ’E’d bin givin’ me a bad time an’ I knew I couldn’t stand anymore. Anyway, I looks around an’ I spots this rat poison I’d put down by the back door. “Right, yer bastard,” I ses ter meself. “I’m gonna do fer yer ternight.” I sticks a bit o’ this rat poison in the meat pudden I’d made an’ I gives ’im a sweet smile as I puts it down in front of ’im. ’E was lookin’ a bit grey then an’ I thought ter meself, Wait till yer eat the pie. All of a sudden ’e grabs at ’is stomach an’ doubles up over the table. ’E was groanin’ an’ floppin’ about in agony. Anyway, I got scared an’ I run fer ole Doctor Kelly. Ter cut a long story short they rushed ’im away ter Guy’s. Peritonitis it was. ’E was dead the next day. Gawd! Wasn’t I glad ’e didn’t touch that meal. It jus’ shows yer ’ow desperate yer can get at times. Yer does fings wivout finkin’.’

The teacups had been refilled and the four friends sat together talking late into the afternoon. They discussed the weather, the coming festive season, children, and leaving the worst topic till last, the recent rent rise.