Gaslight in Page Street (29 page)

‘Wouldn’t yer fink that ole goat Galloway would ’ave waited till after Christmas ter put the rents up?’ Florrie commented.

‘What does ’e care?’ Aggie said. ‘The bleedin’ roofs are leakin’, the front doors don’t shut prop’ly, then there’s the draughts comin’ in them winders. I fink it’s scand’lous ter charge ten shillin’s a week fer our places.’

Maisie nodded. ‘We’ll ’ave ter nag ’im inter doin’ somefing. Now ’e’s put the rents up we’ve got a right ter complain, not that ’e’ll give a sod about it,’ she groaned.

Nellie felt a little guilty as she listened to her friends’ grievances, and despite herself was slightly relieved when they finally left. The rent increase had not affected her but there was always a nagging doubt at the back of her mind that one day her husband would fall out with George Galloway and they would find themselves out on the street. In that event she would not be able to bring herself to plead on Will’s behalf. She had done it once before and the memory still gave her many sleepless nights.

The new year started cold and damp, and throughout most of January mists drifted in from the river and swirled through the riverside backstreets. Cold and heavy, they blended with the thick yellow smoke from the chimneys and the air became choked with sulphur fumes. There seemed little to be optimistic about in the backstreets as news spread that there would be more short-time working and lay-offs. The docks and wharves were unusually quiet, even allowing for the time of year, and river workers hung about on street corners and outside dock gates, hoping for a day’s work or even the odd half-day.

At Wilson’s leather factory word had spread that short-time working was inevitable, and the factory girls shrugged their shoulders and prepared themselves for the worst. On the last Friday of January a notice was pinned up beside the time clock. It announced that a third of the workforce was to be made redundant. The girls clustered around the clock anxiously scanning the list, and when Carrie saw her name near the bottom she turned away feeling angry and depressed. Jessica’s name was there as well as Freda’s, but Carrie had not caught sight of Mary’s name amongst the thirty or so.

Freda cursed loudly when she spotted her name on the list. ‘I knew we’d be on it,’ she scowled. ‘They’ve ’ad it in fer us ever since they ’ad ter take us back.’

Carrie scanned the list once more. ‘That’s funny,’ she remarked. ‘Mary’s not down ’ere. I wonder why?’

Freda snorted. ‘’Cos they’re crafty, that’s why. We can’t say we’ve all bin victimised now, can we?’ she pointed out.

Jessica had a miserable look on her round face as the three went to their work bench. ‘They didn’t give us much time, did they?’ she moaned. ‘Next Monday we’ll all be linin’ up down the labour exchange. Well, I tell yer now, I’m not gonna work at that tin bashers. I’d sooner go on the game first.’

‘Yer wouldn’t earn much round ’ere, Jess,’ Freda said, laughing. ‘It’s only tuppence a time down the alley beside the Star Music ’All.’

‘’Ow d’yer know what they charge?’ Carrie asked with a grin on her face.

Freda kept a straight face as they seated themselves around the long wooden bench. ‘Yer might laugh,’ she began, ‘but I knew a young girl who used ter be on the game. She was only about seventeen an’ one night I met ’er on the stairs in our buildin’s. She was goin’ on about all the money she was earnin.’ “Four an’ tuppence I earned ternight,” she said. “Who give yer the odd tuppence, Ellie?” I asked ’er. “All of ’em,” she said. I tell yer straight, Jess, bein’ on the game ain’t an easy life.’

Their early morning high spirits soon disappeared as the shock of impending redundancy struck home, and the young women became despondent as they discussed the likelihood of finding other work.

‘There’ll be ’undreds down that labour exchange on Monday,’ one of the girls moaned. ‘This ain’t the only firm puttin’ people off, I ’eard that Bevin’tons an’ Johnson Bruvvers are puttin’ their workers off. Gawd knows what we’re gonna do.’

‘Well, like I said, I ain’t gonna work on no poxy tin machine,’ Jessica stated. ‘One o’ the girls I know lost ’er fingers on a tin machine. There’s the bloody noise ter contend wiv an’ all. They reckon the noise o’ those machines makes yer go stone deaf in time. I don’t fink the tin bashers pay as much as this firm neivver.’

‘Well, if it comes ter the worst I’m gonna let me fella get me pregnant,’ another of the girls said. ‘’E’ll ’ave ter marry me then an’ I can let ’im keep me.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ Freda said quickly. ‘I got pregnant when I was sixteen an’ the farvver didn’t keep me. In fact, I nearly ended up in the work’ouse.’

When the lunch-time whistle sounded the young women hurried from their work benches and gathered in the large room which they used for eating their sandwiches in when the weather was cold. Mary Caldwell approached the three friends with an angry look on her round flat face. ‘I’m sorry yer gettin’ put off,’ she said. ‘I was surprised they didn’t put me on the list but they’ve done me no favours. Betty’s got the sack.’

Carrie felt sorry for the young woman. Mary and Betty had become inseparable during the last few months and their relationship had become the talk of the factory.

‘If that’s not bad enough, they’ve put Mrs Loder on my floor,’ Mary went on, looking miserable. ‘I don’t know if I can stand workin’ wiv ’er. I’ll end up walkin’ out, I know I will.’

Carrie understood how Mary felt. Her friend’s new workmate was known for her vitriolic tongue and she had openly condemned Mary’s relationship with Betty. It seemed to Carrie that the new arrangement had been carefully thought out by the management in the hope that it would force Mary to do what she was threatening. Carrie looked around her as she ate her sandwiches. She had got to know all the girls during the five years or so that she had worked at the factory and it was going to be a wrench leaving on Friday. What was in store for her? she wondered. Would she be forced to work at one of the tin factories or in one of the local food canneries? She knew that whatever factory job she found it would be the same tedious slog, and began to feel more and more depressed.

At Galloway’s yard the general slump had been taking effect, and on that cold Monday morning the firm’s owner called his foreman into the office to tell him that the two casual carmen would be put off. There was more bad news too. Yet another leather firm which used Galloway’s carts had announced that they would not be renewing their cartage contract.

‘It’s bad but there’s nuffink I can do about it, Will. I’ll ’ave ter put Lofty Russell an’ Darbo off on Friday,’ Galloway said, slumping down at his desk. ‘I’m after a contract wiv the bacon curers. If I’m lucky, I’ll take the two of ’em back, but there’s nuffink definite yet.’

William shrugged his shoulders. He had fought the old man over jobs before but he knew that it was useless to try the way things were now. The mention of the new contract made him think, however, and he looked sharply at his boss. ‘That’s foreign bacon yer talkin’ about, ain’t it, George?’ he said quickly.

Galloway nodded. ‘If I get the work, it’ll be local wharf collections,’ he replied.

William sat down facing him. ‘Are yer aware that if yer lucky wiv the contract the carmen’ll need union tickets, especially if the bacon’s comin’ out of Mark Brown’s Wharf? Those dockers there are pretty strict about who they load.’

Galloway nodded. ‘I’ll see to it they’ll ’ave tickets,’ he said in a low voice.

William was very surprised at his change of heart. George had never entertained the idea of his carmen joining the union before and now he had agreed without a word. Things must be bad, he thought.

‘I’ve already bin on ter Tooley Street an’ the union official there said ’e’ll look after it,’ George added.

William hid his disgust. His employer and the union official had probably been out for a few drinks together and it was more than likely that George had lined the official’s pocket, he reasoned.

Galloway was staring at him with a faint smile on his face and William had the feeling he was being mocked. He could not have divined the reason for Galloway’s amusement accurately, however, for his boss said, ‘By the way, Will, I’ve got a special job fer yer. I’ve bought an ’orse at the weekend. It’s a Cleveland Bay an’ I got it fer me trap. That pony I’ve got is goin’ lame a lot an’ I’m gettin’ rid of it.’

‘Yer not sendin’ it ter the knacker’s yard, are yer, George?’ William asked.

His boss laughed. ‘No, I’ve ’ad good use out o’ Rusty an’ I’m gonna put ’im out ter pasture. This Cleveland stands fifteen ’ands an’ it’s a lovely-lookin’ ’orse. I got it fer a snip an’ I want yer ter get it ready fer the trap.’

William glanced quickly at his employer. ‘Yer mean it’s not been in one before?’

George grinned. ‘It ’as, but it kicked the traces. It’s a devil, Will, but it’s got a look about it. Yer know what I’m talkin’ about. We’ve both been around ’orses all our lives an’ we fink we know ’em, but suddenly one comes on the scene an’ it quickens yer breath just ter look at it. This Cleveland’s just like that. I was standin’ at the sales at the weekend an’ this bloke drives up in ’is trap. ’E jumped down an’ started layin’ inter the ’orse wiv ’is whip. Yer know me, I’m the same as you where ’orses are concerned. I ’ate ter see ’em ill-treated. Anyway, I ’ad a few words wiv the driver an’ ’e told me that the nag ’ad almost killed ’im on a couple of occasions. He reckoned there was Arab blood in the ’orse an’ it wouldn’t take ter the trap. It’s bin gelded too.’

William felt his interest growing. ‘Clevelands are good carriage ’orses as a rule,’ he remarked. ‘P’raps the bloke didn’t know ’ow ter ’andle the ’orse?’

George shook his head. ‘The man I’m talking about ’as got a cartage business in Peckham. ’E’s bin round ’orses fer years an’ ’e said ’e’s never known a Cleveland ter act the way this one does. Well, I looked the ’orse over an’ I was taken by it. Like I say, it was one o’ those ’orses that come along once in a while. It was beautiful-lookin’, lean an’ frisky. It ’ad a look in its eye too. I couldn’t resist it. I made ’im an offer an’ the bloke sold it ter me there an’ then. ’E’s bringin’ it round terday. See what yer can do wiv it, Will. I want it in the trap as soon as possible.’

William nodded. ‘I’ll get Jack Oxford ter clean that small stable. It’s better if it’s kept away from the ovver ’orses, at least fer the time bein’.’

It was late afternoon when the Cleveland was driven into the yard and was pulled up beside the office. The driver, an elderly man with a ginger beard, stepped down from the trap and immediately untethered the spare horse from the rear, leading it towards William. ‘Can I leave you to change them over?’ he asked.

William nodded and stood holding the bridle of the spare horse as he watched the man disappear into the office, then he led the nag to the water trough and let it drink its fill before tethering it to a post. The Cleveland stood still in the shafts of the trap, light glinting red in its eyes as it warily watched William approach. He talked quietly to the horse as he sidled up and took hold of its bridle. ‘Steady, boy,’ he whispered as he patted the horse’s high neck and ran his hand down the withers. The horse remained perfectly still while William slowly unbuckled the harness, and then when it was being led out of the shafts it suddenly kicked out sharply with its back legs. Jack Oxford was watching from across the yard. He jumped back nervously. ‘That’s a wild ’orse, Will,’ he remarked.

The yard foreman grinned as he held on to the bridle tightly and led the horse to water. He kept his grip on the loose bridle rope while the horse drank its fill, then as its head came up William instinctively tightened his hand on the rope. His intuition was correct for as the Cleveland turned from the stone trough it reared up and kicked out at the tethered horse. The yard foreman slid his hand along the taut rope until he had hold of its bridle. With soft words and a gentle tap on the horse’s neck, he quietened it down before leading it to the small stable. The spare horse had been agitated by the antics of the Cleveland. It bucked as William untied the rope but it offered no resistance when it was led to the trap.

After William had finished buckling up the harness and secured the horse to a hitching-rail, he sauntered over to the small stable and went inside. The Cleveland stood munching at the stall and William was able to look the horse over. It was a bay brown with a small white star on its forehead, all of fifteen hands high and a little on the lean side, he thought. It had a large head and a long, firm neck. The animal’s hindquarters were powerful and well rounded, and its legs clean-cut and muscular. It was certainly a fine-looking horse, William conceded as he ran his hand over the withers, but it would need careful handling and training before it could be trusted in a trap.

As he stroked his hand down the animal’s flank his fingers came upon several very slight indentations, and a close inspection confirmed his suspicions. The horse had been badly ill-treated at some time with a whip or thong. William gently patted the horse’s withers and whispered to it as he sidled along the stall and loosened the bridle rope slightly. When he had made certain that there was enough chaff in the stall trough he eased back and took a look at the horse’s hindquarters. From the marks below the hocks and around the pasterns he could see that the horse did not take kindly to the shafts and had damaged itself by kicking out. William shook his head sadly as he stood back and studied the animal. He had seen such signs before and he realised he would have to work hard to gain the animal’s confidence if any progress was to be made.

As he walked over to the office, William saw the yard man leaning on his broom. ‘I don’t want anybody ter go in that end stable, Jack,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll feed an’ water that one.’