Gaslight in Page Street (45 page)

‘Mind yer, I’ve seen ’im about,’ Maisie said. ‘’E’s not a bad-lookin’ bloke, as vicars go. Not my sort though. I like ’em when they look like that new lodger o’ Flo’s.’

‘I wonder if Florrie’s lodger comes from round ’ere?’ Aggie asked, wanting to get all the facts straight in her mind before she told Mrs Bromsgrove.

‘I dunno,’ Maisie replied. ‘The face is familiar. I fink I’ve seen ’im wiv that crowd o’ jack-the-lads who stand outside the Crown at Dock’ead on Saturday nights. Rough ’ole that is.’

Aggie nodded and looked along the street quickly before turning back to her friend. ‘My ’Arold gets ter know fings, ’im lightin’ all the lamps round ’ere,’ she said in a low voice. ‘’E reckons they’ve started ’avin’ them there fights at the Crown again.’

Maisie did not show any surprise as she scratched away at her elbow. ‘I ’eard the same,’ she said. ‘Flo told me, though Gawd knows where she got it from. She reckons that Jake Mitchell ’ad a fight there an’ ’e nearly killed the ovver bloke.’

‘What, that ugly-lookin’ carman who works fer Galloway? ’Im wiv the flat nose an’ cauliflower ear?’ her friend queried.

‘That’s ’im.’

‘Well, if we stand ’ere much longer we’re gonna get the name o’ gossip-mongers,’ Aggie remarked as she straightened her apron.

Maisie chuckled as she stepped back into her passageway. ‘Mind ’ow yer go, Aggie, an’ if I ’ear any more about you know who, I’ll let yer know ...’

Chapter Twenty-six

On 4th August 1914, the country was plunged into war.

‘Once we get our soldiers out there it’ll all be over in no time. I give it six months at the outside,’ Alec Crossley the landlord of Page Street’s little corner pub told his customers.

Harold Temple and Ernest Mycroft were sitting together with Fred Dougall and Daniel Sullivan around a table and they all nodded agreement. William Tanner was leaning against the counter next to Joe Maitland, Florrie Axford’s lodger. He looked across at the group.

‘I dunno so much,’ he said pensively. ‘If yer bin readin’ the papers, yer’d see it’s not that simple. Everybody’s arguin’ wiv everybody else. Accordin’ ter what I’ve bin readin’, all the countries ’ave signed pacts wiv each over an’ it’s a stone certainty they’ll all be drawn inter the fight. I don’t fink it’s gonna be that easy. This war could go on fer years.’

Alec Crossley chuckled. ‘Well, one fing yer can be sure of - there won’t be a lack o’ volunteers, what wiv all them poor bleeders who’s scratchin’ fer work. They’ll be only too glad ter sign on. At least they’ll get a bit o’ food in their bellies.’

The landlord of the Kings Arms had prophesied correctly, for within days of the outbreak of war the recruiting offices around London were beleaguered by young men eager to get into the battle before it was all over. Recruiting sergeants were hard put to it to keep order. They smiled with benign tolerance at the volunteers and twiddled their waxed moustaches as they formed the jostling young men into single lines. ‘Don’t push an’ shove, lads. Yer’ll all get yer chance ter fight fer King an’ Country. That’s right, sign ’ere, lad. Well, all right then, jus’ put yer mark alongside ’ere. No, I’m sorry, we can’t give yer a rifle straight away. There’s a medical ter go frew first.’

So it went on. The lines swelled with eager, bold and brash youngsters, and men who were not so young but still keen to get their names on the list. Many stood in line with disablements that would prevent their being allowed to don a uniform, but they stood with their fellows anyway. A man with one eye argued with the recruiting sergeant that he had all he needed to sight a rifle, and another man with a club foot told the sergeant that he could outwalk most of his pals any day. Men afflicted with coughs that wracked their thin bodies lined up with beefy men whose shirtsleeves were rolled up high on their arms. Men with trades, blacksmiths, wheelwrights and engineers, shuffled along behind men with no trade who had spent their adult lives in unskilled factory work or on the roads as labourers. Dockers stood beside clerks and shopworkers, stevedores rubbed shoulders with carmen, everyone laughing and elated now that their humdrum lives were suddenly being transformed.

‘We’ll be in France afore yer know it.’

‘Wait till I tell my ole dutch. She’ll be glad ter see the back o’ me, that’s fer sure.’

‘I’ve got five Gawd-ferbids an’ anuvver on the way, an’ I ain’t seen a day’s work fer two months. She’ll get a few bob from the army now.’

All day long the lines slowly moved forward and more men arrived to volunteer. Those who had signed left the noise and excitement to break the news to their loved ones, and many began to question what they had done as they found themselves suddenly alone walking home through the backstreets.

The early days of the war were filled with a strange carnival. Military bands marched through the streets and along the main thoroughfares, and behind them came the volunteers. They were a motley crowd of men. While some were comparatively well dressed, others were in ragged clothing. Men prematurely bowed from years of toil walked alongside proud upright youngsters who threw out their chests and swaggered to the cheers of the folk who lined the pavements. The bands marched along to the recruiting offices with blaring brass and beating drums, and along the way men joined the procession, some pulling against restraining hands and disregarding crying children. Old women dabbed at their eyes as they stood at the roadside, and old men who had seen action in the Boer War and in the North-West Frontier troubles sucked on their clay pipes and shook their heads sadly.

‘They’re like a load o’ bleedin’ pied pipers,’ one old man remarked, nodding towards the bandsmen.

‘It’s no ’ardship now, but wait till the music stops an’ the shootin’ starts, then Gawd ’elp ’em,’ another said bitterly.

The early days of the war were an anxious time for Nellie and William Tanner. Their three boys were old enough to enlist and James had announced that he was going to volunteer shortly. Charlie too had indicated that he wanted to join up along with all the other young men at his office, but Danny was not so impatient to put on a uniform. His life was centred around his boxing and he felt that joining up might lose him the chance of fighting in the club championships. Carrie was very worried with the likelihood of her three brothers going off to fight. She loved them all dearly and the thought of their coming to harm caused her many sleepless nights. It seemed to her that life was becoming more and more cruel. She was still walking out with Tommy, but things had not improved during the past year. The old lady was making her usual demands on her son and her drinking had got worse, while the war had made Tommy more sullen than ever, as he knew that he was not in a position to volunteer.

Carrie was feeling worried as she sat talking to her parents one evening when the boys were all out of the house.

‘D’yer fink they’ll all volunteer, Mum?’ she asked. ‘They’re all so young ter be soldiers.’

Nellie was near to tears as she sat beside the unlit grate with her sewing lying untouched on her lap. ‘I don’t see as we can stop ’em,’ she said sadly. ‘Me an’ yer farvver ’ave tried ter talk ’em out of it, but all their friends are joinin’ up. It’s only natural they wanna do the same.’

William sat staring into the grate. ‘Danny might not go,’ he said, ‘at least not yet. As far as the ovver two are concerned, I reckon they’ll go soon. Charlie said ’is pals are all signin’ on this week an’ Jim told me most o’ the young blokes at ’is factory ’ave already left. There’s nuffink we can do, Carrie, nuffink at all. All we can ’ope for is that it’s soon over.’

‘D’yer fink it’ll last long, luv?’ Nellie asked him.

‘I don’t fink so,’ he lied. ‘Once the army gets over there, it’ll all be sorted out.’

‘I’ve ’eard that women can volunteer as nurses,’ Carrie said, looking down at her clasped hands thoughtfully.

‘Yer can put that idea out of yer ’ead soon as yer like,’ her mother said firmly. ‘It’s bad enough ’avin’ the boys all goin’ off, wivout you as well. I’ll be in a loony-bin before long wiv all this worry.’

William put a comforting arm around Nellie and she leaned her head against his shoulder as her tears started to flow. Carrie slipped into the scullery and put the kettle on to boil. She was making the tea when Danny came in.

‘Billy Sullivan’s volunteered, Carrie!’ he said excitedly.

She looked at her brother as he stood in the doorway and sighed sadly. He was still only a boy, she told herself. His short fair hair was dishevelled and fell forward over his forehead. His eyes were enquiring, like those of a young child, and apart from a few hairs around his chin his face was still smooth.

‘I ’ope you’re not finkin’ o’ followin’ ’is example?’ she questioned him anxiously. ‘It’s bad enough Jimmy an’ Charlie wantin’ ter go, without you startin’ too. Somebody’s gotta stop at ’ome, Danny.’

‘It all depends,’ he said in an offhand manner. ‘I might. It all depends what ’appens at the club.’

Carrie sighed irritably. ‘Oh, I see. If yer don’t get the chance of knockin’ somebody’s ’ead off, yer’ll join up. That’s charmin’, that is.’

Danny frowned. ‘Don’t keep on at me, Sis. It’s bad enough Mum an’ Dad goin’ on about me stoppin’ at ’ome. Everybody’s joinin’ up. Why should I miss out on it?’

‘D’yer fink it’s gonna be all nice an’ friendly?’ Carrie snapped at him. ‘Yer could get killed or badly wounded. Would yer like ter spend the rest o’ yer days in a wheelchair or lyin’ on yer back paralysed or somefink?’

He mumbled an answer and his saucy face broke into a grin. ‘All right, Carrie, I promise yer I’ll fink about it,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll see what me bruvs do before I make me mind up. Jim’s gonna go fer sure, but I dunno about Charlie. Yer never know what ’e’s gonna do.’

Carrie smiled as she reached out and hugged him to her, and Danny patted her back gently. ‘It’ll all turn out right in the end, you’ll see,’ he reassured her.

Across the River Thames in Ilford another conversation about the war was taking place. Frank Galloway lounged across the bed and watched Bella as she applied a touch of dampened soot to her long eyelashes.

‘It won’t last long, will it, darling?’ she asked him. ‘I couldn’t bear it if it dragged on into one of those awful wars.’

‘All wars are awful, Bella,’ he told her, thinking that she wouldn’t have much choice but to bear it. ‘There’s no pretty war. But no, I don’t think it’ll go on too long.’

She looked at him in the mirror of her dressing-table and smiled sweetly. ‘I do hope so. Look, darling, you really don’t mind my going, do you? If you do, just say so and I’ll stay in. I’m sure it’ll be one of those terribly boring parties with everyone just gushing compliments and saying how much they adore each other. It’s so false. I know you don’t like these theatrical get-togethers, that’s why I asked if Hubert would escort me. He’s a silly billy really but at least I can rely on him not to go off and abandon me. I get so nervous when I’m left stranded at those functions.’

Frank bit back a caustic remark and smiled at her. ‘You go and enjoy yourself. I’ve got some work to do anyway,’ he told her, but inside he was seething. As far as he could remember he had never told her he didn’t like theatrical parties. In fact, he enjoyed the back chat, and the wine and champagne that were always in plentiful supply. And as for Bella being nervous of managing alone - well, he doubted whether she had ever been nervous in her entire life. She loved the compliments that flowed in her direction, and especially the attention Hubert danced on her. Frank felt he could easily find a more suitable way of describing him than ‘silly billy’. The young man was madly in love with Bella, and it was only the fact that she treated him as a boy which prevented her husband from punching the silly billy on the nose.

Bella finished applying rouge to her face and studied the impression. ‘You’ve been looking tired lately, darling,’ she said in a soothing voice. ‘Don’t wait up, there’s a dear.’

Frank made to kiss her but she backed away. ‘Mind my face, Frank. It’s taken me ages to get ready.’

The clock beside the bed showed ten minutes past eight and Bella became anxious. Hubert had promised he wouldn’t be late. He was so unreliable, she thought, pouting, so unlike dependable Frank. But how much better in bed! Frank was manly, rough with her, and totally selfish. He had no conception of her needs. Hubert was different. He was a sweet boy who acted like a feckless clown but dominated her between the sheets. He was slim, almost girlish, with long thin legs and narrow arms. His hairless body was lithe and reminded her of an uncoiled snake. He was the best lover she had known. If only he had Frank’s dependability, she rued. But then, if he did, he wouldn’t be Hubert, she thought with a smile, the silly billy she wanted to slip away early with to return to his flat in Bloomsbury.

Bella heard the motor car pull up outside and a light knock on the front door. ‘The boy’s late as usual,’ she said with a sigh. ‘He can be so annoying at times. You go to bed early, darling. Promise?’

Frank watched from the window as she stepped into the Daimler, then he walked over to the sideboard and picked up the bottle of brandy. He heard the roar of the car pulling away as he gulped down a large measure of the spirit and sat down dejectedly in a soft armchair. He seemed to be having very little social life lately, and now the war had started most of his colleagues at work had left. Bernard Roseman had become a lieutenant in the London Rifles and Paddy Burns was now up in Scotland doing his training. Then there was Violet Ashley. She had left her desk, and the last he heard was off to France with the field ambulance. Dear Vi - she was as discreet as she was free with her favours. Frank’s face creased into a grin as he recalled the time she had told him about her and Bernard Roseman. He was the first Jewish lad she had had. Frank remembered how good it made him feel when Vi told him he was the best lover she had ever known. Paddy was always the worse for drink and he made a song and dance of it, she had said. As for young Arnold Robins, the lad got so flustered when he couldn’t untie his shoelace that he jumped into bed with the shoe still on! Vi had quickly put his mind at rest by telling him that she wouldn’t discuss him with any of her other lovers. He was the best, she told him, and thus he had the privilege of knowing all about his rivals’ prowess in her bed.