Gaslight in Page Street (49 page)

Bessie laughed. ‘I’ve known Fred an’ ’is family fer years. That’s ’ow ’e come ter ask me if I wanted ter work fer ’im. Fred’s ole muvver was a funny ole cow. She used ter dote on ’im. Very strict though. I never see Fred wiv a young lady on ’is arm. ’E was always workin’ in ’ere from the time ’e left school. Never ’ad annuver job. Mind yer, ’e built this place up. It was a proper gaff when the ole couple run it. Let it go right down the pan they did, ’specially when the old fella was gettin’ on in years. I don’t s’pose the poor sod ’ad time fer women, what wiv the way ’e ’ad ter work.’

‘Was Fred the only child?’

‘Yeah. There was annuver child, a gel I fink, but she died as a baby,’ Bessie replied. ‘I fink ’e should find ’imself a nice young lady. I fink it’d be the makin’ of ’im. It ain’t right fer anybody ter go frew life on their own. As I was sayin’ ter Elsie ...’

Bessie’s ramblings were interrupted as Fred came out of the kitchen. She winked to Carrie as she looked over at him. ‘’Ave yer covered that pastry ’cos o’ the flies?’ she asked him.

Fred nodded and gave Carrie a quick glance, raising his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. ‘Yer better be off, it’s turned five,’ he said.

Bessie got up and slipped on her coat. ‘Yeah, I’d better be orf ’ome an’ make sure my ole fella’s up fer work,’ she sighed.

Carrie smiled at Fred as his assistant left the dining rooms and he sat down at the table, sighing loudly. ‘Bessie’s a diamond but she does go on,’ he groaned. ‘D’ yer know what she was on about terday? She wanted ter know why I never married. She reckoned I should find meself a nice young lady.’

‘What did yer say?’ Carrie asked as she got up to put on her coat, suddenly feeling nervous.

‘I told ’er when I meet the right woman, I’ll consider gettin’ married,’ he answered.

‘Yer’ll meet the right gel one day,’ Carrie told him, making for the door.

‘I already ’ave,’ he said in a low voice.

Carrie walked home feeling wild with herself for making such a stupid remark as she left the café. She had said it on the spur of the moment without thinking, and realised she would have to be more careful in future. Any chance remark like that might make Fred feel that she was prompting or encouraging him, and it would be embarrassing for both of them if he asked her plainly to walk out with him and she declined. He was too nice a man to upset but she knew that if he did offer she would refuse him. She was still aching over her romance with Tommy and could not bring herself to think of starting another relationship.

As Carrie walked past Bacon Street Buildings she found herself thinking again of Sara. Had she found happiness with her young man, she wondered, and hoped she would never have to struggle the way her mother had.

Carrie turned the corner into Page Street and saw the women standing at their front doors, chatting together. She saw Maisie talking to Aggie, and Ida Bromsgrove sweeping outside her front door. Young children were swinging from a rope tied to a lamppost, an old man tottered along supporting his frail body with a stick and mumbling to himself. Another old man stood in a doorway smoking a clay pipe, his eyes fixed on the paving-stones. Despite all the people, she felt how strangely quiet the turning seemed to be. There were no young men standing about to ogle her or smile as she passed them. All the vitality and youthfulness seemed to have been taken out of the street. Carrie thought of those young men: Tommy, Billy Sullivan, the Dougall boys and her own two brothers. Where were they now? Would she ever see them again? She sighed deeply. The war would not last for long and the young men would soon be home. All of them, she told herself as she reached her front door.

In the dining room at 22 Tyburn Place the curtains had been drawn against the cold night and a fire burned brightly in the open hearth. Five chairs had been placed around the heavy oaken table although only four were occupied. The meal was over and George Galloway sat at the head of the table, thoughtfully rolling an unlighted cigar between his fingers as Nora replenished the coffee cups. Frank sat on his father’s right. He was leaning back in his chair, staring down at his cup. Josephine was facing him, and exchanged glances with Nora as the two men pondered. George lit his cigar and blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling, a look of expectancy on his face as he waited for Frank’s answer. Nora caught Josephine’s eye.

‘I fink I’d better get cleared away,’ she said, getting up and pushing her chair against the table.

Together the two women carried the stack of used crockery out into the kitchen. Josephine gave the housekeeper a knowing smile. ‘It looks as though Father’s got his way, Nora,’ she said quietly. ‘Poor Frank looks very upset.’

Nora shook her head slowly. ‘There ain’t much choice fer ’im, is there? I fink that white feavver business upset ’im too, although ’e tried ter make light of it.’

Josephine’s face became serious. ‘Why are people so wicked, Nora? My brother’s not a coward. Frank’s married now and he’s got responsibilities. If he was single, he’d be the first to volunteer.’

‘I’m sure ’e would,’ Nora replied, looking up at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘I’ll see ter the dishes. Yer’d better be off or yer’ll be late.’

Josephine left for a meeting of Red Cross volunteers at the church hall in Jamaica Road. In the dining room the two men continued their discussion. A blue smoke haze hung over the table as Frank lit another cigarette.

‘The trouble is, you never get to find out who’s responsible for sending them,’ he said, exhaling smoke and nervously tapping his cigarette against the ashtray.

George nodded. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. ’Undreds o’ people are gettin’ ’em. Yer done the right fing, burning it. Don’t give it anuvver thought.’

‘I was wondering if it was someone at the office,’ Frank remarked, looking at his father.

George puffed in exasperation. ‘There yer go! Yer ain’t gonna stop worryin’ about it, are yer? It’s why they send ’em, can’t yer see? Whoever it was who sent it wanted jus’ that. Why not do as I say an’ ferget it? Now let’s get down ter what we were talkin’ about,’ he said testily. ‘Yer said yer guv’nor was expectin’ yer ter volunteer. If yer carry on workin’ there, ’e’s gonna be a bit awkward wiv yer, ter say the least. Those top-brass military families are all the same. King an’ Country, an’ all that bloody twaddle! They stand back an’ dish out the orders an’ it’s the poor bloody soldiers who face the bullets. I reckon they should get all that top brass from us an’ Germany tergevver an’ put the ’ole bloody lot o’ the bastards in a field somewhere an’ say to ’em, go on then, get on wiv it. The bloody war’d be over in five minutes. They’d all be on the piss tergevver.’

Frank chuckled, then his face changed as he glanced over to the vacant place at the table. ‘I wonder how Geoff’s getting on,’ he said quietly.

George dropped his gaze for a moment and then stared at the lighted end of his cigar. ‘The boy’ll be all right,’ he declared firmly. ‘’E’s a sensible young man, ’e won’t take no unnecessary risks. I only wish ’e ’adn’t bin so ’asty. Geoff was doin’ a good job at the yard an’ I was really upset when ’e told me ’e’d volunteered. I miss ’im, an’ it’s upset Nora too. It was ’er idea ter leave a place at the table fer ’im. She reckons it’s lucky. She’s a strange woman at times, is Nora.’

Frank was quiet as he stubbed out his cigarette, then looked up at his father. ‘All right, I’ll put my resignation in first thing in the morning,’ he said suddenly. ‘They’ll need a couple of weeks to get a replacement, unless the old man gets shirty and tells me to go there and then.’

George’s wide florid face broke into a grin. ‘Jus’ tell the ole git yer’ve volunteered. Tell ’im yer wanna leave right away ter get yer fings in order. I don’t s’pose ’e’ll be too concerned, from what yer’ve told me.’

Frank nodded. ‘All right, I will. I suppose the sooner I start the better. By the way, Father, have you thought any more about getting lorries to replace some of the horses? It’ll be a sensible move, especially now.’

George relit the stub of his cigar and puffed on it thoughtfully. ‘Look, you jus’ get yerself familiar wiv the runnin’ o’ the business first,’ he told him. ‘Once yer’ve sorted the books out, we’ll talk again. There’s a lot ter consider. Fer a start, if I get lorries I’ll need a mechanic ter keep ’em on the road. That’s what the ovver cartage firms ’ave ’ad ter do. What’s gonna ’appen ter Will Tanner? Once the ’orses go I’d ’ave ter get rid of ’im. I couldn’t afford ter keep ’im an’ a mechanic as well. Then there’s the ’ouse. I’d ’ave ter give ’im notice ter quit.’

‘Couldn’t you let him stay and pay a rent?’ Frank asked.

George shook his head. ‘The mechanic would need a place ter live an’ there’s no ’ouses vacant, not yet anyway. I’d need the bloke ter be on ’and. It’s no good if ’e lives miles away from the yard. We’d need more space too, don’t ferget. Yer couldn’t garage many lorries in the yard, there’s no room ter manoeuvre ’em. It’s not like ’avin’ ’orse-an’-carts.’

Frank lit another cigarette. ‘You should have bought a bigger place when Geoff and I suggested it,’ he said reprovingly.

George smiled. ‘Yer’ve only just agreed ter come in the business an’ already yer tellin’ me ’ow ter run it! Well, maybe that’s not a bad fing. I’d like yer ter bring yer own ideas in. I ain’t gettin’ any younger. You an’ Geoff should be able ter make a good go of it, please Gawd. In the meantime, let’s ’ave a drink ter celebrate. Now where did Nora ’ide that brandy ...’

Chapter Twenty-nine

In the early summer a troop train from Southampton arrived at Waterloo carrying a large contingent of troops from the East Surrey Regiment who had seen action in France. The train pulled into the station beside another bearing a bold red cross on all of its carriages. As the troops alighted their noisy gaiety and laughter were suddenly stilled by the sight that met them. A line of stretchers ran the length of the platform, bearing casualties ashen-faced beneath their blankets. Soldiers with bandages over their eyes were being led away in line, each resting his hand on the shoulder of the man in front, and other troops were hobbling along the platform on crutches. Doctors and medical orderlies walked along the long line of stretchers, giving aid and glancing at the medical notes pinned to the top of the blankets. Nurses in Red Cross uniforms bent over the casualties, writing notes and placing lighted cigarettes between the lips of grateful men. Around them the usual station activities went on as if it was a normal day. Porters pushed laden barrows, and steam from the tenders drifted up to the high iron rafters.

James Tanner stepped down from the train and walked along the platform beside his younger brother Charlie, both of them pale and subdued as they gazed down on the faces of their wounded comrades.

‘Christ, I need a drink!’ James said in a husky voice.

‘That’s the best fing yer’ve said all mornin’, Tanner,’ one of the other troops remarked, putting his arm around James’s shoulder.

As they neared the ticket gate, Charlie spotted one of the wounded struggling with something in his hands and he broke away from the group.

‘You go on, I’ll catch yer up,’ he said, walking towards the stretcher.

‘We’ll be in the ’Ole in the Wall, Charlie,’ his brother called out as he passed through the gate with their mates.

Charlie bent over the wounded soldier. ‘’Ere, let me do that,’ he said quietly, taking the cigarette packet from the man.

‘Fanks, pal. Bloody fingers are all numb,’ the soldier replied.

Charlie opened the packet and lit a cigarette, placing it between the man’s lips. ‘There yer are. ’Ow’s that?’ he said kindly.

The soldier exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke and sighed contentedly. ‘Gawd, that’s good,’ he smiled.

‘Where d’yer cop it?’ Charlie asked.

‘It’s me toes,’ the soldier told him. ‘I lost ’em all wiv frostbite. Still, I’m lucky, I s’pose. That poor sod lost ’is leg.’

Charlie looked at the next stretcher and saw the still form lying beneath the blanket. ‘I jus’ feel grateful ter be alive,’ he said, holding the cigarette to the soldier’s lips.

A young Red Cross nurse bent down over the stretcher and read the medical notes pinned to the blanket, then she smiled at the soldier. ‘Are you in a lot of pain?’ she asked softly.

‘Nah, it’s all right, luv. I jus’ wanna know when they’re gonna move us. It’s bloody cold layin’ ’ere,’ he answered.

Charlie took the cigarette from the soldier’s mouth and his eyes met those of the nurse.

Suddenly, she smiled. ‘Aren’t you William Tanner’s son?’

Charlie looked puzzled. ‘Should I know yer?’ he asked.

She laughed. ‘I’m Josephine Galloway.’

Charlie stood up. ‘Well, I’ll be blowed!’ he exclaimed. ‘I wouldn’t ’ave reco’nised yer. Yer look all grown-up.’

Josephine smiled, showing even white teeth. ‘If I remember right, you’re Charles. Father told me you and your brother James had joined up. Is he with you?’ she asked.

Charlie nodded. ‘’E’s wiv the rest o’ the lads. They’ve gone ter the pub. By the way, call me Charlie,’ he said, holding out his hand.

‘’Ere, when you two ’ave finished yer little chat, could I ’ave anuvver puff o’ that fag?’ the wounded soldier cut in.

Charles bent down over the stretcher. ‘Sorry, mate. That’s the first chance I’ve ’ad ter talk ter a pretty face fer a long while.’

Josephine bent down and wrote something on the chart, then she stood up and went to the next stretcher. Intrigued, Charlie followed her.