Gaslight in Page Street (66 page)

Back in Bermondsey the delayed delivery of the first of Galloway’s lorries took place in March and people watched from their front doors as the vehicles chugged noisily down Page Street and drove into the yard. Another lorry arrived at the Galloway yard the same day and left carrying the two massive Clydesdales. George Galloway watched the loading of the animals with an impassive face, and then he walked back into the office to look at the plans of the proposed new site which Frank had spread out on the desk. The street folk watched the comings and goings with sadness. The horses clopping out of the yard each morning and returning in the evening with their heads held low had been a way of life for the little community; now they would have to get used to the sound of noisy engines and the noxious smell of petrol fumes.

Florrie Axford had been among the most vociferous in the past, protesting about the dangerous way in which some of the carmen drove their carts along the turning. Now she shook her head as she stood at her front door, chatting to Maisie and Aggie. ‘I dunno what next,’ she groaned. ‘They should never allow lorries down ’ere. The turnin’s too narrer. Somebody’s gonna get killed wiv one o’ them lorries, mark my words.’

‘Gawd knows what Will Tanner will make of it,’ Maisie remarked. ‘I reckon ’e’ll be glad ’e’s done wiv it all.’

Aggie was pinching her chin between thumb and forefinger. ‘I dunno so much,’ she said. ‘I saw Nell down the market the ovver day. She looked really miserable. She’s got one o’ them back flats an’ ’er bedroom is right over the dustbins. She said the stink’s makin’ ’er feel really ill. She was worried about ’er ’usband as well. She said since Will’s bin doin’ that nightwatchman’s job, ’e’s a changed man. She said ’e’s got so moody.’

‘Well, I reckon it’s a bloody shame the way that ole bastard Galloway treated ’im,’ Florrie declared. ‘’E won’t get anuvver bloke like Will Tanner.’

‘It seems strange not seein’ Nell standin’ at her door,’ Aggie said.

‘What’s the new people like?’ Maisie asked.

Florrie pulled a face as she took out her snuff-box. ‘I ain’t seen ’im, but she looks a miserable cow. She was cleanin’ ’er winders the ovver day an’ when she sees me she turned ’er ’ead. Sod yer then, I thought ter meself.’

Aggie looked along the turning and shook her head sadly. ‘We’ll never be able ter keep our winders clean now, not with all that smoke ’angin’ about,’ she said.

Florrie smiled. ‘Never mind, Aggie. ’Ere, cheer yerself up. ’Ave a pinch o’ snuff.’

On a balmy Saturday morning early in April a pleasure boat left Greenwich Pier bound for Southend. Aboard were Red Cross nurses and doctors taking a well-earned break. As the craft steamed out on the tide, one of the doctors was playing a piano accordion. The pleasure boat chugged downriver while Josephine sat quietly re-reading the letter she had received from Charlie just two days before. She felt out of place among the noise and merriment, and when a young doctor pulled her up to dance she had to force a smile. The music sounded tuneless to her and her dancing partner’s cheerful asides grated on her troubled mind and seemed meaningless. Above the clamour of merrymaking she could hear her father’s voice, and all she could think of as she looked over the young man’s shoulder were the boldly written words of Charlie’s letter.

The music ceased while the revellers took refreshments and Josephine climbed the steep rungs to the upper deck. It was quieter here, she thought as she looked out at the widening estuary and the distant banks. She had to think clearly. Charlie had asked her to marry him and now she had to make a clear, final decision before she let herself touch her first drink. There would be time enough later to blot out the anguish and heartache that seemed to be tearing her apart.

For a while she stared out across the river, feeling the strong breeze on her face and listening to the steady chugging of the engines below. She watched the screaming seagulls as they hovered and swooped above her and dived towards the swirling rushing waters of the river. It was all an obscene, swirling madness, she said to herself as she leaned against the guard-rail. Once more she took the letter out and read it, then she folded it carefully and returned it to her handbag before she went down to join the revellers.

George Galloway sat alone in his front room, a glass of Scotch whisky at his elbow and a large sheet of paper spread out on the floor beside him. The plan depicted a group of adjoining riverside properties headed ‘Felstead Estates’, and as George studied it he fingered the medallion hanging from his watch chain. Frank had been optimistic about the purchase, he recalled. There were two old houses which had become derelict and a small yard leased by an engineering firm which was heavily in debt to the bank. The corner property, a working men’s café, would be the only one to worry about, Frank had said. The lease was running out very soon and it was vital that the freehold was obtained beforehand. Planning permission would be no problem, he had been assured. New local transport concerns were being encouraged by the borough council to cope with the rising demands of trade, and a few palms had been greased as well. Felstead Estates were keen to sell the land, Frank had told him. They were in the process of raising money from their less profitable sites to finance a deal to buy property in the West End. The whole riverside site could easily be razed to the ground and replaced with a garage for a dozen lorries and yard storage space. Frank had been quick to point out that two sides of the site abutted on warehouses which would mean only two sides to fence and secure. It looked very promising, George thought as he sipped his drink.

The rat-tat on the front door roused him from his thoughts and he heard Nora’s footsteps on the stairs as she hurried down to answer the knock. Her face was pale and anxious as she led the two police officers into the room. They took off their helmets as George got up unsteadily from his chair.

‘Mr George Galloway?’ one of the policemen asked.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, feeling dizzy as he straightened up.

‘I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news, sir. It concerns your daughter.’

‘What’s ’appened?’ he blurted out.

‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you that your daughter Josephine was lost overboard from the “Greenwich Belle”,’ the officer said in a low voice.

George collapsed into his chair, his head in his hands and his whole body convulsed with sobs. Nora stood aghast with her hand up to her face and stared white-faced at the policeman. ‘’Ow? Where?’ she croaked.

‘The last time she was seen was about eight o’clock this evening,’ the officer replied. ‘We’ve taken statements from the passengers and those who knew her said she’d been drinking heavily. It would appear that she fell from the upper deck. That’s where she was seen last. According to the skipper the boat would have been approaching Galleons Reach on the return journey at about that time. The river police are searching the whole stretch of water but they’ve informed us that it might be some time before they recover the body. There are quite a few locks and dock entrances leading off Galleons Reach you see. I’m very sorry.’

Nora showed the two police officers out, her body suddenly becoming ice cold. Poor Josephine, she thought over and over again. And the poor lad.

She walked back to the door of the front room and stood there for a few moments without saying anything, then she turned and climbed the stairs to her room.

Chapter Thirty-nine

On the last Saturday morning in April Carrie Tanner was married to Fred Bradley in St James’s Church, Bermondsey. She wore a full-length white satin dress, and the three young bridesmaids who walked behind her were dressed in a beautiful coral pink. Jessica’s two children were full of smiles in their dresses and beamed at the camera but Freda’s three-year-old daughter needed a lot of coaxing to pose, finally giving the photographer a gap-toothed grin that made everyone smile. William Tanner gave his daughter away. He was looking smart in his grey pin-striped suit and starched collar with a wide-knotted silver tie. Nellie shed a few tears as she watched him proudly escort Carrie down the aisle and noticed how grey his hair had become. He seemed to have lost the sharp bearing she had so admired. Although he still walked upright, his shoulders drooped. Charlie had been given a weekend pass to attend the wedding and he sat at the back of the church looking wan and hollow-eyed.

All the neighbours were there. Florrie had put on her best hat and coat and before she left had slipped her ever-present silver snuff-box into her pocket. Perhaps she might be able to take a pinch to steady her nerves, she thought. Weddings always made her feel nervous, although it was many years since she had attended one. Maisie was there too, resplendent in a pink coat and wide white hat. She sat with Florrie and constantly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Aggie sat in the pew behind, along with Maggie Jones, Ida Bromsgrove and Grace Crossley from the Kings Arms.

Sadie sat at the back of the church, feeling decidedly out of place in a Church of England establishment. With her was Maudie who was used to singing hymns. Her voice made Sadie wince as it lifted above everyone else’s.

At the giving and taking of the vows, Sadie nudged Maudie. ‘Don’t ’e look old ter ’er?’ she remarked.

Maudie never liked to chatter in church. ‘Umm,’ she said in a soft voice.

‘She looks lovely though,’ Sadie went on.

‘Umm.’

‘Yer Catholic services are much longer than this, yer know.’

‘Umm.’

‘The vicar’s stutterin’ a bit. I reckon ’e’s bin at the communion wine,’ Sadie continued.

‘Umm.’

Sadie looked at Maudie’s erect head. ‘Is that all yer can say, “Umm”?’ she complained in a loud voice, just as the vicar paused for the handing over of the ring. Everyone looked round.

Maudie turned a bright red, and as soon as the newly-weds went out to the vestry for the signing she turned to Sadie. ‘Yer shouldn’t talk durin’ the service,’ she hissed. ‘I didn’t know where ter put me face.’

Sadie mumbled under her breath and amused herself by studying the people on the opposite side of the aisle.

The reception was held in the adjoining church hall and although Carrie mingled with the guests and accepted their good wishes with a smile, her happy day was marred by seeing her brother Charlie looking so sad and forlorn. She was worried too about her youngest brother Danny who was still out in France, and felt very sad that James was not there to joke and gently tease her as he probably would have done. Fred’s constant attention helped ease her heavy-heartedness, and when it was time to leave the guests and catch the train for their week’s honeymoon at Margate, Carrie hugged Charlie tightly.

William Tanner watched his daughter and her new husband leave the hall with mixed feelings. She was no longer the little girl he used to take with him to the stables and on those trips to the farm. She had grown into a beautiful woman and now she was married to an older man. Carrie had looked radiantly happy, but William sensed that his daughter had grabbed at marriage. Her decision had been sudden. There had been no courtship and no mention of Fred Bradley as a possible suitor. Her decision to marry him had come just after her father had lost his job at the yard and been forced to give up their family home. Would she have made the same decision if he were still working for Galloway? he wondered. Nellie had thought so. She had said that Carrie was being sensible in marrying a steady man who could provide for her and who would be less likely to weigh her down with a large family. Nellie had dismissed the age gap as being of little importance, and was quick to point out that there was a ten-year difference between their own ages. Perhaps she was right, thought William.

The women were gathering together in small groups and the men were beginning to congregate around the beer table. Not wanting to get involved in small talk, William strolled out of the hall and leaned against a stone column while he rolled a cigarette. As he searched his pockets for his matches he heard a rattle and turned to see Joe Maitland grinning at him and holding out his box of Swan Vestas. William smiled as he lit his cigarette and stepped down into the garden with Florrie’s lodger falling into step beside him.

‘I don’t know many o’ the blokes so I decided ter get a bit of air while they’re all bunnyin’,’ Joe said, kicking at a stone. ‘Florrie asked me ter come ter the weddin’. She said it was a chance ter get ter know some o’ me neighbours.’

‘Don’t yer come from round ’ere?’ William asked.

Joe shook his head. ‘I was born in Stepney, as a matter o’ fact. I’ve always lived there, up until I decided it was time ter push off. Fings change, an’ so do people. Bermondsey seemed as good a place as any ter put down me suitcase. I’m quite ’appy bein’ this side o’ the water, although it’s a mite different from Stepney.’

William caught a certain bitterness in the young man’s voice and glanced at him. ‘Did yer get in a bit o’ trouble?’ he said, and then quickly held up his hand. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean ter pry.’

‘It’s a long story,’ Joe told him.

‘It usually is,’ William laughed.

They strolled along the path in silence for a while, then suddenly Joe looked intently at the older man. ‘What’s yer feelin’s towards Galloway?’

William shrugged his shoulders. ‘If yer want me honest opinion, I’ve got no feelin’s at all fer the man. Not after gettin’ the push,’ he replied.

Joe stuck his hands deep into his pockets. As they reached the wide iron gates, he turned to face William. ‘’Ave yer ever bin ter those fights they ’old at the local pubs?’ he asked.