Gaslight in Page Street (8 page)

Soapy and Sharkey sat together in the public bar chuckling at the little joke they had played on the unfortunate yard man. ‘Wait till ’e looks in a mirrer,’ Sharkey laughed. ‘’E’ll fink ’e’s got yeller fever.’

Soapy almost choked on his beer at the thought. ‘Jack Oxford wouldn’t look in a mirrer,’ he spluttered. ‘’E couldn’t stand the sight of ’imself. Anyway, I don’t fink they ’ave mirrers in the doss-’ouse where Jack stays. If they did ’e wouldn’t cut ’imself so much when ’e shaves. Ain’t yer ever noticed ’ow many bits o’ fag paper the silly bleeder ’as stuck round ’is clock in the mornin’s?’

Sharkey grinned as he picked up his pint of ale. ‘Jack Oxford gets those cuts from the blunt carvin’ knife ’e uses,’ he replied. ‘One o’ these days ’e’s gonna cut ’is froat, that’s fer certain.’

Soapy wiped the froth away from his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘’Ere, Sharkey, d’yer reckon we should’ve used that dye stuff?’ he wondered aloud. ‘The poor sod might be stained fer life.’

Sharkey shook his head emphatically. ‘Nah. It’ll wear orf in a few weeks. Anyway, it won’t ’urt ’im. That stuff don’t do the ’arness any ’arm, an’ it’ll certainly be an improvement on ole Jack. Bloody ’ell, Soapy, ’e’s enough ter frighten the daylights out o’ the kids when ’e’s normal. Yer should ’ave ’eard ole Fanny Johnson go orf at ’im. ’E made ’er baby cry when she come by the yard the ovver day, an’ she told ’im ter piss orf out of it. Mind yer, ’e was only tryin’ ter make the little mite laugh. Trouble was Jack was dribblin’ all over the pram.’

Soapy finished his beer and pushed the empty glass away from him. ‘Well I’m orf ’ome,’ he announced.

As the two made to leave Alec Crossley leaned across the counter. ‘You lads look pleased wiv yerselves,’ he remarked.

‘Yeah, we bin doin’ a bit o’ sprucin’ up in the yard,’ Sharkey told him straight-faced. ‘Turned out a treat it did.’

Alec pointed to the leather dye on Soapy’s hands. ‘Yer wanna be careful o’ that stuff,’ he said. ‘I knew a bloke who got dye splashed all over ’is face once. Terrible face ’e ’ad.’

‘Did ’e?’ Sharkey replied, giving Soapy a worried glance as they left the pub.

When Jack Oxford roused himself he felt a tightness in his face and he scratched at his chin. ‘Bloody gnats,’ he grumbled aloud as he stood up and brushed himself down. He could hear his name being called and peered out of the window down into the yard.

‘Jus’ tidyin’ up,’ he called down, looking to make sure there were no telltale pieces of straw stuck to his clothes.

‘Get orf ’ome, Jack, I wanna lock up,’ the voice called out.

Jack Oxford hurried down the ramp, still scratching at his irritated face. As he walked past the office, the accountant came out.

‘Good Lord!’ Gallagher gasped, adjusting his spectacles in disbelief.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and walked out into Page Street, intending to go straight to the fish shop in Jamaica Road. Florrie Axford was standing at her front door pondering over just where she would place the women for the demonstration when the yard man walked by.

‘Oh my Gawd!’ she gasped, following the retreating man with her bulging eyes.

Jack frowned in puzzlement. ‘What’s the matter wiv everybody?’ he said aloud as he hurried across the busy main thoroughfare.

The smell of frying fish and chips made him lick his lips. As he walked through the door of the shop an old lady gave him a stare and hurried out. The shopkeeper was shovelling hot chips from the fryer into a container and did not look up as Jack approached the counter.

‘Give us a pen’orth o’ cod an’ a ’a’porth o’ chips,’ he said, slapping down the coins on the high counter.

The proprietor served up Jack’s order into a sheet of newspaper. As he wrapped it and put the bundle down on the counter, he looked up. His mouth dropped open and his eyes stared out at his customer in shocked surprise. ‘Christ Almighty!’ he gasped, snatching up the coins and backing away a pace.

Jack picked up his parcel of fish and chips and was about to give his food a liberal sprinkling of vinegar when the shopowner snatched the bottle away.

‘Yer better get out o’ me shop,’ he said quickly, his voice rising. ‘Go on, ’oppit!’

The yard man walked to the door and turned back, wondering what he could have done to upset the shopkeeper.

‘Go on, I told yer ter ’oppit!’ the man said, holding the wire scoop up in a threatening manner.

‘Sod yer then,’ Jack called out as he turned on his heel and walked off towards the lodging-house in Tower Bridge Road, picking at the fish and chips as he went. Faces turned as he walked by and one old lady crossed herself as she passed him.

Jack sat down on a low wall to finish his meal. Passers-by stared at him and gave him a wide berth. Only a mangy dog warily came near him and sat down, hoping for a scrap of food to come its way. Jack threw the animal a piece of crackling but the dog merely sniffed at it and trotted off.

By the time he had reached his lodging-house, Jack was totally perplexed. As he walked through the open door his way was barred by a frightened-looking man holding up his hands.

‘Yer can’t come in ’ere!’ he cried, backing away.

‘Why not?’ Jack said, scratching his itching face.

‘’Cos I’m full up,’ the lodging-house keeper said quickly, shutting the door in his face.

At seven-thirty sharp on Friday morning George Galloway drove up in his pony-and-trap. William had already opened up the yard and some of the carts were leaving. George was wearing his brown tweed suit and brown derby hat, as was his custom on selling days. When he had parked the trap he walked into the office and seated himself at his desk.

His yard foreman was giving instructions to one of the carmen. ‘Mornin’ Guv’nor,’ he said, looking over.

‘Mornin’, Will. Can yer get Oxford ter swill the yard down an’ put the broom over it? I want the place clean an’ tidy when the army arrive.’

William walked to the office door and looked away up the street before replying. ‘’E’s not in yet, George,’ he said. ‘It’s unusual fer ’im. Usually he’s waitin’ at the gate fer me ter open up.’

Sharkey and Soapy were making heavy work of harnessing their horses in the hope that the victim of their jape would soon appear. Their dalliance had not gone unnoticed by the firm’s owner.

‘What’s them two ’angin’ about for, Will? They should ’ave bin out o’ the yard ten minutes ago,’ he growled.

As he went to the door, William caught sight of Jack Oxford just coming into the yard. ‘Gawd ’elp us!’ he gasped, staring at the yard man’s bright yellow face. ‘What yer done ter yerself?’

Sharkey and Soapy sat up in their seats, laughing loudly. ‘It’s the dreaded fever!’ Soapy shouted.

‘Bring out yer dead! Keep ’im away from the ’orses!’ Sharkey called out.

William gave the two carmen a blinding look and waved them out of the yard. He recalled the twosome’s strange behaviour the previous evening and suspected that they were behind Jack’s strange appearance. ‘Come in the office,’ he said, taking the yard man’s arm and leading him to a cracked mirror propped up on the desk top.

When Jack saw his reflection he backed away from the mirror in disbelief. ‘What is it?’ he cried, staring at William in shock.

‘I’d say yer got a dose o’ black swine fever,’ George said, winking at William. ‘D’yer feel sick or sweaty?’

The yard man shook his head vigorously. ‘I wondered why everybody was lookin’ at me last night,’ he sounded off. ‘I got chucked out o’ the fish shop, an’ they wouldn’t let me sleep at the lodgin’-’ouse. When I went ter the ’orseshoe fer a drink they wouldn’t let me in so I ’ad ter get ole Blind Bill ter go in an’ get me a quart bottle o’ stout. I ’ad ter kip down in the park, that’s why I’m late.’

George glanced at William, a smirk on his face. ‘I bet it was them two whoresons,’ he whispered, nodding his head in the direction of the yard.

William shrugged his shoulders. ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ he answered, trying not to laugh at Jack’s predicament.

‘Is it painful?’ George asked, beginning to enjoy himself.

‘It’s bloody itchy,’ Jack replied, scratching at his face again.

‘Um. That’s always the trouble wiv black swine fever. I tell yer, it can be pretty nasty,’ George pronounced, looking suitably serious.

William was beginning to feel sorry for the unfortunate man who had slumped down in a chair, dismayed. ‘It’s all right, it ain’t deadly. It’ll soon go,’ he said kindly.

George was not feeling so sympathetic towards his retarded employee. ‘I don’t know so much,’ he said, stroking his chin. ‘Normally it only attacks ’orses. It’s carried by the black mosquito. They bite pigs an’ suck their blood, then they pass it on ter the ’orses. I remember when ole Charlie Brown lost ’alf ’is stable over black swine fever. ’Ad ter shoot the lot of ’em in the end. Suffered terrible, they did.’

Jack was now in a panic. He looked up at them with a pitiful expression. ‘What am I gonna do?’ he groaned.

‘D’yer feel ill?’ George asked, turning away from the man to hide his amusement.

‘I feel all right, apart from this bloody itchin’,’ Jack said hopefully.

‘Um. May not be swine fever, then. P’raps it’s straw blight,’ George said, thoughtfully stroking his chin.

‘What’s that?’ Jack asked quickly, fearing some more frightening information.

‘It’s caught from straw flies. Sometimes when yer sleep in ’aystacks, yer get bitten. Yer ain’t bin sleepin’ up in the loft lately, ’ave yer, Jack?’ George asked, hardly able to contain himself.

The yard man did not know what he should say and merely shook his head.

‘Well, it must be the black swine fever then,’ George declared, shaking his head sadly at William.

‘I, er, I did sort o’ take a nap yesterday afternoon, Guv’nor,’ Jack said in a crushed voice. ‘All the work was done though. I jus’ come over tired.’

George sat down in his desk chair and looked hard at the pathetic character facing him. ‘It serves yer right fer sleepin’ on the job,’ he said sternly. ‘I’m gonna overlook it this time but I don’t want no more slackin’, understand?’

Jack nodded his head vigorously. ‘All right, Guv’nor, I won’t let it ’appen again. Will this get better?’ he asked, touching his face.

‘It should wear off in a year or two, I reckon,’ George replied, glancing at his foreman.

‘A year or two?’ Jack groaned.

William felt that the joke had gone on long enough. ‘P’raps we could try the turpentine treatment, Guv’nor,’ he suggested.

George nodded and held his hand up to his face. ‘Let ’im clean that yard up first, Will,’ he spluttered.

‘Right. Out yer go, then,’ William said. ‘An’ make a good job of it. We’ve got the army comin’ down terday. After yer finished, I’ll get my Nellie ter try the treatment on yer face.’

As soon as the yard man had left the office, George and William burst out laughing. George wiped his streaming eyes with a handkerchief and William sat holding his middle.

‘What did they use on ’im, fer Chrissake?’ George asked, still grinning widely.

‘It must ’ave bin that preservative we keep fer the ’arness,’ William answered through chuckles. ‘My Nellie’s gonna need ter take the scrubbin’ brush ter the poor sod.’

There was an atmosphere of excitement in Page Street as the women hurried back and forth with their shopping. As she did the dishes and tidied up her scullery, Maudie Mycroft could not stop thinking about the conversation she had had with her husband Ernest the previous evening. It had left her feeling piqued by his lack of understanding.

‘I’m worried about what the women are gonna say, Ern,’ she had told him. ‘If it gets in the papers, I won’t be able ter ’old me ’ead up at the church women’s meetin’.’

‘Sod ’em,’ was his short answer.

‘It’s all right fer you,’ Maudie complained. ‘I’m the one who’s gotta take the dirty looks an’ the nasty remarks. Put yerself in my place. ’Ow would you like it?’

Ernest put down the boot he was polishing. ‘Look, Maudie,’ he said quietly, ‘I fink what yer doin’ is very brave. Yer all goin’ out there an’ facin’ up ter that ole bastard Galloway. Yer doin’ it fer the kids. It’s a wonder one of ’em ain’t bin killed already. Yer like our army goin’ out ter face the Boers. Come ter fink of it, it wouldn’t be a bad fing if yer all started singin’ when yer facin’ ’im.’

‘Singin’?’

‘Yeah, singin’. Yer could start up wiv “Onward Christian Soldiers”. If that got in the papers, yer’d be looked up to at the muvvers’ meetin’.’

Maudie’s face brightened up considerably. ‘What a good idea,’ she cried. Then her enthusiasm suddenly faded. ‘S’posin’ they bring the Black Maria down, Ern?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll come an’ bail yer out.’

Now as Maudie unpacked her shopping and adjusted her clean curtains, she was feeling very nervous. She had already seen Sadie Sullivan who said she had sorted out a rolling-pin for the occasion. What must those suffragettes feel like? she agonised. Chaining themselves to railings and being sent off to prison then being force-fed when they went on their hunger strikes. They must be very brave, what with having to endure the jeers and bad stories about them in the newspapers. Would she be as brave if things got out of hand? As she dusted her mantelshelf and adjusted the ornaments, Maudie had visions of being led away by two burly policemen and after a trial at the Old Bailey having a cell door slammed on her. ‘Oh dear, oh dear. What have you got me into, Florrie?’ she moaned aloud.