Gaslight in Page Street (9 page)

The redoubtable leader of the forthcoming protest was becoming impatient. Florence Axford looked around, her bottom lip pouting. The house was tidy and the washing was hanging out in the backyard. The front doorstep was clean and the scrag of mutton was cooking slowly in the kitchen range oven. She looked at herself in the overmantel mirror and pushed the hairpin further into her tightly gathered bun. Florrie liked to keep herself busy during the day. She always finished her cleaning job at the Tooley Street offices by nine o’clock in the morning, and her evening job serving behind the counter at the faggot and pease pudding shop did not start until seven. She needed little sleep, and today of all days she felt too excited to take a nap. The kettle was singing in the grate. As she set about making yet another cup of tea, Florrie heard the loud clip-clop on the cobbles.

George Galloway was standing in the yard, his thumbs hooked into his waistcoat as the two riders trotted into the yard and dismounted. Jack Oxford had hosed down the yard and busied himself about the stables. He was anxious to get something done about his itching, bright yellow face but was ushered quickly out of the way into his store shed as soon as the soldiers appeared, earlier than expected.

‘Get in there quick or you’ll scare the ’orses,’ William said, grinning. ‘I’ll get yer sorted out later.’

The tall figure of a Royal Artillery major was wearing breeches and highly polished boots. His black peaked cap reflected the sun as he stepped up to the firm’s owner and shook his hand warmly.

‘Nice to see you again, Mr Galloway,’ he said in his clipped voice. ‘I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Robinson. He’s our new adjutant. Knows a thing or two about horses too, I might add.’

The second officer stepped forward to shake hands with Galloway, and after the pleasantries were over the three men walked into the office. George took a bottle from the drawer of his desk and poured three measures of Scotch.

‘We’ve got a good selection,’ he said, passing over the drinks. ‘Good Irish Draughts. First-rate condition an’ they’re all seventeen ’ands. Ideal fer pullin’ gun carriages, I would say.’

‘Well, that sounds fine, Mr Galloway,’ the major said, glancing at the adjutant. ‘We’ve the authority to purchase and you’ve got the bid price from the War Office, I understand.’

George nodded and reached for the bottle once more. ‘I fink you’ll like what yer see, Major,’ he said, refilling the glasses.

Along the street outside, the women were ready. Front doors were open and folk stood around waiting for Florrie Axford to give the word. They did not have long to wait. When the first horse was led up to the gates, Florrie marched down the middle of the turning. ‘Righto, out yer come!’ she cried.

‘Good Lord! What the devil’s going on?’ the adjutant asked, glancing at his fellow officer.

George joined the soldiers at the gate. His face flushed with anger. The women had formed themselves into two lines, blocking both ends of the street, and were now making themselves comfortable. Sadie Sullivan had a rolling-pin resting in her lap and Maisie Dougall had brought out a colander and was proceeding to shell peas. Aggie Temple was starting on her knitting. Only Maudie Mycroft pinched her jaw nervously as she stared at the group by the gate.

‘C’mon now, ladies, don’t be silly,’ Galloway called out. ‘We’ve gotta run these ’orses up the street.’

‘Not in our bleedin’ turnin’ yer don’t,’ Florrie called back defiantly.

Galloway walked quickly up to the women’s leader and stood facing her, his features dark with anger. ‘What’s all this about?’ he demanded.

‘I’ll tell yer what it’s about,’ Florrie replied, glaring back at him. ‘We’re just about fed up wiv’ avin’ ter keep our kids off the street while you run those ’orses. One o’ these days a kid’s gonna get killed, so we’re stoppin’ yer little game.’

‘Game! Game!’ George spluttered. ‘I’m sellin’ those ’orses ter the army an’ they’ve a right ter see what they’re buyin’. I’ve gotta run ’em.’

‘Not in our street yer don’t. Not any more,’ Florrie said firmly.

‘Walk ’em up an’ down in yer poxy yard,’ Sadie called out.

‘Piss orf out of it,’ shouted Maisie.

‘Tell the army ter piss orf back where they come from,’ someone else called out.

Galloway held up his hands. ‘Now look, ladies. The kids are at school. We can be finished before they come ’ome.’

‘It ain’t jus’ the kids,’ Florrie said, looking around at the nodding faces. ‘We’re all likely ter get trampled on. It ain’t right ter gallop them bloody ’orses up an’ down outside our ’ouses. Now I’m tellin’ yer straight - yer ain’t gonna do it so yer might as well get used ter the idea.’

Galloway glared at the determined woman and tried to decide what to do. ‘I’ll get the police,’ he threatened.

‘You do that,’ Florrie goaded him. ‘We’ll tell ’em the same as we’re tellin’ you. Besides, if yer bring in the rozzers it’ll get in the papers, an’ ovver streets might back us up. Nah, I don’t fink that’s a very good idea, do you, gels?’

Loud voices shouted their support along the turning and the cartage contractor winced. ‘Right,’ he said, his eyes narrowing with menace. ‘I’m givin’ yer five minutes ter clear the street, an’ if yer ain’t gorn by then I’ll turn the ’ose on yer.’

Florrie watched as Galloway strode quickly back to the gates. ‘Stay put, ladies,’ she called out. ‘’E wouldn’t dare.’

The two officers had retreated back into the office and were looking perplexed. Galloway stormed back into the yard, cursing loudly. ‘Oxford! Get yerself out ’ere,’ he bawled out.

The soldiers peered out of the office window and saw the tall, shuffling figure of the yard man emerge from the shed. They looked at each other in disbelief. ‘Good God! Who’s that?’ the adjutant gasped, wide-eyed. ‘It looks like a blasted banshee.’

Galloway took Jack Oxford roughly by the arm. ‘I’ve got a job fer yer,’ he bellowed. ‘Get that ’osepipe out an’ connect it up.’

Jack scratched his head in puzzlement. He had only just rolled it up and now they wanted him to do the yard again. ‘It’s clean, Guv’nor. I done it first fing,’ he said in a pained voice.

‘Jus’ do as yer told an’ connect it up,’ Galloway growled.

The yard man shuffled back to his store shed and came back carrying the heavy rubber hosepipe. When he had secured the connection to the stand pipe, Galloway handed him the nozzle. ‘Right. Get outside an’ ’ose those silly mares down,’ he said gruffly. ‘If yer make a good job of it, I’ll buy yer a pint.’

Jack did not understand what the boss was talking about but his face broke into a crooked grin. He had worked at the yard for a number of years and had never known the boss offer to buy him a pint before. He shuffled out through the gate, pulling the heavy hose behind him. When he saw the two lines of women sitting across the street, he chuckled loudly.

When they caught sight of Jack Oxford brandishing the hosepipe, they gasped and stared open-mouthed.

‘What the bloody ’ell’s ’e done ter ’is face?’ Maisie asked Aggie.

‘Get back in that yard, yer syphilitic ole sod,’ Sadie shouted at him.

‘Where yer takin’ that ’osepipe - down the chinkie laundry?’ someone called out.

Jack Oxford leered at the women. There were one or two of them he was going to take pleasure in dousing. That Sullivan woman had clipped him around the ear when he chased her son away from the yard, and that Axford woman was always giving him funny looks when he passed her in the street. He stood with his feet apart and the hose pointing at the women and waited while Galloway addressed them.

‘Right then. Yer’ve ’ad yer five minutes,’ the firm owner said in a loud voice. ‘Now yer gonna get wet.’

Jack’s leering grin widened and he jerked the nozzle in the direction of the women in a threatening manner. Galloway stormed back into the yard. As he was about to turn the water on William confronted him.

‘Look, George, there’s no need ter go this far. We can exercise the ’orses in the yard. There’s room ter trot ’em,’ he said quietly.

Galloway glared at his yard foreman. ‘I want those ’orses run up the street,’ he declared. ‘I ain’t bowin’ ter a load o’ scatty women. I’ve give ’em fair warnin’ an’ they won’t move, so I’m gonna make ’em.’

William stood in front of the stand pipe, his face set hard. ‘I still reckon yer makin’ a mistake, George,’ he said.

The two stared at each other. There were times in their boyhood when there had been a clash of wills and in the past Galloway had always got his way. On this occasion, however, he was not so sure.

‘Get out o’ the way, Will,’ he said in a low voice.

Outside in the street the women had become quiet and Jack Oxford stood with a maniacal expression on his bright yellow face.

The curtains in the house adjoining the yard moved back into position as Nellie Tanner hurried out to the backyard. She had been watching the developing situation with mounting concern. Florrie had not invited her to take part in the women’s demonstration. ‘I won’t ask yer, Nell,’ she had said. ‘We all know your Will works fer the ole bastard an’ it’s likely ter cost ’im ’is job if Galloway sees yer in the street alongside us. Yer done yer bit tellin’ us when the army’s comin’ so don’t worry about it. We all know yer position.’

Nellie had agonised over what Florrie said. They were demonstrating for the kids, after all, and she felt deep down that it was her duty to join them, regardless of what Galloway might do in reprisal. Will would not have forbidden her to join the women if he had known, she felt sure. He would take his chances and face Galloway. Now, as she saw Jack Oxford pulling out the hosepipe, Nellie knew what she had to do.

Maudie was shaking from head to foot as she waited. Suddenly she remembered her Ernest’s advice. Slowly, she stood up.

‘“Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war,”’ she began to sing in a shrill voice.

‘Sit down, yer silly mare,’ Maisie said, pulling at her coat sleeve.

Maudie slumped down in her seat, suddenly feeling very silly, but she was heartened to see Sadie Sullivan jump up.

‘Good fer you, Maudie,’ she cried out, waving her rolling-pin over her head. ‘That’s what I say too. Onward Christian soldiers! I’m gonna crown that yellow-faced, stupid-lookin’ bastard right now.’

Florrie caught her arm and Sadie rounded on her. A violent confrontation between the two seemed inevitable, but at that moment a murmur passed through the assembled crowd. The figure of Nellie Tanner suddenly appeared in the street. Without saying a word she marched up to the gate, took out a chopper from beneath her shawl, raised it high above her head and brought it down heavily on the hosepipe.

A loud cheer rang out as Nellie straightened up and stood looking at the women for a moment or two, then without further ado she turned on her heel and walked back into her house, closing the door.

Jack Oxford realised he was not now going to use the hosepipe. He shuffled back into the yard, trailing a length of rubber tubing behind him, with the obscene remarks of the victorious women ringing in his ears.

‘Shut them gates,’ Galloway shouted, his face a dark mask. ‘We’ll parade the ’orses in the yard.’

William could hardly believe his eyes when Nellie came on to the scene. Now, as he went to fetch the first horse from the stable, the gravity of her act of defiance began to sink in. Galloway was not the sort of person to forget what had happened and he would certainly remember that it was Nellie who had humiliated him in front of all the women. As he led the first horse out into the yard, William was feeling more than a little worried.

Chapter Five

Carrie felt miserable as she walked home from school with Sara. It was two weeks since the trouble at the yard and there had been a big row between her parents. It had created a strained atmosphere in the house which even the boys had noticed. Carrie was especially unhappy because she knew that her father was going to Wanstead for fresh bales of hay on Saturday and she had not been able to bring herself to ask if Sara could go with her on the trip. In fact, the way things were her father might decide not to take her either, she thought. He had become grumpy and short-tempered, and when she had asked him to let her help him in the yard the previous evening he had said no.

That Friday evening everyone had been talking excitedly about the protest. Carrie had sat in her back bedroom and heard harsh words between her parents. From what she had gathered, it seemed her father blamed her mother for making things difficult for him. But Mr Galloway was wrong to attempt to use the hosepipe on the women, and it was brave of her mother to stop it happening, she reasoned. It was also Mr Galloway’s fault that her mother and father were rowing and that her father might not take her and Sara on the next trip. It wasn’t fair, she told herself. She had been on the trip many times, but poor Sara had never been once and had been hoping to go next time. Why did she have to tell her friend all about how nice it was and how she would speak to her father about taking her next time? She should have asked him first before saying anything to Sara. Well, she wasn’t going to give up, Carrie decided. She would ask him anyway.

Sara had been quiet on the walk home and when they neared Page Street she suddenly broke her silence. ‘I don’t fink I’ll be in school termorrer, Carrie,’ she said. ‘Me mum’s not well an’ I might ’ave ter mind the little ones.’