The Girl from Cotton Lane (30 page)

As the year slipped by things were happening in Bermondsey, not all of them apparent to the regular group of women who stood chatting on their front doorsteps in Page Street. The fact that Billy Sullivan and Annie McCafferty were walking out together was apparent to everyone, however, and Sadie Sullivan was very pleased that her eldest son was now keeping company with a nice Catholic girl.

‘She’s made all the difference ter that boy o’ mine,’ she remarked to Florrie Axford. ‘I was in despair of ’im at one time. Since ’e’s bin wiv Annie though I ain’t ’eard a peep out of ’im about that bloody gymnasium.’

Florrie reached for her snuffbox and tapped on the lid with her first two fingers. ‘She seems a very nice young lady,’ she said, ‘an’ I’ve noticed ’ow Billy’s spruced ’imself right up since ’e’s bin courtin’ ’er.’

‘I see your Danny’s goin’ steady too,’ Sadie remarked to Nellie Tanner, who had just joined them. ‘Are we gonna ’ear weddin’ bells soon?’

Nellie shrugged her shoulders. ‘My Danny don’t give much away, Sadie, but I reckon ’e’ll be namin’ the date soon. She’s a nice gel is that Iris. Shame about ’er farvver though.’

‘What’s wrong wiv ’im?’ Maisie Dougall asked.

‘’E’s a bit of a piss artist,’ Nellie told her. ‘’E’s as good as gold till ’e gets a skinful, then ’e’s very nasty. Mind yer, ’e don’t say anyfing ter my Danny, ’cos ’e knows ’e’d come unstuck if ’e did, but ’e’s prone ter knockin’ ’is ole woman about, none the less. ’E threatened young Iris once but my Danny ’ad a quiet word in ’is ear. ’E told ’im that if ’e laid ’is ’ands on that gel ’e’d ’ave ’im ter deal wiv. Caused a bit o’ friction between Danny an’ young Iris, but it all worked out all right, I’m glad ter say.’

Florrie sniffed up the snuff and stood swaying gently until the sneeze came, then the tall, gaunt woman wiped her nose on a brown-stained handkerchief and blinked the tears from her eyes. ‘Did yer ’ear they’ve got anuvver yard?’ she asked, jerking her thumb in the direction of the Galloway firm.

Nellie nodded. ‘My ole man told me it’s in Wilson Street. ’E said they’ve got a new fleet o’ lorries an’ they’ve bin doin’ grain work fer the brewery as well as machinery an’ the like.’

‘It’s a pity ole Galloway don’t spend a bit of ’is money on doin’ our places up,’ Florrie remarked. ‘My bedroom ceilin’s soakin’ wet every time it rains, an’ me copper’s leakin’.’

‘Trouble is, every time yer get the lan’lords ter do any repairs they put the bloody rents up,’ Maisie cut in. ‘D’yer know, ole Temple’s place is really bad. I don’t know ’ow ’e ain’t caught pneumonia. I went in there the ovver day ter take ’is clean washin’ in an’ I could smell the dampness. Mind yer though, yer can’t say anyfing to ’im lately. ’E jus’ sits in that front room of ’is an’ stares out the winder. I’m sure the poor bleeder won’t see anuvver winter out.’

Nellie shook her head sadly. ‘Aggie would turn in ’er grave if she was alive ter see it.’

‘’Ow’s your Carrie’s cafe gettin’ on now?’ Maisie asked her cheerily.

Nellie’s face brightened. ‘Since those workmen finished the alterations she’s bin doin’ very well. The place is always packed an’ she said there’s a meetin’ of one sort or the ovver goin’ on nearly every night. I’m pleased for ’er. That gel does work ’ard.’

‘’Ere, I know what I was gonna ask yer, Nellie,’ Florrie said quickly. ‘Did yer see that bit in the paper the ovver day about a club or somefing openin’ up in Rovver’ithe?’

Nellie nodded. ‘It’s only talk yet, but apparently there’s a group o’ the local businessmen puttin’ money up ter start a nightclub or somefing. They say it’ll be a real posh place. It won’t be fer the likes of us, but it’ll attract a lot o’ moneyed people. My Will said ’e don’t fink it’ll come orf though.’

‘Oh, an’ why’s that then?’ Florrie asked.

‘Will wouldn’t say too much, but ’e reckons the police might put their oar in,’ Nellie told her.

‘I wonder if that ole goat Galloway’s put money in it?’ Maisie asked, looking from one to the other.

‘I would reckon so,’ Nellie remarked. ‘That ole bastard’s got ’is finger in everyfing. I ’ear tell ’e’s after the rest o’ the ’ouses in this street. Gawd ’elp us if ’e gets ’em. We can’t get the repairs done as it is, wivout ’im ’avin’ more ’ouses ter look after.’

Maisie noticed the tall figure of the local policeman turning into the street. ‘’Ere ’e comes,’ she alerted the other women. ‘Lookin’ fer ’is ’andout from the bookie no doubt.’

Florrie pulled a face as she looked along the turning. ‘’E ain’t a patch on ole Buller who used ter be on this beat. ’E was a nice man was ole Sid Buller. Always good fer a chat, an’ ’e never got smutty like that dirty ole goat comin’ along now.’

Sadie nodded. ‘That git tried ter get my Billy in trouble. ’E swore ’e was wiv that ware’ouse robbery downtown that time. ’E wouldn’t leave ’im alone. ’E fancies ’imself too. One o’ these days ’e’s gonna pick on the wrong bloke, mark my words. My Billy would ’ave give ’im what for if it wasn’t fer the fact that ’e’s still got that black mark against ’im down the police station.’

‘I wonder what ’appened ter that Sid Buller. ’E left all of a sudden, didn’t ’e?’ Maisie enquired.

Florrie leaned towards the others as the large policeman approached them. ‘Sid got in trouble fer drinkin’ on duty,’ she whispered. ‘The sergeant come roun’ the turnin’ lookin’ fer ’im an’ silly Maudie Mycroft told ’im she see Sid goin’ in the Kings Arms. ’Im an’ Alec Crossley were in the back room drinkin’ whisky. Mind yer, Sid wasn’t the best copper. The kids was gettin’ away wiv blue murder. It’s different wiv this one though. ’E’s scared the livin’ daylights out o’ the youngsters. It’s all right bein’ strict, but I don’t ’old in wiv ’im treatin’ Billy the way ’e ’as.’

PC Copeland reached the women and nodded briefly to them. ‘G’day, ladies,’ he said in a loud voice.

‘Nice day, ain’t it?’ Maisie remarked in a quiet voice.

Florrie gave her a stern look and took out her snuffbox once more, while Sadie Sullivan mumbled an obscene remark under her breath and turned her back on him.

Keen to retrieve the situation Maisie Dougall motioned the women to gather round and then looked up the turning as though someone might be watching her. ‘Alice Johnson an’ that totter bloke are ’avin’ it orf again,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I see ’im come out o’ there before nine this mornin’. ’E was in there all night.’

‘’Ow d’yer know?’ Florrie asked.

‘’Cos I see ’im go in there last night when I was comin’ back wiv me faggots an’ pease pudden,’ Maisie told her. ‘’E ’ad a couple o’ bottles o’ stout under ’is arm an’ I could ’ave sworn ’e ’ad a bunch o’ flowers under that rotten ole coat ’e wears. I reckon there’ll be anuvver weddin’ down the turnin’ before long.’

‘The woman’ mus’ be mad ter fink o’ gettin’ ’erself ’itched to a bloke like ’im,’ Florrie said shaking her head.

‘Well, she ain’t everybody’s cup o’ tea ’erself, is she?’ Maisie remarked. ‘She’s chased two ole men away, an’ now it looks like Broom’ead’s gonna be number three.’

‘Nah, she’ll ’ang on ter this one,’ Florrie said quickly. ‘’E’s got a few bob, ’as Broom’ead.’

The women were soon joined by Maudie Mycroft, who put down her shopping bag and proceeded to rub her shoulder. ‘It’s me sciatica playin’ me up,’ she told them with a grimace. ‘I’ve ’ad it fer a week now an’ I can’t shift it.’

‘It’s sittin’ in that draughty church, that’s what’s caused that,’ Florrie told her. ‘Yer wanna get some o’ that there ’orse liniment. That’s the finest stuff fer aches an’ pains.’

‘’Orse liniment?’ Maudie repeated.

‘That’s right, ’orse liniment,’ Florrie told her. ‘Ask Nellie if I’m tellin’ a lie. ’Er Will used it on ’er when she got that bad back. It was right as rain in no time at all, wasn’t it, Nell?’

Maudie looked disbelievingly at Nellie Tanner who nodded her head vigorously.

‘That’s right,’ she said positively. ‘Mind yer, it stinks the place out but it’s werf it. Get yer ole man ter warm it up an’ rub yer shoulder wiv it night an’ mornin’.’

Maudie looked unconvinced. ‘I do believe it’s the worry that brings this on,’ she said, raising her painful shoulder and wincing.

‘Is it that ole man o’ yours?’ Maisie asked.

Maudie nodded. ‘’E’s back wiv ’em again,’ she replied. ‘I did fink ’e’d got fed up wiv it all but I was wrong. The ovver night ’e went over ter that there Speaker’s Corner an’ ’e come ’ome wiv a black eye. I told ’im then that if ’e didn’t give it up I’d leave ’im.’

‘What did ’e say ter that?’ Florrie asked, hiding a grin.

‘’E told me ’e wasn’t gonna do no such fing an’ ’e said ’e’d ’elp me ter pack if I liked,’ Maudie said, sniffing tearfully. ‘’E’s not bin the same since ’e joined that evil lot. I told ’im so too.’

‘I fink yer makin’ too much out of it, if yer ask me,’ Florrie remarked. ‘Yer need people like your Ernest ter stir fings up a bit, even if they are a bit bolshie.’

Maudie looked worried. ‘I don’t know what people would say if Ernest got arrested. They’re arrestin’ Communist people now, yer know. They arrested some over at Speaker’s Corner. That’s ’ow Ernest got that black eye.’

‘What, resistin’ arrest?’ Florrie asked.

‘No. ’E was standin’ near the platform listenin’ ter this bloke talkin’ an’ when ’e clapped at the end ’o the speech the man next to ’im punched ’im in the eye.’

‘What did ’e do that for?’ Florrie asked.

‘Gawd knows,’ Maudie replied. ‘I do wish ’e’d get right out of it an’ take up somefing else. I mean ter say, ’e could keep pigeons, or rabbits, or even chickens. We’ve got plenty o’ room in our back yard fer a few ’utches. Ovver men ’ave fings like that fer an ’obby.’

‘I don’t fink your Ernest joined the Communist Party fer an ’obby, luv,’ Florrie told her. ‘That’s a belief, jus’ like goin’ ter church. You go ter church. What would yer say if Ernest asked yer ter give it up. I know. Why don’t yer pretend yer got a fancy man? That’ll keep ’im ’ome. If ’e finks yer playin’ about when ’is back’s turned ’e won’t be too keen ter go on all them there meetin’s, it stan’s ter reason.’

Maudie shook her head vigorously. ‘I couldn’t,’ she almost shouted. ‘I jus’ couldn’t.’

‘Well, please yerself,’ Florrie said offhandedly. ‘If yer won’t do anyfing about it yer deserve all yer get.’

Maudie picked up her shopping bag and said her goodbyes, and when she had left Florrie turned to the others. ‘I got an idea,’ she said mysteriously. ‘See what yer fink o’ this . . .’

For a long time Carrie had been bargaining with the local catering suppliers and comparing their prices, much to her advantage, and when she was talking with her father one Friday evening he let slip that Joe Maitland was dealing in tinned food.

‘I’ve a good mind ter go round an’ see ’im,’ she said. ‘Tinned food would keep an’ if the price is right I could buy in bulk.’

William was sorry he had mentioned the cases of foodstuffs he had been stacking for most of the morning. ‘I’d be careful wiv Maitland, gel. Yer never know if it’s come the ovver way,’ he warned her.

Carrie was keen to find out more, however. ‘When can I find ’im in?’ she asked. ‘We’ve got a phone in now, I could give ’im a ring.’

‘Monday mornin’s ’e’s always there, an’ Friday afternoons when ’e pays me an’ Sidney Coil our wages,’ William told her.

Carrie was quick to phone Joe Maitland and arrange a meeting, but Fred was less than enthusiastic.

‘I dunno. Yer said yerself ’e’s a bit of a shady dealer. If we buy ’ooky stuff we could be in trouble, Carrie,’ he fretted.

‘Look, I won’t buy unless the price is right an’ the goods are straight,’ she assured him.

‘Why d’yer ’ave ter meet ’im in a pub?’ Fred asked. ‘Why can’t yer go ter the ware’ouse?’

‘’Cos that’s the way ter do business these days,’ Carrie told him. ‘It’s better ter sit in a cosy bar than a draughty ware’ouse.’

‘I jus’ fink yer gettin’ too big fer yer boots sometimes,’ he said peevishly.

‘We’re runnin’ a nice business now, Fred,’ she countered. ‘Since the extension we’ve almost doubled our trade an’ yer know yerself from what the customers say we’re the best cafe around - an’ our prices are right too.’

Fred could not argue with the facts and he reluctantly went back to the kitchen. It was just after midday when Carrie arrived at the Jolly Compasses, a tiny pub off the Tower Bridge Road frequented by traders. The bar was busy. Joe came up and greeted her warmly.

‘What about a drink? I’ve got a table in the corner,’ he smiled.

Carrie hesitated. Whenever she and Fred went out together it was a pint of ale for him and she usually had a shandy. Today, however, she was feeling daring. ‘Can I ’ave a port an’ lemon?’ she asked.

They sat talking over their drinks and while Joe was shuffling a sheaf of papers Carrie watched him over her glass. He had changed very little from the time when he lived near her family in Page Street except that he looked that bit older. His dark wavy hair had one or two strands of grey now and his face was fuller, but he was certainly a handsome man still, of medium build and broad-shouldered, and he knew how to dress. His dark, double-breasted suit was immaculate and he wore a grey tie knotted tightly over a spotless white shirt. His shoes too were quality, and Carrie had noticed that his slender hands were clean.

‘I’ve got a complete list ’ere, Carrie,’ he was saying. ‘There’s the brand names wiv sizes alongside, an’ see ’ere, there’s the prices in this column. Yer can see the discounts allowed wiv the quantity, an’ there, see, that’s the storage rate,’ he concluded, handing her the sheaf of papers.