The Girl from Cotton Lane (39 page)

‘We’ll string the bastards up,’ someone cried.

‘We’ll swing fer the whoresons,’ another docker called out.

The union officials pleaded for calm and good sense but soon realised they were wasting their time trying to appeal to the men’s better nature.

‘It’s gettin’ nasty. I reckon we should get some of the local stewards up ’ere,’ one of the officials suggested.

‘Go on, piss orf,’ a large docker shouted out. ‘We’re stayin’ put, an’ if there’s any attempt ter stop us gettin’ ter the blackleg bastards there’ll be blood on the pavement, an’ yer better believe it.’

The chief union official turned to his deputy. ‘See if yer can get Don Jacobs up ’ere, Charlie. ’E’s about the only one they’ll listen to.’

Danny turned to Billy, his face set seriously. ‘I don’t like the look o’ this, mate. If those blacklegs turn up now there’ll be murders.’

‘Who are these blacklegs, Danny?’ the ex-boxer asked.

Danny shook his head sadly. ‘I tell yer, Billy, I saw some tryin’ ter get in the docks when we was out once. Lucky fer them Don Jacobs was on ’and ter sort it out an’ there was no trouble. The blacklegs went off, but yer never see such a motley crowd in all yer life. They’re the dregs. Some ’ave bin out o’ work fer so long they’ll do murder fer a day’s pay. Ovvers are just anti-union, anti-working-class, anti everyfing. There’s ovvers too who are paid agitators. They get paid by the shipowners or their agents ter break the strikes. I’ve never ’eard of ’em succeedin’ so far, but yer gotta be careful when they’re likely ter show up. They’re no pushover, an’ a lot of ’em are tooled up. Yer gotta get stuck inter the gits an’ let ’em see yer not gonna allow the picket lines ter be broken.’

Billy was getting excited and Danny quickly tried to calm him down. ‘Now look ’ere, Billy, I’m not intendin’ ter get in any scraps. There’s enough blokes ’ere already an’ we won’t make much difference eivver way. Let’s me an’ you go an’ get ourselves a cup o’ tea at Carrie’s place. Then we can go up the Old Kent Road an’ see if there’s any excitement up there. Mind yer, though, I’m not gettin’ involved in anyfing. I’m a married man now an’ I’ve got responsibilities, what wiv Iris expectin’ an’ all.’

‘It’s all right, Danny,‘ his friend reassured him. ‘I’m gettin’ married too, remember. I ain’t out ter get me ’ead opened up.’

The two young men were about to walk off when there was a loud cheer. The figure of Don Jacobs could be seen some way in the distance as he clambered up on to a horse cart. His loud voice rang out as he gave the men all the latest news and then there was a silence as he raised his hands.

‘Now listen ter me, an’ listen carefully,’ he began. ‘Yer all know me an’ yer know that I’m not one ter sell yer down the river. But yer also know that I don’t pull me punches. If I fink yer out of order I’ll tell yer. Is that right?’

There was silence and he shouted louder: ‘Is that right?’

This time there was a roar of assent and he went on. ‘Now some of yer ’ave bin in a confrontation wiv blacklegs in the past an’ yer know what a load o’ scum they can be.’

‘What d’yer mean, “can be”?’ a docker shouted out.

‘What I say,’ Jacobs went on in a loud voice. ‘Take out the paid agitators an’ the anti-union people an’ yer left wiv workin’-class men like yerselves but a lot less fortunate ’cos they don’t enjoy the protection o’ the trade unions. They’re the men yer gotta consider.’

‘Consider ’em? Kill the bastards, that’s what I’d do,’ the big docker at the front of the crowd shouted.

Jacobs merely smiled. ‘That’s the sort o’ finkin’ the bosses expect. That’s why they put their paid men in ter stir up trouble. They want us all ter turn against each ovver, wiv bruvver fightin’ bruvver.’

‘What should we do then, Don?’ one of the older men shouted out.

‘I’ll tell yer what we do. First we talk. Then, bruvvers, we defend our lines if we’re attacked. But above all we talk ter the blacklegs. If we get a few of ’em ter join the union there an’ then we’ve won the day.’

‘That’s all very well,’ the big docker butted in again, ‘but what ’appens when the police escort the scabs inter the wharf ?’

‘Yer stand back an’ do nuffink,’ Jacobs said, and was greeted with complete silence while his words sank in. Then there was a mumbling which turned to angry shouts.

‘All right, lads. I know what yer finkin’,’ Jacobs continued. ‘We’re not breakin’ the law, we’re just peaceful workers tryin’ to assert our rights. But I’ll tell yer this - the blacklegs might get past the pickets an’ do a good job unloadin’ the perishables, but where they gonna move ’em to? Nuffink’s gonna leave the riverside while this strike’s on, an’ if they bring in non-union firms ter try an’ shift the stuff then we don’t let those firms near the quays, nor ever after. Am I understood?’

A loud roar went up and men were clapping their leader and backslapping him as he stepped down amongst them.

‘C’mon, Billy, let’s get round ter see Carrie,’ Danny said.

The two walked away from the milling crowd and turned into the backstreets. It was quiet after the noise and commotion at Dockhead.

‘I fink I’ve got a place ter live,’ Billy said, breaking the silence as they walked out into the quiet Jamaica Road.

‘That’s good news, Billy,’ Danny replied. ‘Where at?’

‘It’s ole Temple’s place. Me muvver was sayin’ ’e’s goin’ inter the work’ouse. Poor ole sod’s goin’ a bit funny. ’E’ll be better orf there, at least ’e’ll get fed an’ looked after.’

‘So yer won’t be long now then?’ Danny asked with a smile.

‘Soon as possible. Annie’s pleased as punch,’ Billy told him, grinning widely.

They turned into Bacon Street and walked briskly along past the row of neat houses on the left and the tall slum blocks to their right. Billy shook his head sadly. ‘What a bloody place ter live. I don’t know ’ow yer stuck it there, Danny,’ he remarked.

‘It’s the stench that gets yer,’ Danny said disgustedly. ‘Everybody tips their rubbish roun’ the bins at the back an’ in the summer it’s unbearable. The place is full o’ flies an’ bluebottles, an’ yer can ’ear ’em next door when they turn over in bed. Terrible bloody ’ole. I dunno ’ow the ole man an’ the ole lady stand it. One fing’s fer sure, they won’t be there no longer than need be, not if our Carrie ’as ’er way. She’s puttin’ money away ter get ’em out. Mind yer, it’ll take a time. I know the cafe’s doin’ well but they’ve got ter live, an’ there’s young Rachel ter bring up.’

They reached the cafe and Danny led the way in, strolling up and planting a kiss on his sister’s cheek. Billy did likewise and was given a big hug.

‘So yer finally gonna tie the knot. Well, congratulations,’ Carrie said smiling. ‘Yer a lucky feller, I s’pose yer realise that?’

Danny had seated himself at one of the benches and Billy joined him. ‘We’re gonna slip up ter the Old Kent Road, Carrie,’ he told his sister as she brought two mugs of tea over.

‘Well, don’t go gettin’ yerself inter trouble,’ Carrie said. ‘Lofty Weston came in this mornin’ an’ said there was murders up at Canal Bridge last night. They’ve got volunteers ter drive the trams by all accounts, an’ police escorts. Lofty told me that one bloke tried ter pull the driver off the tram an’ the police tried ter arrest ’im. Everybody started fightin’ an’ one bloke got ’is ’ead cut open. So jus’ you be careful, fer Gawdsake.’

The two young men slipped into the kitchen to say hello to Fred then they left the dining rooms and made their way out on to Jamaica Road and through St James’s Road to Canal Bridge. A large group of transport workers were standing around and it was obvious why the strikers had picked that place to stage their protest. The gradient at the bridge meant that the trams would have to slow down at that point, and as it was not very far from the tram terminal at New Cross there would be many vehicles going past. Men were carrying placards and banners, and as policemen continually pushed them back across the pavement voices were raised in protest.

Billy turned to one striker. ‘’Ow’s it goin’, mate?’ he asked.

‘Yer can see fer yerself,’ the man answered angrily. ‘They won’t let us near the trams. We’re after gettin’ those scabs orf the platforms but we ain’t ’ad any luck so far.’

Danny tugged on Billy’s arm. ‘Let’s move on a bit. It looks a bit dangerous ’ere.’

Just then a shout went up. ‘There’s one comin’!’

Men were pressing forward and the line of police with linked arms were trying their best to hold the throng back. Suddenly the line broke and as one man ran out into the road he was immediately met by two mounted policemen galloping up with their long truncheons swinging. Other men rushed forward and one hung on to a saddle, despite being beaten repeatedly with a truncheon. The tram had clattered up and men were hanging on to the sides, while others fought their way towards the driver’s platform. One man made it on to the steps but he was kicked off into the road by the policeman on the footplate. The fighting was becoming very nasty, and men were in danger of getting caught between the iron wheels or having their heads broken by the swinging truncheons.

Billy had surged forward, incensed by one policeman’s brutal attack on a cowed striker, but Danny pulled him back. Other men managed to rescue their colleague but the whole situation was getting out of control. Suddenly a group of police reinforcements arrived from behind and the whole area seemed to be turning into a battleground. Everyone was getting drawn into the fray and Billy Sullivan slipped inside a swinging truncheon and floored his attacker with a well-aimed punch to the jaw. He had been spotted and immediately was attacked by a number of other policemen as Danny fought to get to his side along with a bunch of strikers. Violent scuffles and fighting were breaking out everywhere, and when the two opposing groups were finally parted Billy was grinning widely despite a cut eye and Danny had blood seeping from a head wound.

‘C’mon, we’ve outlived our welcome,’ he said, grabbing Billy’s arm.

At that moment there was a police charge on the small group beside them. They struggled and fought back gamely but were outnumbered and gradually, one by one, were all bundled roughly into waiting police vans and driven away.

When Danny caught his breath he looked around in the gloom at the miserable faces of the strikers and saw Billy grinning at him.

‘This is a nice mess ter get ourselves in, I mus’ say,’ the young ex-boxer remarked.

Danny felt the tender spot on the top of his head and grinned back ruefully. ‘Carrie did warn us.’

A man sitting next to Danny on the floor of the van groaned as he felt his bruised ribs. ‘I wish I’d ’ave got me ’ands on those volunteer tram drivers,’ he growled. ‘They want ’orsewhippin’. What makes ’em do it?’

‘’Cos they’re the Midianites o’ Bermon’sey, that’s why,’ remarked a bearded man with a bloodied nose.

‘They’re what?’ the man next to him asked.

‘Midianites. They were a lousy tribe o’ bastards in the Old Testament. Don’t yer ever read yer Bible?’

‘Nah. I prefer the
News o’ the World
.’

‘Well, the Lord told Moses ter smite the Midianites, an’ that’s what we should ’ave done,’ the bearded man growled.

The van pulled up at Tower Bridge Police Station where the men were all bundled out and made to line up beside the high counter.

‘Right, yer all bein’ charged wiv disorderly conduct,’ the station sergeant said wearily. ‘Jus’ fink yerselves lucky it ain’t more serious, like obstructin’ the course o’ justice an’ assaultin’ police officers.’

‘That’s a turn-up fer the book,’ one man said. ‘I expected ter get the lot chucked at us.’

‘They’re playin’ it down,’ another said. ‘It suits ’em this way, what wiv the newspapers. I bet ’alf these coppers wish they could strike.’

‘Quiet!’ the sergeant shouted. ‘Right now, let’s get started.’

At about the same time back at the cafe Carrie heard the bad news. Tubby Wright the local coalman jumped down from his cart and hurried into the dining rooms.

‘There’s all ’ell broke out up at the Canal Bridge,’ he said excitedly. ‘I was up there ter see if the gasworks was open fer me coke an’ I saw it all start up. I see young Billy Sullivan get bundled inter the police van. ’E ’ad a nasty eye.’

‘Did yer see my Danny there?’ Carrie asked quickly.

Tubby took off his cap and scratched his head. ‘Nah, only Billy.’

‘Where would they take ’em?’ Carrie asked him, trying to stay calm.

‘Tower Bridge nick, I should fink,’ he replied. ‘They’ll be charged there, ’cos that’s where the court is.’

Carrie rushed in to Fred to give him the news and then dashed out of the shop. She was hurrying towards Dockhead when she saw Billy and her younger brother walking along towards her, grinning broadly.

‘I s’pose yer fink that’s clever, don’t yer?’ she said angrily. ‘What did I tell yer? Didn’t I tell yer ter keep out o’ trouble? It’s your fault, Billy. Yer can’t keep out of a fight, can yer?’

Danny slipped his arm around his sister’s shoulders. ‘It’s all right, Carrie. It wasn’t Billy’s fault. We all got roped in. We was only watchin’.’

‘’Ave they charged yer?’ she asked.

‘We’re up termorrer. Disorderly conduct,’ Danny told her.

‘Well, yer better stay roun’ the street from now on,’ Carrie admonished them. ‘I’ve got some business ter take care of now an’ yer makin’ me feel like I should be lookin’ after you two instead. Yer like a couple o’ kids.’