The Girl from Cotton Lane (50 page)

Carrie could sense, however, that Joe’s long incarceration had changed him inside. He was bitter and less confident, although he tried hard to hide it from her. He had been in business of some sort since he was very young and his idleness now was getting to him. She could understand to some degree how he must be feeling. There were few opportunities for starting up in business again, the way things were. Thousands of young men were being thrown out of their jobs, to hang about the streets between long hours of standing in line at the labour exchanges, and the growing poverty and degradation could be seen on every street corner and in every labour queue.

Joe was becoming more and more edgy and depressed as the days passed and Carrie worried lest he should decide to resume his old life of wheeling and dealing. One day when he told her he would have to make a trip to Stepney she confronted him.

‘Yer wouldn’t go back ter what yer was doin’, would yer, Joe?’ she asked in an anxious voice.

‘Look, Carrie,’ he said irritably. ‘What I decide ter do is my concern. I can’t stay ’ere fer ever. All right, I pay me keep, but the money’ s runnin’ out. I don’t want charity, an’ besides, yer parents wouldn’t take kindly ter mesp ongin’on yer, now would they?’

Carrie took him by the arms as though she was scolding a child. ‘Now listen, Joe,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s nuffink ter do wiv my parents. Besides, I love yer. I’ll worry terrible if yer put yerself at any risk. If yer get caught doin’ anyfing wrong they’ll lock yer up an’ chuck away the key next time.’

Joe’s face was set hard. ‘I won’t make the same mistakes next time, Carrie,’ he said obstinately. ‘I’ve ’ad a lot o’ time ter fink. Look around yer. There’s men standin’ on every street corner an’ they’ve all got that same look o’ despair. Then on the ovver ’and yer’ve got rich and powerful people like them who run Eastern Enterprises. They can pick up a phone an’ then some poor sod gets done in. They can set people up, just like they did wiv me. They can manipulate an’ wangle an’ control people’s lives at their leisure, an’ all the time they live like lords, eat the best food, drink the best booze, while those poor sods on the street corners are goin’ ’ome ter mutton stew or bread an’ drippin’, if they’re lucky. I’m not prepared to end up in the gutter, Carrie.’

Joe went across the river to Stepney and returned later that evening looking a little less depressed, but he made other trips, more and more frequently, and Carrie began to feel that he was slowly slipping away from her. She often smelt drink on his breath when he came home from a trip, and his visits to her bedroom were becoming less frequent.

The business was taking up more of Carrie’s time now, and she began to devote her energies to building up her cartage firm. Often she would call into her old cafe in Cotton Lane to talk to Sam. He had become a favourite with the local dockers and carmen, and his effeminate behaviour and quick wit served to ensure his popularity and success. Sam was able to give Carrie plenty of advice and information, and whenever there were problems or strife amongst the cartage firms in the area he was the first to know.

‘I was gettin’ a right old ear’ole bashin’ yesterday, Carrie,’ he told her one day. ‘I was bleedin’ sick of it, really I was. I ’ad this carman tellin’ me all about ’ow ’is firm was goin’ down the drain, an’ then ter top it all Bessie wanted ter know all about what ’e was sayin’. I tell yer, luv, Bessie Chandler wants ter know the ins an’ outs of a nag’s arse.’

‘What firm was this carman talkin’ about, Sam?’ Carrie asked him, her business sense aroused.

‘Taylor’s,’ he replied. ‘They do all the cartin’ fer the clothes firms in Bermon’sey Lane an’ Tooley Street. From what I can make out they ’ad a lot o’ trouble wiv their ’orses a little while ago an’ they lost contracts over it. I don’t know much about ’orses but Taylor’s poor fings look like they’re ’alf starved, an’ I’m sure their bleedin’ carmen are tuppence short of a shillin’, really I am.’

Carrie was enjoying his impudent chatter. ‘’Ow’s the cafe doin’, Sam?’ she asked smiling.

‘Don’t ask,’ he replied, waving his hand at her limpwristedly. ‘There’s no money about. The poor boys are on short time at the wharves an’ I’m doin’ ’ardly any meals these days. Tea an’ toast, an’ slices o’ bread an’ drippin’ are all I seem ter be doin’. I tell ’em they can’t make love on bread an’ drippin’ but I might as well talk ter meself. Still, not ter worry, I’m sure fings are gonna pick up before long. I ’ope so anyway, or I’ll ’ave ter pack up an’ go out on the game.’

Carrie took her leave of the beguiling character and decided to try her luck by visiting the clothes firms Sam had spoken about. She took a batch of cartage tariffs with her and by the end of the day she had managed to talk to most of the managers at the factories. Very soon her efforts began to pay off and one or two firms began to hire her transport on a daily basis. It was a trying situation, having to find casual carmen and keep to varying daily schedules, but it paid off when one of the largest clothing contractors called Carrie in to discuss a regular contract. Things were beginning to take an upward turn, and she sat down one evening to talk to her father about her plans.

‘I’m goin’ ter buy some more ’orses, Dad, an’ a couple o’ new wagons,’ she told him.

William felt a surge of pride as he saw the determined look on his daughter’s face but he urged caution. ‘Don’t run before yer can walk,’ he warned her. ‘Yer gotta make sure there’ll be work fer ’em. Yer can’t afford to ’ave too many stuck in the stalls all day.’

Carrie brushed aside his concern. ‘Look, Dad, I’ve got new contracts an’ there’s more where they come from. My rates are as good if not better than any o’ the ovver firms around ’ere an’ I’m gettin’ more an’ more dock work now the firms know my men are all in the union. They know that I don’t ’ave any trouble wiv the dockers.’

‘What about the room? Yer’ve got no spare space in the yard,’ he reminded her.

Carrie smiled as she took out a piece of paper from the hip pocket of her dress. ‘I was workin’ it out,’ she said, spreading the sheet of paper on the table in front of him. ‘I can get a weavverboard stable put up across the back wall. It’ll mean less space fer the carts if I use a bit o’ the shed but we can manage. I can stable anuvver few ’orses there.’

William looked at his daughter with a smile on his lined face. ‘Yer never stop, do yer?’ he said fondly. ‘It was the same when yer ’ad that cafe. Always lookin’ fer ways to improve the business. I dunno where yer get it from. It certainly don’t come from me. I’ve never bin one fer business.’

Carrie grinned at him and prodded the sheet of paper lying between them. ‘Well, what d’yer fink?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘I can see ole Sharkey gettin’ the ’ump wiv the extra work ’e’ll ’ave ter do,’ he told her.

‘Leave Sharkey ter me, I can ’andle ’im,’ Carrie said with a laugh.

William leaned back in his chair and watched his daughter as she folded up the piece of paper. She still looked as pretty as ever, he thought, but there seemed to be a hardness about her now. It was as though she was forcing herself to succeed above all else and it worried him. He had seen the ruthless streak in George Galloway develop and take possession of the man over the years and he hoped it wouldn’t happen to Carrie. Maybe there was something that was driving her on, he reflected, making her use up all her time and energy to avoid facing it.

‘Is everyfing all right wiv Joe?’ he said suddenly.

‘Why d’yer ask, Dad?’

‘Jus’ wonderin’.’

‘Why?’

William could see that he would have to make a clean breast of his concern. ‘Look, luv, yer don’t ’ave to ’ide yer feelin’s fer Joe in front o’ me. I’ve known fer a long time yer care a lot fer ’im, it was obvious. Are you an’ ’im plannin’ ter get married one day?’

‘We’ve never discussed it, Dad,’ she replied. ‘But, yes, I do care fer ’im an’ ’e cares fer me, I know ’e does. The trouble wiv Joe is ’e can’t abide ’avin’ time on ’is ’ands. That’s the reason fer those trips over the water. ’E’s got friends over there an’ ’e’s tryin’ ter get started up in business again.’

William shook his head sadly. ‘I’d ’ave thought ’e’d learnt ’is lesson after the last turn out. ’E played too near the edge when ’e ’ad that ware’ouse an’ I was in a position ter know. It worried the life out o’ yer muvver. She told me dozens o’ times ter leave the job. She reckoned I’d get roped in if ’e got caught wiv that dodgy stuff ’e was ’andlin’.’

Carrie ran her finger along the pattern in the tablecloth, her face becoming sad. ‘It’s not only the business, it’s the drink,’ she said quietly. ‘Joe’s started drinkin’ ’eavy an’ it’s affectin’ us.’

‘’E’s not started knockin’ yer about, ’as ’e?’ William said, his face hardening.

‘Of course not,’ Carrie replied quickly. ‘Joe’s kind an’ gentle, but I can see what the drink’s doin’ to ’im. Yer must ’ave seen the way ’e’s bin lately?’

William nodded. ‘That’s why I asked ’ow ’e was,’ he replied. ‘’Eavy boozin’ shows in a man’s face. I’ve seen the way ole George Galloway used ter look when ’e was on the bottle. It clouds yer judgement too, an’ in Joe’s case it could be dangerous, what wiv ’is record.’

Carrie looked pained. ‘I’ve tried ter tell ’im, Dad, but ’e jus’ laughs it off. I’m worried fer ’im.’

William got up from his chair and bent over to kiss Carrie’s forehead. ‘Don’t worry, luv,’ he said quietly. ‘It’ll all work out all right. After bein’ in prison fer a long time Joe’s prob’ly got a lot o’ fings inside ’imself ’e needs ter sort out. Give ’im time. An’ don’t you push yerself too ’ard eivver, luv. Let the business build up steadily. Don’t want too much too soon. It can become an obsession that can ruin yer life.’

She got up and hugged him. ‘I know, Dad,’ she said gratefully. ‘I won’t ferget what yer said.’

As the year wore on Billy Sullivan was constantly on short time and struggling to provide for his family. Annie told him that she was pregnant again and his heart sank. The builders he worked for had just finished a contract and there was no work available until September when they were due to start renovating an old factory in Rotherhithe. Billy took comfort from the fact that the job would see him over Christmas, but for the time being there was only dole money coming into the home. Annie was her usual cheerful self, however, and she did her best to make him feel less worried. ‘We can manage,’ she told him. ‘We’re luckier than most. I’ve still got a few coppers put away and the children are all well. We won’t starve, Billy.’

The long days of idleness were made easier for Billy by the progress of the gymnasium building. Every day he would go to the site in Wilson Street and watch the brickwork growing. It was to be a two-storeyed building with the upper floor devoted to changing rooms, wash-rooms and showers, as well as store rooms and office space, leaving the lower floor solely for the ring and training area. The roof was to be of grey slate with a large board beneath the front gable announcing ‘Sullivan’s Gymnasium’. Billy wanted it to be called after Father Murphy but the ageing priest would not agree. ‘See the building as a tribute to you, Billy, for your Christian thought,’ he told him, ‘and equally as a tribute to the memory of your two brothers, John and Michael, and all the young men of this parish who fell in the war.’

The bricklayers were working on the site thanks to Father Murphy. He had managed to recruit the tradesmen from among his parishioners and the men were glad to work for a daily meal and a few items of food and clothing for their families, provided from the church fund and from well-wishers who had answered the priest’s appeal. The men worked under the supervision of Benjamin Corrigan, a retired master builder who was the architect of the new building. Like the Sullivans Ben had lost two sons in the war and he answered the call after Father Murphy explained to him the proposed plan for a gymnasium which would be a practical memorial to the fallen. The priest promised Ben that there would be a plaque erected in the hall to his two sons, and it gave him great comfort.

Billy stood at the site beside the old priest one morning, watching the scaffolding going up.

‘It’s looking very good, Billy,’ Father Murphy said, slipping his hands in the sleeves of his cassock. ‘When the upper floor is bricked, however, we’ll be faced with a problem.’

Billy looked at the priest quizzically.

‘The roof, Billy, the roof,’ Father Murphy said loudly. ‘We’ll need timbers, lots of timbers and slates.’

‘Is there any money left in the fund, Farvver?’ Billy asked fearfully.

‘It’s like old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard, young man,’ the priest informed him. ‘It’s depleted.’

‘What can we do about it, Farvver?’ Billy asked.

‘Other than praying for a miracle to happen there’s not a lot we can do, I’m afraid,’ Father Murphy told him.

During the late summer months there was a sudden frenzy of anticipation in Page Street. Florrie Axford knocked on Maisie’s door and told her the news. The two women then went to Sadie’s house and told her too. Maggie Jones was quickly enlightened, as were Alice Johnson and all the rest of the tenants concerned.

‘Don’t be too eager ter let ’im in,’ Florrie warned them. ‘The last time Alf Comber done a job o’ work on my ’ouse ’e was puttin’ a few slates on the roof an’ ’e put ’is foot right frew me winder on ’is way up. The man’s nuffink but a bodger.’

‘I remember the time ’e mended me copper,’ Sadie piped in. ‘’E was pissed at the time an’ it took ’im two days ter do it. The bloody fing’s never bin right since. I dunno what ’e done to it but it takes hours ter boil.’