Danny Sutton looked down at the floor. Ben’s outburst had taken him by surprise and he felt inadequate. He didn’t know what to say. As a medic Ben would be picking up wounded soldiers who were screaming in agony; he would be breathing in the stink of grisly butchery, and mangled bodies waiting to be laid to rest in makeshift graves; he would be shaking with a stark fear that turned his legs to jelly and twisted his stomach into a tight knot. Could Danny explain how it felt when the bullets whistled past and thudded into flesh and bone, when the man beside you fell and you could expect to be the next to get shot? How could he explain the terror to Ben, sitting opposite him, his face white with worry? It was impossible. He could still feel it vividly, but he knew of no words which would help him. Danny looked up at Ben and saw the anxiety in his eyes.
He took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know the answer, Ben. I’m jus’ like you, I get scared of silly fings. We’re all human, ain’t we? I can’t stan’ spiders. There’s no reason ter be scared of bein’ scared, that sort of reasoning only gets yer killed. You’ll be okay, there’ll be uvvers wiv yer. They’ll all be scared, but they’ll still do what they’re s’posed ter do. You’ll get the proper trainin’, you’ll be all right.’
Ben brushed his hand through his hair and sank lower in his seat. ‘I hope you’re right, Danny. I expect you think I’m being stupid, talking that way.’
Danny got up from his chair and stretched his stiff leg. He looked into Ben’s eyes. ‘I don’t fink yer bein’ stupid,’ he said. ‘I’m scared. We’re all scared. You’re no different.’ He paused and looked down. ‘Anyway, I’d better be orf ’ome. I’ll get a rollockin’ if I’m late.’
Ben saw his guest to the door. ‘Thanks for dropping in, Danny, I appreciate it.’
Danny grinned. ‘Yer’ll ’ave ter come up The Globe wiv us an’ ’ave a drink, even if it’s only orange juice. We can ’ave anuvver chat, okay?’
Danny walked out onto the landing and Ben smiled at him. ‘I never knew you were scared of spiders, Danny.’
Danny hunched his shoulders. ‘I’m terrified of ’em. Keep it ter yerself though. If they find out in the pub they’ll be puttin’ spiders in matchboxes jus’ ter see me shout out. Oh well, I’d better get ’ome fer me tea. See yer, Ben.’
‘Cheerio, Danny.’
From the London docks and from other ports around Britain the ships assembled in convoy for the hazardous North Atlantic crossing. Tankers and freighters and the destroyer escorts left their home shores under cover of darkness and steamed out into the dangerous ocean. There was now a war at sea and U-boats were searching out the convoys. The destroyer escorts were increasing in size, and more U-boats were being sunk, but the losses at sea were still mounting as Convoy Q407 steamed into mid-Atlantic on the night of the 6th of July 1940. On board the accompanying destroyer, HMS
Prowler
, everyone was at battle stations. A tell-tale blip on the asdic had indicated that a submarine was in the area.
The look-out let his night glasses hang from the strap as he squeezed his eyes tightly against the strain of watching the water. The moon lit up the waves and a myriad stars shone down from a velvet sky. Although a full alert was in operation, an uncanny calmness seemed to surround the convoy. Other destroyers could be seen moving among the merchantmen and guarding the flanks of the stragglers. The look-out blinked and put his glasses up to his eyes once more.
The steady thump of the powerful engines and the roar of the sea were music to the seaman as he scanned the shimmering water. Ever since he was able to remember, the sea had held a fascination for him. He had seen those big ships come up the Thames, and he had watched as they slipped inch by inch into their berths. He had read the names on the sides and learned to recognise their national flags. At night he had scoured his small atlas and studied it until his eyes drooped; the ports around the world were magical names to the lad. He dreamed of becoming a sailor. When he got older his father took him to the Royal Docks in his van. There he stared open-mouthed at the great cargo ships from the Orient. It fascinated him to see those dark-skinned seamen who were not much taller than he come down the gang-planks carrying their white jugs of steaming water. His father had laughed and said they were going off for their tea. The young lad did not question his father, but it seemed strange to him that the little men should all go to the brick shed marked ‘Asiatics’ for their tea. What his father did tell him however was that the little men were Lascars, and that they were the only race who could stand the conditions in the boiler-rooms of those huge coal-burning ships. Sometimes in the Indian Ocean the temperature in the boiler-room could soar to one hundred and twenty degrees.
As he scanned the starlit sea the young sailor remembered the time he had been waiting on the quayside with his father at the West India Dock and saw one of those little men brutally kicked by a ship’s officer. The Lascar had gone aboard without protest and the young lad had vowed that if he ever got to become a seaman he would treat those dark-skinned little men with kindness. He remembered how his father had laughed at his concern for the seaman, and had said that Lascars were a lazy lot who had to be thumped now and then or they wouldn’t work at all. Now the sailor wondered how many of those little men were sweating away now down in the boiler-rooms of the merchantmen as they sailed across the danger area.
Spray soaked the hood of his duffle jacket and dripped from his steel helmet as the look-out searched the ocean from his position up on the bridge. He could see the merchantmen spread out to the horizon, and occasionally he caught sight of one of the escorts cutting in through the lines. His own ship HMS
Prowler
had dropped back to hurry on the stragglers, but now it was racing full-speed to take up the vanguard position.
The officer of the watch called out to him, ‘You awake, Ellis? We’ve picked up a signal.’
Chapter Ten
Alice Sutton brushed the crumbs from the red and white checked tablecloth as she set a place for her husband Frank. She glanced over at Connie, who had her head buried in the evening paper. Alice banged a knife and fork down hard and then gave her daughter a sharp look, but Connie seemed completely absorbed in the news. Alice came round the table purposefully and tapped Connie on the shoulder. ‘What’s goin’ on ’ere ternight, girl?’ she asked curtly.
Connie looked up in surprise. ‘What d’ya mean, Mum?’
‘Danny’s what I mean. ’E rushes in ’ere like the devil’s after’im, rushes ’is tea down, an’ scoots orf out again. All I got from’im was, “I might be late, I gotta bit o’ business ter see to”. What the bloody ’ell is goin’ on ’ere?’
Connie shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Search me, Mum. I s’pose ’e’s gone off ter New Cross. Danny always used ter go on Thursdays, didn’t ’e?’
Alice puffed and folded her arms. ‘I’m sure I don’t know, what wiv one an’ the uvver of ’em, they take this place fer a coffee shop.’
Connie put down the paper and gave her mother a smile. ‘You still mad at Dad?’
Alice fought against letting her face relax. ‘I’ve warned yer farver. I ses to ’im, “If yer come in ’ere ternight smellin’ o’ beer an’ yer don’t eat yer tea up, I’m gonna let you ’ave it”.’
‘What, ’is tea, Mum?’
‘No, I’m gonna give ’im a piece o’ me mind. I’m fed up wiv keepin’ ’is tea ’ot. An’ don’t you be so lippy, my girl.’
Connie gave her mother a special smile, and as she looked at her Alice felt herself starting to grin.
‘Sit down, Mum an’ I’ll make us a nice strong cuppa,’ Connie said laughing.
Danny walked briskly under the railway arch and crossed the street into Bermondsey Lane. He was taking the back-streets to the Old Kent Road where he could catch the tram to New Cross. He had to pass the Arpinos’ shop and so he decided to look in on Tony. They had often taken a stroll to the dog meetings together before Danny had been mobilised. The clock in the chemist’s window showed 6.30–if he hurried he’d catch the first race. Tony was inside the shop talking to a couple of tall, burly characters as Danny looked in.
‘Fancy the dogs, Tony?’ Danny called out from the door.
‘Sure fing,’ Tony said quickly. ‘Walk on, I’ll catch yer up.’
Danny strolled slowly on towards Tower Bridge Road and soon Tony caught him up. ‘We got trouble I fink, Danny,’ he said with a backward glance. ‘Did yer see those two monkeys I was talkin’ to? They’ve bin doin’ the rounds of all the shops round ’ere this last few days. They’re talkin’ a lot a nonsense about us joinin’ a shopkeepers’ federation. I’ve jus’ told ’em ter come back when me ole man’s there. It’s no good them talkin’ ter me muvver, she won’t know what they’re on about anyway.’
Danny frowned at him. ‘Sounds like the ole protection racket ter me, Tony. Yer wanna be careful, somebody tried ter pull a stroke like that in Tower Bridge Road a few years ago. Me ole man told me about it. This geezer got a right goin’ over. Yer wanna make sure all the shopkeepers stick tergevver. It’s the only way ter beat ’em.’
The two friends crossed into Tower Bridge Road and walked up until they reached The Bricklayers Arms. They stood chatting together at the tram stop.
‘I’ve gotta see that Tony Allen while we’re at the meetin’,’ Danny was saying. ‘Johnny Ross ’as ’ad a word wiv ’im about me doin’ a bit o’ bookkeepin’.’
Tony laughed. ‘You workin’ in an office? Do me a favour, you’ll get the right bleedin’ ’ump in no time.’
‘I’m talkin’ about takin’ bets, yer berk,’ Danny replied with a grin.
Tony winced. ‘Yer wanna be careful there, Tony Allen’s got’is fingers in a lot o’ pies. Yer might get in over yer ’ead. An’ anuvver fing, yer wanna be careful o’ that Jack Mason. ’E’s in wiv Tony Allen. One nasty bastard that is.’
‘Don’t worry, Tony, I’ll be cute. At least it’ll be better than what that ponce at the Labour Exchange offered me on Monday.’
A young woman joined the queue and Tony gave Danny a nudge. ‘That’s a bit of all right!’ he said, his eyes widening.
The woman turned round and gave Tony a cold stare. Tony smiled back at her with a ridiculously innocent look on his face. A number 38 tram pulled up at the stop and the queue boarded. Tony winked at his pal and followed the young woman onto the top deck. As the tram rocked and swayed in the tracks Tony continually glanced over to where she was sitting. At first she ignored him, but as he kept on looking at her she began to wonder whether he was a complete nutcase. But by the time the tram reached New Cross railway arch the two were exchanging smiles.
Danny nudged his friend, ‘C’mon, Casanova,’ he said, ‘this is our stop.’
The first race had just started as the two entered the stadium and climbed the steps into the stand. People were milling around and a roar went up as one of the dogs was bundled over. Dog number 6 went out in front and held the lead until the finish of the race.
‘Not much of a price that,’ Tony remarked, looking at the odds on a bookie’s stand in front of them.
Danny was searching the crowd with his eyes when Tony gave him a nudge. ‘’Ere, look at this.’
Danny glanced down at the race card in Tony’s hand and saw that Shady Lady was entered in the third race. He grinned. ‘That’ll be a rank outsider, they’ll prob’ly give yer two ’undred ter one on that.’
Tony looked up at his pal. ‘Biff Bowden told my ole man ter get a few bob down on it next time it runs.’
Danny laughed aloud. ‘It’ll be too pissed ter run. If it gets out o’ the trap it’ll prob’ly fall asleep ’alf way round, or keel over wiv its legs up in the air.’
The dogs were parading for the second race and Danny handed Tony a ten shilling note. ‘Do us a favour, Tone, stick this on number 4 dog. I wanna look out fer Tony Allen.’
Tony Arpino trotted down the steps to the trackside and while he was gone Danny scanned the crowds again. He finally spotted Tony Allen by the track talking to Jack Mason. Then he saw Kathy. She had just walked up to them and he saw her hand Jack Mason something. Danny had forgotten the race completely and his eyes stayed on Kathy as she took her escort’s arm when the bell sounded. The mechanical hare was building up speed and as it passed the traps the dogs shot out and went into the first bend in a bunch. Slowly the number 4 dog gained ground. Danny turned back to Kathy and saw her jumping up and down excitedly. When he looked back at the race he saw that his dog was now being overtaken.
Tony came back as the dogs crossed the finishing line and pulled a face. ‘Oh well. There’s still Shady Lady,’ he said, but without much enthusiasm.
Danny pointed the bookie out to Tony. ‘I’m goin’ down fer a word. Comin’?’
Tony shook his head. ‘You go on, I’ll stop up ’ere. I’ll see yer later.’
Danny Sutton walked slowly down to the trackside and held out his hand. ‘’Ello, Tony, remember me? Me mate Johnny Ross told me ter come an’ see yer.’
Tony Allen shook Danny’s hand. ‘’Course I remember yer. This is Kathy an’ Jack, they’re both good friends o’ mine.’
Danny shook hands with Jack Mason and was unsettled by his limp, clammy grasp. He smiled at Kathy, who nodded back without a flicker of recognition in her dark eyes. Tony Allen studied the card for a while and then looked at Danny. ‘Tell yer what,’ he said, ‘I’m just away ter put a few bob on number 6 dog. We’ll ’ave a drink in the bar after the race, okay?’
Danny nodded. ‘I’ll see yer there then.’
Jack Mason looked at Kathy. ‘I won’t be long. I’m goin’ wiv Tony,’ he said shortly.
Danny watched the bookie walk away with his associate, then he turned to Kathy to find her smiling at him. ‘I didn’t expect ter see you down ’ere,’ she said. ‘’Ave yer bin offered a job?’
Danny nodded. ‘Johnny Ross put the feelers out fer me.’
Kathy put her hand on his arm. Danny felt her warm fingers and he looked into her eyes. He could see that she was anxious. ‘Do yerself a favour, Danny,’ she said seriously, ‘don’t ’ave anyfing ter do wiv Tony Allen or Jack. Don’t ask me why, jus’ say no, an’ walk away while yer still can. You get in wiv that crowd an’ you’ll regret it.’