Tuppence to Tooley Street (20 page)

Danny pointed to a nearby bus stop. ‘A 53 stops ’ere. It goes ter the Old Kent Road.’

After a ten minute wait Danny and Alison exchanged smiles at the welcome sight of an approaching 53 bus, and soon they were passing over Westminster Bridge. They sat close together on the back seat, looking out at the flowing River Thames. Danny sighed. ‘That’s a nice sight. I’ve swum in there many a time. We used ter dive in orf the barges near where I live. I tell yer, Alison, there was a time not so long ago when I didn’t ever expect ter see Ole Farver Thames again.’

Alison was quiet for a while and then she looked at him closely. ‘Tell me, Danny, does it still worry you, Dunkirk?’

Danny shook his head emphatically. ‘I used to wake up some nights in a cold sweat, but I’m okay now. I still fink of the lads I left be’ind there though.’

Alison squeezed his arm. ‘I’ll never forget that night they brought you in to the hospital. I didn’t think you were going to pull through. Do you still get any pain from the wounds?’

Danny grinned. ‘I’ve told yer, I’m fit fer anyfing ’cept a cross–country run. I’m still a bit breafless at times, that’s all.’

‘What about your mates, Danny? Do you see any of them?’

‘Yer mean the ones who made it back? I ain’t bin roun’ the drill ’all since Dunkirk.’

Something in his tone surprised Alison and she looked round to see that his face had become dark. Her questioning eyes encouraged him to continue. ‘The drill ’all is only a few minutes from my ’ouse,’ he went on, ‘but I can’t seem ter face goin’ there. They’ll ’ave records of who made it back but I jus’ keep wonderin’ about the lads. D’yer fink I’m bein’ stupid?’

Alison laid her head on his shoulder. ‘Of course I don’t. It’s only natural I suppose. Names on a scroll are so final, perhaps that’s why you can’t face it. Maybe you expect to see your mates in the street. What you have been through must have left some scars. Don’t worry about it, one day when you’re good and ready you’ll go and find out for sure. In the meantime you’ve got to give your mind the opportunity to adjust to the terrible things you’ve been through. Give it time.’

Danny’s face relaxed slightly and he pressed his shoulder against her as the bus headed for the Elephant and Castle.

Danny had attracted the attention of a small passenger on the seat in front. Enquiring eyes stared into his and dirty hands gripped the seat rail tightly. The tot’s lank blond hair hung down to her shoulders and a button nose twitched. Danny winked at the child, but she ignored his gesture. He folded his arms and closed his eyes, then slowly he opened one eye then shut it quickly. Still the child did not respond. Alison watched as Danny tried to bring forth a smile. He made faces and rolled his eyes but the child just stared at him, her pale eyelids heavy with tiredness, and as the bus jerked to a halt the child rocked back in the seat and was scooped up by her mother who cuddled her and crooned into her ear. Blond hair cascaded over her face, and presently she fell asleep. Alison watched Danny smiling.

At the Bricklayers Arms the large woman and her daughter got off the bus in front of Danny and Alison. Her child slept on peacefully. Danny took Alison’s arm as they crossed over into Tower Bridge Road and walked along the quiet thoroughfare. The night was closing in quickly, birds slumbered in the tall plane trees and stars twinkled down from a velvet expanse. They walked for a while until Alison broke the silence. ‘I’ve really enjoyed this evening, Danny,’ she said.

‘It’s bin ’an’some,’ he replied. ‘I was goin’ ter see if yer’d like ter meet me mate Tony Arpino, but the pubs are shut by now. By the way, what time yer s’posed ter be in by?’

Alison shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I’ve got a key. The Morgans run a dairy, don’t forget. I expect they’ll be snoring by now.’

They walked through a maze of drab grey backstreets and alleyways as the moon rose over lop–sided chimney pots and blue–grey slated roofs, and at last they reached Southwark Street. They halted at the dairy where there was a dark recess beside the shop front and Danny could see the empty milk carts through the slatted gates. The shadows closed round them as they moved together and held each other closely. Danny could smell the fragrance of Alison’s hair as he bent down and kissed her open mouth. Her breathing came faster as she responded to his embrace and her fingers stroked his fair hair while Danny’s searching hands ran down her back. Alison rested her head on his shoulder and he kissed her ear, his mouth moving down onto her smooth, soft neck. But suddenly Alison tensed; she stepped back from his embrace and put both hands on his shoulders. ‘You don’t like wasting time, Danny. Let me catch my breath,’ she said quickly.

‘I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw yer at the station. You’re really somefink, d’yer know that?’ Danny said smiling.

‘Go on, I bet you say that to all the girls,’ Alison chided.

Danny’s face became serious and she felt his grip tighten. She could not trust herself to relax with him now that the first barrier was down. Her body cried out for him but her mind was troubled. It must not be like the last time, she vowed. Her painful memories had been kindled by his kiss and his searching hands had stirred her stifled feelings. She needed time to find herself again, there could be no hurried love until she was absolutely sure of herself. She knew in her heart that it would be so easy to give herself to him there and then. She tingled at his touch, but she needed to be certain that there would be an understanding, she had to make him see somehow. It was important for them both and she had to tell him everything.

Danny gazed down at her and saw her eyes misting over. He pulled her gently to him and they remained quiet for a while, both content to let their early passions abate. Alison felt his arms relax their hold on her. ‘I must get in. It’s been a lovely time, but I’m feeling very tired, Danny. Do you mind?’

Danny moved back and his hand went up to adjust his shirt collar. ‘What about termorrer? I mus’ see yer again before yer catch your train ’ome.’

Alison looked into his pale blue eyes and saw the urgency there. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

Danny’s face relaxed into a huge grin. ‘Look, I’m takin’ bets up until about one o’clock. We could ’ave all afternoon tergevver. What d’yer say?’

‘That would be nice.’

‘Okay, I’ll come round fer yer at two o’clock.’

Their goodnight kiss was soft, and Alison watched him as he walked off into the darkness.

The figure standing in the dark doorway changed position to ease his aching foot and peered impatiently at his small silver pocket watch. It was half past midnight and the beat policeman had just appeared from Shad Thames. He turned left and walked slowly towards Dockhead with his hands clasped behind his back. Johnny Ross moved out of his hiding place and saw the tall figure of Con Baldwin coming towards him. The approaching figure jumped nervously as Johnny hissed at him. ‘Over ’ere, Con. It’s okay, the rozzer’s gone.’

Con joined Johnny and they quickly crossed Tooley Street and walked into Shad Thames. The narrow cobbled lane was deathly quiet as they reached an arched doorway. Con took out a crowbar from beneath his coat and inserted it into the heavy brass padlock. Johnny held his breath. Had Ernie Baines done his job properly? If he had, the padlock would spring open under a little pressure. Con grunted with satisfaction as he removed the padlock and slipped the hasp. The heavy oak door creaked as it opened and they stepped inside.

‘’Urry up,’ Con hissed, ‘I’ll give yer five minutes an’ I’ll knock on the gate. Fer Gawd’s sake don’t move till I give yer the signal.’

Johnny disappeared into the warehouse and Con stepped back into the lane and gingerly closed the warehouse door. He replaced the hasp and levered the doctored padlock back into place. Satisfied with his efforts he walked along Shad Thames and passed by the gate of the adjoining warehouse. He was ready to adopt a drunken pose should the policeman appear again, but he need not have worried–PC Harriman was hurrying on to the road works in Jamaica Road, where old Bill Jones the council night watchman was busy brewing up some fresh tea over his coke brazier.

Johnny climbed the dark stone staircase to the roof. At the top of the stairs he put his weight against the iron fire door and it clattered open. He was now standing on the flat roof of the warehouse and he swallowed hard as he shut the door behind him. Johnny was only too aware that there was no way back. The door could only be opened from the inside. Ernie Baines had gone over the plan with him until Johnny was convinced he could find his way around blindfolded. Above him was the wide darkness of the night sky, and the fire escape staircase loomed up ahead. Johnny ducked low as he limped down the iron steps that ran down the outside of the building into the yard below. Ernie Baines has come up trumps this time, he thought. The laden lorry was there, standing by the massive iron–plated gate. Johnny hobbled quickly to the yard office, took out a scarf from his coat and wrapped it around his hand. Looking over his shoulder as though he expected to be seen he punched out the small glass panel of glass nearest to the door lock. As he left the office holding the bunch of keys Johnny heard a soft tap on the wicket gate. He threw the keys under the gap below the gate and soon Con Baldwin was in the yard beside him. While Johnny sorted out the keys for the main gate Con jumped up into the lorry cab and checked that the ignition key was there. Johnny beckoned urgently to him and the two of them pulled the heavy gate open. There was one more task left to do before they drove away. Johnny went over to a sand bin opposite the warehouse and lifted the lid. Con started up the lorry, drove it over to the gateway and stopped, then Johnny limped across the lane carrying a coiled length of rope that was knotted every couple of feet. Clambering up onto the cab roof he looped the rope over the spiked tips of the gate then hurried down into the cab as Con drove off.

They drove the stolen lorry steadily along Dockhead. It was not unusual for lorries to use that route at night, traffic from all over the country began to arrive in the early hours ready to load and unload at the wharves and docks. Con and Johnny were confident that their cargo would be stowed safely before the theft was discovered. They could feel the gods of fortune smiling down on them as they reached their destination without being stopped. The warehouse theft went undetected until after Ernie Baines arrived for work and switched padlocks.

Before he went off duty PC Harriman found himself having to answer some awkward questions. He should have patrolled Shad Thames once more before he finished his rounds, but the place gave him the creeps and he had opted out of his responsibilities in favour of another mug of old Bill’s tea. The Station Inspector called in Detective Constable Stanley Stockbridge after he had finished with Harriman. ‘I’m going to lay it on the line, Stockbridge,’ he said, ‘I want you off your fat arse and on your way to Sullivan’s Wharf at Shad Thames. The guv’nor there has reported that a lorry’s gone missing from his yard. Apparently they got in using a rope, they lassoed the spikes and shinned over the gate. On your way, Stockbridge.’

Later, a phone call from Limehouse Police Station informed him that a lorry belonging to George Sullivan and Sons, Wharfingers, had been found abandoned in a lorry rank outside the West India Docks.

‘It wasn’t exactly abandoned,’ the desk sergeant explained. ‘One of our constables found a couple o’ Chinese seamen asleep in the cab. They had adopted the vehicle. Their dabs were all over the cab.’

‘Can’t we nick ’em for theft?’ Inspector Flint asked.

‘No chance,’ was the reply. ‘We’re charging the two of ’em for an affray in a gambling house in Pennyfields. They sliced another Chink’s ear orf during an argument over a game of Mah Jong.’

Inspector Flint shook his head sadly and looked out of his office window. Down below he could see the activity in the local timber yard. Two men were leisurely stacking pine planks while another worker lolled against a covered pile, busily engrossed in rolling a cigarette. Inspector Flint returned to his desk and picked up a pile of papers. That stupid fat Detective Constable had better come up with something pretty quick, or it’s back on the beat for him, he vowed. Inspector Flint was determined to ‘ginger up’ the station, as he put it. Already he had made some drastic changes in his efficiency campaign. Had Inspector Flint been gifted with X–ray vision he would have made more progress, for down in the timber yard behind a stack of deal boards, and out of sight of the station window, were three tons of corned beef and eighty cases of canned peaches.

On the Monday morning of the 15th of July 1940 all the daily newspapers carried a front page report of the Prime Minister’s address to the nation. In the backstreets of dockland the speech was being discussed on doorsteps, in the corner shops and behind crisp lace curtains in the small parlours. Winston Churchill had seized the attention of almost everyone when he delivered what the papers were calling his masterful speech. Pubs had stopped serving to listen, and those with no wireless set had crowded round their neighbours’. The dire warning frightened the wits out of Granny Bell, as she confessed to the Brightmans. ‘’E fair put the fear o’ Gawd inter me last night,’ she said. ‘What wiv ’im goin’ on about fightin’’em in the streets. ’E said they’re comin’ any day now, by all accounts.’