Albert glared and seemed about to speak again but glanced at Mabel and for her sake turned on his heel and clumped off upstairs to bed. Jack gave his daughter a brief, conspiratorial nod, which she did not acknowledge, nor did she say another word, but followed Albert upstairs.
It had been a very long, very hot day and Mabel felt as if she were sitting on a box of tinder that only needed one match to send it up in flames. And she blamed her father for it, far more than she blamed her hot-tempered brother.
The government itself was divided over the crisis. While Churchill condemned the strikers for endangering the nation’s industries and bringing the population to the verge of famine, as he said, the Labour MP Keir Hardie spoke up for them to mixed cheers and boos. When he joined a strike meeting alongside Ben Tillett at Tower Hill, the angry altercations with the forces of law and order turned to fisticuffs and fights escalated into riots. The police used truncheons, resulting in some broken skulls, and a number of arrests were made.
Harry Drover, unable to work, spent his time helping at an emergency Salvation Army shelter for strikers’ families, while keeping out of the political arguments. Late in the evening of the day of the Tower Hill riots he called at Sorrel Street to enquire about Albert, but also to satisfy his longing for a sight of the girl he loved. He always said later that the Lord had directed him, because he landed in the middle of a family crisis. Albert had not come home from Tower Hill and Annie was frantic with worry.
‘I can just picture him lying injured somewhere, trampled underfoot, bleeding to death under a railway arch,’ she sobbed, while Jack tried to reassure her, thinking it more likely that Albert would be cooling his heels in a police cell.
Mabel raised weary eyes to Harry, melting his heart. ‘I’ll have to go and make some enquiries, Harry. None of us’ll get any sleep tonight else.’ She had worked all day and looked worn out, but anxiety for her brother overrode everything.
‘Then I’ll come with yer,’ he replied at once.
‘Oh, will yer, Harry? God bless yer!’ she said thankfully and when Jack made a token offer to accompany them it was quickly declined by Harry, who said that Mr Court would be better staying at home to comfort his wife.
‘My uniform’ll take me where others might not be allowed,’ he reminded them, thankful that he was wearing his bandsman’s jacket and cap with the letters SA prominently displayed.
‘For God’s sake be careful, Mabel,’ begged her mother, though with Harry’s arm through hers, Mabel had no fears for her safety.
On foot – for there were no buses – Mabel and Harry set out on the long walk into the city, over the river and eastwards to Tower Hill. They found it practically deserted after the violent scenes that had taken place only a few hours earlier.
A solitary policeman told Harry where casualties of the riot might be found. ‘There’s a lot of ’em in custody for the night,’ he said, adding that some half-dozen young fellows, hardly more than boys, had been taken to St Katharine’s Infirmary, a one-time notorious workhouse on the edge of the docks. ‘Some of ’em got knocked about when the troops charged, but they’d no business bein’ there. Anyway, yer could ask, though if they’re under guard yer won’t get to see ’em.’
By now it was midnight and Mabel felt ready to drop, but she begged Harry to take her to the Infirmary. ‘If he’s in a police cell, he’ll at least be safe, but if he’s injured I must see him, Harry.’
‘Whatever yer say, Mabel, but if he’s not there I’m takin’ yer home. There’re still a few hansoms around.’
Holding his arm and half leaning her head on his shoulder, she let him lead her towards the grim old building that stood overlooking the disreputable Highway.
‘We can’t take no more in, we’re overfull already,’ said the hump-backed night porter who answered Harry’s ringing of the bell pull.
On hearing that they were not seeking admission but looking for the young lady’s brother, he grudgingly let them into the dimly lit entrance hall and fetched a sharp-faced woman in grey, who eyed them up and down and asked what they wanted. With an impatient clucking of her tongue she opened the Admissions Book and there, halfway down the list for the day, was the name of Albert Edward Court.
Mabel closed her eyes and put her hands together in thankfulness. ‘Oh, thank God! Let me see him, let me see him, please!’ she begged. ‘I must know how badly he’s hurt.’
‘’E’s under guard, along o’ some other young ruffians, so it’ll be up to the doctor whether yer see ’im or no,’ said the woman ungraciously, adding to the porter, ‘Ye’d better take ’em down.’
He led them along an echoing corridor to a ramshackle emergency ward where about fifteen injured men lay on pallets in the clothes they had worn on admission. Some were sleeping, some groaned as they lay, there were no nurses about and an aproned doctor was bandaging the leg of one of them, speaking quietly as he worked. Mabel caught her breath at the smell of blood, the sounds of pain – as always, she was moved by the sight of suffering.
The tired-looking doctor glanced up as they entered. ‘Yes? Who let you in?’
‘She sent ’em dahn from the front,’ wheezed the porter.
Harry approached the doctor. ‘My name’s Drover and this lady is Miss Court who’s lookin’ for her brother Albert Court,’ he explained civilly. ‘We’ve been told that he’s in here.’
The doctor noted his brass-buttoned jacket and the SA badge on his cap, and answered in a sympathetic manner. ‘From Tower Hill? That’s him over there. I must tell you that these men are all in police custody and I’m on duty as guard as well as doctor.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Not much comfort here, I’m afraid, it’s a converted storeroom, but—’
Mabel, however, had found her brother and was kneeling on the bare stone floor beside him. ‘Albert! Oh, Albert, it’s Mabel. What on earth’ve they done to yer?’
He turned his head quickly at the sound of her voice and winced involuntarily. His face was bruised and swollen, his left eye closed. His clothes were filthy and streaked with blood and he had not even got a pillow. ‘Mabel—’ The swagger had completely left Albert, and he began to whimper like a lost and frightened child. ‘They walloped me round the ’ead, Mabel, and knocked poor ol’ Sam Mackintosh unconscious, I fought ’e was dead – some of ’em ran away, but I stayed wiv Sam an’ got beaten. I don’t know where ’e is – oh, Mabel, take me ’ome – take me ’ome!’
She gently took his bloodied, bandaged head on to her lap. ‘There, my poor boy, don’t cry, Mabel’s here,’ she murmured, though her own tears were flowing. ‘It’s all right now, Albert, dear, we’ve come to take yer home.’
Harry came over and also got down on his knees beside the boy. ‘How’s it goin’, ol’ chap?’
‘Is that ‘Arry? ’Ave yer come to take me ’ome an’ all?’
‘Yes, we’re both here, don’t worry,’ said Mabel soothingly.
The doctor was now standing above them. ‘As I said, these men are in police custody and due to appear before the magistrates in the morning, if they’re able,’ he said. ‘Your brother has a possible fractured skull, Miss Court, and extensive bruising. He needs to be kept under observation.’
‘Oh, but we can look after him much better at home,’ insisted Mabel, whose one idea now was to get her brother out of this place. ‘We’ve got a very good family doctor – oh, please let us take him home, please!’
The doctor reluctantly shook his head. He was a young man, not yet thirty, and there was something oddly familiar about him, though Mabel could not recall ever having met him before. ‘Look, Miss Court, I was asked to come over from the London Hospital to take charge here for the night and if I were to let this young man go without proper authority—’
‘He’s only a lad o’ sixteen, doctor,’ pleaded Harry. ‘I know him and his family well. He shouldn’t be here.’
The doctor seemed half persuaded. ‘That may well be true, Drover, but if the boy’s condition became worse and possibly
—’
‘Me mother an’ I’ll take good care o’ him – an’ we’ll send for our panel doctor first thing in the morning,’ said Mabel, her tired grey-blue eyes imploring. ‘Oh, believe me, Albert’ll be far better off in his own bed, doctor!’
‘Well—’
The brief hesitation was enough for Harry who went straight out to look for a hansom cab while the doctor gave Mabel some instructions. ‘Give him drinks but no solid food for twenty-four hours. Keep him in bed and if he starts being sick or loses consciousness let your doctor know at once, Miss Court. And you’d better keep very quiet about this; don’t go talking to people. I hope your doctor’s discreet.’
‘Dr Knowles will understand, I know,’ Mabel assured him. ‘He’s a family friend.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Not Henry Knowles of Hillier Road, Battersea, by any chance?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. Why, do yer know him?’
‘I should do, he’s my father!’
He smiled and she realised why his face seemed familiar. ‘Then you must be Stephen! I’ve heard about yer.’
‘What a happy coincidence, Miss Court. I’ll be able to speak to him myself about Albert.’
Harry came back to say that he had found a cab drawn by a poor old stumbling horse that had been working since dawn the previous day. Dr Knowles lifted Albert’s shoulders while Mabel supported his head and Harry held his legs; this way they carried him out to the corridor and along to a side door, avoiding the front entrance.
‘Now are you sure you’ll be all right, Miss Court?’ asked the doctor and even in her preoccupation with Albert Mabel thought how nice he was, a true son of his father.
‘Yes, with Mr Drover to look after us.’ She smiled as he saw them into the cab, Albert lying across the seat with his head cradled in Mabel’s lap. ‘Thank yer, Dr Stephen!’
Annie wept for joy at seeing them return with Albert and shed even more tears at the state he was in. She thanked Harry for all he had done and Jack dug into his pocket to reimburse the cab fare. ‘Sorry ye’ve had all this hassle, Drover – he’ll be the ruin o’ this family one o’ these days,’ he grumbled. ‘Getting arrested won’t help his job prospects; they’ll never have him back on the railway. End up in prison, I shouldn’t wonder. Thanks, anyway.’
Mabel was at last able to show her own gratitude with a loving kiss as they parted on the doorstep. ‘I can’t ever thank yer enough, Harry – I’d never’ve found him without yer an’ I just couldn’t bear to think o’ him bein’ stuck in that dreadful place all night. Oh, Harry, ye’re so good to us!’
At which Harry Drover considered himself more than rewarded.
Tired as she was, Mabel’s sleep was troubled, and she woke in terror from a dream about policemen wielding truncheons and bodies falling to the ground. At six she woke again: the daylight was pouring through the thin curtains and her mother was calling to her urgently: ‘Mabel! He’s been sick and his poor eyes are so swollen he can’t open them – oh, Mabel, he’s in a bad way!’
Jack was pulling his clothes on. ‘I’d better get Dr Knowles out, or we’ll have no peace,’ he growled. ‘That boy’ll be the ruin o’ this family, nothing’s more sure.’
Annie was terrified and seemed quite unable to cope, so Mabel had to stay at home to care for Albert and comfort her mother; George was despatched to the Anti-Viv with a hastily scribbled note about sickness in the house.
When Dr Knowles arrived he was eager to hear about his son’s encounter with Albert and his sister. He examined the patient’s eyes and ears, and tested his reflexes; he looked at the bruises and gently felt the bumps on the boy’s head, changing the bandage and pronouncing him to be suffering from the after-effects of concussion. ‘The contusions will take a while to disperse, but there are no broken bones. I agree with Stephen – keep him on fluids and avoid upsetting him with news reports, and he should be all right. It’ll keep the young firebrand out of trouble for the time being, at least.’ He sighed and shook his head as Mabel saw him out. ‘I don’t think the strikers are going to win, poor devils. Anyway, I’ll call back tomorrow – and you can go to work, Mabel,’ he added, once again irritated by Annie Court’s helpless dependence upon her eldest daughter.
Mabel immediately set out for the Anti-Viv, where she reported that her mother who had been poorly was now much better – which was true in a way, because Annie’s state of mind had calmed as Albert’s condition improved. The housekeeper nodded and told her that she could go to one of the women’s wards to help with the afternoon teas that were served from a trolley. This was an unexpected promotion and Mabel was thrilled to be assisting the nurses in such a direct way. She was asked to help an old lady drink tea from a feeding cup and while not allowed to give out bedpans, could certainly empty them and clean them. Now she really felt on her way to being a proper nurse like the ones on the ward, so smart in their striped uniforms with starched aprons, caps and cuffs: she admired them from afar as she flitted up and down the ward, smiling at the women in the beds as she collected the teacups and plates.
But Dot Watson was filled with resentment.
The next morning Albert was obviously much improved and Dr Knowles said it would only be a matter of time before he was able to work again. But what work? He had no chance at all of going back to his job at the railway depot and Mabel wondered if he could try his luck at one of the many factories along the river – the biscuit and jam factories, the pottery, candleworks and tannery; but for the time being he seemed unusually pensive and sat out in the backyard in the sun as his bruises healed.
Then came an official brown envelope with GR prominently displayed on the headed paper inside: a summons to Albert Edward Court to attend at the South-Western Magistrates’ Court on Lavender Hill the following Monday, to answer a charge of disturbing the king’s peace and obstructing the police in the course of their duty etc., etc. Annie protested that he was not fit to attend, but Albert said that it had got to be faced sooner or later and he might as well go while he still had bruises from the police truncheon. He refused to allow Jack to accompany him and Annie would be too upset by it, he said. Mabel would have gone, except that she was working at the Anti-Viv and Albert would not let her lose any more time on his account.
The local juvenile strikers who had been arrested at Tower Hill were seen together in one morning session and on the whole they got off lightly. As the magistrate remarked, they had lost their jobs and learned a hard lesson. He lectured them on the importance of abiding by the laws of the land and bound them over to keep the peace. They were fined ten shillings each and Annie almost fainted with relief at Albert’s narrow escape from being labelled a criminal. Mabel, too, threw her arms around his neck and Harry congratulated him. It had been an unpleasant episode, but it was all over now.
Until the following day, when the names of Albert Court, Samuel Mackintosh and the other young offenders were published in the Evening Standard as an example for all to see.
‘Oh, how cruel! How unfair! Now he’ll never be able to get a job,’ cried Annie in dismay. ‘Can’t you do anything about it, Jack?’
‘What can I do? He’s brought it all on himself,’ replied Jack impatiently.
‘Never mind, Albert, it’ll be a nine-day wonder and then there’ll be somethin’ else to keep ’em gossipin’,’ said Mabel comfortingly.
‘’S all right, Mabel, ol’ gal, I’m gettin’ aht of ’ere, anyway,’ said Albert grimly. ‘I couldn’t go back to the railways in any case, not after the way we was treated – not wiv the bosses laughin’ at us for riskin’ our lives and then not gettin’ anywhere. It’s the navy for me, soon’s I’m back on me feet.’
Her heart sank, but she knew it was no use to argue with him in this mood. Besides, she was due back to duty at the Anti-Viv. ‘Just don’t say anything to Mum about it, Albert, not yet,’ she warned as she left the house.
But when she reported for work she was directed to the Hospital Secretary’s office and handed an e
nvelope. She tore it open and found a brief letter of dismissal: ‘. . . due to certain circumstances in connection with the recent disturbance of the king’s peace, we regret that your employment as a domestic assistant is terminated forthwith.’
‘But I don’t understand!’ Mabel cried, brandishing the letter in the corridor outside the Secretary’s office. ‘I missed half a day’s work ’cause of illness at home, all right, so I lose half a day’s pay – but I’ve never disturbed the king’s peace or anybody else’s!’
A black-suited man came to the office door. ‘Stop that, or I’ll have you removed,’ he said coldly. ‘We want no agitators here, no strikers, nor any of their sympathisers or collaborators. You’re to leave the premises at once, or the police will be called.’
‘But—’ Suddenly Mabel realised that this was all due to Albert’s appearance in court and his name among the others in the evening newspaper. But how on earth had his name been connected to hers? She had never mentioned the matter at the hospital or anywhere else, remembering the warnings given by both the doctors.
‘Are you leaving or have you to be forcibly removed?’ asked the hospital official.
Which meant that Mabel had no choice. Sick at heart, she turned away and stumbled towards the hospital gates. Whatever would she do? How could she tell her family – and Miss Carter – that she had got the sack? And how had the hospital board found out about Albert?
Dot Watson’s small eyes glinted with satisfaction as she watched the striken figure retreating from the Anti-Viv. Nice work – she was rid of that one!
Chapter Seven
AT FIRST MABEL felt that she simply could not go home and face the family, not straight away. Devastated by the blow that had fallen upon her and unable to control her tears, she walked blindly away from the Anti-Viv and up Albert Bridge Road, not sure of which direction to take, wanting only to be alone. To her right the cool greenness of Battersea Park beckoned and she turned aside to wander among the trees, a solitary figure with bowed head, clasping and unclasping her hands. Avoiding the other strollers and surrounded by the scenes of that glorious night of the coronation when she had danced so happily with Harry, she now gave way to her shock and grief at this turn of events.
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