Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child

by Harry Bowling

  ‘Well, yer’ll ’ave ter get it sorted out, mate,’ the warden told him. ‘I’ve got a job ter do, yer know.’

  Maurice was a very enterprising character and he suddenly realised that he might be able to turn this embarrassing situation into something profitable. ‘Well, of course yer dead right, Josiah,’ he said, beaming. ‘If it wasn’t fer the likes o’ you I dunno where we’d be. I’ll fix it straight away, an’ ter show there’s no ill feelin’, ’ow about you poppin’ in fer a cuppa. Yer mus’ be cold walkin’ the street on a night like this.’

  The warden nodded. ‘Yeah, all right,’ he replied, taking off his cap as he walked in the house.

  Maurice showed him into the parlour and after removing newspapers, a handbag and various bits and pieces from the armchair he bade Josiah make himself comfortable. ‘It’s me daughters, yer see,’ he said by way of apology. ‘They’re the most untidy gels yer could wish ter meet. It’s not a bit o’ good me tellin’ ’em, they jus’ ignore me. Mind you, they’re a bit too old ter spank now,’ he laughed.

  Josiah nodded. He had seen the Salter girls on numerous occasions in the street and he had been struck by their grace and attractiveness. ‘I s’pose yer right,’ he replied.

  Maurice left the room and called up the stairs. ‘Can one o’ you gels drag yerself away from yer chattin’ ter come down ’ere an’ make a pot o’ tea? We’ve got a visitor.’

  One by one the three girls popped their heads round the door to see who could possibly have called at such a late hour, then they disappeared into the scullery to carry on talking while the kettle was heating up. Maurice rubbed his hands and hummed slyly to himself as he went out into the back yard. The girls exchanged knowing glances.

  ‘Gawd, I ’ope ’e ain’t tryin’ ter flog that blackout stuff ter Josiah,’ Brenda remarked.

  ‘’E’ll end up in the nick if ’e’s not careful,’ Barbara groaned.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, but it’s so thin yer’d need ter double it fer it ter be any good,’ Lily said, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

  Maurice came back into the scullery carrying the large roll of cloth and as he slipped past the girls he was still humming to himself.

  Josiah could hear giggling coming from the direction of the scullery and was beginning to wonder whether it was a good idea to accept the offer of a cuppa, and when Maurice walked back into the room beaming from ear to ear, he felt decidedly uncomfortable.

  ‘I s’pose yer get a lot o’ people wiv dodgy blackout, don’t yer, Josiah?’ Maurice asked him.

  ‘Yeah, as a matter o’ fact I do,’ he replied, wondering how much longer the tea was going to be.

  ‘Well, I fink I’ve got the answer,’ Maurice told him. ‘Out there in the passage I’ve got a roll o’ the best blackout material that money can buy. It’s far superior to that rubbish they sell at the market. In fact I was finkin’ that maybe me an’ you could go inter partnership wiv that roll o’ cloth.’

  ‘’Ow d’yer mean?’ Josiah asked suspiciously.

  ‘Well, it’s like this,’ Maurice began. ‘Whenever there’s light showin’ out o’ the ’ouses an’ you ’ave the uncomfortable job of knockin’ at the doors, it might be better if yer can give ’em a bit of advice. Yer know what I mean, tell ’em that the rubbish they’ve got up at their winders don’t conform ter blackout regulations, an’ when they look at yer as though they’ve bin struck dumb, all yer gotta do is tell ’em yer can get ’em the best stuff available. You take the orders an’ I’ll deliver the material.’

  Josiah looked a little sceptical and Maurice leaned forward in his chair. ‘I tell yer what I’m prepared ter do,’ he said, taking a deep breath. ‘I’m prepared ter give yer a commission of one penny fer every yard o’ cloth yer sell. Of course, I’m gonna be out o’ pocket, but it’s gonna be werf it if it makes yer job that bit easier. After all, mate, us blokes ’ave got ter stick tergevver, an’ it’s ’elpin’ the war effort in the bargain.’

  Josiah thought about the offer over his cup of tea, and when he finally left the Salter house he was trying to work out just how many yards of blackout material it took to shut out the light in one of the Page Street houses.

  Calculations were taking place in the Salter house too.

  ‘’Ere, Brenda, if I knock a penny orf o’ two an’ elevenpence three farthin’s, that leaves me wiv two an’ tenpence three farthin’s, right?’

  ‘Blimey, you are a clever ole cock,’ Brenda teased him.

  ‘So what’s seventy-five times two an’ tenpence three farthin’s come to?’ he asked.

  Brenda looked puzzled as she stared down at her spread fingers, then she leaned her head round the door. ‘Lily, Dad wants yer.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carrie pushed back the pile of papers she was working on and stared out of the window, her chin resting on her cupped hand. She glanced over at Jamie Robins, saddened at the thought of losing him. Jamie had told her that morning about someone in his street of the same age who had received his call-up papers and he was expecting to hear very shortly.

  The young man was engrossed in bringing the ledger up to date and he occasionally grunted nervously, his thin shoulders hunched. He seemed so young and frail and the thought of him going off to fight in the war filled Carrie with dread. How many other young men like Jamie would soon be putting on a uniform and going off to the war, she wondered, their heads held high and their shoulders thrown back as they prepared to face the unknown horrors awaiting them? It had been like a grand parade in the last war, she remembered; her brothers going off to France along with many other local young men, the bands playing and people standing at the kerbsides waving Union Jacks and cheering loudly. This time it was different though. The young men left their homes quietly, with little fuss, only a few tears and kisses as loved ones said their goodbyes.

  The February morning was cold and bleak, with a threat of snow in the heavy clouds. Outside the warm office the yard was quiet now that the lorries had left. Carrie turned away from the window and her contemplation of the thin spiral of chimney smoke drifting up into the greyness. Her mind seemed to be filled with worries on that cold winter morning. Her mother was going through one of her bad periods and for the last few days she had hardly left her bedroom at the back of the house, preferring to sit at the window staring down at the back yards of the adjoining houses and the pickle factory yard beyond. Rachel, too, was causing Carrie a great deal of concern. She was still taking her loss very badly, and only that morning she had suddenly announced at breakfast that she wanted the morning off to take care of something. Not wanting to pry, Carrie had told her not to worry, and Rachel had left her and Joe exchanging puzzled glances as she hurriedly left the table.

  Footsteps in the yard roused Carrie from her thoughts and she looked up as Joe entered the office.

  ‘It’s started ter snow,’ he said, nodding briefly to Jamie as he sat down in the one vacant chair.

  Carrie glanced out of the window at the sudden flurry of snowflakes and sighed. ‘I wonder where Rachel’s gone,’ she said anxiously.

  Joe shook his head and toyed with the paper knife at his elbow. ‘I ’ope she’s not gone too far, wiv the wevver turnin’ nasty,’ he replied.

  Carrie looked down at the pile of papers in front of her. There was so much to be done but on this particular morning she felt unable to put her mind to it. There were forms to be filled in, an application for the monthly petrol ration, and a large document to be completed concerning a Government transport pool that was being set up to enable essential supplies to be moved around the country in an emergency. There was also a form requiring further information about her exemption application for Jamie Robins, and Carrie removed it from the pile and dropped it into the wastepaper basket at her feet.

  ‘By the way, Carrie, did the rum contract letter arrive?’ Joe asked.

  She shook her head. It was the first letter she had looked for that morning, mindful that the most important contract she had was up
for renewal and there were other local firms interested in winning it away from her. There were enough problems with that contract as it was. When she had spoken to the rum firm’s transport manager he had told her that imports of the spirit might have to be switched to West Country ports, should London be bombed. It seemed that Bristol would most likely be the port of entry and it would mean competing against the railways, as well as applying for an extra petrol allowance for the long journeys involved. It was all very worrying and the fact that no letter had arrived made Carrie feel that it was quite possible she had already lost out to another transport firm who had made a short-term offer.

  Joe grunted and leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching Carrie’s and reading the misgiving reflected in them. ‘Don’t worry, luv, it’s not the end o’ the world. It might come termorrer,’ he told her with a smile.

  Carrie nodded. ‘I’m not worried,’ she lied. ‘There’s still a week ter go yet.’

  ‘Well, at least the rest o’ the contracts are safe fer the time bein’,’ Joe said encouragingly. ‘Then there’s the casual pool. There’s always a chance of a day’s work if we’re stuck any time.’

  Carrie gave Joe the smile he was waiting for. It was true, she thought. The leather contract was safe for at least another year and it provided the occasional extra load or two per week, now that the leather factories were supplying the armed services. Both the new Foden lorries were being used on regular contracts with local food factories, which guaranteed her a regular petrol ration. Things could be much worse, she had to admit.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the cobbles outside followed by familiar whistling which brought a happy smile to Carrie’s face. Her younger brother Danny was always a very welcome visitor to the yard, though his visits were usually very brief.

  ‘Wotcher, folks,’ Danny said as he came in, grinning broadly. ‘I’m jus’ orf ter work. Any chance of a cuppa? I’ve got ’alf an hour ter spare.’

  Joe got up from his seat and motioned towards the house. ‘Come on over an’ spread yerself in front o’ the fire fer a few minutes. I’ll put the kettle on,’ he said cheerfully.

  Ten minutes later Jamie Robins left to go home for his lunch and Carrie locked the office and joined the two men who were chatting in the cosy parlour.

  ‘We’re gettin’ more barges comin’ upriver than ever,’ Danny was saying. ‘Mind you, a lot o’ the cargoes are bein’ transhipped from the ocean-goers onto trampers round the coast. They’re frightened the big ships are gonna get trapped in the London docks if the bombin’ starts.’

  ‘’Ow’s Iris an’ the children?’ Carrie asked as she reached for the teapot.

  ‘They’re fine, apart from young Charlie,’ Danny replied. ‘’E’s got tonsillitis.’

  ‘Don’t let on ter Mum,’ Carrie warned him. ‘She’ll be tellin’ yer about those bread poultices she used ter put on us when we’ad sore froats.’

  ‘Joe was tellin’ me she’s not bin feelin’ ’erself lately,’ Danny said. ‘I’ll pop up an’ see ’er before I leave.’

  Carrie stirred her tea thoughtfully for a few moments then she looked up at her brother. ‘We’re worried about young Rachel,’ she said, frowning. ‘She’s gone off somewhere. She left at breakfast time, said there was somethin’ she ’ad ter do. She’s still takin’ the news about Derek very badly.’

  Danny shook his head sadly. ‘Bloody shame that. I only met’im once. ’E seemed a nice young lad.’

  Joe poked at the fire and then leaned back in his chair. ‘’Ow’s those next-door neighbours of yours, Danny?’

  The rugged features of the lighterman broke into a grin as he looked up from the fire. ‘They’re a bloody weird mob, that lot,’ he replied. ‘Mind you though, they’re no trouble to us. In fact the kids ’ave made friends wiv their tribe. Dolly Dawson an’ my Iris get on very well, though the woman’s a real nosy ole cow.’Er ole man’s the street warden. ’E tried ter sell us some blackout stuff the ovver day. Said it was the best yer could get. Bloody stuff was useless.’ Carrie and Joe exchanged smiles as Danny went on. ‘It’s a shame about their eldest boy, Wallace.’E’s simple-minded. ’E’s a friendly lad, though. My kids fink the world of ’im, though Jamie tends ter torment ’im sometimes.’

  ‘Can’t ’e work?’ Carrie asked.

  Danny shook his head. ‘ ’E ’as to be watched all the time or’e’s liable to wander orf an’ forget what ’e’s s’posed to be doin’. It’s a bloody shame really. Dolly reckons ’e’d be much better if’e could get a steady job an’ bring in a few bob a week.’

  ‘We could get ’im ter sweep up the yard fer a few bob a week,’ Joe joked.

  Carrie had heard about Wallace from her mother and she nodded. ‘P’raps we could give ’im a try. We need somebody ter keep the place clean,’ she said.

  Joe’s face became serious. ‘I was only jossin’,’ he said quickly.

  ‘I know yer was,’ Carrie replied, ‘but we was only sayin’ the ovver day we could do wiv a chap ter keep the yard clean now that ole Sharkey’s gone.’

  ‘Yeah, but yer can’t expect somebody like that ter keep the place clean,’ Joe told her. ‘The poor bleeder could get knocked up in the air wiv those lorries in an’ out the yard all the time.’

  Carrie turned to her brother for support but Danny shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t involve me,’ he said, glancing over to Joe. ‘I wish I ’adn’t mentioned ’im now.’

  ‘Remember ole Jack Oxford?’ Carrie said, turning to Joe. ‘’E was tuppence short of a shillin’ but ’e kept that stable yard spotless. There were ’orse an’ carts in an’ out there all day as well.’

  Joe raised his eyes towards the ceiling and then shrugged. ‘Well, it’s up ter you, Carrie,’ he said with a sigh of resignation, ‘but give it some thought. We don’t want the poor sod gettin’ run over.’

  Carrie gave the two men a smile which told them she had won the argument. ‘Danny, tell Mrs Dawson ter pop round termorrer sometime. I’ll ’ave a chat wiv ’er.’

  Danny got up from his chair and stretched. ‘Well, I’d better be orf,’ he announced.

  As soon as he had left, Carrie turned to Joe, expecting him to be angry, but he merely smiled at her as he came close. ‘D’yer know, Carrie, yer’ve got a big ’eart,’ he said, reaching out and taking her in his arms. ‘I only ’ope yer know what yer doin’,’

  Carrie let herself relax, as if her worries might melt away as she felt him holding her tightly. ‘You’ll watch out fer the lad, won’t yer, Joe?’ she sighed.

  ‘Don’t worry, luv, I’ll keep both eyes on ’im,’ he replied, stroking her back gently.

  ‘Yer a good man. Joe,’ she sighed, resting her head against his chest. ‘Yer’ll never leave me, will yer?’

  Joe squeezed her tightly, breathing in the sweet smell of her long blonde hair. ‘C’mon now, Carrie,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I could never leave yer. Yer got me fer good.’

  She sighed deeply as she clung to him. ‘Sometimes I get scared, Joe, ’specially wiv the war an’ all. I wonder ’ow it’s all gonna turn out. I couldn’t live wivout yer.’

  Joe eased his grip on her, moving his hands up to clasp her shoulders. ‘Is this you I’m listenin’ to?’ he said, holding her at arm’s length and gazing into her frightened blue eyes. ‘The girl who’s built up a successful cartage business an’ who’s got the rest o’ the transport concerns around ’ere worried silly?’

  Carrie gave a dismissive smile. ‘I was motivated, Joe, yer know I was,’ she said softly. ‘It was the need fer revenge that spurred me. The need fer revenge an’ ter take care o’ me mum an’ dad. Now, though, I know I mustn’t let the ’atred burn inside me. Like me mum said, George Galloway is an old man now an’ it don’t do ter bear grudges ferever. I feel less bitter now, an’ it’s changed me inside. Can yer understand what I’m tryin’ ter say?’

  ‘I fink so,’ Joe replied. ‘Remember I ’ad ter change too. There was a time when I wanted revenge against those who got me
sent ter prison. I wanted revenge so badly it almost destroyed me. I can live wiv meself now, an’ I don’t need the prop that drink gave me. I need you though. You’re the only prop I need.’

  Carrie moved close to him and her lips found his in a long, delicious kiss. All the cares and worries seemed to evaporate in that fleeting moment and she knew that come what may, she would have the strength to cope, providing they were together in love.

  Billy Sullivan bent his head over the stone sink in his tiny scullery and thought of Annie and the children. He was missing them terribly and the regular letters that he received only made him feel more alone. They were all doing well in Gloucester; Annie was now an accepted and valued member of the church establishment for unmarried mothers, and the children were all getting on nicely at the local school there. Billy was looking forward to his monthly visit and as he dried his rugged face on a rough towel he thought about the embarrassing situation he was in here, and the lack of judgment which had got him into it.