‘Yer never mentioned the medal in yer letters,’ Rachel said presently.
Tony shrugged his shoulders. ‘I didn’t want yer ter worry. Yer might ’ave thought I was takin’ chances.’
Rachel squeezed his hand in hers. ‘I never stopped finkin’ about yer,’ she said, touching the tiny locket round her neck. ‘I kissed this every night an’ said a prayer for yer,’ she whispered.
Tony was holding coppers for the fare but the conductor ignored him, and when they finally alighted at Dockhead, the conductor turned to him and said, ‘Congratulations, son, an’ good luck ter the pair o’ yer.’
Tony nodded his thanks and Rachel saw he was blushing with embarrassment.
‘I fink I’ll ’ave ter leave this off,’ he mumbled, nodding down at the tiny ribbon on his chest.
‘You’ll do no such fing,’ Rachel said firmly. ‘I want ter show you off to everybody.’
They walked arm in arm along the wide Jamaica Road in the warm sunshine, laughing with each other and totally oblivious of the friendly glances and smiles of passers-by. How different this time together would be to their last one, Rachel vowed. Three years ago Tony had been in a state of shock. He had only the clothes he stood up in and they found very little time to be alone. The tragic loss of his mother and her friend Lola had cast a dark shadow over everything and she recalled how they had spent a lot of their leave in Tony’s neighbourhood, trying to find the person whose name was on Lola’s lips the instant she died. They had been unsuccessful in discovering who Gloria was and they finally had to give up the quest. Now they would make up for those lost years, and as they neared Salmon Lane Rachel looked up into Tony’s dark eyes and felt ecstatically happy.
On Monday morning a lorry pulled up in Wilson Street and a motley group of men in plain uniforms jumped down. They were unkempt and of varying ages: persons with no identity, displaced persons and men from internment camps who had been recruited to clear away war damage. Their sergeant was a huge, rough-looking individual, with black wavy hair and thick eyebrows. He shouted obscenities as he ordered them around and the men jumped to his commands.
Sergei was a Georgian, who had fought on both sides as the fortunes of war changed around him. Eventually he had joined the long, straggling lines of refugees and finally found himself in an Italian prisoner-of-war camp. He managed to convince the British that he was a stateless person and was brought over to work on the harvests. He had not been happy with the few shillings he got for toiling in the fields and so he volunteered for the labour battalions that were being formed. His large frame and frightening manner, and an adequate knowledge of English, fitted him for the part and he became works sergeant. The men working under him enjoyed extra rations and a few shillings for their labours, and the sergeant took advantage of it, supplementing his own income by extorting money from them with dire threats. The gang were terrified of Sergei and he liked to be reminded of it.
On that Monday morning the sergeant was barking loudly at them as usual and it was not long before the wooden fencing round Murphy’s Gymnasium came down. One man began kindling a fire in a brazier from the waste timbers and others set up a tarpaulin-covered contraption that passed for a tent. The rest went to work manhandling the slabs of brick and splintered timbers into separate piles ready for the demolition lorry. All the serviceable wood was to be used again but Sergei was keen to make a little money on some of the large timbers, though he had to be careful not to arouse the suspicions of the civilian supervisor who was due to call shortly.
At midday on Monday the work was well under way and when Billy passed Wilson Street on his way home to lunch he was horrified. He stood staring at the men sitting in the tent drinking mugs of tea and munching on thick hunks of bread and cheese. Sergei could not pass up a chance to make a few coppers and he came out of the tent and sauntered over to him.
‘You wish buy wood? We got plenty wood,’ he said, grinning to expose his gold teeth.
Billy gave the sergeant a malevolent glare. ‘No, I don’t wanna buy wood,’ he growled. ‘Who’s in charge ’ere?’
‘In charge? Me the boss. Sergei. What can I help you?’ the huge man said, prodding himself in the chest with his forefinger.
Billy decided that he would have to be careful how he handled the strange character. He motioned with his finger. ‘See that wall over there?’ he said. ‘That’s a memorial stone. Men who died in war. Got it?’
Sergei laughed and plunged his thumbs into his khaki belt. ‘Many men die in war. So?’
Billy felt the blood rush to his face but he struggled to stay calm. ‘When that wall comes down, that stone goes ter me, understand?’ he said in a firm voice.
Sergei bellowed with laughter. ‘Wall come down next day, not today. Motor come take rubbish away. You want buy stone?’
Billy finally lost his self-control and he grabbed the sergeant’s tunic collar. ‘I don’t buy. That stone belongs ter the church, yer bloody ’eathen,’ he snarled.
Sergei’s face darkened as his huge fist closed over Billy’s and he squeezed hard, pulling downwards to make him let go. ‘You want trouble. I make bad trouble,’ he growled. ‘Go, before I make bad trouble.’
Billy stood facing the large man for a few moments, then he turned on his heel and walked angrily away.
Sadie kicked her shoes off in Maisie’s parlour and rubbed her feet. ‘Those bleedin’ shoes are murderin’ my corns,’ she groaned.
Maisie was pouring the tea and she nodded. ‘Never mind, luv, we’ve done our bit,’ she said with a satisfied look on her wide round face.
The two old friends had been busy for the past two hours visiting their neighbours and now they were looking forward to a strong cup of tea.
‘I ’ope Lily Salter passes the message on,’ Sadie said. ‘They’ll need all the ’elp they can get.’
‘I should fink so,’ Maisie replied. ‘She seems a nice gel.’
‘What about ole Bert Jolly? I’m a bit worried about ’im,’ Sadie remarked. ‘’E’s a bit too old fer that sort o’ fing.’
‘Well, yer can’t stop ’im, luv,’ Maisie said, handing over a cup of tea. ‘Same as my Fred. ’E’ll be there, yer couldn’t stop’im.’
‘I know my Daniel would, if it wasn’t fer that chest of ’is,’ Sadie said, rubbing her sore foot.
There was a knock at the door and Maisie hurried out to answer it. She came back into the room with Maudie and Dolly, who sat themselves down with satisfied looks on their faces. ‘Nellie Tanner’s ’avin’ a word wiv young Carrie,’ Maudie announced. ‘She said not ter worry.’
Sadie sat back and sipped her tea. ‘Well, ladies, it looks like the Page Street women ’ave done their bit. Now we’ll see ’ow the blokes get on.’
The Bargee was usually busy on that Monday evening. Danny Tanner sat talking to Billy Sullivan and Fred Dougall, and Ernest Mycroft was there with Bert Jolly, Josiah Dawson and Tom Casey. Suddenly the door opened and Maurice Salter came in. ‘I got the message,’ he said to Billy. ‘What’s it all about?’
Billy nodded to the counter. ‘Go an’ order a drink, then we’ll get started,’ he told him.
Maurice looked at Billy curiously but did as he was told, and when he was seated Billy held up his hands for silence.
‘Now listen,’ he began. ‘The reason me an’ Danny asked yer all ter come ’ere ternight is ’cos we’re bein’ stamped on, and when I say we, I mean all of us.’
‘What’s ’appened?’ Maurice asked.
Danny got up from his chair and stood alongside Billy. ‘Now you all know the ’istory o’ Murphy’s Gym,’ he said in a loud voice, looking round at the gathering. ‘You all know that Murphy’s is very special to us all. It wasn’t just a buildin’, it was a memorial to all our bruvvers an’ friends who fell in the last war. All right, it’s only a ruin now, but one day, when this war’s over, it’s gonna be built again, make no mistake. In the meantime they’ve started clearin’ the site. They started terday.’
Blank faces greeted Danny’s words. ‘What’s that got ter do wiv us, Danny?’ Bert Jolly asked.
‘I tell yer what it’s got ter do wiv us,’ Danny replied in an angry tone. ‘The memorial stone.’
‘They’ll leave that, won’t they?’ Bert queried.
‘Well, yer better ask Billy about that,’ Danny said, nodding to his old friend to go on.
Billy slipped his thumbs into his braces and looked from one to another of them. ‘They’ve sent one o’ those labour battalions ter clear the site,’ he told them. ‘Now the sergeant in charge is a bullyin’ no-good whoreson who ain’t the slightest bit interested in what ’appens ter that stone. In fact ’e offered ter sell it ter me when I asked ’im what they were gonna do wiv it.’
A roar of anger erupted and Bert Jolly stood up gesticulating. ‘The bloody man must be evil. Fancy wantin’ ter make money on such a fing,’ he cried.
‘What did yer tell ’im, Billy?’ Tom Casey asked.
‘What d’you fink?’ Billy growled. ‘Now listen. As far as me an’ Danny’s concerned, that memorial stone is ours. It belongs to everybody round ’ere, an’ we ain’t gonna stand by an’ see some bloody foreigner try ter put a price on it.’
‘Too right,’ Maurice cut in. ‘I reckon we should take the law into our own ’ands an’ take that stone down ourselves, an’ if the bugger gets in the way, we’ll lynch ’im.’
Danny held up his hands as the angry voices grew. ‘That’s the reason we’ve asked yer ter come ’ere ternight. Me an’ Billy are gonna go round Wilson Street an’ remove that stone ourselves. Any of yer that wanna give us some ’elp are welcome.’
Bert raised his arm. ‘Count me in,’ he said with a determined look on his face.
Every one of the assembly followed his lead. ‘We’re wiv yer,’ the cry went up.
Josiah stood up. ‘We’ve gotta do this right or there’ll be injuries,’ he remarked.
‘Josiah’s right,’ Danny shouted above the din. ‘ ’Im an’ Billy are both in the buildin’ game, so we’ll be guided by them, all right?’
The men began to make for the door and Danny banged an empty glass down loudly on the table to attract their attention. ‘We’ll see yer at the gym in ’alf an hour,’ he shouted.
The women of Page Street stood at their front doors on that warm June evening and watched the men leave in a group. Maurice was wearing his dungarees and he had lent a spare pair to Bert who walked beside him as though he was marching off to war. Tom wore his painting overalls and Fred had sorted out a pair of his old trousers from the rag bag. Ernest followed behind them, along with Josiah. All their faces were set firm.
‘Mind ’ow yer go,’ Maudie said anxiously.
‘Keep yer eye on ’em,’ Maisie shouted out to Josiah as they passed by.
The whole street seemed to have turned out to watch the men leave and Sadie nodded sadly. ‘I ’ad ter practically ’old my Daniel back,’ she told Maisie.
At Wilson Street the men gathered round Josiah and he took control. ‘Now listen,’ he said authoritatively. ‘That wall’s rickety. What we’ve got ter do is ter stand clear an’ push it over wiv poles. There’s plenty o’ wood we can use fer ’em. We’ll rock the wall down away from us, an’ then chip the stone loose. What we gotta make sure is that we don’t shatter the stone, so pay attention.’
A few bystanders and two small boys watched intently as the strange crowd of men leaned on their lengths of timber. Josiah was urging them on but the wall proved stronger than he had thought. It rocked precariously, but would not fall. He appealed for more effort and Bert Jolly in particular was grunting loudly as he strained against his pole. Billy and Danny shared a length of timber and they suddenly became aware of two people standing over them.
‘Yer wanna push a bit ’arder,’ one of them said.
Billy turned to Danny. ‘Well, if it ain’t Wally Walburton an’ Tubby Abrahms,’ he said grinning. ‘These two are like a couple o’ bad pennies.’ He looked at Wally. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, let’s ’ave the benefit o’ yer muscle.’
‘We ’elped yer when this place went up so we thought we might as well ’elp yer pull it down,’ Wally said grinning.
The extra weight proved decisive and the wall finally toppled. Josiah had designed a crude casing behind the wall where he estimated the stone would fall, and his calculations were correct. As the wall collapsed in a cloud of dust, the stone tablet fell in the centre of the casing and remained intact. The next task, chipping the remaining bits of bricks away from the stone, was simple, and it was soon accomplished. Josiah looked satisfied as he sorted out the next problem, that of getting the heavy stone from the site. A pathway was cleared and lined with timbers, and then the stone was manhandled into position with the aid of poles. Fred and Ernest looked pleased with themselves as they exchanged grins. Tom was mopping his brow with an exaggerated show of fatigue. Wally Walburton stood back and flexed his muscles. ‘C’mon then, lads, what we waitin’ for?’ he said.
Inch by inch the stone was laboriously levered along the makeshift ramp. Before it had been moved more than a few feet a lorry drove into Wilson Street and pulled up at the site. Paddy Byrne jumped down from the cab carrying a coil of rope.
‘This might ’elp,’ he said, throwing it at Josiah’s feet.
The rope was tied round the large stone and then Paddy secured the other end to the rear of his lorry. Slowly he drove his vehicle away from the ruins, dragging the stone along until it reached the edge of the pavement. Willing hands carried thick lengths of timber from the stack and rested the ends against the tailboard. Wally and Tubby joined Maurice, Danny and Billy on the vehicle and the rest of the men stood back holding poles. It took a lot of effort on everyone’s part, but after a great deal of heaving and levering the stone was finally set in place on the lorry.
It was a very satisfied group of men who sat round it as they were driven to St Joseph’s Church in Jamaica Road, and it was a very surprised Father Kerrigan who answered the request for sanctuary and threw open the gates to let the lorry back into the churchyard.
The morning of Tuesday, 6 June, was warm and sunny, and when the demolition team arrived in Wilson Street, Sergei was very angry. All day long the men toiled and Sergei hollered and railed wildly as he took his rage out on them. They cursed him silently and bent their backs to the hard work, oblivious of the momentous events of that morning, until one of the men who spoke English exchanged a few pleasantries with a passer-by.
In nearby Page Street folk were spilling out of their houses as the news came over the wireless, and some of the women were near to tears.
‘They’ve gone in!’ Bert shouted to Sadie.
‘The invasion’s on!’ Maudie shouted across the street to Mrs Haggerty.
Dolly did a jig outside her front door and Maisie put her hands together as she lifted her head to the sky. ‘At last,’ she cried out. ‘Gawd it’s ’appened at last.’
Annie shepherded her children to school, then she went to see Sadie and the two women hurried off to St Joseph’s to say a special prayer. Maudie went to church that morning too, while Maisie joined Dolly for a lunchtime drink in celebration. There was a widespread mood of elation, and all day long the latest news bulletins were passed from person to person. Maurice Salter, though, was feeling badly in need of sleep. He had gone straight from his long shift to the Bargee meeting, and then when he got back home late that evening he had been besieged by the latest wave of customers for his range of American silk stockings and underwear. He had long since exhausted his supply, for his daughters’ American boy friends were now employed on a more dangerous front in Normandy, but the women of Page Street persisted nevertheless, and Maurice was compelled to paste a notice on his front door. ‘Gone to bed, girls. Supply exhausted.’
That evening a very determined Billy Sullivan took a detour on his way home from work. He was not to be disappointed, for he saw the demolition gang still hard at it. As he approached, he saw Sergei thro
wing his arms about as he bawled out one of his unfortunate workers, and Billy’s jaw muscles tightened.
The bullying sergeant suddenly caught sight of Billy and his eyes narrowed. ‘You! You come on my place. Take stone. Who say you take stone?’
Billy was well aware that he was dealing with a highly volatile character who was obviously very strong, and he stayed just out of arm’s reach as he smiled mirthlessly at him. ‘The stone’s wiv us, pal. Now why don’t yer finish the job an’ piss orf out of it. We don’t like your sort round ’ere.’
Sergei’s command of the English language was sufficient to know when he was being insulted and his face flushed a dull red. ‘I teach you manners,’ he snarled as he reached a huge hand out for Billy’s throat.
Billy had expected it and he moved his head sideways and down, at the same time throwing a hard punch from his shoulder. All the power that Billy could muster was in that punch and it caught Sergei full in the face. He staggered back, his nose beginning to drip blood, and with a roar he rushed forward. Billy hit him again as he came on, this time a left hook on the temple. The huge man dropped to his knees and shook his head. He was not finished, however, and his face was contorted as he climbed to his feet. This time he did not make the mistake of rushing in blindly; instead he opened his arms wide and came forward slowly, crouching slightly like a gorilla. Billy backed away carefully, not wanting to be caught up in those massive arms, and he suddenly feinted to strike with his left fist and threw out a hard right. Sergei ducked it and leapt forward, coiling his arms round Billy’s body. His eyes were glaring like a madman and he grinned evilly as he squeezed the life out of his opponent. Billy was fighting to breathe but his arms were pinned to his sides; his face quickly became scarlet and a sea of red mist grew in front of his eyes.
Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child Page 50
