The Girl from the Docklands Café

by June Tate

  Gates appeared to be deep in thought. ‘I don’t have a vacancy for you at the moment and I’ll have to look into your serious accusation, McGonigall. I’ll be in touch with you. That’s all I’m prepared to say at the moment. Good day to you.’

  Conor left the office wondering what would happen next.

  Brian Gates sat behind his desk, deep in thought. He was an honest man and lived life by the rules. To hear that a gang boss was cheating his men angered him. He’d come up the hard way working as a docker, then a stevedore, before being promoted to a desk job and eventually making it to his management position. He knew how hard it was for men to make a living and then to have some of their wages docked illegally stuck in his craw. Well, he wouldn’t have it!

  He went to his filing cabinet and withdrew two files. One was Jennings’; the other was Conor’s. He took them back to his desk and started to read.

  Two days later, Bill Brown called in to see Conor after work to tell him he’d been sent for by Brian Gates and asked about his wages.

  ‘I told him the truth and how long it had happened to me. He asked me to keep my visit to him quiet. What’s going on, Conor, do you know?’

  Conor explained. ‘So, Gates is looking into it? I wondered if he would. He was surprised when I told him about Jennings and he didn’t look pleased, I have to say.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Conor, Jennings has no idea. Wait until he finds out. I wonder what will happen to him?’

  ‘He’ll lose his job, I would think.’

  Bill frowned. ‘If he does, I would say you’d better watch your back!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well it’s bloody obvious where the information came from with you being fired and all. None of us dare say a word in case we lose our place.’

  After his neighbour had left, Conor had time to consider his position. If Jennings was fired, he’d be out for blood. He decided to keep all this to himself; he didn’t want to worry Jessie.

  The next payday, as the men lined up to receive their wages, Brian Gates stood watching, unseen, at a distance until the last man was paid, then he moved forward.

  ‘One moment, men!’

  Everyone stopped. Jennings frowned. What the devil was his boss doing here?

  Gates went over to the line of men. ‘Show me your pay packets please.’ He took them one by one and read the front and saw the wage that everyone was entitled to and noted the ten per cent that had been written in pencil below and the new total. He looked at Jennings and, holding out the pay packets, asked, ‘Can you explain these discrepancies to me, please?’

  Jennings was flustered. ‘It’s just a little arrangement I have with my men, sir.’

  ‘And what would that be, might I ask?’

  The man knew he was in deep trouble. ‘The men kindly offered to hand over some of their wage to ensure they maintain their position permanently.’

  ‘Really?’ He turned to the men. ‘Did you make an offer to do this or were you told to do so?’

  ‘We were told!’ They said in unison. Knowing that at last the thieving gang boss had been rumbled.

  ‘Right. I want you all to go home and write the date that this practice started for each one of you. Bring it to work tomorrow morning when a new gang boss will be taking over. Jennings! With me, to my office.’

  The men stood and watched Jennings walking behind his boss towards the dock gates, then they all started talking at once.

  ‘I reckon Conor shopped him!’

  ‘It’s about bloody time they caught that bastard and it looks as if we’ll get our back pay.’

  They all left the dock, chattering away and laughing at what had transpired.

  Brian Gates walked into his office, followed by Jennings. He sat at his desk and left Jennings standing. Gates stared at the man in front of him, a look of disgust on his face.

  ‘You have worked as a docker, you know how hard it is to get chosen and then how hard you have to work for not a lot of money. Yet, knowing this, you had no compunction at taking part of their hard-earned wage. How despicable!’

  Jennings started to argue.

  ‘Enough! You have committed a fraud! I will have to put this before the board and let them decide whether they will get the police involved. But for the moment, you’re fired. When the men give me their dates tomorrow, the amount of money they are owed will be repaid by you, to the penny. You have your own pay packet?’

  Jennings nodded.

  Gates held out his hand. ‘I’ll take that for now as the first contribution towards the money the men had to part with.’

  Jennings had no choice but to hand it all over.

  ‘You will not work in the docks again, Mr Jennings. I’ll see you are blacklisted. You will be hearing from me once the board have met. Good day to you.’

  ‘You can’t have me blacklisted!’ Jennings, puce with anger, glared at the man behind the desk. ‘I’ve worked all my life in the docks; it’s the only life I know.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before you cheated your men. Now get out!’

  Lumbering towards the door, Jennings turned. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this!’ He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Gates sent for a messenger boy and, giving him an address, sent him on an errand.

  Conor was sat reading the paper when there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to see an errand boy standing there.

  ‘Mr McGonigall?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  ‘I was asked to give you this, sir.’ The boy handed over an envelope, then left.

  Conor sat down and opened the envelope, filled with curiosity. He read it slowly, then read it again and started laughing. He grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the door, almost knocking over his neighbour in his haste. Bill started to say something, but Conor kept walking.

  ‘In a rush, Bill. I’ll see you when I get back.’

  Conor had a bounce in his step as he walked down Bernard Street towards Canute Road. It was Friday and the workers were pouring out of the dock gates on their way home. Some walking, others on bicycles. Sometimes four abreast, like a swarm as they rode through the dock gates, splitting up as they reached the road.

  There was the usual cacophony of sounds particular to the docks. The whistle of a goods train, a shrill hooter for close of business, the roar of a funnel as a ship is due to sail. Among this, the cry of the paper boy. ‘Read all about it!’

  Conor listened to it all. It was music to his ears as he made his way to a building, whistling as he did so. He entered and made his way to an office on the first floor and knocked on the door.

  ‘Come in!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brian Gates looked at Conor. ‘Sit down, Mr McGonigall. You may not have heard, but today I was in the docks when the men received their pay and I discovered what you told me of Jennings taking ten per cent of their wages to be true. Why didn’t you report this to me sooner?’

  ‘Like everyone else, I needed to be working, earning a wage. I’m not sure I’d have been believed either. Jennings has been a gang boss for a long time. I couldn’t take the chance.’

  ‘For your information, Jennings has been fired and blacklisted.’

  Conor made no comment, but he thought that now Jennings would certainly be out for his blood.

  Gates continued, ‘I don’t have a vacancy at the moment for a stevedore, but I do for a gang boss. I’ve read your record and can see you were good at your job and popular with your men, so I’m offering you Jennings’ job. Are you interested?’

  Conor was stunned. This he wasn’t expecting. ‘Thank you, Mr Gates. I would be more than happy to accept.’

  ‘Good. You start on Monday morning, taking over the job in hand. I’m putting my trust in you, McGonigall, so don’t let me down.’

  Conor rose from his chair and shook hands with the man opposite. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll do a good job for you, you have my word.’
>
  Once outside the building, Conor paused to take a breath. What a bloody turn-up, he thought. The men would be pleased, he knew that, but Jennings … that was another matter.

  The man in question had been lingering on the doorstep of a pub waiting for it to open. He was seething with rage. ‘That bloody Irishman has done this,’ he muttered. ‘He shopped me when I fired him, I’m sure of that. Well, he won’t get away with it.’

  The landlord unlocked the door of the pub and Jennings hurried inside. ‘A pint of beer and a whisky chaser,’ he ordered. It was the first of many.

  Jessie was sitting in the kitchen making cakes with Jack and Tommy, the Williams children, when Conor walked in. He stood and watched for a moment. Ever since the family had settled, Jessie had made a fuss of the children and, knowing how much she had wanted a family, Conor had been pleased for her. The boys obviously adored her. She would offer to give them tea to give Maisie, their mother, a break, but also to fill a need in her. Today, they were making scones. The first lot were coming out of the oven.

  ‘Just in time, darlin’,’ she said. ‘The boys have been baking, haven’t you?’

  They nodded shyly.

  ‘Oh, that’s great,’ Conor said. ‘I could do with a cup of tea and a scone; they’re my favourites.’

  The boys beamed.

  Jessie put some jam and cream on the table, placed the scones on a plate, took the kettle off the top of the stove, made a pot of tea, put plates and knives on the table and, looking at the boys, said, ‘Right, let’s sit and have tea. Remember, jam first!’

  She looked at Conor and smiled. It looked like any family sitting together. Alright, she thought, the boys were on loan but that would do. It wasn’t a bad second best.

  While everyone tucked into the food, Jessie looked at her husband. ‘Where have you been? I thought you’d be home when I got back.’

  ‘I was in the docks,’ he said. ‘I’ve a new job. I’m taking over from Jennings. I’m the new gang boss!’

  Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘How did that come about?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ he said, nodding towards the boys.

  When eventually they were alone and the children had been sent home with scones for their parents, Conor told Jessie what had happened. She looked perturbed. ‘I’m happy for you, Conor, but what about this man, Jennings? What will happen to him if he’s blacklisted?’

  With a shrug, Conor said, ‘Who knows?’ He kept his concerns to himself.

  On Monday morning, Conor arrived in the docks early to check on the work that was scheduled for the day, wanting to be prepared, then he waited for the gang to arrive.

  Bill, surprised to see Conor there, rushed over to him. ‘I didn’t have a chance to tell you yesterday: Jennings has been fired.’

  ‘Really?’ Conor feigned surprise.

  ‘I wonder who we’ll get today?’ Bill remarked. ‘I hope it isn’t some miserable bugger.’ He was so concerned about the new gang boss; he forgot to ask Conor why he was there at all.

  The other men eventually gathered, looking around wondering who they’d be working for and surprised too to see Conor there, although no one said anything.

  Conor stepped forward. ‘Good morning, men. I’m your new gang boss and I want this work cleared today.’

  For a moment the men were stunned, then they rushed forward and shook Conor by the hand, delighted for his promotion. He smiled at them all. ‘Now, let’s get down to it. You all know what we have to do, so let’s not waste any time. We’ll show the bosses how a good gang works.’

  The atmosphere was entirely different. The men worked well together, joshing with each other, yet getting the job done.

  Brian Gates, unseen by the men, watched and noted the camaraderie and left after a while, pleased with his decision to put Conor in charge.

  Dave Jennings woke that morning with a blinding headache and hangover, which didn’t improve his disposition. He made some tea, lit a cigarette and wondered what to do next. He was out of a job, couldn’t find one in the docks now he was blacklisted and he was enraged at his position. He decided he needed to eat, but there was nothing in the house, then he remembered that McGonigall’s wife ran a workman’s cafe. He got dressed and left his house.

  Jessie heard the tinkle of the bell over the door of the cafe as it opened and went into the dining room to see who had walked in.

  A big, surly man was standing there. ‘Good morning, can I help you?’

  ‘You serving breakfast?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, take a seat. What would you like?’

  ‘Eggs, two, bacon, sausages, tomato and toast with a strong mug of coffee while I wait,’ he snapped as he sat down.

  Jessie walked into the kitchen and gave the order to Nancy. ‘You do the toast as I cook the rest, but make a strong mug of coffee first,’ she said. ‘I think my customer has a hangover, looking at him. He reeks of alcohol.’

  ‘He’s not drunk, is he?’ Nancy asked nervously.

  ‘No, he isn’t, but I’ll take the coffee to him when you’ve made it.’

  Jennings looked around. Not a bad place. The smell of bacon wafted through from the kitchen. Nice-looking woman, he thought as Jessie placed the coffee in front of him and walked back to the kitchen. He watched her. Her skirt swishing just above her ankles from beneath the long white apron she wore. Her Titian hair worn twisted onto the top of her head to keep it tidy as she cooked.

  He’d heard one or two of the men in the docks talking about this cafe and the tasty meals served, but he’d not been in the place before and, as other customers appeared, wanting breakfast, he thought, So the bastard Irishman had another wage coming into the house apart from his own. On to a nice little earner, no doubt, which only infuriated him more.

  After he finished his meal, he paid his bill and left without a word of thanks.

  ‘Miserable bugger,’ Jessie muttered. ‘I hope he doesn’t come in again.’

  Jennings went into a newsagent and bought the local paper, took it to the park and sat looking at the situations vacant. Having been a docker all his working life, there was little he was qualified for apart from manual work. He pored over the adverts, getting more frustrated as he did so. Eventually, when the pubs opened, he made his way to the nearest one.

  At the end of the day, Conor and his men lay down their tools. The daily work had been completed and their mood was light, with not having Jennings standing over them baying his orders, reprimanding them for one thing or another. They’d worked hard and well together, and now were looking forward to the rest of the week.

  One of the men stepped forward. ‘Mr Gates wanted us to bring a list of the dates we started paying Jennings his cut.’ The others agreed and all held up a piece of paper. Conor collected them and said he’d see they got to the office. On the way home, he took them into his headquarters and walked up to the receptionist. He asked for an envelope, put the papers inside, licked the envelope closed, wrote Gates’s name on the outside and handed it over.

  ‘Mr Gates is expecting this,’ he said. ‘Will you see he gets it today, please?’

  Walking home, Conor felt happy. Today he’d been in charge and the men had worked well. They all seemed pleased about his promotion, which was a bonus, and he felt that Brian Gates would be pleased too. He’d go home, have a bath, have something to eat and take Jessie out for a drink to celebrate. But when he turned into his street, he found the neighbours in a state, gathering together, planning to go on some kind of hunt. Jessie was standing with the others, listening to a police constable.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he asked his wife.

  ‘The boys have gone missing,’ she told him with tears in her eyes. ‘They came home from school, had their tea, went outside to play and haven’t been seen since. We’ve all searched our houses and sheds, but nothing and it’s beginning to get dark.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Oh, Conor!’

  He held her to him. ‘Now, darlin’, you know kids. They have gone
off on some adventure not realising how worried everyone would be. They can’t have gone far. They’ll be found, mark my words.’

  ‘The police are doing a house search in nearby streets and houses,’ she told him, ‘but Maisie and her husband are beside themselves. She collapsed, and the doctor and Percy are with her now. Where would the boys have gone, do you think?’ Jessie asked. ‘Think. If you were them, where would you go?’

  Conor thought for a moment, wracking his brains searching for a clue, trying to think of something the boys had said. Then he remembered they had been talking about fishing the other day and he’d told them how he used to go by the pier, with a bit of string and a worm on a hook, when he was a boy and how interested they were with the whole idea. He looked at Jessie and told her.

  ‘Would they know the way?’

  ‘Yes, because Maisie and Percy have taken them there, walking on the pier. Come on, it’s a possibility. Let’s go and take a look.’

  They shut their front door and rushed away.

  The walk seemed endless, although it wasn’t very far, and when they eventually reached the pier, Conor stopped. ‘They wouldn’t have any money to go onto the pier,’ he said, ‘so let’s look around below.’

  They walked to one side and searched, but found no one, then as they were walking down the other side, they heard someone screaming and started to run. They saw Jack up to his waist in water, screaming in fear and when they got to him he pointed and they saw Tommy, out of his depth, floundering in the water. Conor dived in as Jessie strode into the water to pick up young Jack, her skirt soaked as she lifted and carried him back to dry land. She held him close, talking softly as she tried to comfort the child.

  ‘It’s alright, Jack. Conor will get him, you see.’ But the boy just sobbed, clinging to her as he watched.