by Mike Hollow
‘We have some bad news for you, I’m afraid. It’s—’
‘I know. It’s about Joan, isn’t it? You needn’t worry – my mum’s told me about it already. It’s a terrible business, but at least she’s at peace now – doesn’t have to put up with all these bombs any more.’
‘Were you close to Joan?’
‘We got on all right, but I didn’t see much of her, what with my working hours and hers both being a bit irregular.’
‘Did you see her on Sunday?’
‘Is that when it happened?’
‘Yes, sometime after she finished work on Sunday evening.’
Elsie slowly shook her head. ‘No. I was at work myself on Sunday evening. It’s dreadful, isn’t it? Just thinking of her being – you know. I always insist on Derek walking me home when these air raids are on. I’m not going out there on my own, I’ll tell you that for nothing. You never know who might be prowling around in the blackout, do you?’
‘Derek’s your husband?’
‘That’s right. I was due to knock off at eight o’clock, but I stayed on a bit until it sounded like the bombing had stopped and it had all quietened down outside. Sunday night’s Derek’s fire-watching night, see, so I had to make sure he’d walked me home before it was time for him to go on duty. Mind you, it was more like me walking him home – the air raid had made him all jittery, and when he gets like that it’s like walking home with a jellyfish. I don’t know what he does on those fire-watching shifts – if an incendiary landed anywhere near him I think he’d run a mile. You should’ve seen him when he tripped over that sailor – nearly jumped out of his skin.’
‘A sailor?’
‘Yes. Some bloke lying in a shop doorway, legs sticking out all over the pavement. I knew he was a sailor, because of the uniform – nobody else wears those bell-bottomed trousers, do they? I wouldn’t have noticed him in the blackout, only there was a torch lying on the ground beside him, still on, so I bent down and turned it off. Derek can’t have been looking where he was going. You could smell the drink on him – the sailor, that is, not Derek. He looked like he’d had a few too many and passed out. Well, you know what sailors are like with the drink – we’ve had a few rough times with his sort in the pub over the years, I can tell you.’
‘Do you happen to know who this sailor was?’
‘No. A sailor’s a sailor to me. But I’m pretty sure I’d seen him before. Judging by what I could see of his face, he was the one who’d been selling stockings in here earlier on.’
‘What kind of stockings were they?’
‘I don’t know – I was too busy behind the bar to see them close up.’
‘Would anyone else know his name?’
‘I don’t know. You could try the landlord, though – I can ask him if you like.’
‘Thank you, but I think we’ll ask him ourselves before we go. Tell me, though, when you came across the sailor in the doorway, where was it?’
‘On the corner of Martin Street. You know – just down the High Street a bit, past Station Street.’
‘And what time was it?’
‘Well, Derek came for me just before half past eight, and we walked home, so it would’ve been a bit after that.’
‘It’s about ten minutes’ walk home, I imagine?’
‘Yes, we got home about twenty to nine.’
‘And forgive me for asking a strange question, but when you saw the sailor lying there, was he wearing a cap?’
‘A sailor’s hat, you mean? I’m not sure, let me think. Yes, now I remember – he was sort of slumped in the doorway with his back against the wall, and his cap was pushed down towards his eyes a bit, still on his head but looking a bit precarious. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s just that we found a sailor’s cap in Joan’s flat, and we’re wondering how it got there.’
‘Sorry, can’t help you with that – we just left him there and carried on home, back to my mum’s house. I stayed in after that, and Derek went off back to Carpenters Road to do his fire watching.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Marwell. I think that’ll be all.’
‘You’re welcome, I’m sure. So what was Joan doing entertaining sailors in her flat?’
‘I’m not suggesting she was. It’s probably of no significance, but it’s a little loose end that I’d like to tie up. Which reminds me – before we go there’s another small matter you may be able to shed light on.’
He motioned to Cradock to pass the suitcase, then opened it and took out the tunic.
‘Do you recognise this?’
She looked at it blankly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Never seen it before.’
‘Very well, in that case we’ll let you return to your duties, and we’ll see the landlord on our way out.’
They found the landlord serving drinks in the saloon bar, as before.
‘Got what you wanted?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Jago. ‘Mrs Marwell was most helpful. She happened to mention, among other things, that there was a sailor in here on Sunday selling stockings.’
‘Look, I told you—’
‘This is not to do with any informal commercial transactions that may or may not have been going on. I’m looking for a witness who may be able to help us, and I have reason to believe he may be a sailor who was in here on Sunday. If you can tell me his name I’d be most obliged.’
‘Right, well, in that case it was young Ernie Sullivan. He’s a local boy, used to be one of our regulars. I think he joined up a year or two ago, but he was always in here before that, and we still see him if he gets a bit of leave.’
‘And is he usually in here selling things?’
‘No, not usually.’
‘Do you know where we can find him?’
‘No, but his dad still lives up Windmill Lane. Don’t know the number, but Ernie once said it’s a flat over a greengrocer’s, so if he hasn’t moved or been bombed out, you should be able to find him round there.’
‘Thank you. That’s very helpful.’
‘All right,’ said the landlord. ‘But remember – it wasn’t me who told you.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘I was just wondering, guv’nor,’ said Cradock as they came out of the Green Man and turned left up Stratford High Street. ‘How much longer do I have to cart this old suitcase around? I’m beginning to feel like some sort of commercial traveller – I keep thinking people are expecting it to be full of brushes or cleaning products when I open it.’
‘That’s better than people looking at you and wondering what a young copper’s doing with a suitcase,’ said Jago. ‘Good training for plainclothes work – learning how to blend in with your surroundings. But if we don’t find anyone soon who can tell us whether it has any significance I’ll give up. Elsie wasn’t much help, was she?’
‘No, sir, but that was a good tip about the sailor – selling stockings and all that. I don’t suppose she’d have let him do it if the landlord didn’t approve, though – he’d have been out on his ear. She could look after herself, I reckon. I wonder what would’ve happened at the Regal if she’d been the fire watcher instead of that Bert Wilson bloke.’
‘You don’t think much of him?’
‘Well, he looked the part, didn’t he? A real bruiser. But I wasn’t so sure.’
‘You weren’t convinced?’
‘No, I don’t think I was. At first sight you’d think yes, he’s a tough guy, the sort of bloke it’d be handy to have with you if you ran into a spot of bother down a dark alleyway. But if that was so, I’d have thought he’d put up more of a fight against whoever broke into the cinema that night. All sounded a bit convenient, didn’t it? You know – he didn’t see them, they grabbed him from behind, and they tied him up and gagged him before he could do anything.’
‘So you think if it was an inside job he might’ve been part of it?’
‘Not necessarily, but he did have keys.’
‘Only for tha
t night when he was on duty.’
‘Yes, but he could’ve got a copy made some other time. Or he could’ve just let them in on the night. We’ve only got his word for it that he was on the roof when he heard the safe being blown. He could’ve let them in and then gone back up to where he was supposed to be.’
‘Let’s ask him a few questions, then,’ said Jago. ‘We’ll drop in on our way back to the station – and if he’s there we’ll put your theory to the test.’
They walked up the High Street towards the cinema. On their right, Stratford Market railway station seemed to be untouched by the recent air raids, but a little farther on the Times Furnishings store had been obliterated by a direct hit. The breeze still carried the acrid tang of burnt timber.
At the Regal, they found Sidney Conway in his office. He confirmed that Bert Wilson was on duty and offered them the use of the room, then sent for the doorman. When Wilson arrived, the manager made a show of gathering up some papers and leaving.
‘Mr Wilson,’ said Jago. ‘We’d just like to ask you a few more questions, if that’s all right.’
‘Fine by me,’ said Wilson with a shrug.
Jago motioned to Cradock to take over the questioning.
‘Right,’ said Cradock. ‘This break-in – the men who did it seem to have let you off lightly, don’t they?’
‘I suppose you could say that,’ Wilson replied, ‘although at the time there was no knowing what they might do.’
‘I understand you had a set of keys to the cinema.’
‘Yes, the fire watcher needs them to get around the building. What are you getting at?’
‘Only that when someone like you is alone in a building at night with a set of keys and a safe full of money, and some other blokes get in and steal that money, someone’s bound to ask whether you were in cahoots with them.’
‘Cahoots? What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about you having a finger in the pie, Mr Wilson.’
‘What are you suggesting? That I let them in or something?’
‘You wouldn’t be the first.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘For money, of course.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense. There’d only be a couple of nights’ takings in that safe, say three or four hundred quid. There were two blokes who grabbed me, and they probably had someone keeping watch outside or downstairs, so there could’ve been three or four of them. If they split the money between them they’d get a hundred each, and for that they’d risk going to jail for blowing a safe, so what would they give someone like me for letting them in? Twenty, maybe? I earn two quid a week, so that means for ten weeks’ money I’d risk getting eighteen months’ hard labour, losing my job and possibly being out of work for the rest of my life. Why would I do that?’
‘You take an interest in the courts’ sentencing for cinema-breaking, do you?’ Jago interjected.
‘No, I don’t – but I do take an interest in what goes on in cinemas. I read about a case in the paper, that’s all,’ said Wilson. He turned back to Cradock. ‘Now look, I may be only a doorman, but I’m not stupid. I’ve got plans for my life. If Mr Conway can be a success, I reckon I can too. I’m as bright as he is, any day. Besides, I’m expecting to get my call-up papers soon, and if I come out of this war with a good record I’ll be able to be something more than a doorman. I wouldn’t chuck all that away for twenty quid.’
‘Can anyone confirm you were on the roof when you said you were?’ said Cradock.
‘No, of course not. We only have one fire watcher on duty at night, so I was on my own. You have to believe me, though – I’m not a crook.’
Jago decided it was time for him to take over.
‘All right, Mr Wilson,’ he said. ‘Thank you for that. There’s something else I’d like to ask you. When we were with you and Mr Conway yesterday, I understood from what he was saying that you’d worked previously at the Broadway Super and he gave you a job when it was bombed, like he did for Joan Lewis.’
‘That’s right, yes.’
‘So you knew Joan before she came to work here.’
‘Yes.’ Wilson was beginning to look irritated by this questioning. ‘Look,’ he continued, ‘so I knew her. So what?’
‘Just getting it clear in my own mind, Mr Wilson. I’d be interested to know what you thought of Joan – what kind of person was she?’
Wilson’s expression softened. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘she was just lovely. She was the kindest and gentlest person I’ve ever known.’
‘Did you ever have reason to believe there might be another side to her character?’
‘What are you trying to suggest?’
‘I’m just wondering. Sometimes when we get to know someone we find they’re not everything they seem.’
‘Well, that’s as may be with some people, but not with Joan. She was always really nice, the kind of girl any bloke would be proud to have on his arm. When I heard she’d married Richard, I thought he must be the luckiest man in town.’
‘Ah, so you knew Richard? Mr Lewis, that is?’
‘I used to. I hadn’t seen him for ages, but when Joan told me she was married and who her husband was, I realised that was the Richard I used to know.’
‘When was that?’
‘When we were boys. I got to know Richard when I joined the Boy Scouts – we were in the same patrol. I really liked it, but one day Richard said there was something new he’d found out about that was like Scouts but better. He said it had all the things I enjoyed, like the woodcraft and camping, but it wasn’t all bugles and drums and parades like the Scouts. Richard said he was going to join that instead and asked me if I’d like to go with him, so I did.’
‘What did you make of it?’
‘Oh, I liked it. The man who started it was called John Hargrave – he’d been in the army in the Great War, a stretcher-bearer at Gallipoli, and he said the trouble with the Boy Scouts was that it was run by old generals who wanted to train boys so they’d be ready to go in the army and kill people. So he’d set up something that was all about world peace and international brotherhood, that sort of thing. Not that that worked out, did it? It all seems a very long time ago. In those days, though, he was very persuasive. I heard him speak once, and he was amazing – inspiring, really. He said the only country we should belong to is the world, and the only loyalty we should have is to mankind.’
Wilson paused and gave a short, cynical laugh, as if his own words had struck him as amusing.
‘Anyway, this Hargrave, he was tall and handsome, very fit and athletic, and he had one of those strong faces – you know, perfect straight nose, square chin, the kind of face a leader should have.’
‘The sort of man who attracts a following, then?’
‘Oh, yes. I was only a lad when I joined, of course, so for me it was just a bit of fun, but some of the men had been through the war. Whenever there was any talk about the future, you could see they were sort of desperate to do something, anything they could, to make a better world, and White Fox – that’s what Hargrave called himself – he always seemed to be sure that’s what he was doing. I was in it because I liked the outdoor stuff, as I said, and the physical fitness, all that. But I thought making a new world was a good idea too – I didn’t want to grow up and get killed in another war like the last one.’
‘I don’t suppose anyone did.’
‘No. Of course, I don’t think it’s as simple as that now. Like I said, my call-up papers should be here any day and I’m ready to do my bit. When I went to register back in June I said I’d like to go into the RAF, but from what I’ve heard they don’t necessarily take much notice of what you prefer, so I’ll probably end up in the army. You never know your luck, though. I fancy flying – it’s probably the only chance I’ll ever get of going up in a plane.’
‘So this organisation you and Richard joined – what was it called?’
‘It was the Kibbo Kift. Funny name, isn’t it? T
hey used to say it means “proof of great strength” or something like that, in some old dialect from Cheshire.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember hearing about it now. And it had a uniform?’
‘Yes. We were supposed to make it ourselves, but my mum made mine, and I expect Richard’s made his. It was green – a sort of Saxon tunic with a leather belt, and a hood, and shorts.’
Jago took the suitcase from Cradock and opened it.
‘Like this?’ he said, showing the contents to Wilson.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Wilson. ‘What are you doing carrying that around with you?’
Jago ignored the question, preferring to continue with his own.
‘Could this have been Richard’s uniform, Mr Lewis?’
‘I couldn’t say.’
‘And you say you had a uniform like this too?’
‘Yes, I did, but I haven’t got it now. Looking back, I suppose it must all have seemed a bit ridiculous to outsiders. It wasn’t just the clothes – we had special words for things, like a private language. People had animal names, too, like Batwing or Sea Otter, and there was lots of stuff about being like Red Indians. But when I was a kid I loved all that. So did Richard.’
‘Did you keep up your friendship into adult life?’
‘No. I stopped going to the meetings when I was about fifteen – grew out of it, I suppose. Then Richard’s family moved to a posh house in Windsor Road, and we lost touch – I’ve never seen him since. I only found out what he was doing when I met Joan at work and we discovered I used to know him. By that time he was in France, of course, so we had no chance to get together and catch up on old times.’
‘And you say Richard was a keen member of the Kibbo Kift?’
‘Yes, he was at the time, but I don’t know whether he carried on. And later on I believe it packed up. Or rather, it turned into something else. About ten years ago, it was. That Hargrave bloke decided to make it some kind of political movement. He got them to wear green shirts and berets and grey trousers and changed the name to the Social Credit Party. Most people just called them the Greenshirts.’
