‘What about Galloway’s wife? Didn’t she get suspicious about ’im not bein’ ’ome?’ Florrie asked.
Nellie shook her head. ‘Accordin’ ter what Elsie told my Carrie, Frank Galloway’s wife is one o’ those actresses on the stage. She was never ’ome ’erself, an’ she’s got a fancy man. Anyway, one evenin’ Elsie an’ Frank Galloway was up to a bit of ’anky-panky in ’er place an’ Elsie’s ’usband comes in unexpected an’ catches ’em at it. Elsie told my Carrie that Frank Galloway promised ’er ’e was goin’ ter get a divorce an’ marry ’er as soon as they was both free. Elsie’s ole man ’ad chucked ’er out an’ she was livin’ wiv’ ’er sister in Black’eath fer the time bein’. What made it worse, Elsie’s daughter was very close to ’er farvver an’ she wouldn’t ’ave nuffink more ter do wiv ’er muvver. Well, yer can guess what ’appened next.’
Nellie’s friends were enthralled by the tale and they all shook their heads.
‘Go on,’ Florrie prompted impatiently.
‘Frank Galloway found ’imself anuvver fancy piece an’ poor Elsie’s left ’igh an’ dry,’ Nellie continued. ‘She tried ter patch it up wiv ’er ole man an’ one night she went ter the square ter try an’ talk ’im round an’ found ’im ’angin’ from the banisters.’
The women gasped and Maisie shook her head sadly. ‘Poor bleeder. What must ’e ’ave bin goin’ frew in ’is mind,’ she said in a quiet voice.
‘That Frank Galloway’s got a lot to answer to,’ Florrie uttered venomously.
‘’Ow come she ended up in Bacon Buildin’s of all places?’ Aggie asked.
‘After all what ’ad ’appened, an’ then the shock o’ findin’ ’er ole man ’angin’ from the banisters, fings got too much fer ’er an’ she ’ad a nervous breakdown,’ Nellie told them. ‘Elsie was in ’ospital fer some time an’ when she come out she couldn’t face goin’ back ter live wiv ’er sister, so she put ’erself on the mercy o’ the Council. They couldn’t ’elp an’ out o’ desperation she did what me an’ my Will ’ad ter do. She took a flat in Bacon Buildin’s. She was settlin’ in there but one day last week she saw ’er daughter in the market an’ the gel turned ’er back on ’er as she went ter say ’ello.’
‘Ain’t that terrible?’ Maisie said sadly.
‘None of it would ’ave ’appened if Galloway ’adn’t come between ’em,’ Florrie said, looking at Nellie.
‘What’s the woman gonna do now, Nell?’ Sadie asked.
‘Well, she’s gonna go back ter live wiv ’er sister fer the time bein’,’ Nellie replied. ‘Carrie’s got ’er daughter’s address an’ she’s goin’ round ter see ’er. P’raps this might bring ’em tergevver again, please Gawd.’
Chapter Eleven
The new year began with little if any relief for the Bermondsey folk. Rivermen still foraged for work and still hung around the streets hopeful of a call-on. The rows of little houses in Page Street still let in water through the badly maintained roofs and money was shorter than ever.
Carrie had made the trip to see Elsie Wishart’s daughter, but when she arrived at the house in Catford she was told by the new tenants that the young woman had left and there was no forwarding address. Carrie had had the sad task of informing Elsie by letter and received a prompt reply from the woman thanking her for all she had done. The letter went on to say that Elsie was settling down once more with her sister, but within a few weeks she had returned to Bacon Buildings after a disagreement.
Throughout the hard year the Bradleys’ dining rooms continued to hold on to their customers and Carrie was still hopeful of persuading her husband to extend the business. The bank had been helpful after the manager had pored over the books and Carrie had explained her plan, but Fred was adamant that it was too soon to think of expansion.
Rachel was growing up fast and was now approaching her third birthday. The child had soon got over the departure of Annie McCafferty and the Bradleys decided to get another nurse to look after her while Annie was away.
Carrie did not feel at all sure that Annie would ever return, however. She had received a letter soon after the young nurse arrived in Dublin telling of her joy and sadness on finally meeting up with her mother who had abandoned her as a baby. Annie told Carrie all about the poor woman in the letter. Connie McCafferty was very ill with an obscure blood disorder and the doctors were not very optimistic about her chances of surviving for very long. Annie related that Mrs McCafferty had married in Dublin and her husband was now deceased. The young woman had decided to care for her mother in the family home, and despite all medical predictions to the contrary Connie seemed to be rallying.
Carrie was pleased for Annie but saddened that it was now unlikely the young woman would ever return. Day to day affairs prevented her from dwelling on the past, however, and she pressed on with her plans to make the business more profitable. The interior of the dining rooms had been renovated and now looked fresh and welcoming. The catering suppliers found her to be a difficult client and Johnson’s lost much of their trade with the Bradleys to other more accommodating catering concerns. Carrie had become quite adept at managing the bulk buying and was always looking for ways to keep the costs at a minimum. Sometimes Fred worried unduly as he worked in the hot, steamy kitchen, and often he was driven to distraction by the constant chatter of Bessie Chandler, but he did his best to remain cheerful. He was eager to enlarge their family and it caused a few problems between him and Carrie, who was not yet ready to have another baby. There were other, more pressing things on her mind and she often spurned her husband’s advances, fearful of becoming pregnant.
During the summer months Fred and Carrie would walk out to the park or go to the music halls, and occasionally they would visit the local cinema in Grange Road and laugh at the antics of Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton. They would often stop on the way home for a drink or two at one of the nicer public houses but Carrie was always wary of her husband having too much to drink. It was after Fred had been drinking that he became careless during his lovemaking and Carrie was filled with dread until her next period. Her feelings for him, however, and her own needs were such that she could not always resist him, and she was painfully aware that becoming pregnant again was only a matter of time.
During the autumn Billy Sullivan finally found a job. He had been desperate to raise some money towards his dream of opening a gymnasium but all his ideas and aspirations had not borne fruit.
‘Yer gotta go out an’ earn money,’ Sadie told him. ‘Yer not gonna ’ave any sort o’ life givin’ me all yer pension ter ’elp feed yer. Jus’ look at yerself. Yer only suit is in rags an’ those trousers yer got on are so full o’ grease if yer slipped over yer’d slide all the way up the street.’
Billy had borne in mind what Carrie Bradley told him about finding himself a nice young lady and he had been upset to learn that Annie McCafferty was no longer in Bermondsey. He despaired of ever finding himself a girl while he was looking like a down-and-out, and one day when he was walking past Peek Freans, the biscuit factory, on one of his strolls he was rudely awakened to his condition by the giggles and taunts of the factory girls. There and then he decided to get a job, and the next morning he joined the long files of men at the Labour Exchange. There was nothing on offer, however, but he refused to get despondent, and the next morning he got up early and spent the last of his coppers on a copy of the South London Press.
Billy was feeling optimistic as he shuffled along with his hands deep in his coat pockets. It was a big advertisement and lots of men would have seen it, he realised, but he remembered what his mother had told him when he pointed it out to her. ‘Most people won’t go after that sort o’ job. It’s the smell what puts ’em off,’ she told him.
Billy could not understand why the smell of soap should put people off and he whistled to himself as he hurried along Bermondsey Street, his mind racing. First he would get himself a new pair of trousers, he decided. Later he could buy a new suit from the tally man when he was
getting a regular wage. He might even be able to afford a nice pair of boots to walk out in on Sundays and holidays, and then the local girls would have to watch out. The word would get round that Billy Sullivan was on the loose and looking spruce and they would be falling over themselves to walk out with him.
The smell became noticeable as Billy turned into a narrow alley off Bermondsey Street, and by the time he reached the end of the alley he was almost retching. The smell was like nothing he had ever encountered and his spirits sagged.
‘Yes, we have vacancies,’ the friendly looking manager told him. ‘Now let me see, you haven’t been in trouble with the police, have you?’ he asked, one eyebrow going up.
Billy shook his head vigorously. ‘I go ter church every Sunday,’ he said, hoping that would suffice as an answer.
‘Very commendable,’ the man said. ‘Now, just a few questions. Where was your last job?’
‘The army,’ Billy replied.
‘You served in the war?’
‘Yes.’
‘The war’s been over a few years now. What work did you do when you were demobilised?’ the man asked.
‘I couldn’t work, yer see,’ Billy told him.
‘Oh, and why was that?’
‘It was me muvver. She was poorly an’ I ’ad ter stay ’ome an’ look after ’er,’ Billy lied, his fingers crossed behind his back.
‘I see. Is your mother better now?’ the manager asked him.
‘They took ’er away,’ Billy said, hoping he was not about to be struck down for his wickedness.
‘Oh dear. Where did they take her?’
‘Colney ’Atch. She was right off ’er ’ead,’ Billy went on. ‘Mind yer, she’s a lot better now. We’re gonna ’ave ’er ’ome soon as me an’ me sisters can raise the money ter get a better ’ouse in the country.’
‘How many sisters have you got, Mr Sullivan?’ the inquisitive manager asked.
‘Twelve.’
‘Twelve? Well, couldn’t one of those sisters have looked after your mother so you could go out to work?’
Billy shook his head, feeling his lips beginning to twitch. ‘My muvver wouldn’t let any of ’em near ’er. She said I was the only one she wanted round. Mind yer, she was a bit nutty at the time.’
The manager felt a wave of pity for the young man fate had dealt so harshly with. ‘Well, you can start tomorrow,’ he said smiling. ‘We’ll supply the aprons and clogs. The hours are from seven till five, with a half-hour break for dinner. I’m sure you’ll settle in here nicely. Don’t be too concerned about the smell, you’ll soon get used to it.’
Billy left the Faraday Soapmakers with mixed emotions. He was already feeling sick from the putrid smell which was coming from the floor below the office, and he was angry at the man’s prying into his personal business. He was also puzzled by what sort of soap they were making there.
Sadie Sullivan was not sure whether to kiss him or kick him when he told her he had got the job. In some respects Billy was very sensible, she reflected, but in others he was so stupid.
‘They supply the aprons an’ clogs,’ he told her as he tucked into a thick slice of bread and jam. ‘I s’pose it’s a wet job.’
‘Greasy more like it,’ Sadie replied.
Billy looked puzzled. ‘I dunno what was goin’ on in that factory but there was this putrid smell. I felt really sick.’
Sadie felt she had to tell Billy what he would be facing, even though he might change his mind about the job. ‘Yer’ll ’ave ter boil bones, animal bones,’ she explained with a sigh. ‘That’s what they make soap from. Surely yer knew that?’
Billy’s face dropped. ‘I might ’ave known,’ he said bitterly. ‘I don’t s’pose many people go after those sort o’ jobs. Still, never mind. I’ll stick it out till I can find somefing better.’
Sadie felt a surge of affection for her son welling up inside her. ‘I tell yer what,’ she said. ‘Yer farvver’s left me a shillin’ fer the tally man so I s’pose ’e’ll be in a good mood. I’ll ask ’im if ’e’ll let me ’ave a nice pair o’ trousers for yer. Now eat yer tea.’
Billy could not stop imagining rotting bones being crushed down in a huge pot and he pushed the plate away from him. ‘I’m not very ’ungry, Muvver,’ he said.
1922 seemed to pass very quickly for William Tanner. He had settled down at Joe Maitland’s new warehouse in Druid Street, and he was feeling less vulnerable now that Sidney Coil was working alongside him. Sidney, or ‘The Cruncher’ as he was known by the wrestling fraternity, was a young man who had a superbly developed body and a sadly under-developed brain, and he had to be supervised in everything from the time he sauntered in until the time he left. The young wrestler was a very friendly character, however, and a tireless, willing worker. William became attached to the young man and was pleased to have him at his elbow whenever callers came. The attack on him had left William feeling nervous for a while but he had recovered well, and it was now only a bad memory. He felt that whoever had caused his injuries and wrought destruction on the warehouse in Dockhead was now satisfied and that would be the end of it.
The Cruncher was not so convinced though. He had been told by Joe Maitland that somebody was out to cause them trouble and grief and his job was to watch out for the slightest sign. The young wrestler was keen to show his merit, and his intimidating looks and demeanour tended to frighten the carmen and other callers at the warehouse. Sidney’s devotion to duty terrified the ratcatcher who Joe Maitland had called in after William told him that rodents had been nibbling at some of the cartons.
Sidney answered the knock on the warehouse door. ‘What d’yer want?’ he growled.
‘I’ve come ter set a trap,’ the ratcatcher said amiably.
Suddenly he found himself pulled through the door and lifted bodily by his coat lapels until he was eye to eye with the powerful young wrestler. His eyes were popping and his breath was restricted by Sidney’s grip on him.
‘Put me down, yer bloody imbecile,’ he gulped.
‘Who sent yer?’ Sidney snarled.
‘I’ve come ter fix the rats,’ the terrified man gasped.
‘I’ll fix you, yer whoreson,’ The Cruncher said in his most menacing voice.
William’s prompt intervention saved the ratcatcher from further pain and suffering. ‘It’s all right, Sid, Joe sent fer ’im,’ he shouted in the wrestler’s ear.
It was only after the terrified ratcatcher was given a large glass of Scotch whisky from Joe Maitland’s private stock and a firm promise that Sidney would be kept out of his way, that the man could be coaxed into laying his traps. Even then he mumbled to himself throughout the whole operation, vowing that it was the last time he would lay traps in that establishment while the wild one worked there.
1923 dawned on a tragic note. Early one Monday morning in January Aggie Temple got up and went about her chores, whitening her doorstep as usual and then dusting through the house. She went to market for bread and potatoes and then stopped at the cat’s-meat stall. When she got home she fed the cat, moaned at Harold for getting under her feet and then made herself a cup of tea when he went up to the paper shop. Harold stopped to chat with the newsagent for a while and when he returned he found Aggie dead in her chair, the full cup of tea beside her.
As always the women of Page Street rallied around, and Florrie volunteered to wash and lay out her old friend, while Maisie and Sadie went door-knocking with a collection box.
Early on the morning of the funeral flowers started to arrive. Just before the hearse drove in to the street Broomhead Smith arrived on his cart and laid a wreath at Aggie’s front door before driving slowly out of the turning. Aggie was given a nice funeral and everyone in the little turning stood at their front doors to pay their last respects. Harold was a sad figure as he bore up bravely, but he was reduced to tears when he saw Florrie’s tribute to her old friend-a wreath in the shape of a broom.
Carrie Tanner had decided that this year she was going
to try her hardest to coax Fred into buying the derelict property next door. They had managed to put some money by and she felt that now was the time to expand. Fred still would not be swayed and the atmosphere between them became tense. The uncomfortable situation was not helped by Rachel’s nurse putting in her notice. Things had not been altogether easy-going between Carrie and the elderly nurse, who did not seem to have the same rapport with the child as Annie McCafferty. Carrie was not sorry to lose the woman but it meant that she would have to combine her work in the dining rooms with caring for Rachel, now a lively three year old.
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 15
