Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane

by Harry Bowling

  ‘Well, if yer don’t come ter church termorrer there’ll be no dinner fer yer, an’ that’s final,’ Alice told him.

  ‘Well I’m not, so there,’ the totter replied, thinking already that maybe he had gone too far.

  Alice folded her arms and stared into the fire, while Broomhead sighed deeply. Alice was sulking, and if there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was Alice sulking. It was better than her attacking him with an axe or a carving knife, but he couldn’t stand it. It could go on for days, as he knew from experience.

  ‘All right, I’ll go wiv yer,’ he said quickly. ‘But don’t expect me ter sing.’

  Broomhead’s capitulation cheered Alice up no end and she even condescended to make him a suet pudding for supper.

  Next morning Alice and her totter husband left for church arm-in-arm.

  ‘Good mornin’, Mrs Sullivan. We’re just orf ter church,’ Alice called out across the street.

  ‘Keep ’im away from the communion wine,’ Sadie mumbled.

  ‘Good mornin’, Mrs Axford. Me an’ Bill are just orf ter church,’ Alice informed her.

  ‘Don’t tell all the bloody street,’ Broomhead muttered.

  ‘Mornin’, Mrs Dougall. We’re just orf ter church, me an’ Bill.’

  ‘That’s nice for yer,’ Maisie remarked, mumbling an oath under her breath.

  By the time the couple had left the turning everyone knew that they were off to church, but Alice was not finished. ‘I must pop in the sweet shop,’ she said, pulling on Broomhead’s arm. ‘Mornin’, Mrs Longley. Me an’ Bill are just orf ter church.’

  Widow Longley gave Broomhead a frosty stare. She had had reason to fall out with the totter in the past and had often remarked to her friends that in her opinion Alice Johnson was two pennies short of a shilling. ‘Mind ’e don’t frighten the children,’ she said, with a tilt at humour.

  Broomhead was glad that they finally reached St James’s Church without meeting any more neighbours, but when they took their seats in the pews and the organist started up Alice dug him hard in the ribs and pointed to the hymn-book in front of him. The organist was playing ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’, a hymn which Broomhead rather liked, and he realised that there was nothing else for it. His bass voice resounded across the rows of pews and Alice’s face flushed with embarrassment as some of the congregation turned to stare at where the noise was coming from. Broomhead was secretly enjoying himself. He was sure that after his little exhibition of hymn-singing Alice would think twice before she ever dragged him off to church again.

  He had miscalculated, however. When the sermon was over and his voice once more filled the packed church the vicar was overjoyed. At the end of the service he looked up to the stained-glass window and thanked the Lord for answering his prayer, then he hurried over to the departing couple.

  ‘I really should congratulate you on your fine rendering of “Onward Christian Soldiers”,’ he said, holding his hands together as though in prayer. ‘Absolutely top-hole. I must ask your name.’

  Broomhead grinned widely and Alice simply purred with pleasure at being noticed. ‘I’m Bill Smith an’ this is my good lady, Alice,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, Mr Smith, I’d like to invite you to join our choir. Do you know, I prayed to the Lord to send me a bass singer and he’s answered my prayer. Say you’ll join us, Mr Smith. Please say you’ll join us.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to, but . . .’

  ‘But nuffink,’ Alice cut in, kicking her husband smartly on his shin. ‘Of course you will, won’t you, dearest?’

  The sight of Alice glaring at him and the vicar fawning over him was too much. ‘All right,’ Broomhead replied. ‘I’ll give it a try.’

  ‘That’s all we ask,’ the vicar said, clapping his hands together like an excited child. ‘Monday evening, seven-thirty sharp. We can expect to be through by nine-thirty. I look forward to seeing you then.’

  Once outside Alice was already grooming him for the part. ‘Now listen, yer’ll ’ave ter change yer boots. I don’t want yer smellin’ the church out wiv horse dung. Yer can put anuvver shirt on. I don’t want yer showin’ me up, d’yer ’ear?’

  Broomhead nodded dutifully and let his shoulders sag as they walked home to Page Street. It looked as though he might have to find himself suffering a sudden unexplained attack of tonsillitis on Monday morning. Or maybe it should come on suddenly towards the evening, he decided. Sitting around Alice all day Monday would be worse than joining the choir.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On the 3rd of May, 1926 a General Strike was declared. The transport workers and rivermen joined the miners and the country was plunged into chaos. Trams and buses stopped, the railways were brought to a standstill, riverside cranes were idle, and hardly a horse cart or a lorry was to be seen on the roads. On the cobblestones outside the major docks and wharves meetings took place, and unexpectedly Bradleys’ Dining Rooms in Cotton Lane enjoyed the busiest spell they had had for a long time.

  It did not last, however, and after the first two days very few customers walked through the doors. Carrie decided to keep her two helpers on, even though there was little for them to do. Bessie found it infuriating having to stand about doing nothing and so she found a bucket and mop and proceeded to wash down the paintwork. Her industry was infectious, and Lizzie scrubbed the floors and the tables while Marie helped Fred clean out the kitchen. For the first time in ages Carrie found she had time to herself and took Rachel for walks to the park and along the deserted riverside. She had not been able to see Joe Maitland very much during the past few months. Now she had the time, but she needed an excuse to get away from the dining rooms.

  Danny called on his friend Billy Sullivan on the fourth morning of the strike. Billy’s firm had been very slack and the only job they were working on was the old tramshed in New Cross. Now that the drivers and conductors were on strike their pickets had confronted the building workers, and after a brief discussion Billy and the other labourers had decided not to cross the picket lines and were all sent home.

  ‘What d’yer fancy doin’ then, Danny?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Well, we could go up ter Dock’ead an’ stand around Shad Thames fer a while. They say there’s a load o’ blacklegs gonna try an’ get inter Butler’s Wharf,’ Danny suggested.

  The two young men sauntered off along the Jamaica Road, Danny upright with his shoulders held back proudly while Billy shuffled along beside him with his distinctive rolling gait, his shoulders hunched forward. When they reached Shad Thames they found dockers and rivermen gathered there in a crowd and their mood was decidedly hostile.

  ‘If they try ter get past us we’ll do ’em,’ someone shouted.

  ‘If they try it ’ere we’ll turn the bloody vans over,’ another added.

  Soon union officials arrived and told the men to stay within the law but protest verbally if there were any attempts to break the strike with non-union volunteers.

  ‘On yer way,’ one irate docker called out. ‘If they try it ’ere we’ll do ’em in.’

  ‘We’ll string the bastards up,’ someone cried.

  ‘We’ll swing fer the whoresons,’ another docker called out.

  The union officials pleaded for calm and good sense but soon realised they were wasting their time trying to appeal to the men’s better nature.

  ‘It’s gettin’ nasty. I reckon we should get some of the local stewards up ’ere,’ one of the officials suggested.

  ‘Go on, piss orf,’ a large docker shouted out. ‘We’re stayin’ put, an’ if there’s any attempt ter stop us gettin’ ter the blackleg bastards there’ll be blood on the pavement, an’ yer better believe it.’

  The chief union official turned to his deputy. ‘See if yer can get Don Jacobs up ’ere, Charlie. ’E’s about the only one they’ll listen to.’

  Danny turned to Billy, his face set seriously. ‘I don’t like the look o’ this, mate. If those blacklegs turn up now there’ll be murders.’

&nb
sp; ‘Who are these blacklegs, Danny?’ the ex-boxer asked.

  Danny shook his head sadly. ‘I tell yer, Billy, I saw some tryin’ ter get in the docks when we was out once. Lucky fer them Don Jacobs was on ’and ter sort it out an’ there was no trouble. The blacklegs went off, but yer never see such a motley crowd in all yer life. They’re the dregs. Some ’ave bin out o’ work fer so long they’ll do murder fer a day’s pay. Ovvers are just anti-union, anti-working-class, anti everyfing. There’s ovvers too who are paid agitators. They get paid by the shipowners or their agents ter break the strikes. I’ve never ’eard of ’em succeedin’ so far, but yer gotta be careful when they’re likely ter show up. They’re no pushover, an’ a lot of ’em are tooled up. Yer gotta get stuck inter the gits an’ let ’em see yer not gonna allow the picket lines ter be broken.’

  Billy was getting excited and Danny quickly tried to calm him down. ‘Now look ’ere, Billy, I’m not intendin’ ter get in any scraps. There’s enough blokes ’ere already an’ we won’t make much difference eivver way. Let’s me an’ you go an’ get ourselves a cup o’ tea at Carrie’s place. Then we can go up the Old Kent Road an’ see if there’s any excitement up there. Mind yer, though, I’m not gettin’ involved in anyfing. I’m a married man now an’ I’ve got responsibilities, what wiv Iris expectin’ an’ all.’

  ‘It’s all right, Danny,‘ his friend reassured him. ‘I’m gettin’ married too, remember. I ain’t out ter get me ’ead opened up.’

  The two young men were about to walk off when there was a loud cheer. The figure of Don Jacobs could be seen some way in the distance as he clambered up on to a horse cart. His loud voice rang out as he gave the men all the latest news and then there was a silence as he raised his hands.

  ‘Now listen ter me, an’ listen carefully,’ he began. ‘Yer all know me an’ yer know that I’m not one ter sell yer down the river. But yer also know that I don’t pull me punches. If I fink yer out of order I’ll tell yer. Is that right?’

  There was silence and he shouted louder: ‘Is that right?’

  This time there was a roar of assent and he went on. ‘Now some of yer ’ave bin in a confrontation wiv blacklegs in the past an’ yer know what a load o’ scum they can be.’

  ‘What d’yer mean, “can be”?’ a docker shouted out.

  ‘What I say,’ Jacobs went on in a loud voice. ‘Take out the paid agitators an’ the anti-union people an’ yer left wiv workin’-class men like yerselves but a lot less fortunate ’cos they don’t enjoy the protection o’ the trade unions. They’re the men yer gotta consider.’

  ‘Consider ’em? Kill the bastards, that’s what I’d do,’ the big docker at the front of the crowd shouted.

  Jacobs merely smiled. ‘That’s the sort o’ finkin’ the bosses expect. That’s why they put their paid men in ter stir up trouble. They want us all ter turn against each ovver, wiv bruvver fightin’ bruvver.’

  ‘What should we do then, Don?’ one of the older men shouted out.

  ‘I’ll tell yer what we do. First we talk. Then, bruvvers, we defend our lines if we’re attacked. But above all we talk ter the blacklegs. If we get a few of ’em ter join the union there an’ then we’ve won the day.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ the big docker butted in again, ‘but what ’appens when the police escort the scabs inter the wharf ?’

  ‘Yer stand back an’ do nuffink,’ Jacobs said, and was greeted with complete silence while his words sank in. Then there was a mumbling which turned to angry shouts.

  ‘All right, lads. I know what yer finkin’,’ Jacobs continued. ‘We’re not breakin’ the law, we’re just peaceful workers tryin’ to assert our rights. But I’ll tell yer this - the blacklegs might get past the pickets an’ do a good job unloadin’ the perishables, but where they gonna move ’em to? Nuffink’s gonna leave the riverside while this strike’s on, an’ if they bring in non-union firms ter try an’ shift the stuff then we don’t let those firms near the quays, nor ever after. Am I understood?’

  A loud roar went up and men were clapping their leader and backslapping him as he stepped down amongst them.

  ‘C’mon, Billy, let’s get round ter see Carrie,’ Danny said.

  The two walked away from the milling crowd and turned into the backstreets. It was quiet after the noise and commotion at Dockhead.

  ‘I fink I’ve got a place ter live,’ Billy said, breaking the silence as they walked out into the quiet Jamaica Road.

  ‘That’s good news, Billy,’ Danny replied. ‘Where at?’

  ‘It’s ole Temple’s place. Me muvver was sayin’ ’e’s goin’ inter the work’ouse. Poor ole sod’s goin’ a bit funny. ’E’ll be better orf there, at least ’e’ll get fed an’ looked after.’

  ‘So yer won’t be long now then?’ Danny asked with a smile.

  ‘Soon as possible. Annie’s pleased as punch,’ Billy told him, grinning widely.

  They turned into Bacon Street and walked briskly along past the row of neat houses on the left and the tall slum blocks to their right. Billy shook his head sadly. ‘What a bloody place ter live. I don’t know ’ow yer stuck it there, Danny,’ he remarked.

  ‘It’s the stench that gets yer,’ Danny said disgustedly. ‘Everybody tips their rubbish roun’ the bins at the back an’ in the summer it’s unbearable. The place is full o’ flies an’ bluebottles, an’ yer can ’ear ’em next door when they turn over in bed. Terrible bloody ’ole. I dunno ’ow the ole man an’ the ole lady stand it. One fing’s fer sure, they won’t be there no longer than need be, not if our Carrie ’as ’er way. She’s puttin’ money away ter get ’em out. Mind yer, it’ll take a time. I know the cafe’s doin’ well but they’ve got ter live, an’ there’s young Rachel ter bring up.’

  They reached the cafe and Danny led the way in, strolling up and planting a kiss on his sister’s cheek. Billy did likewise and was given a big hug.

  ‘So yer finally gonna tie the knot. Well, congratulations,’ Carrie said smiling. ‘Yer a lucky feller, I s’pose yer realise that?’

  Danny had seated himself at one of the benches and Billy joined him. ‘We’re gonna slip up ter the Old Kent Road, Carrie,’ he told his sister as she brought two mugs of tea over.

  ‘Well, don’t go gettin’ yerself inter trouble,’ Carrie said. ‘Lofty Weston came in this mornin’ an’ said there was murders up at Canal Bridge last night. They’ve got volunteers ter drive the trams by all accounts, an’ police escorts. Lofty told me that one bloke tried ter pull the driver off the tram an’ the police tried ter arrest ’im. Everybody started fightin’ an’ one bloke got ’is ’ead cut open. So jus’ you be careful, fer Gawdsake.’

  The two young men slipped into the kitchen to say hello to Fred then they left the dining rooms and made their way out on to Jamaica Road and through St James’s Road to Canal Bridge. A large group of transport workers were standing around and it was obvious why the strikers had picked that place to stage their protest. The gradient at the bridge meant that the trams would have to slow down at that point, and as it was not very far from the tram terminal at New Cross there would be many vehicles going past. Men were carrying placards and banners, and as policemen continually pushed them back across the pavement voices were raised in protest.

  Billy turned to one striker. ‘’Ow’s it goin’, mate?’ he asked.

  ‘Yer can see fer yerself,’ the man answered angrily. ‘They won’t let us near the trams. We’re after gettin’ those scabs orf the platforms but we ain’t ’ad any luck so far.’

  Danny tugged on Billy’s arm. ‘Let’s move on a bit. It looks a bit dangerous ’ere.’

  Just then a shout went up. ‘There’s one comin’!’

  Men were pressing forward and the line of police with linked arms were trying their best to hold the throng back. Suddenly the line broke and as one man ran out into the road he was immediately met by two mounted policemen galloping up with their long truncheons swinging. Other men rushed forward and one hung on to a saddle
, despite being beaten repeatedly with a truncheon. The tram had clattered up and men were hanging on to the sides, while others fought their way towards the driver’s platform. One man made it on to the steps but he was kicked off into the road by the policeman on the footplate. The fighting was becoming very nasty, and men were in danger of getting caught between the iron wheels or having their heads broken by the swinging truncheons.

  Billy had surged forward, incensed by one policeman’s brutal attack on a cowed striker, but Danny pulled him back. Other men managed to rescue their colleague but the whole situation was getting out of control. Suddenly a group of police reinforcements arrived from behind and the whole area seemed to be turning into a battleground. Everyone was getting drawn into the fray and Billy Sullivan slipped inside a swinging truncheon and floored his attacker with a well-aimed punch to the jaw. He had been spotted and immediately was attacked by a number of other policemen as Danny fought to get to his side along with a bunch of strikers. Violent scuffles and fighting were breaking out everywhere, and when the two opposing groups were finally parted Billy was grinning widely despite a cut eye and Danny had blood seeping from a head wound.