‘’Ow comes ’e wrote ter Carrie?’ Nellie asked, looking puzzled.
‘Well, they was friends,’ William said, averting his eyes. ‘Carrie used ter buy stuff at the ware’ouse, remember?’
‘So did a lot o’ people,’ Nellie retorted.
‘Well, p’raps Joe wrote ter them as well,’ William said offhandedly.
‘Yer don’t fink there’s bin anyfing goin’ on between ’em, do yer, Will?’ Nellie asked.
‘I dunno. Joe always liked our Carrie, an’ she seemed ter like ’im too. She’s bin ter the ware’ouse a few times an’ they was always laughin’ an’ jokin’ tergevver. It was nice ter see. Carrie ain’t ’ad much of a life wiv Fred. I know ’e’s a good man an’ ’e’s good to ’er an’ young Rachel, but they never seemed to ’ave much fun tergevver. Now she’s got that business ter run on ’er own. Poor ole Fred’s gettin’ worse by all accounts.’
‘I ’ope there’s nuffink goin’ on, Will. When yer take the vows it’s fer better or worse, sickness an’ ’ealth,’ Nellie reminded him. ‘I wouldn’t like ter see ’er playin’ around wiv ovver fellers.’
‘Well, it’s ’er life, Muvver. We can’t interfere,’ William replied. ‘As long as she knows what she’s doin’.’
‘Shall we take all this furniture wiv us?’ Nellie asked, deliberately changing the subject.
‘What furniture?’ William laughed. ‘The bloody lot’s only fit fer the bonfire. I reckon we should try an’ get ’old of a couple o’ sticks o’ new stuff an’ leave this lot ’ere.’
‘At our time o’ life?’ Nellie said. ‘These bits an’ pieces ’ave bin wiv us since we tied the knot. I ain’t leavin’ ’em an’ that’s final.’
‘All right, Muvver,’ William replied, smiling fondly at her. ‘Anyway, I’m orf ter the Kings Arms. Comin’?’
On Friday evening Florrie Axford, Maisie Dougall, Sadie Sullivan, Alice Johnson and Nellie Tanner set off for the school in Fair Street accompanied by Maudie Mycroft and Maggie Jones, who was now in her eightieth year. Maggie slowed them down, as she had to stop frequently to rest her bad leg, and when they arrived the meeting had already started.
‘Get some chairs fer the ladies,’ the speaker bawled out to the school porter who was standing at the rear of the hall.
Maisie turned to Florrie. ‘That’s Red Ellie,’ she whispered.
Maudie looked around the walls and saw the posters of women carrying picks and shovels, and uniformed men marching in long columns. She pulled a face. ‘I stopped my Ernest goin’ ter these sort o’ meetin’s,’ she muttered to Nellie.
Florrie overheard her. ‘That was down ter the carrots,’ she said, grinning at Sadie.
Red Ellie was on her feet. ‘The world’s workers are bein’ exploited,’ she shouted out to her subdued audience. ‘While we get crusts o’ stale bread the bourgeoisie lap up the cream. Fings are never gonna alter until the workers rise up an’ shake off their shackles o’ servitude. Arise one an’ all! Down wiv the capitalists!’
‘This is a bit much,’ Florrie remarked to Sadie. ‘We ain’t seekin’ ter change the world, only our ’ouses.’
Nellie yawned. ‘I knew I shouldn’t ’ave come,’ she said to Maisie. ‘I can’t keep me eyes open.’
Another speaker was on his feet. ‘The workers of the world have seen the light. Beacons are burning around this globe of ours,’ he ranted. ‘Now the capitalists of the world are on the retreat everywhere. Long live the revolution!’
His outpourings were greeted with silence and Florrie turned to Maisie. ‘That’s the last time I let yer talk me inter goin’ anywhere,’ she grumbled, climbing to her feet.
Maisie followed her example and the rest of the women got up as well. Nellie was just slipping off to sleep. She jerked awake as Sadie nudged her.
‘C’mon, luv. This is a bloody loony ’atch,’ she remarked loudly.
The women of Page Street walked out of the hall and gathered at the head of the stairs.
‘I reckon we should ’ave gone ter the Kings Arms instead,’ Florrie said, giving Maisie a wicked look.
Just then Red Ellie stepped out of the hall on to the landing. ‘What’s upset you, ladies?’ she asked in a formidable voice.
‘Why, that bloody nonsense,’ Florrie retorted, unflustered. ‘We come ’ere fer a bit o’ ’elp wiv our ’ouses an’ instead we’ve ’ad ter listen ter that load o’ twaddle.’
Ellie stared at her for a few moments, then an indulgent smile appeared on her face. ‘I know we sometimes get carried away,’ she said magnanimously, ‘but there’s a lot o’ sense in the argument if yer really fink about it.’
‘That’s as it may be,’ Florrie answered, ‘but yer can’t expect us ter rise up an’ change the world. Jus’ look at us. There ain’t one of us fit enough ter walk fer more than a few yards wivout puffin’ an’ blowin’, let alone carry a bleedin’ banner on a march. Poor ole Maggie’s eighty, an’ I’m plagued wiv corns. Then there’s Maisie. She ain’t bin right fer ages wiv ’er back.’
Red Ellie nodded sympathetically. ‘Right, ladies, yer made yer point. Now ’ow can the Party ’elp yer?’
‘It’s our ’ouses, yer see,’ Florrie began.
Billy Sullivan sat in his cosy parlour facing Annie who was breast-feeding Connie Elizabeth. He was beaming. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘When I saw that letter from the prison I didn’t know what ter fink.’
Annie smiled at him and moved the baby up over her shoulder, gently patting its back. ‘I think it’s wonderful,’ she said quietly.
‘I feel like it’s me birfday an’ Christmas all rolled inter one, Annie.’
‘Well, don’t get too carried away, Billy,’ she told him. ‘It’s a beginning, but there’s a lot to do, and you have to get backing.’
‘Farvver Murphy said ’e’d always be willin’ to ’elp. Then there’s the lads around ’ere. I’m sure they’ll muck in if they can see fings movin’. It’ll work out, I know it will.’
Annie put the baby to her other breast and settled down, her gaze full of happiness as she saw the excitement in Billy’s deep blue eyes. ‘Just be patient,’ she warned him. ‘I know it’s what you’ve always dreamed about and I’ve prayed to God for it to come true, really I have, but you must be careful. Don’t do anything silly. You know what I mean.’
Billy got up from his chair and bent over Annie, kissing her on her forehead. ‘D’yer know, I’m the ’appiest man in the world right now. I’ve got a job, an’ a new baby an’ now this,’ he said, sighing contentedly.
‘Is there nothing else that made you so happy, Billy?’ she asked him.
He shook his head, watching her closely, and as her face dropped he grinned widely. ‘Of course there is. Bein’ married ter you is the best fing that could ’ave ’appened ter me. Yer’ve given me lovely kids an’ more love than I ever felt was possible. I do love yer, Annie,’ he said earnestly, lowering his lips to meet hers.
Annie pushed him away playfully. ‘There’s a time and place for everything. Right now I’m trying to feed your daughter. Do you want the milk to curdle?’
Billy walked over to the door and took down his coat. ‘I won’t be late, Annie,’ he told her. ‘I’m gonna tell Danny the good news.’
‘Don’t get drunk tonight, Billy,’ she said quietly.
‘I promise,’ he told her, making a criss-cross movement over his heart with a forefinger.
In the gloomy house in Tyburn Square George Galloway sat with his son in the gaslit front room. The curtains were pulled against the night and the room smelt of stale tobacco smoke. George was slumped in his chair looking all of his seventy-four years, his face lined and his hair now completely white. His eyes were rheumy and heavy-lidded, but his mind was as alert as ever.
‘We gotta push fer it, d’yer ’ear me, Frank?’ he growled. ‘Yer know very well I went after that piece o’ land five years ago, jus’ before Maitland went away in fact, but ’e beat us to it.’
Frank sipped his Sc
otch. ‘I’ve told you what Streetley advised us to do,’ he replied. ‘There’s an application lodged at the Council for a gymnasium to be built on that site and the planning committee is voting on it soon. If there are any objections lodged then they’ll discuss them beforehand. Streetley seems to think he can carry the vote, providing the case is a good one.’
George gulped his drink and pulled a face as the strong liquor burned his throat. ‘I know what yer said,’ he replied cantankerously in his gruff voice. ‘What I’m sayin’ is, there’s no need ter go down that road. My information comes from a reliable source, somebody who’s more reliable than that ginswillin’ excuse for a councillor. Maitland bought that land as an industrial site, not fer leisure or anyfing else. There’s a bid of ours still lodged wiv the land agents fer that piece o’ land ter be used as an extension fer our yard.’
‘Well, we can be sure that Streetley would put that fact to the Council committee,’ Frank said, twirling the Scotch around in his glass.
‘I’m not gonna grease that pissy git’s palm,’ George growled.
‘Well, what do you suggest we do then?’ Frank asked impatiently.
‘D’yer know, Frank, I sometimes wonder why I ever bovvered ter spend all that money givin’ yer a college education,’ the old man complained. ‘All right, let’s assume that Streetley wins the day, which I’m not too sure of, knowin’ ’im. Maitland won’t be able ter lease off the land fer a gymnasium. What’s ’e gonna do? Well, I’ll tell yer. ’E’ll be out o’ the nick soon an’ ’is business ’as gone down the drain. ’E might keep the land, but it’s more likely ’e’ll sell it orf fer industrial use ter raise money, an’ if ’e does sell it certainly won’t be to us. No, Frank, my way is better. We’ll get our solicitor ter stick an injunction on the improper sale. The proof is the application fer leisure use at the Council. I’m pretty certain it’ll stick, an’ then the land reverts back ter the agents wiv Maitland only gettin’ ’is original stake back. That leaves the site free fer our outstandin’ bid ter be accepted. I’ve bin told we’ll ’ave no trouble.’
Frank drained his glass, irritation building up inside him. The old man’s getting past it, he thought. He’s paying too much attention to those drinking cronies of his, and the booze is getting to him. It wouldn’t be the first time he had let drink cloud his judgement, Frank recalled. There was a prime piece of land which had been going begging at Cotton Lane years ago and if he had acted swiftly he could have got it for a song. Well, he had better listen this time.
‘It won’t work,’ Frank said calmly.
‘What d’yer mean, it won’t work?’ George growled, reaching for the bottle of Scotch.
Frank leaned forward in his chair. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you. The application Maitland lodged at the Council is in effect an application to change the land’s usage from industrial to leisure. There was no improper sale, so where does that leave your argument?’ he asked. ‘Going down your road we would be involved in an expensive exercise we wouldn’t have a chance of winning. No, Dad, we’ve only one chance of getting that land. We lodge a protest at the Council opposing the building of the gymnasium, basing our case on the fact that our bid was more suitable and if it had been successful it would have contributed more to the area. We’ll also use the argument that, due to the shortage of industrial land in Bermondsey, none should be made available for any other use.’
George Galloway poured a large measure of whisky into his empty glass and took a swig. ‘All right, I take yer point,’ he grumbled, ‘but like I’ve jus’ said, if Joe Maitland is forced ter get rid of the site, ’e ain’t gonna sell it to us is ’e? Not after we’ve blocked ’is little scheme.’
Frank smiled slyly. ‘We’ll renew our bid at the original price, and we’ll use our own agent to negotiate for us with an improved offer from a limited company that he’ll register. Maitland will have no way of knowing it’s coming from us. All that’s needed then is a resale. It’ll be a little more expensive, but by no means as expensive as going through the courts.’
George Galloway stared at his glass for a few moments then he drained it in one go and grimaced. ‘All right. Do it your way, but I want Streetley ter know the score. No result, no money. Is that clear?’
Frank nodded. ‘Leave it to me, Father. I’m seeing him this evening. We’ll draw up a document that’ll discredit Maitland’s scheme. There should be no trouble.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Carrie first thought about selling the cafe she had been prepared for some hard bargaining with the new buyer, ready to insist adamantly that in recognition of their hard work and loyalty Bessie and the other two helpers must be allowed to keep their jobs, but she need never have worried. One morning Corned Beef Sam had strolled in blithely and told her that he would buy the business. He had saved up a large sum of money over the years working at his decrepit stall, which he had kept in big white five-pound notes under the floorboards beneath his bed ever since the man in the bank had upset him one day.
Sam had struck up a rapport with the ebullient Bessie Chandler after a hesitant start and they spent much time discussing Bessie’s strange neighbours and Sam’s strange friends, and Carrie often heard the big ginger-haired woman roaring with laughter at the stories of Mutton-eye Jack and Vaseline Vic. Sam was also a shrewd businessman and he saw the value of having someone like Bessie employed in the cafe. He was quite content to keep the two helpers on as well. Both Lizzie and Marie were by now firm favourites with the dockers and carmen who frequented the dining rooms and Sam felt that he should be able to get on with the cooking without getting disturbed by all the chatter and cheekiness at the counter.
Carrie had a trying meeting with the bank manager, who pored over the books, looked at the trading figures for the Buckman Cartage Contractors and gave her much professional advice before agreeing to a renegotiated bank loan against the new business. There were legal matters to take care of and the change-over had to be arranged, and Carrie had the sometimes tiring duty of explaining to Fred all the intricacies involved. He questioned every move, every step along the way, feeling that he was being helpful with his criticisms, but they only served to make Carrie have misgivings and begin to doubt her own confidence. The transactions seemed to drag on endlessly and Carrie was left exhausted, but finally, in the spring of ’31, she and Fred became the owners of Bradleys’ Cartage Contractors.
The transport yard was located in Salmon Lane, a turning which led down to the riverside in Dockhead. On the righthand side of the street a row of little houses ended at a large warehouse that stretched down to the end of the road and the river walkway. The transport yard was sited in the middle of the turning on the left-hand side between another shorter row of houses and a pickle factory that faced the warehouse. The yard was compact, with an office just inside the gate to the left. Next to the office there was a ground-level stable for twelve horses, and across the cobbled yard there was a house which was in fairly good condition. Adjacent to the house was a large shed for storing the carts, and at the end of the yard a high brick wall enclosed the area.
Carrie said her goodbyes to the tearful Bessie and the sad-faced Lizzie and Marie, and when Corned Beef Sam gave her a departing kiss on the cheek he had some advice for her. ‘Don’t stand no bleedin’ nonsense from those carmen, luv. Show ’em who’s the boss, an’ if yer get any ole sauce from ’em do what I do, ’it ’em wiv yer ’andbag!’
Carrie watched with emotion as her parents’ meagre belongings were carried down from Bacon Buildings and placed on a horse cart. It had taken her quite some time to realise her dream of moving them from the slum block, but when the day finally arrived she found it hard to force back a tear.
Nellie and William Tanner installed themselves in the upstairs of the house and Carrie arranged the downstairs to suit her husband’s needs. Fred was now more mobile since there were no stairs to climb, and he was able to sit in a comfortable chair beside the window and watch the comings and goings. Rache
l was happy, feeling very excited at the prospect of being around horses. She had listened to her mother’s endless stories about when she was a little girl at the Galloway stables.
There were two carmen who had been retained for the existing contracts. Jack Simpson, a tall, gangling character in his forties, was employed on the leather contract. He had a habit of stretching the corner of his mouth and rolling his head whenever he got agitated, which was very often. He had a toothless smile and a shaven head, and he reminded Carrie of Sharkey Morris. Paddy Byrne, the other carman, was the exact opposite. He was employed on the rum contract and he handled his team of horses expertly. He was a pleasant character, short and stocky with a mop of dark, wavy hair and large brown eyes, and he was given to expressing himself in song, whenever he had sampled an extra tot of rum. He was also in his forties, and had worked for John Buckman more than twenty years.
William Tanner had taken an early opportunity to look over the horses and he was pleased with what he saw. The pair of black Clydesdales used on the rum contract were in prime condition, as were the pair of Irish draughts that Jack Simpson drove. There were four other horses in the stable, a pair of grey Percherons and two Welsh cobs. All had been well cared for and William told his daughter that the Percherons would be ideally suited for heavy work, something that Carrie had already noted. The carts were in reasonable repair, although there were one or two that had worn wheels and wood rot along the raves. William stressed the need for a good yard man who could be relied upon to look after the carts and harnesses, keep the yard clean and muck out the stables.
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 35
