Billy looked at the priest quizzically.
‘The roof, Billy, the roof,’ Father Murphy said loudly. ‘We’ll need timbers, lots of timbers and slates.’
‘Is there any money left in the fund, Farvver?’ Billy asked fearfully.
‘It’s like old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard, young man,’ the priest informed him. ‘It’s depleted.’
‘What can we do about it, Farvver?’ Billy asked.
‘Other than praying for a miracle to happen there’s not a lot we can do, I’m afraid,’ Father Murphy told him.
During the late summer months there was a sudden frenzy of anticipation in Page Street. Florrie Axford knocked on Maisie’s door and told her the news. The two women then went to Sadie’s house and told her too. Maggie Jones was quickly enlightened, as were Alice Johnson and all the rest of the tenants concerned.
‘Don’t be too eager ter let ’im in,’ Florrie warned them. ‘The last time Alf Comber done a job o’ work on my ’ouse ’e was puttin’ a few slates on the roof an’ ’e put ’is foot right frew me winder on ’is way up. The man’s nuffink but a bodger.’
‘I remember the time ’e mended me copper,’ Sadie piped in. ‘’E was pissed at the time an’ it took ’im two days ter do it. The bloody fing’s never bin right since. I dunno what ’e done to it but it takes hours ter boil.’
‘Well, if we get any trouble we’ll see Red Ellie. She’ll sort ’im out,’ Maisie said confidently.
Maudie Mycroft had not yet heard the news. When she got home from the mothers’ meeting at the church Maisie was standing at her front door.
‘Guess what, Maudie? We’re gettin’ our repairs done at long last!’ Maisie told her. ‘Yer’ll ’ave ter be careful an’ watch ’im though. ’E’s put ’is foot frew Florrie’s winder an’ ’e’s buggered up Sadie’s boiler.’
Maudie brought a hand up to her mouth. ‘I won’t let ’im in my place,’ she said firmly. ‘I’d sooner put up wiv the leaky roof.’
‘Yer won’t ’ave no say in it,’ Maisie replied. ‘’E’ll go up the outside on a ladder.’
‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ Maudie said with a passion that surprised Maisie.
Alf Comber was a once-respected builder and decorator who had fallen on hard times. His heavy drinking had ruined his marriage - although some people said it was his marriage that had ruined his drinking. The man had become a bodger, although he had once been a good craftsman. He had lost pride in his workmanship and now he rushed his jobs and hurried off to the pub to drink himself into a stupor. The men who had been working for him had left after he spent all the money put aside for their wages in an orgy of drinking. Alf then returned home to discover that his wife had walked out on him and the poor inebriate went on to sell his ladders and trestles, his tools, and finally his motor van to pay for his constant drunkenness. It was not long before he reached rock bottom. Slowly Alf had realised that he had to pull himself together. He borrowed the money for some rickety ladders and a hand barrow and started touting for business. The problem was, everyone in the area had come to know of Alf Comber’s reputation for heavy drinking by now and they shunned him. The unfortunate builder had finally got some work repairing properties belonging to the Galloway company, and apart from a few minor disasters managed to fulfil what was required of him, broadly speaking. Alf struggled on, hardly making enough money to satisfy his huge thirst, until he got another visit from George Galloway.
‘There’s the list of properties I want repaired,’ George told him. ‘Yer can see from the list what’s ter be done so get on wiv it, an’ ’ere’s a few quid on account. Now I’m warnin’ yer, Alf, if yer don’t do a proper job I ain’t payin’ yer, understood?’
Alf nodded, grateful for his drinking stake. ‘Leave it ter me, Mr Galloway,’ he said dutifully. ‘I’ll do a good job, don’t worry.’
‘I ain’t worryin’. You’re the one who’s got ter worry. No results, no money,’ George warned him.
Alf Comber pushed his dilapidated barrow into Page Street one bright morning in September and set it down outside Maudie Mycroft’s front door. He then took out a sheet of paper from his pocket and studied it for a few minutes. Roof slates on number 16, he read out aloud.
Maudie was peeping through her curtains and saw Alf take the rickety ladder off his barrow and lean it against the house. She wished Ernest was there to stop the man and began to fret, wondering what she should do. Outside Alf was singing to himself as he extended his ladder, and after narrowly missing smashing the upstairs windows he decided that all was ready. He went to his barrow and picked up a few slates, and when he turned round saw Maudie standing at her front door with a worried look on her face.
‘Yer can’t go on my roof, young man,’ she told him.
‘Why’s that then?’ he asked.
‘’Cos I said so,’ she replied sharply. ‘I don’t want yer puttin’ yer foot frew my winder like yer did ter Florrie Axford’s.’
Alf Comber had never heard of Florrie Axford and any recollection he may have had of smashing somebody’s window had long since been boozed from his mind. ‘Now look, luv, I gotta mend yer roof an’ there’s no way I’m gonna be able ter do it from down ’ere, now is there?’ he said, making for the ladder.
‘I don’t care, I don’t want yer treadin’ all over my roof in case yer do some damage,’ Maudie replied, feeling as though she wanted to burst into tears.
Alf put the slates down on his barrow and faced the agitated woman. ‘Listen, luv,’ he began. ‘I’ve bin repairin’ ’ouses fer donkeys’ years an’ I know what I’m doin’. D’yer realise it’s a skilled job roofin’ an’ tilin’? Yer gotta know what yer doin’ goin’ up ladders onter roofs. Just yer leave it ter me, I know what I’m doin’.’
‘Yer will be careful then, won’t yer?’ she pleaded with him.
Alf nodded and licked his lips as the craving for a drink overtook him. ‘It’s a very dry job puttin’ roof slates on,’ he informed her. ‘I don’t s’pose yer got a drop o’ drink in the place, ’ave yer?’
‘I’ll make yer a cup o’ tea if yer like,’ Maudie said, beginning to feel a little better.
‘No fanks, missus,’ Alf replied, feeling a big giddy at the mention of tea. ‘I meant, ’ave yer got a drop o’ beer in?’
Maudie shook her head, feelin uneasy again as the man seemed to stagger slightly. ‘I don’t keep any beer in the ’ouse,’ she said, going back inside.
Alf picked up the slates, his stepped plank and his tiler’s hammer, and proceeded to climb the ladder. The roof felt hot as he placed the plank across the slates, and when he had inched along it to the damaged section he decided to take a rest. Climbing ladders always made Alf feel tired so he lay back and spread himself out in the warm sun.
Nellie Tanner had thought to pay her friends in Page Street a visit. As she walked along the turning she saw Maudie Mycroft standing on the edge of the kerb beside a barrow with her hand up to her mouth, peering up at her roof.
‘What’s wrong, luv?’ Nellie asked her.
‘I’m ’avin’ me roof mended an’ the bloke’s bin up there fer a long time,’ Maudie replied. ‘I’m wonderin’ if ’e’s all right.’
Alf had had a nice nap and was beginning to set to work as Nellie came up. He had removed the first of the broken slates and let it slither down into the guttering. Nellie heard the noise and turned to Maudie. ‘Yer’d better get inside in case one o’ them slates comes down,’ she warned.
Maudie decided it was good advice and Nellie walked on to Sadie’s house. Meanwhile Alf Comber was getting on well. His first task of tidying up the damaged area was completed and he was about to replace the first of the slates when he lost his footing on the stepped plank and fell feet first through the hole in the roof.
Maudie was making herself a cup of tea to steady her nerves when she heard the loud crash and then a shout. She hurried up to her bedroom, fearing the worst, and when she entered the room she nearly fainted. She had never b
elieved that anything as bad as this could happen. The bed was covered in plaster and laths, and there was a leg sticking down from the hole in the ceiling. Alf was groaning. She climbed on to the bed and touched his leg. ‘Are yer all right?’ she called up to him.
‘Get me out of ’ere, I can’t move!’ Alf shouted.
Maudie took hold of his foot and pulled.
‘Stop! Yer’ll ruin me!’ he screamed out.
‘Wait there, I’ll get ’elp,’ she called up.
‘I’ll be ’ere,’ he groaned.
Maudie ran to Sadie’s house in a state of shock. ‘Quick, Sadie! That builder’s fell frew me ceilin’!’ she cried.‘Quick,
The women all hurried from the house and Maudie led the way up into her bedroom. Sadie looked up at the leg and at the mess on the bed. ‘I dunno what we can do,’ she said.
‘P’raps we could all pull on it,’ Nellie offered.
‘I reckon we should send fer the police,’ Maisie suggested.
Florrie took out her snuffbox and tapped on the lid thoughtfully. ‘Why don’t we send fer Galloway? ’E’s ter blame,’ she remarked.
‘Get me down, fer Gawdsake,’ Alf called out.
‘Shut yer trap, we’re tryin’ ter fink,’ Sadie shouted to him.
Maggie Jones stared up at the leg. ‘Let’s just all take ’old an’ pull,’ she cut in.
Sadie scratched the back of her head. ‘Where’s yer ovver leg?’ she called out.
‘It’s fixed round the rafter,’ Alf told her.
Sadie shook her head. ‘We can’t do it from inside. ’E’ll ’ave ter be pulled out from the roof,’ she declared.
‘Jus’ get me out,’ the voice pleaded.
There were footsteps on the stairs and Ernest looked in. ‘Aw, no,’ he said dejectedly.
‘Oh, Ernie, what are we gonna do?’ Maudie cried out. Ernest took off his coat. ‘Get me the poker,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves.
Maudie did as she was told and all the women watched while Ernest set to work making the hole bigger, knocking down more pieces of lath and plaster on to the bed. When he was satisfied with his handiwork he looked up into the gap he had made. ‘Can yer fiddle yer ovver leg free?’ he called out.
There was a groaning and grunting, and the occasional obscenity, then Alf called out, ‘It’s free.’
Ernest spat on his hands and grabbed Alf’s ankle. ‘Get ready,’ he shouted up.
The women backed away from the bed as Ernest took the strain, and as he lifted his feet off the ground and hung suspended from Alf’s leg there was a loud yell followed by the crash of falling bodies and a cloud of dust which rose to fill the room.
Alf Comber slowly got up from the bed and tried out his leg. ‘Bloody ’ell, mate, yer nearly pulled me in ’alf,’ he gasped.
Florrie prodded him in the chest. ‘Yer can tell Galloway that Flo Axford said ’e’s got anuvver repair on the list now,’ she grated.
Alf took out a sheet of paper from the breast pocket of his overalls. ‘Mrs Axford? I’ve got a repair ter do at your place,’ he told her.
‘Over my dead body,’ she growled.
‘It might well be, if yer let ’im in,’ Sadie remarked.
Alf Comber put his ladder and his various bits and pieces on to his barrow and limped out of the street, wishing that he had never agreed to Galloway’s request, while the women helped Maudie clear the rubble from her bedroom.
When the task was finished Florrie took out her snuffbox once more. ‘Right, ladies,’ she said with a flourish. ‘I fink we should contact Red Ellie again, don’t you? She said ter fetch ’er if we wasn’t satisfied.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
On a very cold morning early in October Ellie Roffey called around to see the women of Page Street and together with Florrie and Maisie went to visit George Galloway. Unlike the last time the three women were shown into the office and given chairs. George Galloway sat down facing them, and away in the corner, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, was the young clerk.
‘Get the ladies some tea, laddie,’ Galloway ordered, leaning back in his chair. ‘Now let me see, you’re Ellie Roffey,’ he said, fingering his gold medallion. ‘I understand yer representin’ these good ladies?’
‘That’s right, Mr Galloway,’ Ellie answered. ‘Yer repair man should be locked up fer the damage ’e done ter poor Mrs Mycroft’s ’ouse. I . . .’
‘The repair man ain’t got paid,’ George butted in. ‘In fact I’m chargin’ ’im fer the ceilin’ ter be fixed. Now I tell yer what I’m gonna do. I’m sendin’ a firm o’ builders round in the next fortnight ter fix the places up. All the repairs are gonna get done, yer can take my word fer it.’
Florrie felt that her ears were playing her tricks. ‘All of ’em?’ she asked.
‘All of ’em,’ Galloway repeated.
‘What about the rents? Yer ain’t puttin’ ’em up soon as yer done the work, are yer?’ Ellie asked.
George Galloway shook his head. ‘No. In fact I’m ’avin’ a look ter see if we can lower the rents in some cases,’ he said, beaming at the ladies.
Florrie decided it must be her ears, or else George Galloway had received a visit from the ghost of Christmas past. ‘Is that right?’ she queried.
George Galloway nodded and picked up a sheet of paper lying on the desk in front of him. ‘I’ve bin lookin’ at the list o’ tenants,’ he said cheerily. ‘I see yer live alone, Mrs Axford. And you, Mrs Dougall, you’re livin’ wiv yer ’usband an’ one son.’
Maisie shook her head. ‘My boy’s married. ’E don’t live wiv us any more,’ she corrected him.
‘I see,’ George mumbled, making an alteration to the list. ‘Right then. Now this is what I propose ter do.’
The young clerk came into the office carrying a tray of tea. When the women were served George went on. ‘We’ll start wiv you, Mrs Axford. I see yer pay ten shillin’s an’ sixpence rent fer the ’ouse. I’m finkin’ o’ puttin’ yer rent down ter nine shillin’s a week an’ yer can take yer pick, top or bottom.’
‘What d’yer mean?’ Florrie asked, glaring at him.
‘What I say,’ Galloway said quietly. ‘Put yer stuff up or down an’ when yer’ve made up yer mind I’ll rent the ovver ’alf o’ the ’ouse out.’
‘Yer can’t do that,’ Ellie butted in. ‘What about the use o’ the gas stove? Yer can’t ’ave two families usin’ one gas stove.’
George smiled. ‘That won’t be a problem,’ he said. ‘I’ll get anuvver gas stove put in on the landin’.’
‘What about the closet an’ the copper?’ Florrie asked angrily.
‘Lots o’ families share closets an’ coppers,’ George replied.
‘S’posin’ we refuse?’ Maisie asked.
‘Well, yer could always stay the way you are, but in the new year the rent fer the ’ouse is goin’ up one an’ sixpence,’ he told them.
As Christmas approached Carrie found herself stretched to the limit. Her four carmen were working regularly on the existing contracts, she had bought four horses, young Welsh cobs, which were suitable for the light vans, and she was employing on average four casual carmen daily. Other contracts were promised for the new year, and she had talked to the local building firm which had carried out the extension to her dining rooms about erecting the new stable. Her mother and father had both gone down with bronchitis and Rachel had to spend most of her time after school acting as nurse and housekeeper.
She had grown into a tall, beautiful girl with long flaxen hair and eyes that matched her mother’s. Her temperament was much like Carrie’s when she was the same age, except that Rachel did not have the same fascination with horses. Seeing her mother stretched almost to breaking point, she got on with her chores without complaining and was a great comfort to Carrie.
Rachel had seen the change in Joe during the past few months and she felt sad that he did not give her much of his time now he was drinking heavily. Joe himself had realised that he could not
go on lodging with Carrie unless he stopped drinking, or at least attempted to curb it. He had tried hard, but the week before Christmas he learned that the money he was trying to raise for his share in a business venture with four friends would not be forthcoming. The news came after a series of disappointments and he forgot about the promise he had made to himself and walked into a pub in Limehouse to drown his sorrows. The place was noisy, and the clientele were speaking in foreign tongues for the most part. There were women frequenting the bar who were obviously looking for easy pickings amongst the foreign seamen and river workers who ventured there. One woman with heavy make-up and a tatty fur coat accosted him almost as soon as he went in the bar but Joe shrugged his shoulders and ignored her as he sought to blot out the bad feelings inside him.
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 41
