The docker opposite the totter had started scratching now and Sam felt his back itching. With a flourish he almost threw the heavy teapot back on top of the urn and hurried around the counter. ‘Look, Mr What’s-yer-name. I can’t ’ave yer sittin’ there scratchin’ all the time,’ he said firmly. ‘Yer got us all doin’ it now. I’m afraid yer’ll ’ave ter leave.’
Broomhead took one look at the docker who was leaning towards him in a menacing manner and grabbed up his toast. ‘All right, I’m goin’,’ he growled.
Bessie watched from the window as Broomhead made his way across the lane to his cart and she turned to Sam. ‘It’s those ole mattresses ’e’s got on the back o’ that cart,’ she said. ‘Look, yer can see they’re mattresses. ’E’s got ’em tied up in sackin’.’
Later that afternoon Sam had another visitor, who stood eyeing the cafe proprietor with guarded suspicion. ‘D’yer know it’s an offence ter block the footpath wiv goods?’ he said sternly, scratching the back of his hand.
‘I’m sure it is, officer,’ Sam replied, licking a finger and brushing it over his eyebrow.
‘Well, yer’d better get those two bales o’ sackin’ removed from under yer winder before I ’ave ter take action,’ the policeman told him.
‘Oh my good Gawd!’ Sam sighed in disbelief as he hurried out of his shop.
The weather had become less cold, although the skies were overcast and leaden. Men stood around on street corners and women walked back home from the markets with their shopping baskets half empty as firms in the area continued to operate short-time working and the wharves along the riverside were ghostly quiet throughout the working week. Young children pushed battered prams to the gasworks for coke and young lads scoured the streets for tarry logs to burn. The dole queues became longer and folk who owned a presentable Sunday suit soon found it missing from the house. Only the pawnbrokers flourished, though there were not so many goods being offered for pledge now. Mrs Harrowcot and Mrs Becket from Bacon Buildings went into the workhouse, and one young man from Dockhead took his two children along to the market in Southwark Park Road and offered them for sale. He stood with a notice around his neck saying, ‘£1 the pair. Well behaved and tidy.’ Soon an angry crowd had gathered and he told them that: ‘Anything was better than seeing the kids starve to death.’ The ploy worked, for the children were taken to the local church hall where they were fed before being handed over to the welfare officers. The father was shown pity and offered a temporary job clearing the church gardens of weeds and leaves, but his wife was unimpressed. ‘’E boozes most of ’is wages away when ’e is in work,’ she said scornfully.
For Carrie, the depression meant that she was having to rely on day work as opposed to more profitable long-term contracts. Work was coming in, however, and she felt that compared with most of the other cartage contractors in the area she was doing well. Her main concern was Joe’s drinking. He was getting worse. Every evening when he came home his breath smelt strongly of liquor and he hardly touched his food. Carrie knew that the money he earned working on a market stall would not keep him in drink and she suspected that he must have slipped back into his former devious business of buying and selling. She knew that there were always stolen goods on offer, especially from the dock areas, and Joe would not be able to resist the temptation to make some quick money. Carrie worried that with his previous convictions he would be punished heavily if he got caught.
One rainy evening Joe walked into the house in a bad way. He could hardly stand and when Carrie remarked on his condition he pushed her against the passage wall and glared into her eyes. ‘Just leave me alone. D’yer ’ear?’ he shouted.
Carrie’s eyes filled with tears as she struggled to free herself from his strong grasp. ‘Can’t yer see what yer doin’ ter yerself?’ she cried. ‘Can’t yer see what yer doin’ ter me, an’ Rachel? That kid adores yer, an’ what d’yer do in return? Yer frighten the life out of ’er wiv yer drunken ways.’
Joe dropped his hands and staggered backwards against the wall. ‘I don’t need yer. I don’t need anybody,’ he slurred.
‘Yer just a drunken no-gooder,’ Carrie yelled at him. ‘Yer’ll never be any good till yer finish wiv the booze. Can’t yer see it’s killin’ yer?’
Joe’s eyes flared and he jerked himself upright. ‘Jus’ leave me alone,’ he said, rocking back and forth.
‘No I won’t!’ Carrie screamed. ‘Not while yer comin’ ’ome in that state. Yer ruinin’ yer own life, don’t ruin mine an’ Rachel’s.’
Joe stood erect and his hand came up to strike her but suddenly Will Tanner had grabbed him and forced him against the passage wall. ‘If yer touch that girl o’ mine I’ll kill yer meself!’ he shouted.
Joe’s face drained of colour and he closed his eyes tightly as though trying to shut out what had happened from his mind, then he bowed his head and went limp in Will’s grasp. Carrie stood looking at the two men in disbelief, fighting back her tears.
Will’s face was white as he glanced at his distressed daughter. ‘I’ll get ’im ter bed,’ he muttered. ‘Yer’ll ’ave ter make yer mind up about ’im. I’m not standin’ by an’ seein’ yer get ’urt. ’E’s jus’ not werf it.’
Carrie watched while William took Joe Maitland by the arm and led him away, then she walked into the darkened parlour and slumped down heavily into a chair. Her father was right, she knew. It would be an impossible situation if she allowed Joe to stay any longer. As much as she loved him he would have to go. There was no future with him now, not since the drink had taken a hold of him. Carrie wiped her eyes on her apron and thought how lucky it was that Rachel was out of the house when Joe came home. She would be back from visiting her friend soon and would see there had been an upset. Carrie went to the scullery and splashed cold water over her face and then dabbed at it with a towel. Her cartage business seemed to mean little to her at that moment. Only Joe mattered, but she knew that tonight had spelled the end for him and her together.
As March winds gusted along Wilson Street a group of people gathered outside the new building. A flagstone path led from a wrought-iron gate to the lighted entrance and over the heavy wooden door a sign read, ‘Murphy’s Gymnasium’. Amongst the crowd was Billy Sullivan, looking happy in his tight-fitting, navy blue suit and grey cap. He wore a starched collar and a tie with a pin fastening it to his shirt. Beside him stood Annie, looking pale but cheerful as they waited for the guest of honour to arrive. She was wearing a brown, fur-collared coat done up with large grey buttons and a fur-decked hat, which made her look older than her young years.
‘I hope they’re not too long, Billy,’ she said in a worried voice. ‘I can’t expect old Mrs Foggarty to stay with the children for too long.’
He looked along the street. ‘There they come,’ he said pointing.
Mayor Robertson was accompanied by the mayoress and other members of the Council along with Father Kerrigan, and he seemed in no hurry to get to his destination. When they drew near some women who were standing beside the entrance hurried forward to present flowers to the mayoress and Billy recognised them as members of the charity committee. He watched while they engaged the mayor in conversation, and it seemed a long while before the pleasantries were over. Finally the mayor came to the gate and marched quickly to the entrance. There was a red silk ribbon stretched across the doorway and without more ado he took the pair of scissors offered to him and turned to face the crowd. ‘I name this building Murphy’s Gym,’ he said in a loud voice as he snipped the ribbon.
Once inside there was a round of speeches. The mayor was first, limiting his address to praising the committee for their hard work in raising the necessary funds and thanking the ruling members of the Borough Council for their support of the project. Then there was a thank you address by one of the committee members, who praised the mayor for showing interest in the project. Last of all came Father Kerrigan. He stood in front of the gathering, his eyes glancing down at the highly polished floorboards an
d around at the cream-painted walls. He looked at the roped ring in the centre of the floor and the equipment scattered around, the table set out with food and drink, and finally he turned to the assembly.
‘You all know me as Father Kerrigan,’ he began. ‘My position has been as a subordinate to Father Murphy and I would like you all to know that I am proud to have known him. Father Murphy was the parish priest in this neighbourhood for many years, longer than most of us can remember. He gave of himself tirelessly in the service of God and in the service of his fellows, and his last wish was for the money coming from his estate to be used solely for finishing and equipping this fine building. Well, now we can see a dream fulfilled, and I’m sure that our reverend priest can see it too, although he has left the tribulations of this world behind. Now will you please step forward, Billy Sullivan.’
The young man walked out from the crowd and the priest stepped forward and took his arm. ‘We all know that Billy worked very hard to get his idea for a gymnasium taken seriously,’ Father Kerrigan continued, looking around at the gathering. ‘This building is a tribute to him and to all the members of the charity committee who worked so tirelessly in raising the money needed. It is also a memorial to Father Murphy and it is fitting that this gymnasium will be known simply as “Murphy’s”.’
When the applause had died down Father Kerrigan turned to the far wall where a short purple curtain was hanging. ‘Over there my friends is another memorial,’ he said, his voice lowering in reverence. ‘It’s to all the young men of this parish who died in the Great War. There you will see the names of two of Billy’s brothers, so I’m going to ask him to unveil the plaque.’
Billy walked beside the priest and when he reached the spot below the curtain he glanced at him a little uncertainly.
‘Pull the cord, Billy,’ Father Kerrigan said quietly.
The plaque was of marble carved in the shape of an open book. Billy looked up at the list of names and felt a sadness growing deep down inside him. He saw the names of his brothers John and Michael, and also those of James Tanner, Ronald Dougall, Geoffrey Galloway, and many more of the young men he had known and grown up with in the backstreets of Bermondsey. For some time Billy stood looking up at the plaque until he felt the pressure of Annie’s hand on his arm. The gathering had started to move away but he remained, images and memories forming in his mind.
Father Kerrigan put his arm around his shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s get a bite to eat before those clothes-horses eat it all,’ he said smiling.
‘I ’ope there’ll never be the need for more plaques like this, Farvver,’ Billy said quietly.
‘We can only pray, Billy. We can only pray,’ the priest replied, aware of the rumblings that were already coming from the mainland of Europe.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The summer morning promised another hot day as the early clouds drifted away, and as Carrie crossed the yard to slip the bolt on the wicket-gate she could hear Sharkey’s heavy footsteps coming along the cobbled turning. Her heart was heavy as she went to the office and checked the work sheets she had laid out the previous evening. She sat down heavily in the office chair, unable to stop thinking about Joe. Every morning since he had left it was the same. She had woken up with him on her mind and she wondered how he was getting on. Was he in trouble with the police again? she worried. Was he ill? Did he ever think of her? As time went on it became no easier. She found herself dwelling on thoughts of him at odd moments during her busy day and she knew that he would always be close to her no matter where he was and who he was with. The thought of someone else taking her place caused her much heartache. To ease the pain of their separation Carrie busied herself with her work, hardly drawing breath as she flitted from one task to another. She had become yard manager, wages clerk, bookkeeper and stable hand all rolled into one, and there were still the household chores which she handled after the busy day was over.
Sharkey walked into the yard with a gruff ‘good morning’. It was always some time before the elderly character felt awake enough to have any kind of conversation and Carrie totally ignored him for that first hour. She watched from the office as he unbolted the gates and swung them back on their hinges before giving the yard a quick sweep through. The men would be arriving soon and there were two casuals to hire for the week. There was a wagon which needed work done on it and one or two wheels that needed replacing. The sacks of chaff were running low and one of the horses was showing signs of lameness. Carrie sighed deeply as she thought about Joe. Why did he have to walk out on her the way he did? Why couldn’t he at least have said goodbye instead of leaving that short note which broke her heart, and Rachel’s too? The young woman reached down into her desk drawer and took out the leather-bound diary. She removed the folded piece of paper from the middle pages and spread it out on the desk.
Dear Carrie,
There is nothing I can say that will put right the wrong I have done to you and young Rachel. I love you both and I always will. Please don’t think too badly of me. I did try, believe me I did. I wish you well. Ask your parents to forgive what has happened and give Rachel a big kiss from me.
All my love,
Joe
Carrie quickly folded the piece of paper and replaced it in the diary as she heard Sharkey’s footsteps, brushing a tear away as he put his head around the door. ‘D’yer want me ter take those wheels ter the wheelwright terday, Carrie?’ he enquired.
‘If yer will, Sharkey, an’ will yer tell me ’ow many bags o’ chaff I’ve got left?’
Will Tanner brought Carrie a hot cup of tea and as she leaned back in the chair sipping it she heard the first of the carmen arrive. She heard Paddy Byrne’s cheery voice as he greeted Sharkey and then the rest of the carmen as they came into the yard together. Normally there would be a general clamour as the wagons were pulled rattling out from the shed and the horses’ hooves clattered on the cobbled yard, but this morning it was strangely quiet. Carrie thought she heard voices raised in anger and when she looked out of the window she saw the men standing in a group.
William came into the office just then and his face looked serious. ‘Yer got trouble, luv. I don’t fink the men are goin’ out this mornin’,’ he said, slumping down in a chair beside her.
Carrie’s expression grew determined as she jumped up and walked swiftly out into the yard. ‘Are you lot gonna stand around chatting all day?’ she said sharply.
The men looked embarrassed and they turned to Percy Harmer who nodded briefly to them and then walked over to Carrie. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bradley, but we’re not gonna work wiv Lofty Bamford,’ he said quickly. ‘The man’s a scab an’ we’re all union men ’ere.’
Carrie put her hands on her hips as she glared at the powerfully built character. ‘Now listen ’ere, Percy, I’m runnin’ this firm, not you,’ she replied sharply. ‘I’ll decide who’s employed ’ere. Now get yerselves out on the job, yer late already.’
Percy shook his head. ‘Sorry but we can’t. No till yer sort out the problem. Yer got Lofty booked out ter the rum quay along wi’ me an’ there’s bin a lot o’ card checks there lately,’ he said, slipping his thumbs through his braces. ‘I just asked ’im jokin’ly if ’e ’ad ’is union card wiv ’im an’ ’e told me ’e wasn’t in the union.’
‘Well, if there is a card check there this mornin’ an’ they turn Lofty away that’ll be my problem,’ Carrie told him irritably. ‘They won’t stop you goin’ in.’
Percy looked down at his feet for a few moments then his eyes came up to focus on Carrie’s. ‘Bamford used ter work fer George Galloway, Mrs Bradley,’ he said. ‘They was a non-union firm as yer know. We all thought Bamford joined the union when ’e came ’ere ter work. We didn’t know yer’d take on scabs.’
Carrie could see that she was faced with a difficult situation and she beckoned Percy into the office and motioned him into a seat. ‘Now look,’ she said quietly, sitting down at her desk, ‘I don’t know if you lot are aware that my farvver wo
rked fer Galloway fer more than thirty years. I grew up next door ter the stables when they were in Page Street. I know all about what sort o’ firm that was. That was the main reason why I wanted all my carmen ter be in the union, but I can’t force any of yer ter join. It’s your decision. Now I’ll tell yer what I’m prepared ter do. I’ll change the work around. Jack Simpson can go wiv yer ter the docks an’ I’ll stick Bamford on the tannery job fer terday. Before I send ’im out I’ll ’ave a talk wiv ’im an’ see if ’e’ll agree ter join the union. That’s the best I can do.’
Percy scratched the side of his head for a second or two, then he nodded. ‘All right, we’ll leave it fer terday, but if yer don’t persuade ’im ter join there’s gonna be trouble,’ he said a little apologetically.
When the changes had been made and the rest of the carmen had left the yard Carrie walked over to the doleful-looking Lofty who was standing beside his hitched-up wagon. ‘Now look, Lofty, yer’ve given me a problem,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘I’m tryin’ ter run a union-reco’nised firm, an’ it suits me ter do so. Carmen need cards fer the dock work an’ I can’t afford ter get my carmen sent back fer bein’ non-union. It’s time an’ money ter me. Is there any reason why yer won’t join?’
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 45
