Tanner Trilogy 01 - Gaslight in Page Street

by Harry Bowling

  William was beginning to feel sorry for the unfortunate man who had slumped down in a chair, dismayed. ‘It’s all right, it ain’t deadly. It’ll soon go,’ he said kindly.

  George was not feeling so sympathetic towards his retarded employee. ‘I don’t know so much,’ he said, stroking his chin. ‘Normally it only attacks ’orses. It’s carried by the black mosquito. They bite pigs an’ suck their blood, then they pass it on ter the ’orses. I remember when ole Charlie Brown lost ’alf ’is stable over black swine fever. ’Ad ter shoot the lot of ’em in the end. Suffered terrible, they did.’

  Jack was now in a panic. He looked up at them with a pitiful expression. ‘What am I gonna do?’ he groaned.

  ‘D’yer feel ill?’ George asked, turning away from the man to hide his amusement.

  ‘I feel all right, apart from this bloody itchin’,’ Jack said hopefully.

  ‘Um. May not be swine fever, then. P’raps it’s straw blight,’ George said, thoughtfully stroking his chin.

  ‘What’s that?’ Jack asked quickly, fearing some more frightening information.

  ‘It’s caught from straw flies. Sometimes when yer sleep in ’aystacks, yer get bitten. Yer ain’t bin sleepin’ up in the loft lately, ’ave yer, Jack?’ George asked, hardly able to contain himself.

  The yard man did not know what he should say and merely shook his head.

  ‘Well, it must be the black swine fever then,’ George declared, shaking his head sadly at William.

  ‘I, er, I did sort o’ take a nap yesterday afternoon, Guv’nor,’ Jack said in a crushed voice. ‘All the work was done though. I jus’ come over tired.’

  George sat down in his desk chair and looked hard at the pathetic character facing him. ‘It serves yer right fer sleepin’ on the job,’ he said sternly. ‘I’m gonna overlook it this time but I don’t want no more slackin’, understand?’

  Jack nodded his head vigorously. ‘All right, Guv’nor, I won’t let it ’appen again. Will this get better?’ he asked, touching his face.

  ‘It should wear off in a year or two, I reckon,’ George replied, glancing at his foreman.

  ‘A year or two?’ Jack groaned.

  William felt that the joke had gone on long enough. ‘P’raps we could try the turpentine treatment, Guv’nor,’ he suggested.

  George nodded and held his hand up to his face. ‘Let ’im clean that yard up first, Will,’ he spluttered.

  ‘Right. Out yer go, then,’ William said. ‘An’ make a good job of it. We’ve got the army comin’ down terday. After yer finished, I’ll get my Nellie ter try the treatment on yer face.’

  As soon as the yard man had left the office, George and William burst out laughing. George wiped his streaming eyes with a handkerchief and William sat holding his middle.

  ‘What did they use on ’im, fer Chrissake?’ George asked, still grinning widely.

  ‘It must ’ave bin that preservative we keep fer the ’arness,’ William answered through chuckles. ‘My Nellie’s gonna need ter take the scrubbin’ brush ter the poor sod.’

  There was an atmosphere of excitement in Page Street as the women hurried back and forth with their shopping. As she did the dishes and tidied up her scullery, Maudie Mycroft could not stop thinking about the conversation she had had with her husband Ernest the previous evening. It had left her feeling piqued by his lack of understanding.

  ‘I’m worried about what the women are gonna say, Ern,’ she had told him. ‘If it gets in the papers, I won’t be able ter ’old me ’ead up at the church women’s meetin’.’

  ‘Sod ’em,’ was his short answer.

  ‘It’s all right fer you,’ Maudie complained. ‘I’m the one who’s gotta take the dirty looks an’ the nasty remarks. Put yerself in my place. ’Ow would you like it?’

  Ernest put down the boot he was polishing. ‘Look, Maudie,’ he said quietly, ‘I fink what yer doin’ is very brave. Yer all goin’ out there an’ facin’ up ter that ole bastard Galloway. Yer doin’ it fer the kids. It’s a wonder one of ’em ain’t bin killed already. Yer like our army goin’ out ter face the Boers. Come ter fink of it, it wouldn’t be a bad fing if yer all started singin’ when yer facin’ ’im.’

  ‘Singin’?’

  ‘Yeah, singin’. Yer could start up wiv “Onward Christian Soldiers”. If that got in the papers, yer’d be looked up to at the muvvers’ meetin’.’

  Maudie’s face brightened up considerably. ‘What a good idea,’ she cried. Then her enthusiasm suddenly faded. ‘S’posin’ they bring the Black Maria down, Ern?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll come an’ bail yer out.’

  Now as Maudie unpacked her shopping and adjusted her clean curtains, she was feeling very nervous. She had already seen Sadie Sullivan who said she had sorted out a rolling-pin for the occasion. What must those suffragettes feel like? she agonised. Chaining themselves to railings and being sent off to prison then being force-fed when they went on their hunger strikes. They must be very brave, what with having to endure the jeers and bad stories about them in the newspapers. Would she be as brave if things got out of hand? As she dusted her mantelshelf and adjusted the ornaments, Maudie had visions of being led away by two burly policemen and after a trial at the Old Bailey having a cell door slammed on her. ‘Oh dear, oh dear. What have you got me into, Florrie?’ she moaned aloud.

  The redoubtable leader of the forthcoming protest was becoming impatient. Florence Axford looked around, her bottom lip pouting. The house was tidy and the washing was hanging out in the backyard. The front doorstep was clean and the scrag of mutton was cooking slowly in the kitchen range oven. She looked at herself in the overmantel mirror and pushed the hairpin further into her tightly gathered bun. Florrie liked to keep herself busy during the day. She always finished her cleaning job at the Tooley Street offices by nine o’clock in the morning, and her evening job serving behind the counter at the faggot and pease pudding shop did not start until seven. She needed little sleep, and today of all days she felt too excited to take a nap. The kettle was singing in the grate. As she set about making yet another cup of tea, Florrie heard the loud clip-clop on the cobbles.

  George Galloway was standing in the yard, his thumbs hooked into his waistcoat as the two riders trotted into the yard and dismounted. Jack Oxford had hosed down the yard and busied himself about the stables. He was anxious to get something done about his itching, bright yellow face but was ushered quickly out of the way into his store shed as soon as the soldiers appeared, earlier than expected.

  ‘Get in there quick or you’ll scare the ’orses,’ William said, grinning. ‘I’ll get yer sorted out later.’

  The tall figure of a Royal Artillery major was wearing breeches and highly polished boots. His black peaked cap reflected the sun as he stepped up to the firm’s owner and shook his hand warmly.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Mr Galloway,’ he said in his clipped voice. ‘I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Robinson. He’s our new adjutant. Knows a thing or two about horses too, I might add.’

  The second officer stepped forward to shake hands with Galloway, and after the pleasantries were over the three men walked into the office. George took a bottle from the drawer of his desk and poured three measures of Scotch.

  ‘We’ve got a good selection,’ he said, passing over the drinks. ‘Good Irish Draughts. First-rate condition an’ they’re all seventeen ’ands. Ideal fer pullin’ gun carriages, I would say.’

  ‘Well, that sounds fine, Mr Galloway,’ the major said, glancing at the adjutant. ‘We’ve the authority to purchase and you’ve got the bid price from the War Office, I understand.’

  George nodded and reached for the bottle once more. ‘I fink you’ll like what yer see, Major,’ he said, refilling the glasses.

  Along the street outside, the women were ready. Front doors were open and folk stood around waiting for Florrie Axford to give the word. They did not have long to wait. When the first horse was led up to the gates,
Florrie marched down the middle of the turning. ‘Righto, out yer come!’ she cried.

  ‘Good Lord! What the devil’s going on?’ the adjutant asked, glancing at his fellow officer.

  George joined the soldiers at the gate. His face flushed with anger. The women had formed themselves into two lines, blocking both ends of the street, and were now making themselves comfortable. Sadie Sullivan had a rolling-pin resting in her lap and Maisie Dougall had brought out a colander and was proceeding to shell peas. Aggie Temple was starting on her knitting. Only Maudie Mycroft pinched her jaw nervously as she stared at the group by the gate.

  ‘C’mon now, ladies, don’t be silly,’ Galloway called out. ‘We’ve gotta run these ’orses up the street.’

  ‘Not in our bleedin’ turnin’ yer don’t,’ Florrie called back defiantly.

  Galloway walked quickly up to the women’s leader and stood facing her, his features dark with anger. ‘What’s all this about?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’ll tell yer what it’s about,’ Florrie replied, glaring back at him. ‘We’re just about fed up wiv’ avin’ ter keep our kids off the street while you run those ’orses. One o’ these days a kid’s gonna get killed, so we’re stoppin’ yer little game.’

  ‘Game! Game!’ George spluttered. ‘I’m sellin’ those ’orses ter the army an’ they’ve a right ter see what they’re buyin’. I’ve gotta run ’em.’

  ‘Not in our street yer don’t. Not any more,’ Florrie said firmly.

  ‘Walk ’em up an’ down in yer poxy yard,’ Sadie called out.

  ‘Piss orf out of it,’ shouted Maisie.

  ‘Tell the army ter piss orf back where they come from,’ someone else called out.

  Galloway held up his hands. ‘Now look, ladies. The kids are at school. We can be finished before they come ’ome.’

  ‘It ain’t jus’ the kids,’ Florrie said, looking around at the nodding faces. ‘We’re all likely ter get trampled on. It ain’t right ter gallop them bloody ’orses up an’ down outside our ’ouses. Now I’m tellin’ yer straight - yer ain’t gonna do it so yer might as well get used ter the idea.’

  Galloway glared at the determined woman and tried to decide what to do. ‘I’ll get the police,’ he threatened.

  ‘You do that,’ Florrie goaded him. ‘We’ll tell ’em the same as we’re tellin’ you. Besides, if yer bring in the rozzers it’ll get in the papers, an’ ovver streets might back us up. Nah, I don’t fink that’s a very good idea, do you, gels?’

  Loud voices shouted their support along the turning and the cartage contractor winced. ‘Right,’ he said, his eyes narrowing with menace. ‘I’m givin’ yer five minutes ter clear the street, an’ if yer ain’t gorn by then I’ll turn the ’ose on yer.’

  Florrie watched as Galloway strode quickly back to the gates. ‘Stay put, ladies,’ she called out. ‘’E wouldn’t dare.’

  The two officers had retreated back into the office and were looking perplexed. Galloway stormed back into the yard, cursing loudly. ‘Oxford! Get yerself out ’ere,’ he bawled out.

  The soldiers peered out of the office window and saw the tall, shuffling figure of the yard man emerge from the shed. They looked at each other in disbelief. ‘Good God! Who’s that?’ the adjutant gasped, wide-eyed. ‘It looks like a blasted banshee.’

  Galloway took Jack Oxford roughly by the arm. ‘I’ve got a job fer yer,’ he bellowed. ‘Get that ’osepipe out an’ connect it up.’

  Jack scratched his head in puzzlement. He had only just rolled it up and now they wanted him to do the yard again. ‘It’s clean, Guv’nor. I done it first fing,’ he said in a pained voice.

  ‘Jus’ do as yer told an’ connect it up,’ Galloway growled.

  The yard man shuffled back to his store shed and came back carrying the heavy rubber hosepipe. When he had secured the connection to the stand pipe, Galloway handed him the nozzle. ‘Right. Get outside an’ ’ose those silly mares down,’ he said gruffly. ‘If yer make a good job of it, I’ll buy yer a pint.’

  Jack did not understand what the boss was talking about but his face broke into a crooked grin. He had worked at the yard for a number of years and had never known the boss offer to buy him a pint before. He shuffled out through the gate, pulling the heavy hose behind him. When he saw the two lines of women sitting across the street, he chuckled loudly.

  When they caught sight of Jack Oxford brandishing the hosepipe, they gasped and stared open-mouthed.

  ‘What the bloody ’ell’s ’e done ter ’is face?’ Maisie asked Aggie.

  ‘Get back in that yard, yer syphilitic ole sod,’ Sadie shouted at him.

  ‘Where yer takin’ that ’osepipe - down the chinkie laundry?’ someone called out.

  Jack Oxford leered at the women. There were one or two of them he was going to take pleasure in dousing. That Sullivan woman had clipped him around the ear when he chased her son away from the yard, and that Axford woman was always giving him funny looks when he passed her in the street. He stood with his feet apart and the hose pointing at the women and waited while Galloway addressed them.

  ‘Right then. Yer’ve ’ad yer five minutes,’ the firm owner said in a loud voice. ‘Now yer gonna get wet.’

  Jack’s leering grin widened and he jerked the nozzle in the direction of the women in a threatening manner. Galloway stormed back into the yard. As he was about to turn the water on William confronted him.

  ‘Look, George, there’s no need ter go this far. We can exercise the ’orses in the yard. There’s room ter trot ’em,’ he said quietly.

  Galloway glared at his yard foreman. ‘I want those ’orses run up the street,’ he declared. ‘I ain’t bowin’ ter a load o’ scatty women. I’ve give ’em fair warnin’ an’ they won’t move, so I’m gonna make ’em.’

  William stood in front of the stand pipe, his face set hard. ‘I still reckon yer makin’ a mistake, George,’ he said.

  The two stared at each other. There were times in their boyhood when there had been a clash of wills and in the past Galloway had always got his way. On this occasion, however, he was not so sure.

  ‘Get out o’ the way, Will,’ he said in a low voice.

  Outside in the street the women had become quiet and Jack Oxford stood with a maniacal expression on his bright yellow face.

  The curtains in the house adjoining the yard moved back into position as Nellie Tanner hurried out to the backyard. She had been watching the developing situation with mounting concern. Florrie had not invited her to take part in the women’s demonstration. ‘I won’t ask yer, Nell,’ she had said. ‘We all know your Will works fer the ole bastard an’ it’s likely ter cost ’im ’is job if Galloway sees yer in the street alongside us. Yer done yer bit tellin’ us when the army’s comin’ so don’t worry about it. We all know yer position.’

  Nellie had agonised over what Florrie said. They were demonstrating for the kids, after all, and she felt deep down that it was her duty to join them, regardless of what Galloway might do in reprisal. Will would not have forbidden her to join the women if he had known, she felt sure. He would take his chances and face Galloway. Now, as she saw Jack Oxford pulling out the hosepipe, Nellie knew what she had to do.

  Maudie was shaking from head to foot as she waited. Suddenly she remembered her Ernest’s advice. Slowly, she stood up.

  ‘“Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war,”’ she began to sing in a shrill voice.

  ‘Sit down, yer silly mare,’ Maisie said, pulling at her coat sleeve.

  Maudie slumped down in her seat, suddenly feeling very silly, but she was heartened to see Sadie Sullivan jump up.

  ‘Good fer you, Maudie,’ she cried out, waving her rolling-pin over her head. ‘That’s what I say too. Onward Christian soldiers! I’m gonna crown that yellow-faced, stupid-lookin’ bastard right now.’

  Florrie caught her arm and Sadie rounded on her. A violent confrontation between the two seemed inevitable, but at that moment a murmur passed through the assemble
d crowd. The figure of Nellie Tanner suddenly appeared in the street. Without saying a word she marched up to the gate, took out a chopper from beneath her shawl, raised it high above her head and brought it down heavily on the hosepipe.

  A loud cheer rang out as Nellie straightened up and stood looking at the women for a moment or two, then without further ado she turned on her heel and walked back into her house, closing the door.

  Jack Oxford realised he was not now going to use the hosepipe. He shuffled back into the yard, trailing a length of rubber tubing behind him, with the obscene remarks of the victorious women ringing in his ears.

  ‘Shut them gates,’ Galloway shouted, his face a dark mask. ‘We’ll parade the ’orses in the yard.’