‘That Michael!’ he said to Danny before straightening his cap and striding off along the road to the Queen’s.
Danny just nodded. He wasn’t in the frame of mind to be amused by his little brother, or by any of his brothers for that matter. He and Molly should have been off long ago, but there they were, still standing by the street door, trying to prise out of the gloomy-looking Sean exactly what his plans were for the rest of the evening. And they weren’t getting very far.
‘Look, yer welcome to come with us, yer know that,’ Molly said with more patience than she was feeling. ‘But I mean it, Sean. We ain’t gonna stand here all night begging yer to come with us.’
‘What makes yer think I’d wanna go anywhere with you pair?’ Sean leant back against the grimy brick wall, his hands sunk deep in his trouser pockets. He glared down at his feet and kicked hard at a stone, sending it spinning into the gutter. ‘Walking up and down the flaming street with a bunch of idiots. What’s the point of that?’
‘So what are yer gonna do then?’ As much as Danny wanted to be off, he, like Molly, felt obliged at least to try to find out what Sean was up to; their mother would expect it of them and it was always wise to attempt to keep her happy. ‘Are yer meeting yer mates or something? Is that what yer doing?’
Sean lifted his chin and stared arrogantly at his brother. ‘What’s it gotta do with you?’
‘Bloody hell, Sean, I only asked.’
‘Keep it down, boys,’ said Molly through her teeth. She looked anxiously at the open street door for any signs of their mother appearing from the passage.
‘But it ain’t none of your sodding business where I’m going, is it?’ Sean sneered contemptuously at them. ‘I’m fed up with having to tell everyone what I’m up to all the time. Can’t yer get that into yer thick heads?’
That was too much for Molly. She stuck her fists into her waist, just like her mother did when she was angry, and pushed her face close to Sean’s. ‘Now look here, you. Me and Dan couldn’t give a tinker’s cuss what yer up to, if yer really wanna know. It’s just that Mum worries about yer. Just like she worries about all of us. And we should think ourselves lucky that she does, and all. There’s plenty of kids round here who’d give anything for, a mum like our’n.’
Sean turned his head away. ‘Piss off, can’t yer? That’s all I get from you lot. Treating me like a kid.’ He twisted back round to face her. ‘Well, I ain’t a kid no more, am I? I’ve left school now and, even if that geezer has let me down, I’m gonna be earning soon, you just see if I ain’t. Independent I’ll be, and I’m gonna make meself a packet. And you all wanna remember that.’
‘Sean,’ pleaded Molly, ‘don’t start. We only wanna know where yer going so’s we can all meet up after and come home together. Then Mum won’t know we ain’t all been out like a nice happy family. And she won’t have nothing to lead off about, will she?’
Sean repaid her concern with a look of total disdain.
Molly threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘I can’t stand this lark, Dan. You’ll have to do something with him.’
‘What can I do?’
Whether Molly could have told Danny what to do or not didn’t matter; it was too late. Sean wasn’t going to listen to anything either of them had to say. He pushed himself away from the wall and disappeared at a fast trot round the corner of the house and was off along Grundy Street before either of them could stop him.
‘Aw wonderful, now yer’ve done it, ain’t yer?’
Danny’s mouth fell open. ‘Me? What did I do?’
‘Nothing. That’s the trouble. Yer know what he’s been like lately. He’s had the right devil in him. Gawd alone knows what he’ll get up to. We’ll never find him now. Yer could have tried to stop him, Dan.’
Danny didn’t bother to disagree with his sister. Molly could be as stubborn as their mother, and also like her, she could out talk him any day. Since they had been tiny Molly had been able to tie him in knots with her arguments. So, instead of wasting his breath, Danny decided that action was called for. He tipped his head towards the other end of the road, the end that was blocked off with a six-foot-high brick wall, and began walking slowly backwards in that direction. ‘Shall we get going then? Before Mum and Nanna come out and wanna know where that little sod’s taken himself off to?’
Molly didn’t move.
Despite his mounting frustration, Danny tried an encouraging smile, but still she didn’t budge. She just stood there by the street doorstep, her eyes fixed on the wall at the end of the turning – the wall that made Plumley Street different from every other street in the neighbourhood.
In all other ways, Plumley Street was exactly like the rest of the little turnings in that part of Poplar, that either ran parallel to, or led off the market in the road known to everyone locally not by its proper name of Chrisp Street, but as Chris Street. Just like its neighbours, Plumley Street was home to a tight-knit community that saw its fair share of births and deaths, rows and feuds, friendships and marriages, tragedies and laughter. But when the two-up, two-down terraces of Plumley Street were being built over forty years ago – not long before Katie’s and Pat’s parents had arrived from Ireland and had moved in next door to each other in numbers ten and twelve – the builder had intended that the far end of the street should open out on to the busy East India Dock Road. It was with the potential passing trade on that bustling, major thoroughfare that linked Barking in the east to the Commercial Road, and beyond to the City of London in the west, that the builder had in mind when he built the little general shop and the pub, the Queen’s Arms, at that end of the street. But, before the project was completed, the builder had disappeared.
It was a complete mystery as to where he had gone. Some said that his money had run out, others that he had been put into prison, some even claimed that they knew he had been murdered in Stepney in a drunken fight with the landlord who employed him, and had been buried in the foundations of one of his very own building sites. But, whatever the reason for his disappearance, Plumley Street was left as it was: blocked at one end by the solid brick wall that had been erected during building to stop through traffic from interfering with the work. So, instead of being on the busy corner of East India Dock Road, the shop and the pub stood at the far end of a cul-de-sac with a blank, six feet of wall between them, and the only way in and out of the turning was at the other end, where Plumley Street butted on to Grundy Street. It was at that open end that number twelve Plumley Street, the Mehans’ home, stood on one corner, facing number eleven where a widower, Frank Barber, and his little daughter, Theresa, lived downstairs, and upstairs was ‘Nutty’ Lil Evans.
Having the wall at the other end of the street had never been seen by the residents as a hindrance. Instead they thought that it made their turning special, different, because it was back to front, what with the shop and the pub being at the ‘wrong’ end. And the wall had its practical uses too. It had served generations of local children as a football goal, a wicket, a blackboard to scribble on, a target to pelt stones and tin cans at, and something just to clamber over for the sake of it. It also kept the street free of carts and lorries cutting through from the market, making it a safe playground.
Strangely, the back-to-front nature of the street hadn’t harmed trade for the general shop or the Queen’s; both were as busy as any similar establishments in the East End, even though there was plenty of competition in that area, particularly from Chrisp Street and Upper North Street. The neighbourhood looked affectionately on Plumley Street as a cherished oddity, and the cheerful, friendly personalities of Mags and Harold Donovan, who ran the pub, and Edie and Bert Johnson, who owned the shop, hadn’t done any harm to that reputation either. Plumley Street had the added advantage for people using the pub and the shop that they knew their kids would be safe playing in the street outside. It didn’t occur to them that a mere six foot of wall was no barrier to a child determined to find its way on to the East India Dock Road; and it was tha
t very route that Danny, despite his comparatively mature eighteen years, was impatient to take.
He walked back to his sister and leant close to her, trying to figure out what she was staring at. ‘Oi, Molly, wake up, will yer? You coming or what?’
She flicked her thick auburn hair away from her eyes. ‘I was thinking.’
‘Blimey, mind yer don’t give yerself a headache.’
Molly either didn’t notice, or, more likely, she chose to ignore her brother’s sarcasm. ‘I was thinking,’ she said slowly, ‘that I might walk round, go through Chris Street, so’s I can have a nose at the stalls.’
‘But, Moll, we’re late enough as . . .’ Danny began, then a look of realisation gradually dawned on his face. ‘Stalls, my eye,’ he jeered. ‘Nanna’s right, you have, haven’t yer? Yer’ve turned into a right young lady.’
This time Molly took the bait. Her cheeks reddened. ‘No,’ she snapped, ‘I have not.’
‘Well, what’s up with yer then? Yer always go shinning up and over that wall like a good ’un. You gone soft, have yer?’
Molly pursed her lips indignantly. ‘I’m too hot to go clambering about, all right?’
‘Yeah, course you are.’
‘You go whichever way you like, big mouth. I’m walking round through the market.’
‘Well, I’d better come with yer then, hadn’t I?’ Danny couldn’t resist taking another dig at his sister. ‘I mean, I don’t want a delicate little flower like you to go tripping over no match sticks or nothing, now do I?’
Danny took one look at his sister’s face and took off as fast as his legs could carry him. Molly immediately took up the chase, yelling for revenge. Despite the skirt of her cotton dress flapping round her legs, she pursued him round the corner and along Grundy Street, and managed to catch hold of him just as they skidded into the crowds who, even at that time of the evening, were milling around the stalls in Chrisp Street.
‘Yer can still run then, sis?’ he grinned, pulling away from her.
She punched him hard in the shoulder. ‘Yeah, and I can still fight and all, so yer’d better watch it.’
‘Mind how yer go,’ Danny complained. He circled his arm and rubbed at his stinging shoulder. ‘That ain’t very ladylike behaviour, now is it?’
‘No, but it’s very Mehan-like,’ she said, grabbing hold of his shirt sleeve again. ‘Now let’s walk nice and slow, all right? I wanna have a look.’
‘Don’t you girls ever get fed up, gawping at flaming stalls?’
‘No,’ she said with a challenging stare. ‘Why? You got something to say about it?’
Danny shrugged. ‘Well, don’t be too long,’ he said importantly. ‘I’ve got someone to see about a bit of business.’
Molly didn’t give her brother the scornful answer he more or less expected, she was far more interested in one of the stalls. It was piled high with toppling towers of vividly coloured bales of dress material. There was one pattern in particular, an intense cornflower blue with sprigs of tiny yellow flowers, that she knew would be just right for flattering her blue eyes and her auburn hair.
She ran her fingertips over the smooth, crisp cotton; with her slim build, she would only need a couple of yards for a frock, even for the new longer length, and she was sure she could persuade her nan to make it for her, or better still, Liz Watts’s mum, Peggy, who was a dab hand with a needle. But material cost money and even if skirts whizzed right up to her thighs – which they might well do the way the fashions they showed on the newsreels kept changing – Molly still couldn’t afford to buy half a yard, even at market prices, let alone enough for a dress. Much as she would have loved to spend something on herself, she knew that with the way things were, it was only fair to hand over most of her miserable wages to the family kitty each week; but that didn’t stop her looking. She hadn’t had anything new for ages, and it was such a lovely colour. Still, it was no good dreaming. Things would have to get a lot easier in the docks for her dad before she could start spending money on bits of material again, whether it was cornflower blue with yellow flowers, or sky-blue pink with purple spots.
Reluctantly, Molly moved away from the stall, but she wasn’t miserable for long. There were, as always, enough things in Chrisp Street market to distract anyone. It was a noisy, exciting, kaleidoscope of a place, full of tantalising smells and seductively presented goods. There were toys and cups and plates and shoes; huge, engineered items of salmon-pink satin ladies’ underwear; make-up and hair brushes; dresses and little boxes full of tonic powders that guaranteed to improve everything that could possibly need improving; food stuffs and stockings, pot scourers and great slabs of dark green soap. Each stall had its own enticements and never-to-be-beaten prices. And the crowds loved it, as they strolled along, stopping to barter and buy, or just to look while enjoying the warm evening air.
Even though it was almost seven o’clock, the sky was still clear and bright with summer sunlight, and while the stall holders might not have had their naphtha lamps burning yet, the summer fruits and vegetables, piled in drifts and pyramids of colour, on carpets of luridly green straw grass mats, glowed as brightly as any lantern. It being a Saturday night, the market would be busy until at least ten and even then there would still be customers eager to get any last-minute bargains before the stalls were packed away.
Back from where the stalls were jammed together along the roadside, Chrisp Street had another line of activity, centred around the shops which were all as busy as the barrows. Woolworth’s in particular was chock-full of people looking for anything from household goods to cheap trinkets, or just hanging around listening and swaying in time to the latest sixpenny records. Then, when the browsers had had their fill of the sights and sounds of the shops, they could go back to the market and refresh themselves at the coffee and food stalls. Wherever one of these stood, there were as many dogs hanging around as people; each mutt sniffing under the canvas side flaps, whining in the wistful hope that someone just might drop a bacon sandwich or a slice of dripping toast – or even better, one of the greasy saveloys or savoury faggots – right there on the ground before them.
But for anyone Molly or Danny’s age, Chrisp Street market, with all its attractions, couldn’t begin to compete on a Saturday night with the appeal of what awaited them just around the corner. For Saturday night on the East India Dock Road meant the Monkey Parade, the weekly promenade attended by what seemed to be all the young people from Poplar and the surrounding neighbourhoods. They strolled along in groups, gossiping and laughing, cheye-eyeking and yelling at one another, checking to see who was walking with whom, giving what they were wearing and how they had their hair done the once-over, and generally commenting on everything and anything about them. But what was most important of all about the Monkey Parade was the sorting out of who you did or didn’t take a fancy to, and, with everyone knowing everyone else, there was never much of a secret about it. The Monkey Parade was the reason that Danny and Molly had been so keen to get out of the house, even though Molly had insisted on taking the roundabout route.
As soon as they turned into the East India Dock Road someone was calling out to them.
‘Danny!’ They stopped on the corner and waited while the stockily built, brown-haired boy, who looked to be about Danny’s age, came trotting over to them. He smiled at Molly. ‘Hello,’ he said, looking her directly in the eyes.
Molly tilted her head to one side. ‘Hello,’ she answered, looking up at him through her lashes.
Danny punched him matily on the shoulder. ‘Bob Jarvis, you old sod. What you doing here? I thought we was gonna meet up later, after yer’d seen them blokes yer was going on about.’
Bob held out his packet of Woodbines. Molly shook her head but Danny took one. ‘I was on me way when I saw you two. So I thought, here’s me chance. I’ll see if Danny fancies coming with me to meet the chaps, and I can get him to introduce me to that beautiful sister of his at the same time.’ Bob stuck a cigarette in the corner
of his mouth and put the packet back in his coat pocket. ‘Two birds with one stone, see. Here, you are his sister, ain’t yer?’
Molly lifted her chin. ‘I might be.’
Danny squinted as he lit his cigarette and then held out the match for Bob. ‘Yer know she’s me sister. Yer’ve had yer eye on her since I’ve known yer.’
Molly’s expression hardened. ‘Well, I ain’t never seen, you before. You been talking about me behind me back, Dan?’ She turned on Bob. ‘If there’s anything yer wanna know about me, you ask me yerself, all right?’
Bob gave an amused nod, but Danny sounded rattled. ‘Blimey, Moll, give us a chance. I’ve only known the bloke a couple o’ weeks. I ain’t had time to say nothing about yer.’
Molly stared at Bob, daring him to lie. ‘That true?’
‘Yeah.’ He leant towards her and held his hands melodramatically to his heart. ‘I have had to be content with admiring you from afar, but with knowing nothing about yer.’
‘That’s all right then,’ she said haughtily. ‘And, anyway, if I’m being truthful, I have seen yer around. Once or twice maybe.’ She stuck out her hand, as Danny always did when he met someone new. ‘Molly Katherine Mehan. How d’yer do?’
Bob took her hand, but instead of shaking it as she had expected, he raised it gently to his lips. He looked along her arm to her shocked face. ‘Bob Jarvis. Pleased to meet yer, Molly Katherine Mehan. Yer a very lovely young lady. Very lovely indeed.’
Molly snatched her hand away and wiped it on her skirt. ‘You fancy yerself, don’t yer?’
‘Yeah, and I fancy you and all.’ Bob winked at her, then turned to Dan who, to Molly’s intense annoyance was now grinning like a fool. ‘So, what d’yer think, old son? Yer wanna come with me to meet these blokes I was telling yer about? Yer’ll like ’em.’
Just Around the Corner Page 3
