Gaslight in Page Street (46 page)

Frank raised his glass to Violet Ashley and wished her well, wherever she was. As for him, he would try to stay out of the war as long as he could. Johnson wanted him to stay on, now that the company had been deprived of its most experienced staff. The old man could certainly get him excused if it came to compulsory enlistment. He would just have to wait and see, he thought as he poured himself another stiff drink.

Geoffrey Galloway pushed back the last of the ledgers and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his throbbing temples. He was alone in the office and could hear the muted sound of children playing in the street outside. The war had not touched the business as yet, he thought, but it was still early days. Unlike some of the local cartage concerns, the firm still employed carmen on a casual basis and there were always men looking for work. As for the contracts themselves, Geoffrey envisaged an upsurge in dock work now that there was a large army which had to be supplied and fed. The local food factories would be extending their contracts too and he saw business increasing.

The thumping in his head started to ease and Geoffrey stretched out in his chair and thought about his own position. Lately the old man had pushed more work on to him and he had had to make more day to day decisions, as well as taking care of the ledgers. Will Tanner was a good yard manager, and as far as the men went he took a lot of pressure off Geoffrey, but to sit out the war by working in the business was something he felt he could not face. Time was slipping by and things were developing fast. His long-standing affair with Mary O’Reilly was the one bright thing in his life, but he was determined that even that could not be allowed to influence him. He had to take the decision soon, however upset his father might be. Maybe Frank could take over? He was married now and might be less inclined to volunteer. Geoffrey thought about talking it over with his father but quickly put the idea out of his mind. He knew that he would end up arguing with the old man and be made to feel selfish and inconsiderate. No, he decided, he would volunteer first and face his father’s wrath later.

Outside the yard, in the Tanners’ house, Nellie was sitting with Florrie and Maisie discussing the war, and her face had a worried look as she sipped her tea.

‘My Jim’s volunteered and Charlie’s gonna foller ’im soon,’ she told her friends.

Maisie shook her head and stared down at her cup.

‘My two boys are goin’,’ she said. ‘My Fred tried ter talk ’em out of it but they just laughed at ’im. It’s a bleedin’ worry. There’s Sadie Sullivan worried out of ’er life, too. Billy’s done it, an’ the rest of ’em are all talkin’ about goin’ as well. Michael an’ John are old enough ter go an’ she’s worried about young Joe. ’E’s seventeen now.’

Florrie put down her cup and pulled out her silver snuff-box. ‘That lodger o’mine come in drunk last night,’ she said, tapping her fingers on the lid. ‘Apparently ’e got turned down at the medical. Somefing about ’is ears. Right upset ’e was. I told ’im straight ’e should fink ’imself lucky. I dunno what them men must be finkin’ about. They seem bloody keen ter get inter the war.’

Maisie nodded. ‘My Fred told me ’e’d go if ’e was younger. I said over my dead body ’e would, an’ ’e jus’ laughed. “I’d do that an’ all,” ’e said.’

‘Mrs Bromsgrove’s ole man volunteered by all accounts,’ Florrie told them. ‘’E got turned down as well.’

‘I should fink so too,’ Maisie said indignantly. ‘’E must be all of fifty if ’e’s a day. ’E’s got that wonky leg as well.’

Nellie reached for the teapot. ‘Accordin’ ter the papers there’s fousands o’ youngsters givin’ wrong ages. Some are only sixteen, still wet be’ind the ears. Gawd ’elp us, what’s it all comin’ to?’

Maisie took a refilled cup from Nellie. ‘I was readin’ in the papers there’s fightin’ goin’ on in France already,’ she said. ‘Mons, I fink the place was. The news didn’t seem too good. It said they was retreatin’. Trouble is, yer never get the trufe. Gawd knows what is really goin’ on out there.’

Nellie felt the conversation was getting too depressing and she looked across at Florrie. ‘What’s that lodger o’ yours do for a livin’, Flo?’ she asked quickly.

‘’E’s still a bit of a mystery ter me. ’E goes out in the mornin’ an’ I don’t see ’im till late in the evenin’. I get ’im ’is tea an’ sometimes ’e’s orf out again or ’e goes up in ’is room. Whenever I ask ’im what ’is job is, ’e jus’ tells me ’e’s in buyin’ an’ sellin’. That’s all I ever get out of ’im. Mind yer, I’m not one ter pry, an’ if ’e don’t wanna tell me that’s up to ’im.’

‘’E’s a smart-lookin’ bloke,’ Maisie said, glancing quickly at Nellie. ‘I’m surprised I ’aven’t ’eard the neighbours talkin’, Flo. Yer know what they’re like.’

‘I couldn’t give a monkey’s,’ Florrie replied quickly. ‘I’m almost old enough ter be ’is bleedin’ granny. Mind yer though, there’s many a good tune played on an old fiddle,’ she added, laughing.

The women sipped their tea in silence for a while, wrapped up in their thoughts, and then Maisie turned to Nellie Tanner. ‘’Ere, ’ow’s your Carrie gettin’ on wiv ’er young man, Nell?’ she asked.

‘I dunno,’ Nellie sighed. ‘That gel’s worryin’ me. Tommy’s a nice enough bloke but I can’t see anyfing comin’ of it. ’Is ole muvver’s a piss artist by all accounts, an’ the poor sod’s run orf ’is feet what wiv lookin’ after ’er an’ goin’ ter work. ’Im an’ Carrie don’t go out much, an’ when they do Carrie seems ter come back ’ere wiv the ’ump.’

‘Bleedin’ shame,’ Maisie remarked. ‘Is she still in wiv them there suffragettes?’

Nellie shook her head. ‘Not since she’s bin workin’ at the café. She ’as ter go in on Saturdays, an’ then there’s this bloke.’

Maisie pursed her lips. ‘I was readin’ about that forcefeedin’ they’re doin’ in the prisons, an’ there was somefink in the papers about this new law they’ve brought out. When the women are nearly starved ter death, they let ’em out ter get better then make ’em go back in again. Seems a bleedin’ liberty, if yer ask me.’

‘That’s down ter that ole goat Asquith,’ Florrie told them. ‘’E brought that law in. It’s the Cat an’ Mouse Act. They’re tryin’ ter get it stopped.’

‘I should fink so too,’ Nellie said forcefully. ‘The way they treat those women is disgustin’. Carrie was tellin’ me only the ovver night about some o’ the fings that go on. She said ’er friend who she used ter work wiv was arrested an’ put in prison. She told Carrie they made ’em strip an’ wash in cold water, an’ when they won’t eat the warders ram rubber tubes right down their gullets. Mus’ be awful. That’s what worried me about my gel, when she used ter go on those marches. I was worried sick till she got ’ome.’

‘D’yer fink women will ever get the vote?’ Maisie asked her friends.

Florrie looked at the other two and her eyes narrowed with conviction. ‘It’ll come as sure as night follers day,’ she declared. ‘What we gotta fink about is what we do wiv the vote when we get it. We’ve gotta be a lot more fussy when it comes ter puttin’ people in power. If we don’t start askin’ questions an’ tellin’ ’em what it is we want instead of ’avin’ ’em dictate to us, then we might just as well leave it ter the men, an’ they’ve bin ballsin’ it up fer donkeys’ years.’

Later, as Nellie stood at her front door watching her two friends walk off along the turning, she heard the distant sound of a brass band. It slowly grew louder as it approached and the sound of a bass drum carried down from the main road. She could see them now, passing the end of the turning, uniformed bandsmen being followed by yet another batch of volunteers. It all seemed so unreal, she thought, almost like a carnival. How long would it be before they returned, if they ever did? How many of them would be crippled and scarred for life?

She closed the door quickly.

Chapter Twenty-seven

The first Yuletide of the war was a quiet one for Bermondsey folk, with many empty places around the tables. Most of the early volunteers were now fighting in France, and news from the front had been bad. The first casualty lists of troops involved in the Mons retreat and the Battle of Ypres were being published in the newspapers, and hospital ships had begun arriving from France and Belgium before Christmas. Stories of carnage in the mud and slime, and the horrors of sickness and frostbite suffered in the winter trenches, had started to temper the recruiting fervour, but young men still enlisted, roused and fired by tales of heroism and the chance to escape the hardships of their everyday lives. Men who had stood outside the dock gates and fought each other over a day’s work turned their backs on Bermondsey and set off for France. Young lads in their early teens, sick of life in the factories, lied about their age and joined their elder brothers at the front. Posters were appearing on the streets now, bearing a picture of Lord Kitchener pointing his finger, and above the legend, ‘Join Your Country’s Army! God save the King’ and, ‘Your Country needs YOU’. Another message struck home to many who were undecided about joining up, asking the question, ‘Be honest with yourself. Be certain that your so-called reason is not a selfish excuse.’

Thousands of young men who had volunteered in the first days of the war had been rejected on medical grounds, many of them underweight and suffering from industrial-related diseases, tuberculosis or chronic bronchitis. They returned to their jobs, often to be branded as cowards by those who did not know why they had been rejected. The white feather was adopted as a mark of cowardice, and sent anonymously through the post to men not in the services. Stories abounded of young men who took their own lives when they received the white feather after being rejected for military service. Many of the men who had not yet volunteered received the symbol of the craven and immediately enlisted.

Frank Galloway received his white feather in the morning post. When he opened the envelope and saw it, he felt the hot blood rushing to his face. It was like a kick to the stomach. It took him a few moments to collect himself. He sat back from his desk and looked around him. Everyone appeared preoccupied with their own affairs and no one had seemed to take an undue interest in him while he was opening his mail. It could be anyone, he thought as he put the letter into his coat pocket. It wouldn’t have been sent to him by any of Bella’s crowd, he felt sure of that at least. They all seemed to be against the war, and many of them were openly talking about refusing to enlist if it became compulsory. It could be someone from Page Street who had a down on the firm, he thought, or even one of the carmen who might have sent it out of sheer malice. The list of suspects could go on and on and there was no use dwelling on it, Frank decided. He promised himself that he would burn it when he got home as an act of defiance.

Later that day he was summoned to the managing director’s office.

‘I expect you’ll be leaving us soon,’ Abe Johnson said, brushing his hand over his clipped moustache.

‘The army you mean, sir?’

‘What else, Frank, unless it’s the navy you’ve got your sights on?’ Abe queried.

‘To be honest, I haven’t given it much consideration,’ Frank replied, eyeing the elderly man who faced him across the huge leather-topped desk. ‘I thought we were hard pressed now that Roseman and Burns have gone, as well as Miss Ashley?’

‘Nonsense, lad. We’ll bring back some of our old servants to fill the breach while you young men are off doing your bit for King and Country. Patriotism, lad. We must all make sacrifices,’ Abe asserted, banging his fist down on the desk. ‘Young Roseman’s regiment is a good one, or maybe you’d prefer the King’s Royal Rifles or the Rifle Brigade? They’re first-class outfits. You should be able to get a commission in any one of them with your education, laddie. They’re both East End regiments too. You come from the East End, don’t you?’

‘South London, sir,’ Frank corrected him.

‘Well, that’s of no consequence. You go off and volunteer with our blessing. I’m sure we can fill your place for the duration.’

Frank left the inner sanctum feeling even more depressed than when he had entered. Stupid old fool must be losing his reasoning, he thought. The firm had already played its part. The business would end up being run by a lot of doddering old fossils who’d forgotten how to prepare accounts years ago. They’d probably be dying on the job all over the place. Well, he wouldn’t be browbeaten into enlisting, he told himself. Abe Johnson could think what he liked.

Frank returned to his desk and sat for a while looking at a pile of papers he had not yet started work on. While he was lost in thought, Ginger Parry sauntered over. Ginger had been with the firm since its beginning and was now nearing retirement age.

‘Trouble, Frank?’ he asked. ‘You look down in the dumps. The old boy hasn’t upset you, has he?’

Frank gave him a brief smile. ‘Not really. He asked me in to find out what my plans were.’

‘About enlisting?’

Frank nodded. ‘I thought he’d be only too glad to keep me here, but I thought wrong.’

Ginger grinned. ‘I’m afraid you don’t know the old man. He’s from the old school. Both his sons are serving with the colours. Sandhurst and all that. His elder boy’s a major, and if he survives this war he’ll most likely be made up to staff officer. I don’t think he’d mind too much if you enlisted tomorrow, Frank.’

George Galloway sat with William in the yard office, cradling a glass of whisky in his hand.

‘It’s gonna put a lot more work on all of us, Will,’ he said. ‘I’ll ’ave ter take over the accounts meself now, until I see what young Frank’s intendin’ ter do. I’m ’opin’ ’e’s gonna agree ter take over from Geoff.’