Gaslight in Page Street (70 page)

The summer of 1918 was one of heavy fighting in France and Belgium, and the newspapers were full of casualty lists and battle maps. A full German offensive was met with stubborn resistance, and foreign place names were on everyone’s lips. Marne, Amiens, Picardy and Arras were theatres of bitter fighting, and in early August the German offensive was broken. At home people were hopeful of a speedy end to the war, and in Page Street life went on as usual. Lorries rumbled continually down the little turning. Florrie Axford shook her head sadly as she stood with folded arms at her street door. Aggie Temple cleaned her doorstep every other morning now but Maisie Dougall decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. ‘What’s the good, Aggie?’ she tried to convince her. ‘Soon as it’s clean the poxy lorries splash mud all over it. Give us those ’orse-an’-carts any day. The noise o’ them there lorries is a bloody disgrace.’

Maggie Jones was above all the nagging and moaning. Her son had been decorated by the King on his visit to France and she walked proudly to the market with her head in the air. Sadie Sullivan went to the Catholic church in Dockhead every morning and said a prayer in remembrance of John and Michael, and a prayer for Joe’s safety, and a special prayer for Billy that he might, ‘get orf ’is backside an’ find ’imself some bleedin’ work’.

Maisie Dougall was not disposed to church-going but she also said a prayer every night by the side of her bed. Her surviving son Albert was recovering from frostbite in a field hospital.

In nearby Bacon Street Nellie Tanner worried over her youngest son Danny, although she felt relieved that Charlie was not at the front. She worried too over William, who seemed to be more morose and withdrawn than ever. His job at the council depot meant that he was still working nights and weekends, and he had become a pale shadow of himself. Only Carrie was able to make him laugh with her accounts of the customers who frequently called in at the café and Nellie knew how much her husband looked forward to her regular visits. She had to admit that her daughter seemed happy and contented; she had never seen her looking so radiant. Married life seemed to suit her and Nellie was impatiently waiting for news of a baby, but had refrained from broaching the subject with Carrie. She tried to discuss it with William, however, but he sighed irritably as he sat listening to her.

‘She should be finkin’ o’ startin’ a family before it’s too late. After all, ’er Fred ain’t exactly a young man, is ’e?’ Nellie remarked. ‘If they leave it too long the fella’s gonna be too old ter play wiv the child. Besides, it don’t do ter ’ave yer first one when yer turned firty. Fings can go wrong. Look at that woman in Page Street who ’ad that imbecile child. She ’ad ter push it everywhere in the pram till it was seven. Then she ’ad ter get it put in one o’ them children’s ’omes, poor little bleeder.’

‘Christ! What yer goin’ on about, Nell?’ William sighed. ‘That woman was nearly forty, an’ she wasn’t all that bright ’erself. She used ter ’ave fits, an’ look at ’er ole man. ’E wasn’t all there neivver. Carrie’s doin’ all right fer ’erself, an’ if she wants ter wait a year or two, good luck ter the gel.’

Nellie was not to be put off. ‘P’raps they can’t ’ave any kids,’ she suggested anxiously. ‘Sometimes men o’ Fred’s age can’t manage it, ’specially if they marry late in life. Ida was tellin’ me only the ovver mornin’ about ’er cousin Gerry. Forty-five ’e was whe ’e got married, an’ ...’

‘Will yer give it a rest, woman?’ William growled, rounding on her. ‘I’m ten years older than you an’ we ’ad no trouble makin’ babies, an’ they all turned out all right. Let the gel be, fer Gawd’s sake.’

Nellie watched sullenly as her husband took down his coat from the back of the door and strode heavily out of the room. She sighed regretfully. Life had changed drastically for her since William had lost his job at the stables. Making herself look nice for him was not the joy it had once been. It was only very rarely that Will showed feelings of love for her now, and it wasn’t anywhere near as pleasurable as it used to be. He seemed to have lost interest in everything these days, Nellie rued, and that old goat Galloway was to blame. Once he had almost destroyed her family life; now he was totally to blame for the miserable existence she and her husband had been reduced to. Well, at least Carrie had managed to get one up on him, she told herself, and with that small consolation Nellie set about washing up the breakfast things in the dingy tenement flat.

Throughout the long, hot summer the Bradleys’ café in Cotton Lane was always full of carmen and river men. Carrie had insisted that the dining rooms should be smartened up, and after the premises closed each evening the renovation work began. For two whole weeks Carrie and Fred spent long evenings scraping at the grimy paintwork and rubbing down the wooden benches. Each night they went to bed exhausted but happy with the progress they were making, and slowly the results of their labours began to show. The ceiling was given two coats of whitewash, and varnish was applied to the benches. All the woodwork was painted pale blue and behind the counter a large menu was displayed, something of which Carrie was very proud. She had painstakingly painted the sign in black paint on a large whitewashed board and Fred had nailed it up above the tea urn. At the back of the café a new seating area was set out in what had once been the store-room and a few of the managers from local firms started to use this for their morning coffee. The outside of the café had been repainted too and above the large windows Fred had painted the word ‘Bradley’s’ in large gold letters. Carrie had decided early on that there should be a greater variety of food, and soon kippers and bloaters were added to the menu. All the hard work had eventually paid off, and Bessie soon found less and less time to chat about her friend Elsie Dobson as the café filled every morning.

The busy days hurried by, and as autumn approached the general feeling was that an end to the long war could not be far off. There had been a new offensive against the Kaiser’s army and the newspapers were full of the battles at Meuse-Argonne, Flanders and Cambrai, where British, American, French and Belgian troops were advancing. Carrie was becoming more fearful for Danny who was back in action and experienced a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach every time she thumbed through the ever-increasing casualty lists.

During that summer and autumn Carrie gradually became accustomed to life as a married woman. Most nights Fred was exhausted and too tired to give her the attention she desired, and on the rare occasions when he did manage to love her it was soon over, leaving Carrie with little sense of fulfillment. Her disappointment was tempered by her husband’s kindness and concern for her. She loved to feel his arm around her shoulders as they shut the shop each evening, and the brief kisses he stole in quiet moments during the day. Carrie knew that her sudden decision to become Fred’s wife had been influenced in no small degree by what had happened to her family, but she had carefully considered everything and was determined to make the union a happy one, come what may.

Joe Maitland sat facing his landlady with a serious look on his handsome face.

‘Look, Florrie, I know what yer sayin’, but it’s not as easy as all that,’ he said. ‘Fer a start, I can’t just expect the Yard blokes ter believe me wivout givin’ ’em the proof they need. Don’t ferget I’ve done time as well. Ter them I’m a lag. They wouldn’t believe me in front of one o’ their own, ’im bein’ an inspector an’ all.’

Florrie leaned back in her chair and toyed with an empty teacup, pursing her thin lips. ‘Well, what the bleedin’ ’ell are yer gonna do?’ she said finally. ‘Yer could be goin’ on like this ferever, an’ yer need ter remember what’ll ’appen if somebody finds out what yer really doin’ at those fights. After all, anybody could walk in there from over the water who reco’nises yer, an’ then it’s goodbye Joe.’

The lodger allowed himself a brief smile. ‘I’ve jus’ got ter be patient fer a while longer,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m accepted as one o’ the regulars now an’ I put meself about while I’m there. All the bookies know me an’ sooner or later somebody’s gonna let somefing slip. I’ll find out who that last toe-rag is. I’ll get ter the bottom of it all, in the end.’

‘Well, don’t go takin’ no chances, son,’ Florrie warned him. ‘If ever yer do find out who it was, let the coppers ’andle it. Yer only one on yer own. Yer wouldn’t stand a chance wiv that lot o’ no-good ’ore-sons.’

Joe’s eyes narrowed. ‘When I find out fer sure, I won’t trouble the coppers, Flo. That’s somefink I’m gonna take care of meself,’ he said firmly. ‘They can ’ave the proof about the goin’s-on there an’ the crooked copper, if I ever do get any, but that bastard who was involved in me bruvver’s death is gonna answer ter me, I swear it.’

Florrie stood up with a sigh and gathered together the empty teacups. ‘Well, I’m glad yer told me everyfing, son,’ she said. ‘I was beginnin’ ter wonder about yer comin’s an’ goin’s. I ’ad a feelin’ there was somefing goin’ on. Don’t worry though, I won’t breave a word about what yer up to. Yer can trust yer ole Florrie ter keep ’er trap shut. Now what about a fresh cuppa?’

At eleven o’clock on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918 the war finally came to an end. Along the river tug-whistles sounded, their high-pitched notes almost drowned by the booming fog-horns of the large berthed ships. Maroons were fired from the Tower of London, and paper-boys ran excitedly through the streets with special editions. Fireworks were let off and terrified horses shied, setting the carmen struggling desperately with the reins. Factories and tanneries in Bermondsey shut down for the day, and when Florrie Axford looked through her fresh lace curtains and saw Maisie Dougall talking excitedly to the neighbours she was quick to put on her coat and hurry out to the group lest she miss any of the latest news.

‘My ole man told me. Come back down the street ’specially, ’e did,’ Maisie was going on. ‘’E said ’e bumped inter Alec Crossley on ’is way ter work an’ Alec told ’im the pubs are gonna stay open all day. Well, as long as the beer lasts out anyway.’

Aggie Temple chuckled as she turned to Sadie Sullivan. ‘I fink I’ll tong me ’air an’ get me best coat out the wardrobe,’ she said. ‘I might even get me ole man ter take us up the Kings Arms before ’e gets legless.’

Sadie puckered her lips. ‘There’s special Mass at Dock’ead terday. Me an’ my Daniel are goin’ there first. ’E can get pissed afterwards,’ she declared.

Ida Bromsgrove had also seen her neighbours gathering and she knocked on Maggie Jones’s door. ‘Come on, Mag, there’s a meetin’ down the street,’ she told her.

The two women joined the group, quickly followed by Maudie Mycroft who was getting ready for the women’s meeting. ‘Good Gawd!’ was all she could say when she heard the news.

Florrie began to frown. ‘Well, this is one time I’m not gettin’ wedged in that snug bar,’ she growled. ‘I fink us women should all march inter the public bar. If they don’t like it - well, sod the bleedin’ lot of ’em. Our money’s as good as theirs.’

Maudie pulled on her bottom lip. ‘S’posin they turned us out? I’d feel such a fool,’ she said in a worried voice.

‘Let ’em try,’ Sadie said, showing Maudie her clenched fists. ‘If any o’ the men try ter chuck me out, I’ll smash ’em one.’

‘All the dockers’ll be in there, an’ the carmen from the yard,’ Maudie said fearfully.

Maggie nodded. ‘It won’t ’alf be packed in there. I bet we won’t get a seat.’

‘Well, I’m not standin’ in that poxy snug bar like a sardine in a tin,’ Florrie asserted. ‘We’re all gonna walk in that public bar an’ if the men don’t offer us a seat we’ll all stand at the counter, an’ when they see they can’t get served they’ll soon change their tune.’

‘Good fer you, Flo,’ Sadie shouted. ‘Now come on, gels, let’s get ourselves ready. C’mon, Aggie, I’ll tong your ’air an’ then yer can do mine.’

Early that evening the women of Page Street marched into the public bar of the Kings Arms and were immediately offered seats. Drinks were sent to their tables and the publican did not offer any objections. The sight of Sadie Sullivan and Florrie Axford leading the women into the establishment, with the large figure of Ida Bromsgrove following close behind, was too daunting even for the likes of the landlord.

Chapter Forty-two

During the bitter cold November and through into December the soldiers’ homecoming was celebrated, with Union Jacks hanging from upstairs windows and bunting tied across the narrow Bermondsey backstreets. In Page Street the flags were flying and folk stood at their front doors as the young men arrived back home from the mud and carnage of the Western Front. Maisie’s son Albert was the first to arrive, looking pale and thin but in good spirits as he strolled proudly down the street in his khaki uniform with its shining buttons, wearing puttees over his highly polished boots. One week later Joe Sullivan came home to a tearful reunion with his mother. His father stood back, smiling broadly and brushing a tear from his eye as he waited for his wife to release their son from a huge bear-hug. Billy stood beside his father and waited to greet his younger brother, smiling broadly and holding himself erect even though his chest was hurting. One week later the Jones boy sauntered into the street wearing his MM ribbon and chewing arrogantly on a plug of tobacco.

In early December Danny Tanner arrived home to a flag-bedecked Bacon Street and an emotional reunion with his parents. Nellie stood back and eyed him up and down critically.

‘Yer look pale. Yer need a good dinner inside yer, son,’ she said, fighting back her tears of joy.

William pumped his son’s hand and immediately noticed the power in his grasp. ‘Yer look well, boy. Yer put on a bit o’ weight too,’ he remarked.