Tuppence to Tooley Street (12 page)

‘I feel that a military uniform represents a willingness of the wearer to kill.’

The tribunal members conferred for a few seconds, and Ben looked around at the panelled walls. He did not turn completely round to face Lucy, but he felt for her and knew of the anguish she was suffering. He looked back at the tribunal members and saw the nodding of heads.

‘Mr Morrison,’ the chairman began, ‘I suggest to you that you have been wasting our time. You have told us in the written statement that you intend to study for Holy Orders, but you cannot substantiate this. Reverend Harris also says in his letter that you intend to study for the Church. That is not a substantiation, it is merely a third party reiterating what you have said of your intentions–an indication of intent. You have provided no evidence of any communication between yourself and the Theological College. Reverend Harris does not tell us in his letter when you first confided in him about your intentions of taking Holy Orders. I put it to you that you first indicated your interest in the college after the outbreak of war. We have made note of the fact that you have stated you would succour the wounded. That is the role of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Therefore, the finding of this tribunal is that you will be called up into a non-combatant corps, subject to you passing the army medical. You will have to apply to be posted at the time of your medical. That is all.’

Alice Sutton sat in her small parlour talking to Annie Barnes. Annie was an old and trusted friend from the days when the two danced the ragtime and wept unashamedly into lace handkerchiefs each Saturday at the silent picture show. The two went back a long way, to the days of horse buses and wide summer bonnets, the days of hard toil in the local tannery for a few shillings a week. Alice and Annie had lived in the same street since they both married, within a year of each other. Annie Barnes was a confidante, and for her Alice made an exception to her rule of keeping the family business away from gossiping neighbours.

‘I tell yer, Annie, I’m fed up wiv the lot of it. I ’ad ter take’is suit round ter Fran Simpson terday. You ’eard all about it, I s’pose?’

Annie nodded. ‘Bit old fer fightin’, ain’t ’e?’ she said, her florid face puckering.

‘It’s that bleedin’ bitter, gets ’im real narky when ’e’s ’ad a few,’ Alice said, brushing an imaginary crumb from her dress and folding her thin arms.

Annie Barnes looked out of the window from her easy chair and saw the deepening redness settling over the chimney pots of the houses opposite. The evening was warm, and the lengthening shadows lent a tranquillity to the neat and tidy parlour. Outside in the street a few children played, their happy voices carrying into the house as they made the most of their games before being called in to face a scrubbing brush and Lifebuoy soap which tortured the eyes and stung the skin. In the quietness the metallic ticking of the clock on the mantelshelf sounded unusually loudly. Annie stirred her tea thoughtfully and waited for her friend to begin again. Alice made herself comfortable and sipped her tea.

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Annie Barnes broached the subject. ‘Well, an’ ’ow did young Ben get on at the tribunal?’

Alice put down the cup and folded her arms. ‘’E’s gotta go in.’

‘Yer mean ’e’s gettin’ called up?’ Annie asked, surprise showing on her face.

‘From what Lucy told me, they was right gits. They’ve told Ben ’e’s gotta go in the non-compatible corps or somefink,’ Alice answered.

‘Yer mean like the medical blokes who look after the wounded?’

‘That’s right. Ter be honest wiv yer, I can’t see Ben doin’ that sort o’ job. ’E ain’t cut out fer it.’

‘Don’t you fret about that, Alice. It’s surprisin’ the fings yer do when yer ’ave to. Look at Fran Simpson’s eldest boy. Times I’ve seen ’im come ’ome from school cryin’ from bein’ bullied.’E’s a sergeant in the Coldstreams now.’

‘I ’ope yer right, Annie. Poor Lucy’s that cut up about it. From what she said, ’er Ben didn’t ’ave much choice. If ’e’d’ave refused they would ’ave locked ’im up and chucked away the key.’

Annie put the teacup back onto the table and reached inside her apron. She took out a tiny silver box and tapped on the lid with two fingers. ‘Wanna pinch?’

Alice shook her head.

‘’Ow’s your Connie? I saw ’er the uvver day with that young sailor, what’s ’is name, Jimmy, ain’t it?’ Annie spluttered as the snuff took effect.

‘Jimmy Ellis. ’E’s a nice boy, got luvverly manners. ’Is leave’s up ternight. I do ’ope nuffink ’appens to ’im, a lot of our ships are gettin’ sunk. It’s a right worry, what wiv one fing and anuvver.’

Annie smiled. ‘’E’ll be all right. ’Fore yer know where you are ’e’ll be ’ome on leave again.’

‘I do ’ope so, Annie. All this trouble and strife, an’ the worry of the invasion . . .’

Annie looked up at the window, as though she expected a German soldier to be peering in, then back at Alice. ‘You don’t really fink they’ll get ’ere, do yer? I mean ter say, they’ve gotta come over the water. What’s our boys gonna do, stan’ by an’ let’em walk in?’

‘I dunno,’ Alice replied. ‘I tell yer what though, that bleedin’ pamphlet they pushed frew the letter box scared the daylights outta me.’

‘What, that one about the invasion? My Bill tore it up,’e said there was nuffink ter worry about, but I’m not so sure.’

Alice got up and picked up the teapot. ‘Fer Gawd sake let’s change the subject. Wanna ’nuvver cup o’ tea?’

Annie took the refilled cup and went into her thoughtful stirring routine. ‘’Ere, Alice, I see your Danny this mornin’. ’E looked like ’e was in an ’urry. I see ’im runnin’ fer a tram up the top.’

Alice shook her head. ‘That boy’s worryin’ me. ’E ’ad a barney down the Labour Exchange terday. Apparently they offered ’im a job in some glass factory. I couldn’t get the rights of it, but ’e went mad. Told the bloke down there ter poke ’is job. Gawd knows what’s gonna ’appen now. I s’pose they’ll suspend ’im fer six weeks, that’s what usually ’appens when yer get lippy, or don’t take the job they offer yer.’

‘It’s a bleedin’ shame if yer ask me,’ Annie remarked. ‘Fellers are comin’ back wounded an’ what ’appens? They get some bloody jumped up git expectin’ ’em ter take the first fing they offer. Bloody disgrace I calls it.’

‘Yer gotta be fair though, Annie. That Danny’s always bin’ot ’eaded. It seems like ’e’s got worse since ’e’s come ’ome, ’e can be a cow-son at times.’

Annie sipped her tea. ‘Still, yer gotta give ’im a chance, luv. After all, ’e’s only bin ’ome a few days. It’ll take time, an’ there’s no ’arm in ’im.’

Alice smiled at her friend. ‘No, there’s no ’arm in ’im, but I do wish ’e’ d find a nice girl an’ settle down.’

‘’E’s sweet on young Kathy Thompson, ain’t ’e, Alice?’

‘I dunno, I fink she’s goin’ aroun’ wiv that Jack Mason.’

Annie puffed, ‘She wants ter keep away from ’im, ’e’s a bad one, is Jack Mason. My Bill’s told me a few stories about ’im.’

‘It’s ’er life, Annie. From what I can gavver, ’er farver leads’er a dog’s life. ’E’s always drunk, an’ ’e knocks ’is wife about. I see ’er the uvver day wiv a shiner.’

‘It’s enough ter drive the poor kid away, Alice.’

The street noises had died down and dusk began to settle over Dawson Street. The clock ticked loudly, and the two friends lapsed into comfortable silence, their conversation exhausted. Finally, Annie Barnes yawned and stood up. ‘Well, luv, I better be orf ’ome. My ole man’ll fink I’ve run away. What time is your lot comin’ in?’

Alice looked up at the clock. ‘Frank shouldn’t be long, ’e went to a union meetin’. Connie an’ ’er young man’s gorn ter the pictures. Gawd knows what time our Danny’ll walk in. That Johnny Ross called roun’ ter see ’im an’ they marched out wivout a leave nor bye. Lucy shouldn’t be long, she’s roun’ Ben’s place.’

Annie buttoned up her coat. ‘You know, I envy you wiv your crowd. I often wish me an’ Bill could of ’ad children. Still, it wasn’t ter be.’

Alice went to the front door with her friend. ‘I tell yer one fing, Annie, they’re more bleedin’ trouble now than when they were babies. At least yer could wash ’em an’ put ’em ter bed. Yer knew where they were then.’

Annie Barnes started up the street. ‘’Night, luv.’

‘’Night, Annie.’

 

Most Monday evenings were quiet in The Globe. A few regulars either leaned on the bar counter or sat around with half-filled glasses at their elbows. In one corner two young men were engaged in earnest conversation, empty beer glasses on the table beside them testifying that the discussion was proving thirsty work.

Johnny Ross put his arms on the table and leaned forward, his dark, sallow features taking on a serious look as he made his point. ‘Listen, Danny, yer wastin’ yer time down the poxy Labour Exchange. Come on now, what’s on offer down those places? All the good jobs are snapped up. If yer wanna sweat yer cods off, that’s okay, but yer gotta fink of your condition.’

Danny Sutton drained his glass and put it down on the table with a bang. ‘That’s the second time I’ve ’ad that said ter me since I’ve bin ’ome. I ain’t exactly due fer the knacker’s yard yet, Johnny boy.’

The sallow-faced young man got up and moved to the bar with a pronounced limp; he pulled a thick wad of money from his back pocket and peeled off a one pound note. ‘Two pints of ale, Eddie, an’ one fer Yer Lordship.’

Eddie Kirkland gave the youngster an old-fashioned look as he pulled on the pump. ‘You wanna be careful flashin’ that roll in ’ere, Johnny boy. The law was in ’ere last night askin’ questions about stolen cases of corned beef. Seems someone broke inter one of the ware’ouses in Tooley Street. They asked me if anybody ’ad offered me any bent cans, bent meanin’ crooked. I told ’em, “What d’yer fink this is, a bloody café or somefink?”.’

Johnny grinned slyly. ‘It’s all right, Eddie, I ’ad a win down the dogs.’

The landlord placed two frothing glasses of ale in front of his customer and picked up the pound note. ‘This is a new one. What yer doin’, printin’ ’em?’

As Johnny carefully carried the drinks back to the table, the door opened and Biff Bowden walked in with Shady Lady in tow. ‘Evenin’ all,’ he said breezily. ‘Gi’s a Guinness, Eddie, an’ a nice arrowroot fer the next champion.’

Two old cronies in one corner were exchanging whispers and the one with the large walrus moustache nearly choked into his beer. ‘Ere, Biff, what’s that all over your dog’s coat, flea powder?’

Biff gave the old man a wicked glance as he ordered the dog to sit. ‘Don’t you take the piss outta Shady. She’s in trainin’ fer the big race at New Cross. Them arrowroots are good fer ’er teef.’

‘Won’t do much fer ’er legs though, Biff,’ Eddie butted in.

Biff Bowden took a saucer from his coat pocket and poured some of his Guinness into it. ‘C’mon, Shady, get that down yer.’

The dog looked up at Biff with large, doleful eyes before lapping up the beer.

‘Yer gonna kill that dog wiv kindness, Biff,’ Eddie said, shaking his head sadly.

‘All right, you can all laugh. One day she’ll be a champion, won’t yer girl?’

Shady Lady shook herself and a spray of powder dropped onto the floor. One of the old cronies jumped up in mock horror, took off his cap and brought it down sharply onto the table. ‘Got yer!’ he shouted.

‘What’s goin’ on over there?’ Eddie called out.

‘Did you see that flea jump onto the table? Big as a tanner it was! Came orf as that mutt shook ’erself,’ the elderly character exclaimed, grinning evilly.

Johnny put the beer down on the table and he raised his eyes towards the ceiling. ‘It’s gettin’ like a nut’ouse in ’ere, what wiv them two, and that silly bastard Biff.’

Danny looked at the frothing pint of beer for a few seconds then he said: ‘So yer reckon Tony Allen can fix us up wiv some work?’

‘No sweat,’ Johnny said with a confident nod of his head. ‘I’ve told ’im all about yer gettin’ wounded at Dunkirk, an’ I said yer done lots o’ different fings since yer left school. I told’im yer used ter take bets fer ole Tubby Green down Dock’ead. I fink ’e’ll fix yer up wiv a bookie’s pitch round ’ere. I said yer can be trusted an’ that’s what counts wiv Tony. Anyway, ’e told me ter ’ave a word wiv yer an’ let ’im know if yer was interested in workin’ fer ’im.’

‘When does ’e want an answer?’ Danny asked, picking up his filled glass.

‘No sweat. Come down New Cross dogs wiv me on Thursday, yer can ’ave a talk wiv Tony Allen there. What d’yer say?’

‘What ’ave I got ter lose? Only me freedom. All right, Johnny, yer on.’

The pub door opened again and Bonky Williams staggered in.

‘Look out,’ Danny said out of the corner of his mouth, ‘there’s Eddie’s favourite customer jus’ come in.’

Bonky reeled over to the counter and blew hard as he leaned on the wet surface for support. ‘Gi’s a d-drink,’ he hiccuped.

‘Where you bin, spendin’ all yer money in some uvver pub?’ Eddie mocked.

Bonky’s one good eye rolled around in its socket. ‘I bin ’el’elpin’ Flash ’Arry wiv ’is s-stall.’

‘Christ! Bonky, ain’t you ’ad a wash? I can smell the fish from ’ere,’ Eddie gasped.

‘W-wash? Course I ’ad a wash. Wh-what d’yer fink I am? D’yer fink I-I’d come in ’ere all smelly an’ dirty?’

Eddie put down a pint of ale on the counter and leaned back noticeably. ‘Go an’ sit down, Bonky, ’fore yer fall down.’

Bonky staggered over to where his two friends were sitting and almost fell into a chair. ‘’Ello, fellers, ’ow-’ow yer doin’ then?’

‘Bloody ’ell, you smell like Billin’sgate,’ Johnny remarked, pulling a face.

‘Don’t you start. I-I’ve ’ad enough wi-wiv ’im,’ Bonky spluttered, pointing in the general direction of the counter.

Danny picked up his pint. ‘I’m finishin’ this an’ I’m off’ome, Johnny. We can’t talk any more. I might see yer before Thursday.’

Bonky had swivelled around in his chair and tried to fix the two old gentlemen with his eye. The man nearest wiped his moustache on the back of his hand and returned Bonky’s unsteady look with a glare. Bonky’s face creased in a lop-sided grin as he reached in his pocket for a handkerchief. His intention was not lost on the elderly gent.