Tuppence to Tooley Street (27 page)

Kathy smiled. ‘Yer mean yer’d take me in, an’ me ’avin’ anuvver man’s kid?’

Danny became embarrassed. ‘Yeah, well I’d be doin’ it fer you, not ’im.’

‘Danny, you’re a luv’ly person. Why don’t yer find yerself a nice girl an’ get married?’

‘Chance would be a fine fing,’ he grinned. ‘I don’t seem ter be ’avin’ much luck lately.’

‘I wish we could put the clock back, Danny. Me an’ you’d make a good team.’

‘Yeah, we sure would,’ he smiled.

They left The Bell together and strolled slowly along the riverside. The night was warm, with the pungent smell of mud rising from the foreshore. Heavy, dark clouds were drifting in, and they heard the water lapping and the moored barges creaking and thudding as they lifted on the tide. The two young people stopped on the corner of a small turning.

Kathy squeezed his hand. ‘I’ve gotta leave yer ’ere, Danny,’ she said. ‘Take care of yerself. I’ll be seein’ yer around.’

Her kiss was soft and her gently rounded body pressed against him briefly. He watched her disappear into the dusk, wishing things could have been different.

 

On Tuesday there was new cause for gloom and a new topic of discussion around the backstreets and in the docks and wharves. Frank Sutton sat beside Joe Copeland on the quayside during a lull in the unloading. ‘That’s a bit much, Joe. Income tax up ter eight an’ six, a penny on a pint, an’ this bloody purchase tax they’re bringin’ in,’ he said with a scowl.

Joe threw his wet cigarette stub into the water. ‘I fink it’s scandalous. I know there’s a war on, but it’s always us that gets it.’

Frank scratched his head. ‘Well they’ve ’it the rich this time. That purchase tax is on lux’ries. What lux’ries do the likes o’ you an’ me ’ave?’

‘Yeah, I s’pose yer right. Fancy puttin’ the beer up though, it’s bloody outrageous. After all, it’s weak as piss as it is.’

Frank grinned. ‘I reckon we ought ter change our boozer, don’t you? I’m sure ole Kirkland’s waterin’ the beer. Why don’t we try the brew over at The Castle?’

Joe pulled a face. ‘I don’t like that ’ouse. It’s full o’ nancy boys.’

Frank laughed. ‘I know a few of ’em get in there, Joe, but they’re all right. In fact they’re a bit of a laugh. Ole Billy Farnsworth goes in there reg’lar. ’E’s a scream. Bent as a nine–bob note ’e is. I see ’im the uvver day pushin’ ’is sister’s kid in a pram. When ’e see me lookin’ ’e shouted out, “It’s not mine!”’

The crane swung around and the dockers went back to work. ‘We’ll try The Castle if yer like, Frank,’ Joe shouted as he grabbed a swinging rope, ‘but if one o’ them “iron–’oofs” tries ter kiss me on the lips I’m pissin’ orf.’

The backstreet folk seethed at the budget news. The price of beer overtook the pending invasion as the main topic of conversation, and it caused long faces among the old gents who used The Globe.

‘Now if we was workin’, Bill, we’d get anuvver shillin’ in the pound stopped. On top o’ that, we drink about two dozen pints a week. That’s anuvver couple o’ bob out o’ pocket. This rate, we’re gonna suffer both ways.’

‘’Ow d’yer make that out, Fred? Me an’ you ain’t workin’.’

‘I know we ain’t, Bill, but when yer fink about it, if we was, an’ we come in ’ere fer a pint, we’d ’ave ter fink twice about buyin’ a drink fer anybody now we’re gonna be worse orf. See what I mean?’

Bill turned his head and spat a stream of tobacco juice through the open door of the pub. ‘It looks like we ain’t gonna be drinkin’ two dozen pints a week now, Fred.’

The gloom persisted throughout the week. Danny had still not heard from Alison, and Maggie was missing her kids. She was even more miserable when she listened to the street gossip. Rumours of evacuees being ill–treated were rife, and some of the parents were considering fetching their children home. Lucy too was very touchy. She was unapproachable in the mornings, and when Danny mentioned about Kathy having a baby she suddenly rounded on him. Only Connie brightened Danny’s day. She was eagerly looking forward to being reunited with Jimmy, and she suggested that it would be nice if they could have a street party to celebrate his safe return.

‘What d’yer fink, Danny boy?’ she bubbled, her button nose screwing up and her deep blue eyes widening.

‘Anyfing ter liven it up a bit, sis. The way fings are ’ere, I wish I was back in the army.’

Connie was alone with Danny in the front parlour. She had been concerned about her brother’s depression and decided to try drawing him into conversation. ‘What about that Alison, Danny? Ain’t yer gonna see ’er any more?’ she asked.

‘I’m waitin’ fer a letter, sis.’

‘She still on leave then?’

Danny shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t fink so. She was s’posed ter drop us a line so I could meet ’er in London again.’

‘Is that why yer fed up? You fink she’s given yer the brush–off ?’

Normally Danny was reticent about discussing his affairs, but Connie had a special way with him and he found it easy to talk to her. ‘Yeah, I reckon so,’ he said.

Connie pulled her legs up under her as she sat in the easy chair and sighed. ‘I was ’opin’ you’d get serious with Kathy. I fink she’s nice. She likes you, I can tell.’

Danny winced. ‘Yer know she’s livin’ wiv Jack Mason now?’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Connie replied. ‘She’s ’avin’ a baby, ain’t she?’

Danny was keen to change the subject. ‘What about you? Are you an’ Jimmy gonna get married?’

‘Soon as we can, bruv. The way fings are, we don’t want ter wait. D’yer fink that’s right?’

‘Them’s my sentiments, Connie. Marry yer sailor boy. Grab what ’appiness yer can, while yer can. There’s no sense in waitin’. Yer can wait fer ever.’

Connie’s face suddenly became serious. ‘Danny, can yer keep a secret?’ she asked.

‘Try me.’

‘Promise yer won’t let on ter Mum an’ Dad?’

‘Promise.’

‘Lucy reckons she might be ’avin’ a baby.’

‘
What?
’

‘She’s pretty certain. Gawd knows what Mum an’ Dad’s gonna say when they find out, but they’ve gotta know before long.’

Danny puffed out his cheeks. ‘’E’s picked a fine time ter get’er pregnant.’

Connie pouted. ‘It takes two ter tango, Danny. She’s jus’ one o’ the unlucky ones.’

‘Well at least she’ll ’ave a better chance than Kathy. I can’t see our ole man chuckin’ ’er out like Kathy’s ole man did.’

Connie got up and took her coat from behind the door. ‘I’ve gotta get back ter work. See yer ternight, bruv.’

‘Don’t you get pregnant, Connie, fer Chrissake,’ Danny said as she opened the door.

‘Chance would be a fine fing,’ Connie called back from the passage, slamming the front door shut behind her.

Danny put his feet up onto the vacant chair and closed his eyes to think. It was Friday, and since he had talked to Kathy he had been unable to contact Tony Arpino. On two occasions he had gone along to the Arpinos’ shop in Bermondsey Lane, and each time Tony’s father had told him that his son was up town trying to get some information as to the whereabouts of Maria and her family. Danny had bumped into Johnny Ross in Clink Lane that morning and heard that Tony hadn’t been to the New Cross dogs the previous evening. Johnny had been edgy, and asked if he could stand in Ginny’s doorway while he talked. Danny grinned to himself when he recalled the conversation.

‘I’m in the shite, Danny.’

‘I know yer are. Jack Mason’s bin lookin’ fer yer.’

Johnny winced. ‘’E’s gonna give me a good goin’ over when’e catches me. It’s about somefink I done.’

‘Bloody ’ell, Johnny, you’re a walkin’ disaster. What yer done now?’

Johnny peered out from Ginny’s doorway to make sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger and then he spoke in a low voice: ‘Yer remember me tellin’ yer about that load I ’ad away? Well, Tony Allen stuck it in ’is timber yard.’

‘Not that one next ter the nick?’

‘Same one. Anyways, ’e paid me fer the stuff, but ’e was left wiv a couple o’ dozen cases ’e couldn’t place. ’E wanted ’em out of ’is yard, just in case the law got sensible all of a sudden. That’s what Jack Mason was gettin’ all stewed up about. What’e didn’t know was that I was puttin’ around tryin’ ter get a buyer. There was no way I was gonna get lumbered wiv the gear. I must admit though, Tony Allen was fair about it. ’E’d already paid me fer the lot an’ ’e said I could earn a dollar a case fer placin’ ’em. Anyway, I got a buyer in Deptford. Fing was, I stuck a couple o’ bob on fer me trouble. The bloke seemed ’appy wiv the price, but what I didn’t know was that ’is mate a few doors away ’ad already bought some o’ the corned beef from Tony. They got talkin’ an’ my bloke finks ’e’s bin took on. ’E gives Tony a ring, an’ I’m called inter the office. Tony went on about losin’ ’is credibility an’ I’m standin’ there noddin’ an’ lookin’ all sorry fer meself. The result was, I got a slap on the wrist an’ told not ter do it again, when in walks that bastard Mason. ’Im an’ Tony get at it, an’ I’m told ter wait outside. I can ’ear ’em goin’ orf at each uvver an’ I’m gettin’ scared. Jack Mason’s ravin’, an’ I know I’m in fer a pastin’. So I scarpers quick, ’cos if Mason gets ’old o’ me I’m gonna look like a sack o’ coal–all lumps an’ bumps.’

Danny had been horrified by Johnny’s tale, and now he eased his position in the chair and wondered how he was going to locate his pal Tony Arpino. He would have to make him see that Kathy couldn’t help him without putting herself in danger. Danny thought about his own situation too. Jack Mason appeared to be pulling the strings, if what Johnny had said was anything to go by, and Tony Allen wasn’t into protection rackets, he felt sure. That was one of Mason’s sidelines, and Jack Mason was a force to be reckoned with. The whole business was putting him in a very precarious position. Being the local bookmaker’s runner was jeopardising his loyalty to his pal Tony Arpino. Danny thought about talking to Tony Allen but rejected the idea. It would only bring the bookie’s minder down on him, and everything would then get very nasty. He was beginning to regret ever having became an employee of Tony Allen and Co.

 

Alice Sutton brought the news back with her Saturday morning shopping. There was to be a christening party in the street. Alice was full of it as she unpacked the week’s rations and laid them out on the table.

‘I’m so pleased for ’em, an’ what’s more it’ll cheer us all up. I was talkin’ ter Missus Mitchell, an’ she said she was gonna borrer some forms an’ some trestle tables from the church ’all. Everybody’s invited. If the weavver stays fine the party’s gonna be ’eld in the street. That’ll be nice, Frank.’

Alice’s husband was reading the morning paper and uttered an unintelligible reply. Alice stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. ‘Frank, will you put that bleedin’ paper down an’ listen ter me?’

‘I was listenin’, Alice. What d’yer say?’ he asked, scratching his moustache.

‘I said the Mitchells are ’avin’ a street party termorrer. Their baby’s bein’ christened.’

Frank chuckled. ‘That’ll be nice. We’ll get Bonky pissed an’ doin’ ’is Nelson bit. Then we can carry ole Charlie Perkins up ter the top o’ the turnin’ ter stop any traffic comin’ down.’

Alice tried to look stern. ‘I don’t want yer showin’ me up, Frank Sutton. I remember the last street party. What wiv you an’ Annie Barnes’s ole man dancin’ up the street in those red flannel drawers, an’ the pair of yer grabbin’ ole Granny Bell. Showed me up proper, yer did.’

Frank grinned. ‘Blimey, Alice, that was a few years ago. That was when Charlie Perkins ’ad that set–to wiv ’is ole woman an’ blacked ’er eye. On their weddin’ anniversary as well.’

Alice shook her head. ‘That was a different time. You ’ad them drawers on at the Brightmans’ party.’

‘No, yer got it wrong, girl. I know when I got dressed up,’cos Charlie Perkins give me the drawers. They was ’is ole woman’s, that’s what the row was about.’

Alice conceded the point; it wasn’t worth arguing when there was so much to do. She had to sort out her best dress, and maybe Maggie could do her hair up for her. Frank was still belabouring the point when Maggie looked in a little later.

‘What’s all this about red flannel drawers?’ she asked as she walked into the parlour.

‘Take no notice of yer farver, Maggie, ’e’s comin’ over all unnecessary in ’is old age,’ Alice grinned as she smoothed down the clean tablecloth. Frank realised he was now outnumbered and decided it was time to retreat to The Globe.

The Mitchells lived at number 17 Dawson Street. John Mitchell was a Scot who first saw the light of day in a croft, and had travelled down to London to seek work, and instead had found himself knee–deep in mud on the battlefields of France. By the end of the war he had risen to the rank of sergeant in the Scots Guards, and had been awarded the Military Medal. His friends reckoned that John Mitchell was a hero, but the dour Scot disagreed. The medal meant very little to him, and the jubilation had soon evaporated in the rush for work and the endless dole queues of the thirties. John Mitchell was lucky, he had got a job with a Bermondsey blacksmith who taught him well. When the next war began he was established in his own business with a young apprentice articled to him. He had also found a wife, a Bermondsey girl whom he doted on. He and his blond–haired Janie desperately wanted a child and, just when they had begun to despair, Janie became pregnant. John Mitchell hoped it would be a boy, who would of course follow him into the business. The birth was a difficult one, and when the tiny bundle was placed into his muscular arms John Mitchell swallowed his disappointment, and promptly fell in love when he looked at his daughter’s puckered face. Janie allowed her husband to name the child and he picked the names Heather Louise: Heather, because he said the child smelled of the heather–covered braes; and Louise after his late mother. The Mitchells were a respected and well–liked couple who stayed in the street despite their growing business. Janie could not envisage leaving the turning she was born in and the folk she loved, and John Mitchell was happy to pander to his wife’s wishes, and so they stayed. Sunday was going to be a big day in their lives, and everyone in the little backstreet was invited to the party.