Gaslight in Page Street (12 page)

When Carrie answered the door, she smiled happily at her friend. ‘Cor, don’t you look nice?’ she said kindly. ‘Me mum said she’ll be leavin’ in a few minutes. Mrs Axford is gonna sit wiv yer mum too, so it’ll be all right.’

When the two children hurried into the yard, they saw William backing Titch between the shafts. They stood to one side, watching as he hooked up the cob’s harness chains, and when he was satisfied all was ready William strode up and took Sara’s hand.

‘Wanna give Titch ’is titbit?’ he smiled, handing her a knob of sugar.

As she timidly complied the horse bent its head and sucked up the sugar lump into its mouth, leaving Sara’s hand wet. She wiped it down her dress and giggled happily.

‘C’mon then up we go,’ William said, hoisting the two girls into the back of the open cart and then leading the horse out into the street. The two friends stood at the front of the cart and waited while he relocked the front gates, then he took the reins in his hand and flicked them over the horse’s back. As the cart picked up speed, William sprang up on to the shafts and into the high dicky seat. The girls held on tightly, smiling excitedly at each other as the cart rattled over the cobblestones and turned into the quiet Jamaica Road. Soon they were passing over Tower Bridge and could see the ships and barges moored beneath them. Above, the blue sky was streaked with cloud and a light breeze carried the smell of the river mud up on to the bridge. Sara’s eyes were wide with excitement and Carrie felt so happy that her friend had been able to come after all. At the far side of the bridge William pulled the cart up beside a water trough and let the horse drink its fill.

As they continued their journey along through the wide Mile End Road towards Bow, he chatted to the girls and pointed out the places of interest they passed. When they drew level with Bow Church, the two friends settled down in the well of the cart on the two sacks of chaff William had put there for them, and chatted together happily.

The day had remained fine and warm. Now, with the sun dipping below the high wharves, the tired horse pulled a full load of hay bales past the white stone Tower of London and on to the bridge. William sat slumped in the seat, his hands loose on the slack reins, allowing Titch to travel at his own pace. Above him the two girls lay in the well between the bales, staring up at the evening sky.

Sara sighed happily and thought of all the things she would be able to talk about when she got back home. It had been a very long journey. It must have been miles and miles, she recalled. They had left the houses and factories behind them and then taken a road that had trees and open fields on either side. They had stopped at a little pub with flowers growing around the door and sat at a table in a lovely garden, and then Carrie’s dad had brought them out glasses of fizzy lemonade. Carrie had opened the brown paper parcel and shared her cheese sandwiches, and then they had left for the farm. It had cows and pigs and geese, whose feathers were all muddy.

They had held hands as the nice lady at the farm took them to the barn to see the calves. The lady had given them each a glass of milk and biscuits, and before they left Carrie’s dad had climbed on top of the load and made a space for them to lie in. They had climbed up the rickety ladder, each clasping a little bunch of wild flowers they had picked, and then nestled down in the hay to share the last cheese sandwich as the cart pulled out of the farm and drove down the bumpy lane to the main road. There was so much to tell, so much to remember, she thought. As the hay wagon passed the brewery and turned into Tooley Street, Sara felt it had been the happiest day of her life.

On Monday morning, after the last of the vans had left the yard, George Galloway put his head out of the office door and called out to his yard foreman. William walked into the office knowing a row was brewing. George had driven his trap in early that morning and had stood in the office doorway to watch the carts leaving with a stern look on his face.

‘Close the door an’ sit down, Will,’ he said, sitting himself at his desk and swivelling round in the chair to face the younger man. ‘Now what’s all this about the carmen ’avin’ a grouse?’

William had noticed George talking to Sid Bristow earlier and was sure the carman had informed him of the grievance. He took a deep breath. ‘The men wanna see yer about a rise,’ he began. ‘They’ve got themselves a spokesman an’ they wanna join the union.’

‘Oh, they do, do they?’ George replied. ‘An’ whose union do they wanna join then? Not that Ben Tillett’s mob, I’ope. ’E’s bin causin’ ructions in the docks.’

‘I dunno,’ William answered, looking hard at the firm owner. ‘They reckon they’ve got a genuine reason ter complain. Tommy ’Atcher’s put ’is carmen’s wages up an’ word’s got around. The men thought they should’ve got a rise last year an’ now they reckon they’re fallin’ be’ind ovver firms’ carmen.’

George slipped his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat and leaned back in his chair. ‘Who’s their spokesman?’ he asked.

‘Scratcher Blackwell,’ William replied. ‘’E asked me ter let yer know the way the men feel, an’ ’e wants ter see yer ternight when ’e gets finished.’

‘Oh, ’e does, does ’e? Well, you can tell Scratcher I’m not ’avin’ a union in ’ere. What’s more, I’m not gonna be bullied inter givin’ rises, jus’ because Tommy ’Atcher’s decided ter give in ter ’is men.’

William stood up quickly. ‘Maybe it’d be better if yer told ’im yerself, George,’ he said, a note of anger in his voice. ‘I’m paid ter look after the ’orses an’ keep the carts on the road. I give out the work an’ do a lot of ovver jobs around ’ere. I’m not paid ter be runnin’ from pillar ter post wiv messages an’ threats.’

George stared at his foreman for a moment or two, then his face broke into a smile. ‘Sit down, Will,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘All right, I’ll see Scratcher ternight, but I’m not gonna be intimidated. I ain’t ’avin’ the union people comin’ in ’ere tryin’ ter tell me ’ow ter run my business. Yer know me of old, I don’t bow ter threats. Tell me somefink, Will, d’yer fink I should give ’em a rise?’

William shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s fer you ter decide, George,’ he replied, looking up quickly. ‘One fing yer gotta remember though - those carmen of ours could get better wages workin’ fer ’Atcher or Morgan. If yer wanna keep yer men, yer’ll ’ave ter fink about that.’

Galloway nodded. ‘All right, I’ll give it some thought. By the way, ’ow’s your Nellie? Does she still bear me a grudge?’

William was taken aback by the sudden enquiry. It was the first time George had said anything concerning Nellie’s involvement with the women’s protest. ‘Nellie thought she was right ter do what she did,’ he said quickly. ‘She reckoned it was wrong ter send that idiot Oxford out there wiv an ’osepipe. An’ I tell yer somefink else, George -
I
fink yer was in the wrong too. If she ’adn’t cut that pipe, those women would ’ave got soaked. But as for bearin’ yer a grudge, my Nellie ain’t one for that. I should reckon she’s fergot all about it.’

George nodded his head slowly. ‘Well, that’s nice ter know,’ he said, a smile playing around his lips. ‘Me an’ you are old friends, Will. Yer do a good job ’ere an’ I wouldn’t wanna lose yer. Now, what about those two lame ’orses? ’Ow are they?’

William had sensed a veiled threat in his employer’s remark. He knew that their old friendship would not count for much if George wanted to get rid of him.

‘I’ve got ’em in the small stable,’ he answered. ‘They’ve both bin sweatin’. It may jus’ be a cold fever. I won’t know fer a day or two.’

‘Yer don’t fink it’s the colic, do yer?’

William shook his head. ‘I don’t fink so. They’re not rollin’ in the stalls an’ there’s no sign o’ blood in the dung. I’m keepin’ me eye on ’em an’ I’m gonna look in ternight. If there’s any turn fer the worse, I’ll get the vet in.’

Galloway nodded, content to leave the animals’ welfare to his capable foreman. The trouble brewing with the carmen worried him though, and as soon as William had left the office he made a phone call.

When Sharkey drove back into the yard that evening, he saw that the trap was still there and took his time unhitching his horse. Soon Soapy drove in, closely followed by Scratcher Blackwell, who looked a little anxious as he led his pair of horses to the stable.

‘Yer gonna see the ole man ain’t yer, Scratch?’ Soapy asked.

‘I’m waitin’ ’til everybody’s in,’ Scratcher replied quickly.

‘Don’t take any ole lip, mate. We’re all be’ind yer,’ Sharkey called out loudly as he led his horse to the water trough.

Scratcher winced, hoping that Sharkey’s comment had not reached the office. He had had second thoughts about volunteering to be the spokesman and Sharkey’s words worried him. It was a small firm by comparison with Tommy Hatcher’s business and Scratcher knew only too well Galloway’s reputation for dealing briskly with troublemakers. The information he had gathered from the union office in Tooley Street did not encourage him very much either. Picketing the yard and stopping Galloway trading would not do him any good if he was out of work, he thought. There was Betty and the two kids to think of. How was she going to manage if he put himself out of work?

The anxious carman suddenly found that he had no more time for worrying when William walked up to him. ‘The ole man wants ter see yer in the office,’ the yard foreman said, taking him by the arm. ‘Mind ’ow yer go, Scratcher. Take a tip an’ don’t get too stroppy. Yer know ’ow cantankerous ’e can be.’

Scratcher nodded and hurried across the yard, William’s warning adding to his feeling of dread.

‘C’mon in, Blackwell. Sit down,’ Galloway said without looking up.

Scratcher sat down and clasped his hands together, eyeing the firm owner warily. He had gone over in his mind the argument he was going to use, but now as he sat uncomfortably he felt more than a little worried.

Suddenly George Galloway swivelled his chair round and leaned back, his fingers playing with the silver watch chain hanging across his chest. ‘Yer wanna see me?’ he said.

‘Well, Guv’nor, the men asked me ter come an’ see yer,’ he began quickly. ‘It’s about a rise. They reckon ...’

‘What about you? What der you reckon?’ Galloway cut in.

‘Well, I, er, I reckon we’re entitled ter get a few bob extra a week. Most o’ the ovver cartage firms ’ave give their carmen a rise,’ Scratcher said spiritedly.

‘An’ yer’ve put yerself up as the spokesman?’ Galloway said, still fingering his watch chain.

The worried carman looked down at his hands, then his eyes went up to meet Galloway’s. ‘The men asked me ter do the talkin’. They wanna get unionised. They reckon we should go the way most o’ the ovver cartage firms ’ave gone.’

Galloway took his cue from the man’s obvious discomfiture and leaned forward, his eyes boring into Scratcher’s. ‘Yer keep on about what
they
want an’ what
they
said-I fink yer’ve bin primin’ ’em up. I reckon yer’ve bin listenin’ ter those troublemakers at the union an’ yer fink yer can put a bit o’ pressure on.’

Scratcher shook his head. ‘I’m jus’ a spokesman,’ he answered.

Galloway took out his watch and glanced at it. The phonecall he had made to the union office had reassured him. ‘Let me tell yer what I’m prepared ter do, Blackwell,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m puttin’ the men’s wages up by ’alf a crown a week. As fer joinin’ the union . . . there’s gonna be no union in this yard, yer can tell the men that from me. Oh, an’ anuvver fing. I don’t care fer troublemakers. Yer can finish the week out. Yer leave Friday.’

Scratcher stood up, his face flushed with shock. ‘Yer mean I’m sacked?’ he gasped.

‘That’s right. That’s exactly what I mean,’ Galloway said derisively, swivelling round to face his desk.

The shocked carman walked out of the office and crossed the yard to his waiting workmates. ‘Yer’ve got ’alf a crown a week,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘An’ I’m out the door.’

‘’E can’t do that!’ Sharkey shouted.

‘Well, ’e ’as,’ Scratcher replied.

‘What we gonna do about it?’ Soapy asked, looking around for support.

The rest of the men were silent. Lofty Russell looked down at his feet. ‘What can we do? If we try anyfing the ole bastard’ll sack the lot of us,’ he moaned.

The men shuffled about uncomfortably, shaking their heads. Scratcher’s brother Fred suddenly rounded on Soapy. ‘You was the one who wanted ’im ter go an’ see Galloway,’ he said, glaring. ‘You was the one who said the men was gonna back ’im. Well, c’mon then. Let’s see yer back ’im now.’

Soapy averted his eyes. ‘I’ll back ’im if the rest will,’ he said unconvincingly.

‘Well, what about the rest of yer?’ Fred cried, his face dark with anger.

‘I didn’t want any part o’ this,’ Sid Bristow said, waving his hand as he walked away from the group.

‘I can’t afford ter be out o’ collar,’ Lofty Russell said. ‘I’ve got eight kids ter fink about.’

‘What about you, Sharkey?’ Fred called out, glaring at the tall carman.

Sharkey shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s no good unless we all stick tergevver. They won’t back yer, Scratch,’ he said, nodding in the direction of Lofty and Sid who were walking away from the group.

Fred Blackwell suddenly turned on his heel and stormed over to the office. ‘Oi! What’s your game?’ he barked as he stepped through the open door.

Galloway stood up, his bulk dwarfing the slightly built carman who faced him angrily. ‘I’ve jus’ sacked a troublemaker, that’s my game,’ he growled.