Gaslight in Page Street (26 page)

Suddenly they heard a shrill whistle. ‘Wanna ride?’ a voice cried out.

Carrie looked over and saw that a horse cart had pulled up by the kerb. The carman wore a cap and a red scarf. ‘That was the fella who sauced that copper,’ Carrie whispered to Mary.

The young man was grinning widely as he jumped from the cart and sauntered over to the girls. ‘I see yer managed ter dodge ’em,’ he remarked. ‘Everybody was laughin’ over the way yer bolted orf over the bridge. I was stuck in the traffic. I’d jus’ jumped down ter stretch me legs when I saw yer get pulled up. Was yer really in the parade?’ Carrie nodded and the young man’s grin grew even broader. ‘Well, I’ve never met any suffragettes before. I’m goin’ ter Dock’ead if it’s any good ter yer?’

‘That’ll suit us fine.’ Carrie smiled and pushed Mary up on to the wheel hub and over the rave of the cart, before hoisting her skirt and clambering up after her.

They set off, with the young carman holding the reins slack and occasionally encouraging the horse by clicking his tongue. Mary and Carrie stood at the front of the cart, holding on to the back of the seat.

‘Me dad always does that,’ Carrie told him.

‘Does what?’

‘Makes clickin’ noises ter make the ’orse gee up.’

‘Is ’e a carman?’ the young man asked.

‘’E used ter be,’ she replied. ‘’E’s a yard foreman now.’

‘My name’s Tommy Allen. What’s yours?’

‘I’m Carrie Tanner an’ this is my friend Mary Caldwell. We work tergevver - well, we did,’ Carrie added.

‘What d’yer mean?’

‘Our firm said they was gonna sack us if we went on the march,’ Mary butted in.

‘I reckon that’s scand’lous,’ Tommy remarked. ‘I don’t know a lot about those suffragette people meself but the way I see it they got a right ter march if they want to, that’s what I say.’

Mary was not used to smiling at men but she made an exception in Tommy’s case. ‘I’m glad yer fink so,’ she said.

The young carman jerked on the reins and the horse quickened its pace as the Elephant and Castle junction came into sight. He turned and winked at Carrie. ‘I ’ope yer don’t mind me sayin’, but ain’t yer a bit young ter be suffragettes? I thought it was only them posh ole ladies who chained ’emselves ter railin’s.’

Carrie smiled ‘There’s a lot o’ young ladies in the movement,’ she informed him. ‘It’s not only posh ladies what get involved. Me an’ Mary go on all the marches. We carry banners too, don’t we, Mary?’

She nodded her head vigorously and Tommy laughed. ‘I saw the state o’ that copper’s ’elmet,’ he said. ‘Did yer really clout ’im?’

‘Mary did. The copper was tryin’ ter nick me an’ she bashed ’im wiv ’er banner,’ Carrie replied.

The cart rattled over the tram-lines at the Elephant junction and soon they reached the Bricklayers Arms. Tommy had become silent and Carrie studied him. He was about her own age, she guessed, and had a friendly smile and an open face. His dark hair was thick and curled over his ears, and his brown eyes seemed to light up when he smiled. He reminded her of those young gypsy men who worked at the fairgrounds and she smiled to herself. Many stories had been told about gypsies who travelled with the fairs and stole young maidens, hiding them in their gaily painted caravans. It was said that young girls had disappeared from Bermondsey in the past, never to be found.

One such story she had heard concerned a pretty young girl from Bermondsey who visited the fair at Blackheath one day and never returned. Her family were frantic and organised a search. Everyone was told to keep their eyes open for a pretty girl with long fair hair and a small red birthmark in the centre of her forehead. The police were called in and they looked for her amongst the caravan people at the fair, but without success. Every Easter the fair returned and every Easter the girl’s parents visited the fair in the hope of finding their child.

After many years had passed the parents, who were now very old, went to the fair as usual and on this occasion decided to consult the fortune-teller. They duly crossed her palm with silver and asked her if it was likely they would ever see their daughter again. The gypsy fortune-teller stared down into her crystal and said they would see her before the day was out.

The couple waited around at the fair until it got dark and then, full of grief, went back to the gypsy woman. ‘I can only tell you what I see in the crystal ball,’ she said, lifting her head and pulling her headsquare back from her face. The elderly couple broke down in tears, for there, in the middle of her forehead, was a small, red birthmark.

Or so the story went, Carrie remembered, smiling to herself. She had never believed it, but she still felt it would be a good idea not to say anything about the lift she and Mary had got from the young carman with the Romany appearance.

Carrie Tanner and her three co-marchers had gone to work as usual on the Saturday following the march, only to be sent home again with instructions to report to the personnel office first thing on Monday morning. That weekend in the Tanner household there was much discussion of what was likely to happen.

Carrie’s brother James had something to say. ‘It’s the sack. They’ll sack yer fer sure,’ he remarked. ‘Stan’s ter reason they’re not gonna let yer go off on marches every time yer feel like it, are they?’

‘I reckon they’ll jus’ tell yer off an’ leave it at that,’ Charlie said quietly. ‘After all, they won’t ’ave ter pay yer fer the day out. What they worryin’ about?’

Carrie shook her head. ‘They put up a notice warnin’ us not ter go so I don’t see they’ve got any choice now,’ she replied.

‘Pity yer didn’t take any notice o’ the warnin’,’ James said, leaning back in his chair with his thumbs hooked through his braces.

‘All right, don’t get nasty,’ William cut in. ‘Carrie’s made ’er choice an’ she’s gotta accept the consequences. It’s no good us lot ’arpin’ on about ’er gettin’ the sack. There’s ovver jobs goin’, anyway.’

‘Like where? The bagwash?’ Nellie remarked. ‘As far as I’m concerned she shouldn’t ’ave gone on the march in the first place. It turned inter a bloody rabble accordin’ ter the newspapers. It’s a wonder she never got locked up.’

William glanced quickly at Nellie, entreating her with his eyes not to upset their daughter. ‘I don’t fink they’ll sack ’em,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Lot’s o’ women are marchin’ these days. Most firms understand what’s ’appenin’ an’ don’t go in fer sackin’ their workers jus’ ’cos they take time off. If yer ask me, I fink they’ll eventually get the vote. All right it won’t be this year, or even next, but it’s gotta come one day.’

Danny had been quietly thumbing his way through a comic. He looked up suddenly. ‘Billy Sullivan said a lot o’ them suffragettes are toffee-nosed ole bats who ain’t got nuffink better ter do,’ he declared.

‘You shut yer noise an’ get on wiv yer comic,’ Carrie retorted angrily. ‘I don’t care what Billy Sullivan ’as ter say.’

Nellie and William exchanged glances. They were both aware that Carrie had not walked out with the young Sullivan since that one time when they visited the horse show together, and Nellie had intimated to her husband, ‘I fink ’e tried somefing on, Will. Carrie looked a little bit agitated when she got back that evenin’.’

William had been less suspicious. ‘I fink she’s too wrapped up in that suffragette movement ter be interested in boys,’ he remarked. ‘It’s a shame if that is the case, though. She’s a pretty young fing an’ I’d ’ave thought the lads would be callin’ round by now.’

Nellie had tried to broach the subject with Carrie but had met with little response. Nevertheless, her daughter’s reticence only furthered her suspicions that something had happened that afternoon. Carrie was certainly pretty and well developed, Nellie brooded, trying to convince herself that her daughter was sensible enough to know what was right and wrong. Lads like Billy Sullivan could be expected to try it on with a pretty girl, and if they didn’t get their own way might well choose not to come calling. Saying no to a young man was difficult sometimes, she thought. Getting pregnant was easy.

Danny’s innocent comment had made Carrie feel miserable. It was a long time now since she and Billy had gone to the park together. She had wanted to keep their friendship alive but the young man seemed to have other ideas. True he still talked to her in the street and appeared not to have been unduly upset by her rejecting his advances, but he had not bothered to ask her out again. He seemed to be more and more wrapped up in boxing, and the last time they had spoken he had said he was getting ready to have his first fight for money at the Blackfriars Ring. It had been difficult at first, Carrie recalled. She would have been happy for him to ask her out again, but it was not to be. Maybe girls like her missed their chances by being careful. Would other young men she might meet in the future feel like Billy and lose interest if she did not let them go all the way? Freda had not said no and she soon fell for a baby. Jessica had said she would get thrown out of her home if she became pregnant. What would happen if she got pregnant herself? Would the family be able to live down the disgrace, or would they disown her?

The thoughts tumbling around in Carrie’s mind made her feel more troubled and she fidgeted in her chair. Perhaps it wasn’t her shyness and refusal to let him take advantage of her that had persuaded Billy not to ask her out again. Maybe it was her involvement in the movement which had put him off. Danny had said that Billy thought of all suffragettes as toffee-nosed. Well, if that was the case then Billy Sullivan was not worth worrying over. One day she would meet a young man who did not mind her going on marches and being dedicated to improving the lot of women. In the meantime she would forget boys and concentrate her efforts on doing what she thought was right, even if it meant losing her job.

On Monday morning Carrie was prepared for the worst as she walked to work. When she reached the factory entrance, she saw Mary talking to Jessica and Freda. They gave her a wry smile and Mary pushed her glasses further up on her nose. ‘C’mon then, let’s get the bad news.’

An embarrassed-looking Mr Wilkins was fussing with a sheaf of papers as the four young women were ushered into his office. He avoided meeting their eyes as he delivered the news by reading from a prepared document. ‘The company has decided that as you chose to ignore the company notice and absented yourselves from work on Friday of last week to take part in a suffragette march, there is no alternative but to terminate your employment forthwith.’

The young women looked at each other and then Mary leaned forward over the desk. ‘Sod the lot o’ yer then, an’ tell that ole goat Gore we ’ope ’e chokes on ’is supper.’

Chapter Fifteen

Fifteen minutes after work was due to begin on Monday morning, the management of Wilson’s factory was summoned urgently to the boardroom.

‘What do you mean, they won’t start work, Wilkins?’ the managing director growled. ‘Get them back this minute. Time’s money, in case it slipped your mind.’

‘But they won’t budge, sir,’ Mr Wilkins said meekly. ‘As soon as they heard of the dismissals, they marched out into the street. I tried to talk them into going back but all I got was abuse.’

‘Faraday, go and tell them to get back or I’ll sack the lot of them,’ the managing director said in a loud voice.

The works manager left the office, feeling apprehensive and wishing that the boss would do his own dirty work.

Down in the street the workforce were milling around the entrance, laughing and joking. When they saw Mr Faraday, they became quiet.

‘Who’s the leader of this protest?’ he asked, looking from one to the other.

A tall, thin young woman pushed her way to the front. ‘There’s no leader, Mr Faraday,’ she said. ‘We’re all agreed on this. If the management don’t take our work-mates back, we ain’t gonna start work neivver. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Oh no it’s not!’ Mr Faraday replied. ‘If you lot don’t go in immediately, I’m empowered to sack everyone.’

‘Well, if that’s what yer gotta do yer better do it, ’cos we ain’t budgin’, so yer can piss orf,’ the young woman said firmly.

Mr Faraday turned back into the factory to the jeers of the girls. He was met at the boardroom door by a very angry managing director.

‘Why aren’t they back, Faraday?’ he demanded.

‘They won’t move unless we reinstate the four who were sacked,’ he sighed. ‘They actually told me to piss off.’

Mr Gore’s face became dark, and with an angry scowl he hurried to the window and peered down into the street. ‘It’s blackmail. I’m being put over a barrel,’ he growled. ‘Well, I won’t submit. Sack them all, Wilkins.’

‘But how are we ...?’

‘Don’t argue, man. Sack them, I said.’

His secretary popped her head around the door. ‘The
South London Press
and the
Kentish Mercury
have both phoned in, sir. They want to check that we actually put up the notice. Would you like to talk to them?’

‘Oh my God!’ he wailed. ‘Yes, all right, Mrs Jones, I’ll speak to them.’ He turned back to his management with a heavy sigh. ‘Now then, let’s look at the situation calmly. We’re all unanimous that our decision stands, I take it?’

The rest of the management was shocked to learn that it was now a group decision but refrained from making any comment, except to nod meekly. Only Mr Wilkins hesitated and he was quickly brought into line.