Gaslight in Page Street (53 page)

‘I ain’t takin’ no lip from ’im,’ Mitchell sneered.

‘I wasn’t givin’ ’im any lip,’ Jack said ruefully, rubbing his cheek.

‘Right, that’s it,’ the foreman shouted. ‘Get in the office. Sharp!’

Jake stood his ground, glowering at William. ‘What about ’im?’ he asked.

William stepped a pace closer to the red-faced carman. ‘I’m talkin’ ter you, not ’im,’ he said menacingly. ‘Now get in the office or I’ll sack yer meself an’ we’ll see what the guv’nor’s gonna do about that.’ He turned to the yard man. ‘You an’ all.’

Frank Galloway was checkin’ over a ledger, with his father peering over his shoulder. They looked up in surprise as the three men walked into the office.

‘I’ve jus’ stopped ’im settin’ about Jack Oxford,’ the foreman announced, jerking his thumb in Mitchell’s direction. ‘Yer better get this sorted out. I’m not puttin’ up wiv fightin’ in the yard.’

George puffed loudly. ‘Look, Will, we’re tryin’ ter sort these books out, can’t yer deal wiv it yerself?’

William’s face was white with anger as he stood in the middle of the office. ‘If it was left ter me I’d sack Mitchell ’ere an’ now,’ he said loudly.

George sat down at his desk and swivelled his chair around to face the men. ‘Right, you first, Mitchell. What’s bin goin’ on?’ he asked wearily.

When the two men had finished giving their differing versions and William had told how he came across Mitchell attacking the yard man, George leaned his heavy bulk forward in his chair and stared down at his feet for a few moments. ‘Right, Will, leave this ter me,’ he sighed. Then he turned to the yard man. ‘Yer better get orf ’ome, Oxford,’ he said. ‘You too, Will. I’ll talk ter yer in the mornin’.’

Once the two had left, George rounded on his carman. ‘What did I tell yer about causin’ trouble?’ he shouted. ‘Yer shouldn’t ’ave slapped the stupid git. Yer puttin’ me in a very awkward position. I told yer ter bide yer time, Jake. The fight circuit’s startin’ up any time now an’ yer’ll ’ave plenty o’ chance ter paste someone’s face in. It ain’t the time ter cause any trouble ’ere.’

‘Sorry, Guv’, I wasn’t finkin’,’ Jake mumbled, staring down at the floor.

‘So yer should be,’ George said, slightly mollified by Mitchell’s show of remorse. ‘Now piss orf ’ome, an’ first fing termorrer yer’ll apologise ter Will Tanner an’ that idiot Oxford, understand?’

‘But, Guv’. . .’

‘No buts. Yer’ll do as yer told,’ Galloway shouted at him. ‘Wait till yer got the foreman’s job before yer start queryin’ what I say.’

Frank had been silent during the whole of the episode, but as soon as Mitchell had left the office he turned to his father. ‘I don’t think you should have said that to Mitchell about the foreman’s job,’ he said with a frown. ‘You could give him a few ideas and cause a lot of trouble between him and Tanner.’

George grinned as he reached for the bottle of Scotch. ‘I know what I’m doin’, Frank,’ he said confidently. ‘That foreman o’ mine is gettin’ ter be a pain in the arse lately. I know ’e don’t like Mitchell an’ it’s obvious ter me the feelin’s mutual. It’s a case o’ playin’ one against the ovver.’

‘Well, I’d tread carefully if I were you,’ Frank remarked. ‘Tanner’s got quite a temper. You said yourself the man knows horses, and if you pushed him too far and he had to leave we’d be hard pressed to find someone as reliable as him.’

‘Mitchell knows ’orses too,’ George replied. ‘’E’s capable o’ lookin’ after the minor ailments an’ ’e can always call the vet in if ’e don’t know what ter do - that’s all Tanner does. An’ as far as the men go, I don’t fink Jake would ’ave much trouble on that score.’

Frank studied his fingernails thoughtfully. ‘Will Tanner’s been with you a long time, Father,’ he said, frowning. ‘Wouldn’t you regret losing him?’

George gulped a mouthful of whisky. ‘Look, Frank, I’ve got a business ter run,’ he said, glaring at his son. ‘Will Tanner knows that. I get a bit fed up wiv the man comin’ in ’ere tryin’ ter mess around wiv my affairs. ’E don’t seem ter know ’is place sometimes, an’ ’e takes a bit too much fer granted. All the time ’e’s worked fer me ’e’s ’ad no rent ter pay an’ I don’t give ’im bad wages. It’s about time ’e knew what goes around ’ere an’ what don’t. Anyway, ’e wouldn’t ’ave much trouble gettin’ anuvver job wiv ’is knowledge of ’orses.’

Frank watched as his father poured another Scotch. It was just an angry outburst, he told himself, but hearing him speak so ruthlessly about an old friend made Frank feel a little afraid. The old man seemed to have become even more obsessed with money lately, to the exclusion of everything else. The value of friendship, and the mutual respect that grew between people after long acquaintance, apparently meant nothing to him. It had been Geoffrey’s main worry that having sown the seeds, their father would one day reap a bitter harvest.

Chapter Thirty-one

Carrie held her summer dress above her ankles as she stepped down from the tram at Greenwich. The late August Saturday afternoon was warm and sunny, with just the hint of a breeze, and the sky was cloudless. She crossed the busy street and walked through the tall iron gates into Greenwich Park, eager to meet Freda and Jessica after such a long time. A group of children screamed and laughed loudly as they played together beneath a leafy tree and in front of her a woman was pushing a perambulator along the gravel path which led up to the observatory. Carrie could see the copper dome glistening up ahead of her through the branches of tall trees which lined the path. In the distance she could hear the muffled sounds of a brass band playing. It was the bandstand where the three of them had arranged to meet and Carrie hummed a tune as she climbed the rise briskly in the warm sunlight.

It had been such a surprise meeting Jessica a week ago in Jamaica Road. She had been on her way from the market to catch a tram home to Deptford. They had not really had a chance to talk properly but Jessica had suggested that the three old friends should get together, and Carrie immediately welcomed her idea. Both Freda and Jessica were married with children now and it would be interesting to see how much they had changed, she thought. It would be nice, too, just to talk about little, everyday things and try to forget the war and all its tragedies and heartbreak.

Carrie was hot and breathless when she reached the level. Ahead of her she could see the bandstand and people standing around or sitting on the grass, listening to the Royal Artillery band. The scarlet and blue uniforms of the bandsmen contrasted brightly with the pale cotton dresses of the older women, who stood around beneath parasols, and the sober suits of their menfolk. Most of the younger women were alone or walking in pairs, but there were a few who were being escorted, and one or two on the arm of soldiers. Carrie’s eyes searched the green and suddenly caught sight of her two friends, sitting together on the grass. When they spotted her they got up on to their knees and waved excitedly. Carrie hurried over and kissed the two of them on the cheek before she sank down beside them on the grass, puffing after her tiring walk.

The band was playing ‘Roses of Picardy’ and the rich sounds carried out over the wide expanse of green as the three friends sat together. Carrie could not help noticing the difference between her two old workmates. Jessica was wearing a smart dress adorned with buttons and bows, and her mousy hair was well groomed and neatly pulled up into a bun on top of her head. Her face still had a chubby look and her ample neck was bulging under her high lace collar. Freda seemed poorly dressed by comparison. Her long grey skirt looked worn and her frilly white blouse hung loose on her thin frame. Freda had never been robust but Carrie was shocked to see how gaunt she had become. Her cheeks were hollow and her large eyes seemed unusually bright and staring. She looked ill, Carrie thought.

‘’Ere, I almost fergot,’ Jessica was saying, ‘guess who I saw the ovver day? Mary Caldwell. She’s doin’ war-work in some factory, makin’ shells fer the guns, so she told me. I was surprised she left that job wiv the suffragettes. She said they’ve closed the office till the war’s over.’

Freda held her handkerchief up as she coughed and wiped her watering eyes. ‘I ’eard they’ve agreed ter call off the protests an’ do war-work, providin’ women get the vote,’ she said, when she had recovered her breath.

‘Are yer all right, Freda?’ Carrie asked with concern. ‘Yer don’t look well.’

Her friend nodded. ‘It’s jus’ me chest. The doctor said it’s bronchitis. Trouble is, I’m pregnant again. He told me I shouldn’t ’ave any more kids but what can I do? I can’t lock ’im out o’ the bedroom. Knowin’ my bloke, ’e’d break the door down if I tried that.’

Jessica tutted. ‘My Gerald’s not like that,’ she said quickly. ‘’E’s very good really. In fact, ’e’s mindin’ the two little ones so I could come out this afternoon.’

‘I could see my ole man doin’ that,’ Freda snorted. ‘’E’s good at makin’ babies but ’e don’t like lookin’ after ’em. Me mum’s lookin’ after mine. She reckoned it’d do me good ter get out fer a bit.’

Carrie suddenly felt as though a cloud had obscured the bright sun. Marriage had changed Freda for the worse, and she felt very sorry for her. All her old bounce and liveliness seemed to be missing, instead she looked crushed. Carrie sighed inwardly as she reclined on the cool grass. Was that what she herself could expect from marriage? she wondered with a sinking feeling.

Jessica was staring at her. ‘Ain’t yer got a young man, Carrie?’ she asked suddenly.

She shook her head. ‘I was walkin’ out wiv a young man but we parted. ’E’s in the army now.’

‘My Gerald wanted ter join the army but ’e said ’e couldn’t bear ter leave me an’ the children,’ Jessica remarked. ‘We’re worried now they’ve made it compulsory for married men too. ’E’ll ’ave to go now anyway.’

‘Our Jimmy an’ Charlie are both in the army,’ Carrie told them. ‘And Danny said ’e’s goin’ soon, an’ four o’ the Sullivan boys ’ave joined up too. All the young men ’ave gone from our street. It seems so quiet now.’

Freda was racked with another spasm of coughing and leaned back, exhausted. ‘I’m gonna get rid o’ this one,’ she said after a while.

Carrie and Jessica stared at her, visibly shocked. Freda had spoken so casually.

‘Anuvver kid would finish me,’ she went on. ‘I know I’m takin’ a chance but this woman’s s’posed ter be pretty good. I jus’ ’ope it don’t turn out like the last time. That ole bag I went ter see nearly killed me.’

Carrie could see the despair and veiled fear in Freda’s eyes and looked away, glancing around at the well-dressed women and gazing over towards the bandstand. The musicians were striking up with ‘A Bird in a Gilded Cage’ and as the brazen melody sounded out across the grass people around them began to sing the sad words. Carrie had been looking forward to a pleasant afternoon with her friends. Now she was beginning to feel desolate.

Suddenly she sat up straight. ‘C’mon, let’s go an’ get a nice cup o’ tea an’ a fluffy cake,’ she said, smiling. ‘My treat.’

The café was busy but the young women soon found a shaded table out on the terrace and made themselves comfortable. As they sipped their tea they watched the horse-drawn carriages grind past along the gravel drive, and Freda seemed to cheer up. She giggled as she took a bite from her cream cake and the filling squirted out on to her chin. Jessica sat upright, trying to look demure as she bit into her own cake, but she ended up looking messier than Freda as the cream spread around her mouth. For a moment then Carrie felt that they could have been back at the leather factory. They were all laughing again, just like they used to at their factory bench or when they went on those tiring and often frightening marches. She thought of the times they had carried the heavy banners and tried to look very confident and bold, although inside they were all nervous and fearful of what might happen to them. She thought of Mary Caldwell and the determined look on her round face as she chanted the slogans and cheeked the police and hecklers. Carrie felt the smile on her face growing wider and wider, and as she bit her own cake the cream squirted up on to her nose.

Jessica laughed as she watched. ‘Penny fer yer thoughts,’ she said, chuckling.

Carrie smiled. ‘I was jus’ finkin’ about when we used ter go on them marches. I was terrified.’

‘So was we all,’ Jessica admitted.

‘I used ter admire those posh women who got ’emselves locked up. They didn’t seem worried at all,’ Freda remarked. ‘I used ter like that one who was always on about women goin’ on sex strikes. Yer remember ’er, the woman wiv that short ’air. Margaret, I fink ’er name was.’

‘That’s right,’ Jessica cut in. ‘That was the woman Mary fell in love wiv. She used ter swoon over ’er, didn’t she?’

‘She was the one who was tellin’ us about those fings ter stop yer gettin’ pregnant,’ Carrie reminded them.

‘Yeah, that’s right. Contraceptives, she called ’em. She said men put ’em on their fings when they go wiv women,’ Freda recalled. ‘I remember ’er sayin’ yer could buy ’em. I wish my ole man would. Mind yer, I don’t s’pose ’e’d wear one anyway.’

‘That’s what that Margaret was sayin’,’ Carrie went on. ‘She said a lot o’ men fink it does ’em ’arm an’ they won’t wear ’em.’

‘That Margaret ’ad a lot o’ good ideas,’ Jessica remarked. ‘I remember ’er goin’ on about what the government should be doin’. She said they should be settin’ up special clinics jus’ fer women an’ then we’d be able ter find out ’ow ter stop gettin’ pregnant.’

‘I can’t see that ever ’appenin’,’ Freda said. ‘Not till we get the vote anyway. The only way we can stop gettin’ pregnant now is not ter let the men ’ave their conjugals. That way we wouldn’t get pregnant but there’d be fousands o’ women walkin’ about wiv black eyes.’