Gaslight in Page Street (60 page)

‘So it was the school teacher, this Bernie fella, who died in the fire?’ Carrie guessed. ‘What made ’im leave the arches that night an’ come down ’ere ter the stable?’

‘Well, that’s anuvver story,’ William said, taking out his cigarette tin. ‘Yer remember that carman Sammy Jackson.’

‘The one who beat Jack up over Mrs Jones’s daughter?’ Nellie asked.

‘That’s right,’ William replied. ‘Well, Jackson’s down on ’is luck an’ sleepin’ rough. ’Im an’ a few of ’is mates stumbled on the Druid Street tramps an’ tried ter take over their fire. Course, when Jackson spotted poor ole Jack, ’e started gettin’ nasty. They were all eyein’ Bernie’s watch-an’-chain too. After all, it must ’ave stood out. It ain’t the usual fing yer see on tramps, is it? Anyway, Jack an’ this Bernie left the arches in an ’urry. Jack said ’e was perished wiv the cold an’ the only place ’e could fink ter kip down was the stable.’

‘So Jack Oxford slept in the stable that night as well?’ Nellie butted in with a puzzled frown.

‘Yeah, ’e did,’ William went on. ‘But like yer said, Jack was scared o’ that geldin’ an’ ’e took Bernie up in the chaff loft. Jack said that Bernie wasn’t too ’appy about sleepin’ there. ’E said it was cold an’ draughty an’ decided ter kip down in the small stable where ’e’d slept the last time.’

‘Poor fella,’ Carrie said sadly. ‘If ’e’d ’ave done like Jack suggested, ’e wouldn’t ’ave died.’

‘Well, ’e started the fire some’ow,’ Nellie said. ‘If ’e’d ’ave slept in the chaff loft wiv Jack the two of ’em might ’ave gorn, an’ all the ’orses as well.’

William glanced from one to the other with a serious look on his tired face. ‘Bernie didn’t start the fire,’ he told them. ‘’E was murdered.’

‘Not Jack!’ Nellie gasped.

‘It was Sammy Jackson who killed Bernie, an’ Jack saw ’im do it,’ William said darkly.

‘Sammy Jackson!’ the two women exclaimed in unison.

William nodded. ‘Jackson must ’ave followed the pair of ’em back ter the stable. Jack told me that a little while after Bernie ’ad gone back down to the yard ’e ’eard a noise. ’E looked out o’ the loft just in time ter see Sammy Jackson aim a lighted paraffin lamp into the small stable. Jack said ’e shouted out an’ Jackson dashed back out o’ the yard. ’E said Bernie never stood a chance. The stable was filled wiv smoke an’ flames in seconds, an’ Bernie was drunk anyway, accordin’ ter Jack. ’E said ’e tried ter save ’im but the flames beat ’im back, an’ when ’e ’eard the wicket-gate bein’ unlocked ’e dashed out frew the back fence.’

‘My good Gawd!’ Nellie muttered. ‘What’ll ’appen now?’

‘Well, Jack’s job’s gorn, that’s fer certain,’ William said with conviction. ‘I’m not gonna be able ter do anyfing ter ’elp ’im this time. As fer Sammy Jackson, the police’ll pick ’im up soon. I left Jack at the police station makin’ a statement.’

‘What a terrible fing fer that Sammy Jackson ter do,’ Carrie said with a shiver.

‘’E must ’ave blamed Jack Oxford fer gettin’ ’im the sack an’ ’e saw ’is chance o’ gettin’ even,’ William remarked. ‘If it wasn’t fer the geldin’ bein’ in that stable, ’e would ’ave.’

‘It was strange that watch-an’-chain bein’ found the way it was,’ Nellie reflected. ‘It was a wonder the poor bleeder wasn’t wearin’ it.’

William nodded his head slowly. ‘I s’pose ’e would ’ave been if ’e’d ’ave bin under the arches, but as ’e was on’ is own ’e prob’ly thought it was all right ter ’ang it up on the post. Who knows?’

He lit his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘I s’pose the coppers’ll give it back ter Galloway when this is all over,’ he sighed. ‘If I was ’im I’d take the watch, chain an’ that bloody medallion an’ chuck the lot in the Thames. It’s brought nuffink but bad luck to everybody who’s worn the bloody fing.’

On Tuesday morning Jack Oxford walked out of the Galloway yard for the last time, clutching his week’s pay. Will Tanner watched sadly as the tall, stooping figure ambled along the turning and disappeared from view. He had tried to plead on Jack’s behalf but George Galloway had ranted and raved, saying that the yard man was lucky to be getting any wages at all considering the money it was costing the firm to replace the stable. He was furious about the gelding too. It was nervous and jumpy because of the fire and unsuitable to be used in the trap. William had asked for time to work with it but the yard owner was adamant. ‘It’s goin’ ter the auctions. The bloody animal’s too dangerous now ter take out on the roads. That idiot Oxford’s got a lot ter answer for,’ he growled.

Had George Galloway seen his ex-yard man’s face as he walked along the street that Tuesday morning he would have been even more angry. Jack was actually smiling to himself. The policemen had been very nice to him, he thought. They had thanked him for his help and said that they would have another chat with him when they caught Sammy Jackson. Jack was happy to be back in such nice lodgings and Amy Cuthbertson was looking into the possibility of getting him a job at a tannery in Long Lane. Amy knew the foreman there and the man had promised to speak on his behalf. It was so fortunate that he had bumped into her in Abbey Street on Sunday morning, he thought to himself. She told him her husband had left her for good and she was now taking in lodgers once more. Jack had jumped at the chance, and as he ambled out of Page Street for the last time with a huge grin on his face he felt that things were beginning to look up for him at last.

Chapter Thirty-five

As 1917 wore on the newspapers reported new, larger battles in France. Casualty lists grew, and like Ypres and the Somme before them, Messines, Cambrai and Passchendaele were becoming household names. During early summer the tragedy of war reached into yet another Bermondsey backstreet, when at the battle of Messines in June Private James Tanner of the East Surreys Regiment fell in action. Corporal Charles Tanner was wounded in the same offensive and one of the stretcher-bearers who helped carry him back from the line was his younger brother Danny.

The summer of that year was a wretched time for the mourning Tanner family. Nellie became almost a recluse, hardly ever venturing out of the house after hearing the terrible news, and her friends in the street could do little to ease her pain. William went to the yard every morning, his grief bottled up inside him, and in the evening sat with his distraught wife in the silent, cheerless house that had once echoed with laughter and noise. Carrie too had to suffer her grief privately. Every day she put on a brave face and forced a smile as the carmen and dock workers came into the dining rooms. It was only when she was alone in her bedroom at night, clutching a photo of her eldest brother to her breast, that she let go, trying to ease the grinding, remorseless pain of her loss as she sobbed into the pillow.

Carrie felt grateful for Fred Bradley’s support during that terrible time. He was very kind and understanding, and seemed to know instinctively when she needed to chat and be consoled and when he should remain discreetly in the background. Bessie was large-hearted too, although the well-meaning woman often upset Carrie by her open displays of sympathy and tears. There were times too when Bessie tried to cheer the young woman up with her tales of the buildings and only succeeded in making her more depressed and tearful than ever, and Fred would think desperately of ways to shut his kitchen-hand up.

The only grain of comfort for the Tanner family during that long hot summer was receiving letters from the two boys in France. Danny wrote home often and Charlie sent an occasional letter from a hospital some way behind the lines. He made light of the fact that he was suffering from a bullet-wound in the chest and told them that he hoped to be sent home before the year was out. Little mention was made of their brother’s death since that first poignant, joint letter in which the surviving boys described visiting James’s grave, saying that they felt he was happy to be resting beside his fallen comrades.

The huge toll of young life mounted, and during that hot summer John and Michael Sullivan were both killed in action, and Maisie Dougall’s son Ronald also fell. A terrible quietness seemed to descend over the little turning and folk held their heads low and talked in hushed voices as they stood on their doorsteps, in respect for the street’s fallen sons. Mrs Jones walked proud. Her son Percy had finally returned to the front and in July she read in the newspaper that he had won the Military Medal at Messines.

The grieving Sadie Sullivan and her husband Daniel took on the War Office when their remaining sons got their call-up papers. Sadie argued angrily that the loss of two sons was price enough for any mother to pay. She finally won the day, and the twins, Pat and Terry, and the youngest boy, Shaun, were not required to go into the army. Every family in Page Street had signed Sadie’s petition and Florrie put into words on the bottom the thoughts of everyone: that in the three years of war so far Page Street had already given up the lives of four of its young men, two more had been wounded in battle, and another had won the Military Medal.

The war was changing everyone’s life. Since his son’s death George Galloway had become morose and almost unapproachable. He barked out his orders and changed his mind regularly without reason. Nothing seemed to satisfy him. The carmen stayed clear of him and even his own son began to dread going into the office each morning. Nora Flynn did her best to bring a little light into the Galloway house but only rarely was she able to get George out of his room and away from the ever-present bottle of whisky. Her hopes had been raised when Frank told her that his wife Bella was pregnant; she had thought that the news might help rally her employer. George did brighten up for a short time, and it was evident how much he still cherished the idea of a grandson to carry the family name, but his depression soon returned and the bottle once again became his constant companion.

Josephine Galloway spent as little time as possible at the gloomy house in Tyburn Square. During the day she was busy working for the Red Cross, and now that her training was over for the time being she visited her friends most evenings or sat with Nora in the back kitchen before going to her room and writing long letters to Charlie Tanner. Her days with the Red Cross had taught her many things. She had witnessed the suffering and tragedy of war at first hand and had been privy to much forbearance and courage, and, occasionally, instances of utter stupidity. Returning casualties had on occasion been aided, tended and nursed by dedicated medical workers, and then left on cold platforms to be visited by ageing dignitaries who found it difficult to string two sensible words together.

In November bitter fighting was taking place at the Ypres salient and Cambrai, and by the end of the month Red Cross trains were rolling into Waterloo with terrible regularity. After four days of tending the returning wounded, Josephine felt exhausted as she sat chatting with the rest of the medical team one Friday morning while they waited for the first train of the day to pull into the station.

‘Well, as far as I’m concerned they can do what they like,’ the young doctor said defiantly. ‘As soon as we get the word from transport, the stretchers will be moved off the platform.’

‘But the colonel said the party will be arriving soon. Hadn’t we better hold a few of the less serious back?’ his colleague asked anxiously.

‘Look, Gerry, I’m taking responsibility for this and I’m saying no,’ the doctor declared in a challenging voice.

‘All right, on your own head be it, Alan,’ his colleague said, holding his hands up in resignation. ‘I just hope the colonel won’t be too put out. Those politicians can be an awkward bunch of sods.’

‘My instructions are quite clear,’ Alan replied. ‘Render emergency medical attention then forward all wounded personnel to transport forthwith for conveyance to military hospitals as designated. There’s nothing in the orders that states we delay transportation until all bloody visiting parasites and leeches are fully sated and glorified to the detriment of aforementioned personnel. I’ve had just about enough of it.’

Josephine chuckled. She had been listening intently and felt she could hug the young doctor. He had already incurred the wrath of the powers that be and she knew that he was bravely walking a very thin line.

‘They’re detestable,’ she said with passion. ‘The way they walk along looking down their noses, as if just coming here makes them feel dirty.’

The young doctor suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheeks. ‘Josie, you’ve just given me a great idea!’ he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling.

Ten minutes before the train was due to arrive, the party of dignitaries marched into the station with the usual fuss and bother. The station master was waiting together with the young doctor and an elderly staff officer, all looking very serious.

‘I think we’re all ready,’ a flustered-looking young man at the head of the official party said as he approached them.

The station master held up his hand. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s a little bit of a hitch,’ he said apologetically.

‘A hitch?’ the official queried haughtily.

‘The doctor will explain,’ the station master replied.

‘I’ve just got word from Southampton,’ he began, looking suitably stern. ‘I’m afraid there’s a suspected typhoid case amongst the casualties. Apparently the man was wrongly diagnosed as having trench fever. The error was discovered too late to stop the casualty travelling. We’ll need to get the man away from the station as soon as possible, but of course I don’t want to stop your party from talking to the men. I can only advise extreme caution.’