Tuppence to Tooley Street (10 page)

Ted Molyneaux glared over at Frank Sutton, then he quickly finished his pint. ‘Who’s comin’ down The Crown? I don’t like the company in ’ere.’

Frank leaned one elbow on the counter. ‘Go on, piss orf an’ aggravate some uvver poor bleeder. Yer got too much ole bunny fer this pub, matie.’

The big ganger pushed away the restraining hands and made for Frank. Eddie vaulted the counter and barred his way. With a heave Ted Molyneaux threw the landlord aside and grabbed a chair with one hand. Joe Copeland held onto one of the legs as the ganger made to swing it at Frank’s head, and at the same time Frank hit him full in the face. Molyneaux staggered back, blood streaming from his nose, Frank went after him, and the two fell in a heap on the floor. Joe tried to pull them apart but the ganger kicked upwards into his groin. Frank pinned him to the floor and was raining blows on his face when Eddie shouted for Arnold the potman, and he waddled over and lifted Frank off Ted Molyneaux as though he were a baby. Eddie hoisted the battered docker to his feet and shoved him towards the door as Frank struggled to free himself from Arnold’s vice-like grip.

‘Put me down yer bloody gorilla! Let me get at ’im! I’ll swing fer ’im!’

Joe was sitting on a chair holding his crotch. ‘Christ! ’E nearly ruined me!’ he gasped.

The crowd followed their ganger out into the street, and Eddie gave Frank a blinding look. ‘You’re old enough ter know better. Yer shouldn’t go gettin’ inter scrapes at your age, it’s bloody stupid.’

Frank grinned sheepishly and dusted his suit. ‘Don’t go tellin’ Alice, she’ll go potty.’

Eddie laughed aloud. ‘You ain’t got no chance. I bet somebody’s already knockin’ at your door. You’d better get orf’ome before Alice comes in ’ere wiv ’er fightin’ irons on.’

Frank looked over to where Joe was sitting. ‘You all right, mate?’

Joe got up gingerly and leaned on the counter. ‘Did yer see the size of ’is plates o’ meat? I got one of ’em right in me ’alf a tea service.’

Frank laughed, ‘C’mon, Eddie, fill ’em up. I got a thirst on.’

 

Ben Morrison climbed the wooden stairs and let himself into his flat in Tooley Buildings. For a while he stood in the darkness looking down into the empty street, the wharves and warehouses opposite ghostly in the dusk. Away down to his left were the premises of Messrs James Brown & Sons Ltd. He could read the gold lettering above his place of employment clearly. For six years he had been bookkeeper for that company, and until the war had broken out his employers held him in high esteem. However, things had changed dramatically at the start of hostilities, when Major Brown had asked Ben’s intentions. When he heard of his bookkeeper’s decision not to don a uniform, Major Brown, MC, DSO, became apoplectic. He made it plain that unless Ben had a change of heart and decided to fight for King and Country, then it would be better if he ‘damn well cleared off’. Major Brown was aware of the tribunal hearing and Ben knew that he was on borrowed time.

As he looked down into the dark street his thoughts were troubled. He grieved for Lucy, who seemed to be taking the whole affair very badly, and he was grateful for the Suttons’ friendly attitude. Alice Sutton was kindness itself, although Frank Sutton appeared to be slightly off-hand at times. Connie often chided him in a good-humoured way, but then it was understandable. She was worried about Danny, the news of his injuries had upset her and made her irritable. He knew that he must bear the burden. The church was important to him, and he hoped that one day he would have enough money saved to attend the theological college and become a Methodist minister. For the present though he had to get through the tribunal. He was aware that it might mean going to prison. The thought of being locked away terrified him, and he shivered as he stood deep in thought in his quiet flat.

Down in the street below Ben saw a young girl hurrying along. Coming towards her was a young man. They met and embraced, the young man put his arm around the girl’s waist and the two tripped away happily into the shadows of the deserted wharves. Up above the roofs a crescent moon came out of the cloud, and in the distance Ben could hear the clatter of a tram. Footsteps on the stairs jogged him out of his reverie and he closed the curtains and lit the gas lamp. When he heard Lucy’s distinctive knock, he opened the door. The two embraced, Lucy kissing him lightly on the lips. Lucy wanted Ben to hold her tight, to smother her with kisses, but Ben moved out of reach as he took her coat to hang it on the back of the door.

‘I’ve been thinking, Lucy,’ he said, pacing the room. ‘Supposing I get through the tribunal okay, I’ll still be forced to leave the job. I might get sent to another part of the country to do war work. I believe making weapons and ammunition is tantamount to fighting and I can’t do it, it would be a betrayal of all my principles. Refusing work of that nature would mean I’d be sent to prison. I couldn’t face it, Lucy, I couldn’t.’

Lucy Sutton looked at the tormented figure before her. She saw his pale, worried face, his nervous hands that seemed to be forever fidgeting, and his deep-set blue eyes, and she was torn between strong passions. She wanted to go to him and shake him, and she desired him to come to her. She wanted him to forget everything for just one night, and desire her with the same intensity that made her tremble. She wanted to scream out, but instead she just looked at the pathetic figure who paced the floor in front of her.

She had made her decision when she left home that evening, and knew she would go ahead with what she had planned. She might fail, but Lucy knew it could not go on like this any longer. Slowly she stood up and walked to the window. With a quick movement she pulled back the curtains. Ben gasped, ‘Lucy! The black-out!’

‘Damn the black-out! Turn off the lamp.’

Ben stood rooted to the spot.

‘Did you hear? Turn off the light,’ Lucy said in a low and husky voice.

Ben reached up and turned the tap of the gas lamp. The room was plunged into darkness and Lucy moved towards the pale figure before her. Her hands reached for him and their bodies touched. Ben tensed, looking down at the round face, and in the dimness of the room he saw the desire in Lucy’s wide eyes. She had her back to the window and her hair seemed to shine against the night light. Her lips were parted and her breath came quickly. Almost automatically his hands came up and stroked her hair. Ben felt its softness, and he closed his eyes and breathed in its fragrance. Lucy nestled close to him, her rounded figure soft to his touch, as Ben kissed her neck and trembled at the excitement. In the quietness of the darkened room above the wharves he could hear her rapid breathing. Her lips searched for his and her kiss was urgent and demanding. Ben felt out of his depth, and he could only gasp as Lucy pulled him down onto the hard floor.

 

Heavy, faltering footsteps in the street below carried up to the silent room. The drunken songster halted and clung to a lamppost for support, his broad Scotch accent ringing out as he struggled with a rendering of ‘I Belong To Glasgow’. His singing died away in the night, and up in the small flat the lovers nestled close to each other, neither feeling the need to speak. For Ben the act of loving had been brief, over almost as soon as it had started; his body felt relaxed and heavy. For Lucy it had been intense; her passions had not been extinguished, rather they had cooled. For her it was a triumph, and she breathed slowly and contentedly as she lay against his chest. It was the first time for her, and she was content. There had been no expectations and no disappointment, only the knowledge that at last they had been able to step outside of their cloistered existence and express their love together. Lucy savoured the serenity of the moment. There would be other times. She was happy and she silenced his embarrassed concern with two fingers pressed against his lips. She rested her head against Ben’s chest and listened to his quiet heartbeat.

Monday dawned dry and warm. The heavy, billowing clouds held rain and the air was clammy. The threatened storm finally broke at eight o’clock, with claps of thunder and frightening flashes of lightning. Raindrops beat against the windows in Dawson Street and water ran along the gutters in fast-flowing streams, spilling over the roof-top guttering and pouring out from the cracked and holed down-pipes onto the pavement below. The rain washed away the dust and the hop-scotch chalkings; it penetrated the ill-fitting roof slates and caused new stains to appear on the upstairs ceilings. The storm delighted the young children who watched as the growing puddle spread out rapidly over the cobbles. Wide-eyed and impatient, they waited for the rain to abate, and they made paper boats and loaded them with matchstick cargoes.

At number 26 Dawson Street, Danny sealed the envelope and waited. His letter to Alison explained the problem he had in getting down to Dover and suggested that they might be able to meet in London. He also penned a few lines saying how much he wanted to see her again, and he hoped that she would feel the same. It was with trepidation that Danny sealed the letter, after seriously considering tearing it up and starting afresh. Maybe Alison had forgotten all about him. With lots of patients to tend and all the chatting-up from homesick young soldiers, it would be understandable for her to have put him out of her mind. Three weeks had passed since he had seen her, and already the picture of her in his memory had faded. Could he hope that Alison would be interested in seeing him again? He wanted it to be so. He had to make the decision to forget all about Kathy. She was in his past now. Alison could figure very much in his future . . . In any case, it would only mean the cost of a stamp to find out, and he put the letter in his coat pocket.

Alice Sutton had a serious expression on her face as she cleared away the breakfast things. She had had words with Frank that morning before he set off to work. It was bad enough him getting into a fight, without ruining his only suit as well. Alice would be able to sew up the shoulder, but Frank had also put his knee through the trousers. When the rain stopped she would go around to see if Mrs Simpson could do one of her invisible mending jobs. It would probably mean a patch, but he would just have to put up with it. There were enough worries without Frank adding to them. There was Lucy, who had most likely got herself soaking wet on her way round to Ben. She had insisted on going with him to the tribunal this morning and would not wait for the rain to stop. Then there was Danny. He had only been home for a couple of days and already he had come home drunk on two occasions. Maggie’s children looked like they were both coming down with something, and the front bedroom ceiling was dripping water. Alice Sutton sighed to herself and shook the tablecloth into the hearth. She was also concerned about the wagging tongues on the street. There had been the odd remark directed towards her about Ben, but she had shaken her head and walked on by when neighbours asked if her daughter’s young man had received his call-up papers yet. There was another occasion when two neighbours who were chatting together at the greengrocer’s shop raised their voices, saying that in ther opinion all ‘conchies’ should be sent to prison with hard labour. Alice had ignored the remark, which angered the two paragons even more. As she pottered about waiting for the rain to ease Alice Sutton felt worried. It was Lucy she was most concerned for. There would be much anger directed towards her daughter as time went on, and it would be bound to upset her. For herself she didn’t worry. If the neighbours chose to adopt that attitude then they could all go and get stuffed. There were other more important things to worry about.

At nine-thirty the rain stopped and Danny walked up to the tiny post office in Tooley Street to get a stamp. It was not quite so oppressive after the downpour and the street looked clean. As he left the post office he saw a number 70 tram approaching and he ran up to the stop just as the tram shuddered to a halt. Danny climbed aboard and sat down on the lower deck. The short run had made him breathless and he realised with a pang of anger that he was far from being fully fit. He sorted out tuppence from a fistful of coppers and handed it to the bored-looking conductor who flipped off a ticket from a clip-board and slipped it into a ticket punch before handing it to Danny. The tram swayed and rocked its way along towards Dockhead and jerked to a stop once more. Danny could see The Crown public house lying back from the road and it made him think of that Saturday evening with Kathy. The tram moved off and swung around a sharp bend into Jamaica Road. Danny was brought out of his reveries by the conductor shouting ‘Rovverhive Tunnel’ in a sing-song voice.

The young cockney walked along Brunel Road, which ran alongside the approach to the road tunnel. At the end of the turning was the Labour Exchange building and Danny could see a small queue waiting outside. There was an entrance at the side of the building which Danny was directed to, and it opened into a hall where a few people were sitting around on wooden benches. A weary-looking individual sat at a desk at one end of the room and he sighed as Danny presented him with his papers. Once the preliminary questions were over, the young ex-serviceman was told to take a seat and wait.

‘Got a snout, mate?’

Danny looked at the elderly character next to him and shook his head. The man turned his attention to the floor, hoping there would be an odd discarded cigarette butt lying around. The green linoleum offered nothing to his watery eyes and he turned back to Danny. ‘Goin’ fer a job, then?’ he enquired in a squeaking voice.

Danny was about to say that he wasn’t waiting for a tram when he saw something in the elderly man’s face. The pale blue eyes were dull, and the lined, unshaven face looked thin and trouble-worn. The stranger’s expression was apathetic and seemed in keeping with his general appearance–his shoes were down-at-heel and his clothes were shabby. Yet there was something else, there was a friendliness about his face, and Danny swallowed his hard words. ‘I’m signin’ on fer work. I’m just out o’ the Kate.’