Tuppence to Tooley Street (13 page)

‘What ’ave I got ter lose? Only me freedom. All right, Johnny, yer on.’

The pub door opened again and Bonky Williams staggered in.

‘Look out,’ Danny said out of the corner of his mouth, ‘there’s Eddie’s favourite customer jus’ come in.’

Bonky reeled over to the counter and blew hard as he leaned on the wet surface for support. ‘Gi’s a d-drink,’ he hiccuped.

‘Where you bin, spendin’ all yer money in some uvver pub?’ Eddie mocked.

Bonky’s one good eye rolled around in its socket. ‘I bin ’el’elpin’ Flash ’Arry wiv ’is s-stall.’

‘Christ! Bonky, ain’t you ’ad a wash? I can smell the fish from ’ere,’ Eddie gasped.

‘W-wash? Course I ’ad a wash. Wh-what d’yer fink I am? D’yer fink I-I’d come in ’ere all smelly an’ dirty?’

Eddie put down a pint of ale on the counter and leaned back noticeably. ‘Go an’ sit down, Bonky, ’fore yer fall down.’

Bonky staggered over to where his two friends were sitting and almost fell into a chair. ‘’Ello, fellers, ’ow-’ow yer doin’ then?’

‘Bloody ’ell, you smell like Billin’sgate,’ Johnny remarked, pulling a face.

‘Don’t you start. I-I’ve ’ad enough wi-wiv ’im,’ Bonky spluttered, pointing in the general direction of the counter.

Danny picked up his pint. ‘I’m finishin’ this an’ I’m off’ome, Johnny. We can’t talk any more. I might see yer before Thursday.’

Bonky had swivelled around in his chair and tried to fix the two old gentlemen with his eye. The man nearest wiped his moustache on the back of his hand and returned Bonky’s unsteady look with a glare. Bonky’s face creased in a lop-sided grin as he reached in his pocket for a handkerchief. His intention was not lost on the elderly gent.

‘If you take that bloody eye out once more in front o’ me, Bonky, I swear I’ll knock yer uvver one out.’

Danny pulled Bonky around. ‘Look, we’re goin’ ’ome. You be’ave yerself, or me an’ Johnny’ll take yer out an’ drop yer in the nearest ’orsetroff, understood?’

Bonky’s good eye tried to focus on Danny’s face but his head drooped and he slowly raised his hand. ‘It’s okay, I’m-I’m goin’ ’ome meself.’

Danny got up. ‘C’mon, Johnny, let’s walk the piss-artist’ome. I’m ready fer the sack.’

Earlier that evening, Connie left the brewery where she worked as a telephonist and saw Kathy Thompson ahead of her on the pavement. Kathy was employed as a typist in a nearby seed merchant’s offices. Connie hurried to catch up with her, and the two exchanged smiles and fell into step. Factory hooters were blaring out their end of day racket and tired workers were plodding homewards or joining the bus and tram queues. The sky was cloudless and the sun had started to dip down over the rooftops as the two girls from the backstreets reached Tower Bridge Road. They had been chatting away, and while they waited to cross the road Kathy looked at Connie as if to say something, but she stayed silent. Connie sensed her need to talk and she took Kathy’s arm as they started to cross. ‘’Ow’s yer love life, Kath?’

Kathy saw the impish look in her companion’s eyes and she grinned. ‘Don’t ask me. Men–I’m fed up wiv ’em! ’Ow you doin’?’

Connie’s face became serious. ‘My feller’s in the navy. ’E’s goin’ back off leave ternight.’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen yer tergevver. Nice lookin’ boy,’ Kathy said. ‘You two goin’ steady?’

Connie nodded. ‘Jimmy wants us ter get engaged when ’e’s finished this trip.’

‘What about yer folks?’ Kathy asked. ‘Will they mind?’

‘I don’t fink so. Me dad’ll puff a bit, an’ me mum’ll give me a talk, but they won’t try ter stop me.’

‘I wish me dad was like that.’ Kathy paused. ‘Yer know I’m goin’ out wiv Jack Mason?’

Connie nodded. ‘Yeah, I do. Yer feller’s pretty well known around here ain’t he?’

‘Yeah, ’e was in wiv all the big villains once. ’E works in partners wiv Tony Allen now. You know Tony Allen the bookie?’

Connie nodded. Just as they got to the corner of Clink Lane she asked, ‘’Ave yer bumped inter Danny since ’e’s bin back?’ She wondered what Kathy felt about Danny now and wanted to see her reaction–she knew that Danny was still keen on the girl.

Two spots showed on Kathy’s cheeks and Connie didn’t think it was due to the exertion of the short walk.

‘I seen ’im on Saturday night. ’E was at Tony’s party wiv ’is mate Johnny Ross,’ Kathy said casually as she stopped at the street corner.

‘’E didn’t tell me,’ Connie pouted. ‘But then that’s Danny all over. ’E’d be makin’ ’is weddin’ plans ’fore ’e’d tell any of us.’

Kathy felt that their conversation was getting too painful. She moved into the turning. ‘I’ve gotta go,’ she said. ‘I promised ter give me mum a bit of ’elp. See yer, Connie.’

Connie waved. ‘’Night, Kath.’

The week wore on slowly for Danny. There was no word from the Labour Exchange, and so he took to getting up late and spending his afternoons taking long strolls. Walking made him feel better, and he found that he was not becoming so breathless. His favourite path was to cross the Thames at Tower Bridge and walk to Tower Hill. The weather remained warm and sunny, and Danny would spend time gazing down from the massive iron bridge at the bustling activity along the waterfront. Somewhere amongst the swinging cranes and laden barges his docker father was working, and the young cockney felt a certain sadness for him. His father had toiled on that waterfront since he was a young lad; he had known the hardships of the strikes, and the scrambling for a day’s work. He had become bitter and cynical, and he was quick to anger whenever he spoke about his job. Danny felt that his father understood why his only son had chosen not to follow in his footsteps and become a docker. Times were changing: the unions were slowly extracting better working conditions from the employers, and the safety rules which were being enforced meant less unnecessary accidents for the men. Nevertheless the work was still back-breaking, and it was never certain that there would be a full pay packet at the end of the week. Because of the war there was plenty of heavy work available at the moment, but Danny knew that it could not last for ever.

He remembered talking to Albert Sweetland back at Dunkirk. He had told his pal all about the money to be made if you took the opportunities, but right now Danny realised he was a million miles away from making any kind of fortune. His prospects were limited to becoming a glass inspector, or working for the local bookie, Tony Allen. He had been a bookie’s runner before and it had not paid all that well. Johnny Ross was enthusiastic, though, and he had implied that there were a few profitable sidelines to be enjoyed once Tony Allen got to know and trust him. Maybe Johnny was right, he always seemed to have money in his pocket, and it did not come from his poorly paid job at the vinegar factory. Danny had made up his mind. He would see the bookie on Thursday evening and find out exactly what was on offer.

On this Thursday afternoon stroll Danny stopped as usual on the Tower Bridge and looked down at the flowing Thames. The day was hot, and the sun was shining from a cloudless sky. The usual stream of traffic rumbled over the bridge, and the laden barges were being manoeuvred into their berths. He was thinking about Alison, and wondered if she had decided to answer his letter. The possibility of meeting her again excited him. If she was eager to see him then she might even have written a reply already, and it could be on its way. He walked further until he reached Tower Hill, and there he sat down to rest on one of the iron-framed benches. Two soldiers ambled by wearing peculiar hats and displaying the word ‘Australia’ on their shoulder flashes. A sad-looking young woman pushing a pram passed by, and a few yards away a tired horse flicked the flies away with its tail and rattled the chains that tethered it to the cart. Although the afternoon was peaceful and warm, the signs of war were apparent everywhere. Opposite, a wall of sandbags reinforced a surface shelter, and along the road, a timber frame had been erected to protect the Naval Memorial.

The flint chippings in the paving stones caught the sun’s rays and the scent of roses drifted up from the Tower Gardens behind where Danny sat. In the afternoon quiet, everything suddenly seemed unreal and frightening. Only a few weeks ago he had been struggling to stay alive during the fighting in France. He thought of Albert Sweetland, and how his life had been suddenly snuffed out on the beach. He thought of Oggy Murphy, the ugly misfit to whom he owed his life, and he felt a lump rise in his throat. Many of his comrades in the regiment had been local lads, a lot of them he knew very well. He had seen many of them fall, but there must have been others who had somehow struggled back to England. Danny promised himself that he would go round to the drill hall; they would probably have a record there.

A long tug whistle carried up from the river. Then it became quiet again, and as Danny eased his stiff leg he felt a dull pain in his thigh muscle. He decided he ought to start walking again. He stretched and set off down the sloping road, into Lower Thames Street and through the fish market. He strolled along steadily until he reached the Monument. For a short while he leant against an iron post and stared up at the high stone column, a reminder of the Great Fire of London. He recalled the time his father had taken him to the top of the Monument and pointed out London’s famous buildings, and then carried him down most of the spiralling stone staircase. He felt sad and a sudden dread of the future possessed him. He thought about the wireless broadcasts he had listened to, and he wondered how long it would be before an invasion took place. What would happen to his family and the people in the little streets then? He’d seen the ravages of the German invasion of France and the thoughts of the same thing happening in London filled him with terror.

Two scruffy-looking characters came past Danny carrying pieces of wood. They walked down the sloping street by the Monument and disappeared into an alley. Another individual in a filthy raincoat and boots tied up with string passed him. He carried a paper bag and a quart bottle of beer under one arm. Danny had often seen the ‘up-the-hill’ men before. They slept rough in the market alleyways and hired their muscle for a few coppers to the market porters. The vagrants’ pennies were hard-earned as they threw their weight against the laden fish barrows and helped the porters negotiate the slippery cobbles. Their pittance bought them their basic necessities and a little beer, but that was all. The tramps dried off the wet fish boxes to use for fires and they slept warm, oblivious to the stench from the burning wood. The ‘up-the-hill’ men were as much a part of Billingsgate as the Monument and the white-frocked fish porters.

London Bridge swarmed with bowler-hatted City workers carrying rolled-up umbrellas and briefcases, and everyone seemed to be carrying a gas mask. As he walked among the throng Danny recalled his conversation with the old gentleman on the bus. He was right: everyone seemed to be walking with their heads held rigid, eyes directed to the person in front. The river traffic and feverish activity hardly merited a passing glance from the homeward-bound masses as they streamed over London Bridge and into the railway station.

The station clock showed ten minutes past five as Danny walked down into Tooley Street. Tea wouldn’t be ready yet, he thought, so he decided to drop in and have a chat with Ben. He should be home from work by now, and from what Lucy had said he probably needed a bit of cheering up. The tribunal result must have been a shock for him, although Lucy hadn’t said too much about it.

As Danny climbed the wooden stairs an elderly lady appeared from one of the flats and gave him a suspicious look. Danny smiled at her and she looked even more warily at him as he passed her. Ben’s rooms were on the top floor, and when Danny reached the landing he was puffing hard. He waited for a short while and then rapped on the door. Ben looked surprised when he saw his visitor. But he smiled and stood back for Danny to enter.

‘Glad to see you, Danny. Anything wrong?’

‘No, I was jus’ passin’ an’ I reckoned yer might wanna chat or somefink.’

Ben closed the door and motioned Danny to a seat. ‘I’m just about to have a cup of tea. Would you like one?’

‘Great,’ Danny replied, making himself comfortable in an armchair.

Ben disappeared into the scullery and came back carrying two mugs of tea. He sat opposite Danny and put his mug down on the floor beside him. ‘How’s the job situation? Lucy told me about Monday morning.’

Danny grinned. ‘I’m afraid I blotted me copy book. I ’spect they’ll suspend me fer gettin’ lippy. Still, I’m seein’ somebody ternight, I fink there’s a job in the offin’.’

Ben picked up the mug and sipped his tea. ‘Lucy told you about the tribunal?’

Danny nodded. ‘Bit of a shock, wasn’t it?’

Ben shrugged his shoulders. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t surprised. As soon as I went in I could sense the atmosphere. At least I was given a choice. I knew that if I refused to go along with their requirements I would end up in prison.’