Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child Page 15

  As for becoming an upstanding member of the community, Josiah was working hard in that direction. He had never been a regular church-goer, although he came from a Catholic family. He did, however, visit the church hall in Wilson Street during his midday break and offer his services as street warden for Page Street. Much to his surprise he was duly accepted and enrolled for instruction on the very many tasks which he might have to perform in the near future. One immediate task was to ensure that the blackout regulations were enforced and Josiah had to give this some considerable thought. He could no longer adopt a belligerent attitude with people, because of his police record. He would have to be firm but polite.

  One thing worried Josiah. Would Dolly take kindly to his new-found duties as street warden, and the demands they would make on his time after being out at work all day? Well, he would soon know. He had finished work early that afternoon and when he got home and deposited his new equipment on the parlour table he was prepared for some hard talking. Dolly was out collecting the kids from school, however, and Wallace was nowhere to be seen, which gave him time to slip along to the Co-op shop and buy her a quarter of her favourite jelly sweets, hoping it would soften the blow.

  Josiah had already decided that if he was going to be a credit to the community, one of the things he would have to do was make himself more aware of what was going on around him. That would mean talking to his neighbours, instead of shunning them as he had always done in the past. Small talk did not come easily to Josiah, but when Mr Jolly stopped him in Jamaica Road he was prepared to try his best.

  ‘Didn’t I see yer wiv a warden’s ’elmet in Page Street a few minutes ago?’ Bert Jolly asked.

  ‘’S’right,’ Josiah replied.

  ‘I was talkin’ wiv yer good lady a couple o’ weeks ago an’ she said yer was workin’ away,’ Mr Jolly informed him.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Josiah replied.

  ‘So yer back now then.’

  ‘’S’right.’

  ‘Are yer gonna be our street warden then?’

  ‘’S’right.’

  ‘Yer gonna be makin’ sure we don’t let any light out at night?’

  ‘’S’right.’

  Mr Jolly was beginning to think that the new street warden was a very anti-social sort of a bloke and he made to walk away.

  Josiah gritted his teeth and tried a little harder to be friendly. ‘What’s yer name, mate?’ he asked.

  ‘Bert Jolly,’ the dapper pensioner replied. ‘I live at number twenty-three. I’m a widower. Me ole dutch died ten years ago, come next spring.’

  Josiah was encouraged. ‘Lived in Page Street long then?’ he enquired.

  ‘More ’an forty years, come next May first. I’ve seen a few comin’s an’ goin’s, I ’ave,’ Bert told him.

  Josiah found that it wasn’t so difficult after all. ‘We live next door ter the Tanners,’ he continued.

  Bert Jolly’s face broke into a smile. ‘That’s Danny Tanner, that is,’ he said. ‘’E’s married ter Knocker Brody’s daughter Iris. Nice kid, she is. They both are, come ter that. I used to be mates wiv Will Tanner, Danny’s farvver. Lovely bloke, ’e was. Terrible shame when ’e died. The Tanners are well known an’ respected in this area. Young Carrie Tanner married ole Fred Bradley, ’im who ’ad the cafe in Cotton Lane. ’E died of a stroke, yer know. She’s married again. Married a bloke who used ter lodge in the turnin’. Joe Maitland ’is name is. Nice bloke.’

  Josiah could see that his patience and forbearance were beginning to pay off. He now felt that he knew almost everyone in the turning. Mr Jolly was not finished, however.

  ‘She was a nice ole gel, too, that Mrs Axford. That was who Joe Maitland lodged wiv,’ Bert went on. ‘Snuff-taker she was. Took pounds o’ the stuff. I reckon that’s what killed ’er in the end.’

  Josiah listened patiently for some time while Bert went on with his stories of the comings and goings in Page Street over the years. When he was finally able to drag himself away from the man’s chattering, he continued on his way to the Co-op shop.

  He whistled quietly to himself as he walked back along Jamaica Road. It was easier than he had imagined to get talking to people, and if the present trend continued he would soon know virtually everything about his neighbours, he thought.

  ‘Wotcher, mate. I jus’ got me evenin’ paper,’ a voice called out.

  Josiah groaned as he spotted Bert Jolly. There was only so much a bloke could take in one day, he felt.

  ‘’Ere, I fergot ter tell yer. There was a right ole set-to along’ere earlier,’ Bert said. ‘There was this young feller runnin’ along tuckin’ a bunch o’ bananas under ’is coat an’ there was ole Mrs Gosnell the greengrocer chasin’ after ’im. Waddlin’, I should say, that’d be more like it. Anyway, there was a bit of a crowd gavvered on the corner o’ Page Street. I fink they caught’im. I stood there lookin’ an’ I saw a police car draw up. I s’pose they nicked ’im. Funny-lookin’ bloke ’e was. Sort o’ stupid. As a matter o’ fact I’ve seen ’im in the turnin’ once or twice. I don’t know if ’e lives there or not.’

  Josiah’s heart sank. His first reaction went against his promise to himself and he took a couple of deep breaths to strengthen his resolve. Knocking Wallace about the head was only going to make him more silly than he already was. No, he would have to use a little more guile in dealing with his wayward son. Josiah walked home gritting his teeth, his hands clenched into two almighty fists.

  During October, women left their Bermondsey backstreets clutching ration books to register with a grocer and those who had not already collected their gas masks now did so, following repeated warnings that air raids could start at any time. Every night folk gathered round wireless sets to listen to the nine o’clock news, and those who did not have a wireless usually listened to the broadcasts at a neighbour’s house.

  In the early hours of 14 October the battleship Royal Oak was sunk in Scapa Flow by a German U-boat, with heavy loss of life. At nine o’clock that night the Tanner family gathered round the wireless, anxiously waiting for more news. Rachel’s stomach was knotted with dread as the newscaster read out an Admiralty bulletin. Derek had gone up to Scotland only a few days previously to join a ship, and now as she sat listening, Rachel recalled the old lady on the train. She had looked strangely at Derek when she read his palm. Had she seen something there, some terrible tragedy in the lines of his hand? No, it was stupid even to think of it, she told herself. Derek was going to be all right. He would write to her soon.

  Joe got up to make the tea and Carrie wrapped her arms round her very frightened daughter. ‘ ’E’s gonna be all right, you’ll see,’ she said softly.

  Rachel could not bring herself even to talk about the train episode, and as much as she tried to dismiss it as nonsense, the old lady’s face kept reappearing in her mind, and it terrified her.

  ‘I’m scared, Mum,’ she said. ‘S’posin’ it was the ship Derek joined? The news said there was only a few survivors?’

  Carried hugged her daughter tightly, finding little to say, no words that would comfort her and take away the fear. In the other fireside chair, Nellie sat quietly sewing, her glasses resting on the end of her nose, and when she looked up, the concern was evident on her face. ‘The good Lord listens ter prayers, Rachel,’ she said. ‘All we can do is pray fer the lad’s safety.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Billy Sullivan had settled in to his new evening job at the Kings Arms and things had been very quiet. There had been no repercussions from the recent brawl and Terry Gordon was beginning to feel that maybe his long-time enemy had decided to let bygones be bygones. Terry was very happy with his new barman’s progress. He had taken to the job admirably and it was a comforting thought to have a local man behind the counter, one who could handle himself in an emergency.

  Terry’s pretty wife Patricia was also pleased to have Billy installed behind the bar. She had been intrigued by the stories that abounded of the handsome man’s exploits over
the years and decided she should get to know him a little better. Opportunity seemed to be presenting itself. She would have to be careful though, because Terry was very jealous. On Tuesdays when he took his night off, that would be the time to chat at length to Billy. In the meantime she would play it cool.

  During Saturday evening the public bar had been buzzing with the news of the Royal Oak’s sinking, and at ten o’clock two strangers walked in. Billy was immediately on his guard and he reached under the counter for the comforting feel of the pickaxe handle he kept concealed there. The two men were heavily built and in their forties, he guessed. They both wore expensive overcoats and silk scarves, and the taller of the two had a trilby hat on. It was unusual for well-dressed strangers to frequent the public bar, Billy thought, unless they were looking for someone in particular, someone they knew would be in that particular bar.

  ‘Give us two gin an’ tonics,’ the taller man said, glancing around at the customers.

  Billy slipped the glasses under the optic, glancing through the opening to the saloon bar as he did so. He could see Terry talking to his wife; he would have to put him on his guard.

  ‘Is Terry in?’ the tall man asked casually.

  Billy knew that the men would not have spotted Terry through the bar from where they were standing and he smiled disarmingly. ‘’E ’ad ter slip out a while ago. I don’t fink ’e’s back jus’ yet, but I’ll find out for yer,’ he replied.

  Terry’s face hardened when Billy told him about the two men asking after him. As he followed his barman into the public bar his face brightened. ‘’Ello, boys. Long time no see,’ he grinned, adding to Billy, ‘it’s all right, they’re ole friends.’

  Patricia had popped her head round the bar and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Terry laughing with the two. ‘Fanks, Billy,’ she said, giving him a smile and a quick wink. ‘Yer never know who they’re likely ter be. It’s a relief ter know you’re ’ere.’

  Billy smiled back and shrugged his shoulders. ‘You all right in there?’ he asked, nodding towards the saloon bar.

  ‘I’d feel better wiv you in there wiv me,’ she said with another suggestive wink.

  Billy got on with serving and chatting to the customers, and when the two strangers left just before closing time Terry went back into the saloon bar. One or two of the regulars had had too much to drink and were cursing loudly about the war, and one old man had fallen asleep at the corner table. Billy sighed as he began the task of getting the bar cleared. He gently shook the old man’s shoulder to rouse him. ‘C’mon, dad. Time fer beddy byes.’

  The old man woke with a start and shook himself. ‘Gawd, I must ’a’ fell orf ter sleep. I was ’avin’ this dream,’ he said pulling a face. ‘I was in this bloody great field an’ it was full o’ taters. There was this farmer an’ ’e was an ugly-lookin’ git. Anyway ’e told me I ’ad ter pick all the spuds before I could leave. I tell yer, Billy, there was fousands o’ these tater plants an’ me back was fair breakin’ after a few minutes. I said ter meself, Jack, I ses, yer never gonna pick all these spuds terday, not wiv yer back bein’ the way it is. Fair cripplin’ me it was. Must ’ave bin the way I was sleepin’.’

  Billy chuckled as he helped the old man to his feet. ‘G’night, Jack,’ he said. ‘Mind ’ow yer go in the dark.’

  When the last of the customers had left, Billy set about wiping the counter down and emptying the ashtrays. The potman had already cleared the glasses and was bolting up as Billy slipped into the small back room to collect his coat. He could hear raised voices coming from upstairs and then Terry hurried down. His face was set hard and he merely nodded goodnight as Billy took his leave through the side door.

  On Sunday morning Nellie went to church. She was going to say a special prayer for Derek and as she walked along the quiet Jamaica Road she thought about her two lost sons. How different the two lads were, she recalled. James had always been the lively one, for ever talking and passing comment on something or the other, while young Charlie sat quietly reading in a corner. James had fallen in the Great War, and she doubted that she would ever see Charlie again now. He was so far away, and with his own family now. His last letter had said that he was retiring from the army, but perhaps he would stay on now that war had broken out. He would be forty-six and too old to fight, but he might stay on to train the young soldiers, she thought.

  Nellie took her usual detour through Page Street and noticed how clean and tidy the little turning appeared. The front doorsteps were whitened and lace curtains hung in almost all the windows. There were a few empty houses and Nellie sighed sadly. People had gone, fearing what might happen to the riverside borough. The more hardy folk remained, however, and she saw Maisie standing at her front door chatting to the plump Dolly Dawson. Nearby was Maudie Mycroft, in earnest conversation with Sadie Sullivan, who seemed to have aged quite rapidly. Nellie rubbed her hand along the lapel of her coat as if to reassure herself that she was dressed smartly and held her head high.

  ‘Mornin’, Sadie, Maud,’ she said as she passed.

  ‘Orf ter church?’ Sadie asked.

  Nellie nodded. ‘Young Rachel’s worried about ’er bloke,’ she told them. ‘ ’E’s in the navy an’ ’e’s up in Scotland. I’m gonna say a prayer fer ’im.’

  Sadie smiled. ‘I’ve jus’ got back. Daniel didn’t go this mornin’ though. ’E’s in bed wiv bronchitis.’

  ‘Sorry to ’ear it, Sadie. I ’ope ’e’s better soon,’ Nellie replied as she carried on.

  Sadie watched Nellie walking away for a few moments then she turned to Maudie. ‘She’s beginnin’ ter look ’er age,’ she remarked. ‘The poor cow’s never got over losin’ ’er William.’

  Maudie pulled her coat tighter round her lean figure. ‘Oh well, I’d better get goin’,’ she announced. ‘I’m goin’ round wiv the collection plate this mornin’.’

  Nellie approached Maisie and Dolly. ‘Mornin’, ladies,’ she said briskly. ‘Can’t stop, I’m orf ter the service.’

  Maisie gave her a friendly smile. ‘Dolly was just tellin’ me about ’er Wallace,’ she said. ‘Tell ’er, Doll.’

  Nellie was always keen to hear the latest gossip and she decided that maybe she could spare a few minutes after all. ‘What’s ’e done?’ she asked.

  Dolly briefed Nellie on the banana episode and told her what happened afterwards. ‘Yer can imagine ’ow I felt,’ she went on. ‘I could ’ave died wiv shame. Anyway, when I got indoors I found the bleeder ’idin’ under the stairs. Shakin’ like a leaf ’e was. Ter be honest, Nell, I was gonna give ’im such a tannin’, old as ’e is, but when ’e ups an’ tells me that ’e stole the bananas ter give ter those Perry children I could ’ave cried. Wallace might be simple-minded but ’e’s so feelin’. I dunno what I’m gonna do wiv ’im.’

  Nellie shook her head. ‘It’s a shame, Doll,’ she replied. ‘Pity’e can’t get some sort o’ job ter keep ’im out o’ mischief.’

  Dolly sighed. ‘I’ve tried. Before we moved ’ere I got ’im a job at the market. Yer know the sort o’ fing, ’elpin’ the costers an’ runnin’ fer tea an’ suchlike. Well, ’e only lasted a day. One stall’older sent ’im fer the tea an’ ’e was gone over two hours. They found ’im sittin’ in the park feedin’ the birds, wiv the tea beside ’im. Stone cold it was.’

  Nellie was aware that she was going to be late for the service and she brushed her hands down her coat once more. ‘’E’ll be all right,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Yer jus’ got ter persevere wiv ’im, that’s all.’

  As she walked away Maisie shook her head. ‘She’s beginnin’ ter look ’er age,’ she remarked.

  Maurice Salter was a widower, and he had brought up his three daughters and his only son unaided ever since his wife died of peritonitis when she was in her early thirties. Maurice had never remarried and he earned his living as a stoker at the gasworks in Rotherhithe. His daughters had all grown into attractive young women, self-assured and outgoing, which Maurice felt had
a lot to do with the relaxed, broadminded way he had brought them up. Brenda, the eldest, was twenty-six, and like her two sisters she was still unmarried. She was dark-haired, brown-eyed and had a bubbling personality. Barbara was twenty-four, with brown hair and a warm smile, and she was inclined to be the quiet one of the family. Lily, the youngest of the girls, was twenty-two, fair like her mother, and the prettiest of the trio. The girls worked together as machinists at the clothes factory near Tower Bridge and were terrible flirts, driving the young men wild with their antics and earning a rather dubious reputation as a result.

  Robert Salter was the baby of the family at twenty-one, short and stocky like his father with a mop of dark wavy hair and brown eyes. He had been cosseted and teased mercilessly by his sisters until he began to assert himself and now he was missed terribly by the family, having been called up into the Royal Air Force. He was currently undergoing gunnery training for air crew and had suddenly found himself very popular with the rest of the trainees after he pinned snapshots of his three sisters onto his locker.