Tuppence to Tooley Street Read online

  The men laughed and Frank shifted his weight on the pail. ‘You can laugh, but I bet that poor ole feller in the paper ain’t laughin’ after yesterday.’

  ‘What was that, then?’ Danny asked.

  ‘Well, ’e was goin’ on about all these taxes, an’ some ole biddy reported ’im. Next fing yer know ’e’s summonsed. The ole beak give ’im six weeks. I tell yer, yer gotta be careful what yer say these days.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s what they call emergency powers,’ Joe said, pouring himself another drink. ‘I ’eard a funny one last week. There’s this ole geezer who’s got a car. ’E’s a manager of a big business. Well ’e just so ’appens ter leave ’is motor car outside the Town ’All while ’e gets some permits renewed. Anyway, up comes a bluebottle an’ checks ’is car. ’E finds it ain’t immobilised, or so ’e finks, ’an ’e only goes an’ lets all the tyres down. Not bein’ satisfied wiv that, ’e goes an’ sticks a summons on the car. ’Course when the bloke comes an’ sees the copper doin’ ’is party piece, ’e nearly ’as a fit. What the copper didn’t know was that the car was immobilised. Instead of takin’ the rotor arm out, the driver took the wire off the coil or somefink. Anyway, it was just as good. This geezer’s fumin’.’E runs back in the Town ’All an’ phones up the ’ead one at the local police station. Accordin’ ter the feller what told me, this bloke an’ the ’ead copper were ole drinkin’ mates. The outcome was, there’s a copper pumpin’ up the tyres wiv a foot pump, while the ’ead one an’ this geezer are ’avin’ a right ole piss up in the boozer next door.’

  The laughter made Maggie put her head round the door. ‘What’s goin’ on out ’ere? Filfy jokes, I expect,’ she said.

  ‘No, I was jus’ tellin’ ’em about that car-owner who ’ad ’is tyres let down.’

  Maggie grinned. ‘Don’t laugh at ’is silly tales. Yer only encouragin’ ’im. I fink ’e makes them stories up, honest I do.’

  The men were still laughing as Maggie took the tea into the parlour.

  Dawson Street was dark, with the two lampposts out of service for the duration of the war. The black-out curtains were effective, and the distant stars offered scant relief from the darkness. The two corner shops at the Tooley Street end of the turning, the oil shop and the tatty little sweet shop, were shuttered and deathly quiet, and the only sign of life came from The Globe public house which stood on the corner of Clink Lane. Inside the pub a piano was knocking out one of the old favourites. The door of the jug-side opened and closed, and a woman came out. She walked quickly, a shawl draped around her hunched shoulders. She turned into Dawson Street and hurried to number 23. The woman was mumbling to herself as she fumbled the key into the lock and pushed open the door. As she let herself in the gas jet in the passage went out. Without taking her shawl off, she reached up and dropped a sixpence into the meter slot and turned the handle. The coin dropped and she chuckled.

  Back in The Globe Annie Barnes was worried. Annie lived in Dawson Street, and she knew Crazy Bella very well. Bella never ventured out at night, least of all to change coppers up for a sixpence. If Bella’s gas ran out she would sooner light candles. And something else worried Annie Barnes. Two weeks ago Bella had had one of her turns. She had stood in the middle of the street and threatened to blow the whole turning up sooner than let the Germans get it. Fortunately, old Doctor Kelly was on his rounds and he had managed to get Bella indoors and settled very quickly. No one had paid much attention to Bella’s threats except Annie. Her husband used to work for the gas board, and he had said how easy it was for a gas leak to prove disastrous. Annie got even more worried when Bill told her about the explosion in Prentis Street some time ago, where a whole row of terraced houses had been demolished by a gas leak.

  Annie Barnes quickly finished off her Guinness, buttoned up her coat and hurried out to see her friend Alice Sutton. Alice would know what to do. In any case, she wasn’t going to knock on Bella’s front door on her own. Bella scared the living daylights out of Annie Barnes. As she passed number 23, Annie shivered and crossed the street. At the Suttons’ front door Annie stopped and looked over her shoulder before rat-tatting loudly.

  The women of the Sutton family were sitting together in the parlour, drinking tea and talking about the possibility of getting Maggie’s two children evacuated. There had been an air-raid warning on the Monday of that week, although it had been a false alarm. The all clear had sounded hours later, and the only effect it had was to make people jumpy the next day from their loss of sleep. It had made Maggie realise however that the children would be much safer away from London. She had talked it over with Joe, but he was unhappy with the idea of sending them away. Already there were bad stories about the reception some of the evacuees had encountered and many families had got their children home after the initial panic at the outbreak of war. Maggie struggled with her conscience and she was listening to what her mother had to say about it.

  ‘It strikes me,’ Alice began, ‘that no matter what decisions you make, it’s in the ’ands o’ the Almighty. I always say, what will be, will be. There’s nuffink anybody can do about it. I mean yer could send the kids away, an’ you an’ Joe could get killed, Gawd ferbid. You’d ’ave a couple of orphans on yer’ands.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Mum. You’re givin’ me the creeps,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Well it’s no good tryin’ ter dodge the issue,’ Alice went on. ‘None of us know what’s gonna ’appen. There’s those bloody leaflets they put frew the door last week. Did I show yer? Anyway, it’s about what ter do if there’s an invasion. Cor, it turns yer cold jus’ ter fink about it.’

  Connie was sitting on the floor, her hands clasped around her knees. She looked up at her sister, her blue eyes open wide. ‘I know, why don’t you go wiv the kids? You ’aven’t got a job or anyfing ter worry about.’

  Maggie looked at her disapprovingly. ‘Don’t be silly. ’Ow could I go an’ leave Joe? I mean, there’s ’is food, an’ yer know ’ow useless ’e is in the ’ome. I bet if I was away the place would go rotten. ’E can’t even boil an egg.’

  ‘Well ’e’d bloody well ’ave ter cope. Lots o’ men ’ave done it,’ Connie retorted. ‘The Arrowsmiths ’ave all gone away. Freddy Arrowsmith manages.’

  Maggie laughed aloud. ‘’E’s got a fancy woman, everybody knows that. She does ’is washin’ an’ ironin’, an’ she cooks fer’im. Who knows, I might go away, an’ ’fore yer know it, Joe’s found ’imself a fancy woman?’

  It was Connie’s turn to laugh. ‘Don’t be silly, Maggie. Joe’s not that sort.’

  ‘Don’t yer be so sure,’ said Maggie. ‘All men are the same. They want their bread buttered on both sides. Mind you, I’m not sayin’ Joe would stray. It’s jus’ that I’m not gonna give ’im the chance.’

  The loud rat-tat made the women jump. ‘Who the ’ell can that be?’ Alice said quickly, getting up and leaving the room.

  There was a murmur of voices and then Alice called out, ‘Frank! I want yer.’

  The family hurried out into the passage. ‘It’s all right everybody. It’s Missus Barnes. She’s worried about Bella. You wait ’ere. Me an’ yer dad are goin’ over there.’

  Frank put on his coat and followed Alice out into the street. The turning was deserted and dark. The two of them accompanied Mrs Barnes across the cobbles and knocked loudly on number 23. There was no answer. Frank bent down and peered through the letter box. Suddenly he straightened and pushed Alice aside.

  ‘Stand back!’ he shouted as he threw his weight against the front door. It gave easily and Frank stumbled into the dark passage. The smell of gas was strong. He put his hand up to his mouth and ran through into the scullery. Crazy Bella was lying on her back with her head on a pillow inside the open gas oven; she looked up at Frank, her staring eyes glowing cat-like in the darkness. Frank reached for the gas taps and discovered that they were not turned on. He left Bella lying there and staggered back into the passage. The gas jet on the wall was hissing and unlit. He
turned it off quickly and ran back into the tiny scullery and opened up the window. Half carrying and half dragging Bella he succeeded in getting her out onto the pavement.

  ‘Keep yer eye on the silly ole cow,’ he said. ‘I’m goin’ ter see if I can get Doctor Kelly.’

  The chimer on the Suttons’ mantel showed five minutes to midnight. Ben and Lucy were saying goodnight at the front door; Maggie and Joe had already left; and Connie had gone to bed. Danny sat in the parlour with his parents, his eyes heavy with tiredness. His father was noisily sipping his tea.

  ‘What I can’t understand is why she didn’t turn the gas stove on. Seems a silly way ter do yerself in, if yer ask me,’ Danny said.

  ‘Doctor Kelly reckons that ole Bella ’ad no intention of doin’ ’erself in,’ Alice said, passing a mug of tea to her son. ‘I’m inclined to agree wiv ’im. Doctor Kelly reckons she was doin’ it all fer somebody ter take notice. An’ we did, didn’t we?’

  Frank put his empty mug down on the table. ‘Yer right there, Alice,’ he said.

  ‘’Ave they took ’er away?’ Danny asked.

  ‘No, Doctor Kelly give ’er a sedative. ’E said ’e’s comin’ ter see ’er termorrer. I was talkin’ to ’im afterwards,’ Alice went on. ‘What ’e reckons ’appened was that she went purposely ter get that sixpence. She was tryin’ to attract attention. They all know she don’t venture out at night. Somebody in the pub was bound ter take notice, an’ sure enough, somebody did.’

  ‘What about the gas?’ Danny queried.

  ‘Well, what we fink ’appened,’ interrupted Frank, ‘was that she put the tanner in the meter after the gas ’ad run out. She was so concerned about settin’ it all up, she forgot about the passage gas jet. Jus’ fink of it. She sticks ’er ’ead in the gas oven an’ nearly gets gassed wiv’ the passage jet. Silly ole cow.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Frank luv,’ Alice said. ‘She’s ter be pitied. She ain’t got a soul in the world, ’cept us folk in the street. If it wasn’t fer you, she’d be laid out on a slab right now.’

  Frank got up and stretched. ‘It’s Annie Barnes she should be grateful to. Anyway, I still fink she’s a silly ole cow,’ he grinned, winking at Danny. ‘Well I’m off ter bed. Nice ter ’ave yer ’ome, son. C’mon, Alice. It’s bin a long day. Let’s get some shut-eye.’

  Danny climbed the stairs to his room and lay down in the darkness. He was exhausted after his first night back home and was grateful his family hadn’t pressed him too much when he declined to go to the pub. He smiled as he recalled the look of disappointment on his father’s face and how he had brightened up when it was suggested that he fetch a few quarts of ale from the ‘off sales’. Danny stared up at the cracked ceiling, which was illuminated by the pale moonlight, and cupped his hands behind his head. His thoughts turned to Kathy Thompson and the night they had parted. Kathy had been moody all evening and when they returned from the Trocette Cinema they had stood in her doorway. He remembered trying to kiss her but she pushed him away.

  ‘You seem ter fink you can grab ’old o’ me an’ kiss it all better. Well I’m tellin’ yer now, Danny. Yer’d better make yer mind up who you are s’posed ter be takin’ out. I ain’t playin’ second fiddle ter that trollop Janie Arnold.’

  ‘What yer talkin’ about?’ he shouted, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘You know very well,’ she replied. ‘You was seen in The Crown wiv ’er. You was all over the silly cow, so I was told.’

  Danny grabbed Kathy’s arms. ‘Who told yer that?’

  ‘Never mind who told me. But I’m tellin’ yer this–eivver yer stop playin’ around, or me an’ you are finished. I can’t believe yer doin’ this ter me again, Danny. All the time I’ve known yer, yer never change. Yer’ve always bin the same. I’m sick o’ tellin’ yer, an’ sick of ’earin’ what’s goin’ on be’ind me back.’

  ‘Well if yer believe uvver people before me p’raps it’s better if—’

  There was a loud clattering at the end of the turning and as Danny looked up Kathy stiffened and stepped into the open doorway. Charlie Thompson had turned the corner blind drunk and he had staggered into a pile of rubbish. He swore loudly and kicked out at some empty tin cans he had knocked over. Danny knew that Kathy was terrified of her father. She had told him how he often threatened to throw her out of the house, and how he knocked her mother about viciously when he came home drunk. Kathy had backed into the passageway. ‘I’ve gotta go,’ she said. ‘Farver’ll kill me if ’e finds me out ’ere while ’e’s in that state.’

  ‘Wait a minute, Kathy,’ Danny said.

  Charlie Thompson did not appear to have seen them. He reeled across the pavement and leant against the wall. Danny watched in disgust as he bent over and was loudly sick.

  ‘Kathy, wait.’

  ‘I can’t, Danny,’ she sobbed, as she closed the door on him.

  The young cockney stood still for a few moments then walked away in confusion. Charlie Thompson was still leaning against the wall with his head hanging down.

  It was the last time Danny saw Kathy before he went off to war.

  Chapter Four

  Danny woke up in panic, his whole body soaked in sweat. He could still hear the Company Sergeant screaming out for everyone to watch their flank. He sat bolt upright in his bed and grasped the iron bedrail with both hands, his breath coming in short pants. Gradually, his pounding heart began to slow down and he was able to recover his breath. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his head in his hands. A beam of morning sunlight lit up the tattered carpet by the side of his bed and felt warm on his bare feet.

  Danny wiped the cold sweat from his face and neck with the sheet and looked around the small room. It hadn’t altered since he was a lad. The old wardrobe in the corner was the one he used to hide in, and the marble-topped washstand with its cracked china bowl and water jug was the same one he used to hide his secret possessions in. The door was always sticking, and it needed to be tapped in a certain place to free it. Danny leaned forward and pulled on the lift-up handle. The door would not budge. From down below came the grinding noise of the wringer being turned and the sound of the wireless set next door blaring out a popular tune.

  Danny looked at the alarm clock which stood on a chair beside the bed–it showed 10.30 a.m. His right leg felt stiff and the puffy scar on his ribs itched. The noise of the wringer ceased and he could hear Connie singing in the yard. Danny got up slowly and peered through the window. His sister was pegging out the washing, her fair hair covered with a headscarf and her feet encased in a pair of carpet slippers; an apron was tied tightly around her trim figure and knotted at the back. Danny stared down into the yard for a few seconds before getting dressed. He felt tired and shaky as he opened the bedroom door and walked out onto the landing between the two flights of stairs.

  The kettle was boiling over as Danny entered the scullery. Connie rushed in from the yard and turned off the gas tap. ‘’Ello, bruv. We wouldn’t wake yer. Mum’s gone shoppin’ an’ Dad’s gone fer the paper.’ Connie poured the boiling water into the teapot. ‘Did yer sleep well?’

  ‘Like a log,’ Danny lied.

  ‘Want some brekkie? We’ve got bacon an’ eggs, or eggs an’ bacon?’

  ‘Go on, finish what yer doin’,’ Danny answered. ‘I’ll get meself somefink.’

  Connie grinned. ‘Get in the front room, bruv. I’ll call yer when it’s ready. Mum said we’ve gotta make a fuss o’ yer fer a couple o’ days, then yer can fend fer yerself, okay?’

  Danny smiled as he went to the sink and splashed cold water over his face. Connie handed him the towel and watched closely as he dried his face. ‘You look pale. D’yer feel all right?’

  Danny threw the towel over the back of the chair. ‘Tell yer the trufe, I was fast asleep an’ I ’eard this screamin’. I thought yer got yer fingers caught in the mangle. Then I realised it was only you singin’.’

  Connie laughed, her white teeth flashing. ‘Don’t be lippy,’
she said, tossing her pretty head in the air. ‘Now get in the uvver room out o’ me way while I do yer breakfast.’

  The Globe was full of the usual Saturday morning crowd. The public bar buzzed with conversation as dockers and stevedores from the backstreets piled in for their ‘constitutional’. Becky Elliot, the buxom barmaid, and the ‘Missus’, Harriet Kirkland, busied themselves behind the bar, while in the more sedate saloon Eddie the guv’nor leant on the counter listening to Biff Bowden, the proud owner of Shady Lady. Eddie was a slight man in his mid-fifties, with a clipped moustache and heavily tattoed arms. His sandy hair was well brushed and kept in place with brilliantine. He was a straight-backed character who prided himself on the cleanliness of his pub, a fetish that had stayed with him since his time as a drill sergeant in the Queen’s. Biff was a regular to the pub, a robust character in his late forties with a hearty laugh. His moonface remained impassive when he was sober, but when inebriated Biff’s features became excessively animated, contorting his face into outlandish expressions.

  Biff remained poker-faced as he raved about the exploits of Shady Lady.

  ‘I tell yer, Eddie, that dog clocked the fastest time it’s ever done on Monday. It’ll walk its next race, you mark my words.’

  ‘Well if I’m gonna stick a few bob on it I’ll want it ter run, not walk,’ Eddie said pointedly, winking at the group who stood to one side of the counter.

  The owner of Shady Lady was not easily put off. Biff was knowledgeable about nearly every money-making scheme that had been devised in the area–he had been the creator of most of them. Biff could spin a good tale and get backing for his ventures–and he was versatile. He had been known to sell patent medicines in the street markets, and he had once peddled a hair restorer which was guaranteed to produce a mop of curly hair. He also marketed a certain ‘tonic’ that was supposed to have wondrous powers, especially where there was a flagging sexual desire. Biff Bowden always produced evidence to support his claims: in Petticoat Lane he had a hulking bystander who swore he was once at death’s door and the medicine had saved him; in the lesser markets a curly-haired individual testified that he was once bald; another said he had rekindled the burning passions of youth, and that at sixty-plus he was still adding to his brood. At one market in North London, a woman had rushed up to Biff Bowden’s fellow conspirator and said that if he was still producing children, they were certainly not hers, and she had chased her startled spouse from the market. Biff had quietened the alarm by saying that the tonic must have made the man over-sexed, and he was sold out in no time at all.