Gaslight in Page Street (48 page)

Josephine sighed sadly. ‘I don’t think Father blames himself for Mother’s death - he blames me. Having me killed her, I know that.’

Nora sat upright in her chair. ‘Now listen ter me, young lady,’ she said quickly, ‘yer farvver doesn’t blame you at all. Yer mustn’t dare fink that. It was ’im what made yer. If there’s anybody ter blame it’s yer farvver, nobody else, but there just ain’t nobody ter blame. Least of all you.’

‘But why can’t I talk to him, Nora? Why does it always feel like he’s pushing me away from him?’ Josephine asked, her eyes searching the older woman’s for an answer.

‘’E doesn’t mean to, child,’ Nora told her kindly. ‘Yer farvver lives in a man’s world. ’E ’ad two sons before you come along. I don’t want yer ter take this wrong, but yer farvver’s got no refinement, no finesse. ’E can’t relax wiv women, I know. It’s not just you. Yer mus’ try ter understan’ what I’m sayin’. Promise me yer won’t dwell on it, Josie.’

The young woman nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the housekeeper’s. ‘Do you know, Nora, sometimes I feel that this family is doomed,’ she said slowly. ‘Sometimes I lie awake nights with a dreadful feeling in my stomach. It’s as though there’s a curse hanging over us. I can see no future, nothing good, only bad. Why? Why should I feel like I do?’

Nora forced herself to smile reassuringly. ‘Listen ter me, yer a young woman who’s just findin’ ’erself,’ she said quietly. ‘’Avin those sort o’ thoughts is not so terrible as yer might fink. It’s all part o’ growin’ up. One day soon yer’ll meet a nice young man an’ grow ter love ’im. ’E’ll love yer back an’ make yer feel good inside. ’E’ll comfort yer an’ protect yer, an’ yer’ll be able ter laugh at yer fears. Yer’ll see.’

Josephine smiled as she bent down to rouse the dying fire. ‘I expect you’re right, Nora,’ she said, feeling suddenly cold in the firelit room.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Early in 1915 James and Charles Tanner prepared to leave for France as privates in the East Surreys. William felt proud as he walked along to the Kings Arms with his two sons, both looking trim and smart in their tight-fitting uniforms, peaked caps and puttees wound up around their calves from highly polished boots. James was now a brawny young man a stone and a half heavier than Charlie, who still had a baby face and red cheeks. Their fair hair had been cropped short and both had the look of young men eager and impatient to be off on a big adventure. The stories filling the newspapers of heavy fighting on the Western Front had not caused either of them to lose any sleep, but as pints of ale were downed in quick succession and the customers joked about the girls they would meet, their father became quieter, struggling with the secret fears that he had to hide from everybody.

Alec Crossley had seen many such family gatherings during the last few months, and wondered how many of those young men would be drinking in his pub once the war was over. Already the toll was growing, and almost every evening someone came with stories of lost relatives or friends. His pub seemed to be full of old men and uniformed boys like the Tanners or Billy Sullivan who had left for France only a few weeks ago. Alec pulled pints and watched how the smooth-faced soldiers drank them down with bravado, sometimes turning a shade of grey as the unfamiliar drink took effect.

‘Yer know, luv, I fink ’alf of ’em would be better orf wiv toffee apples than pints of ale,’ he remarked to his wife Grace.

She smiled sadly as she pulled down on the beer-pump. ‘I can’t ’elp finkin’ of young Alfie Finnegan when I see these young soldiers. I remember when Alfie was sittin’ outside the pub wiv a glass o’ lemonade an’ munchin’ on an arrowroot biscuit. It seems like only yesterday, an’ now the poor bleeder’s gorn. I still can’t get over it. Six weeks, that’s all ’e was out there. Six weeks.’

Nellie Tanner had fought back tears as she watched her two boys march off to the pub with their father. She felt grateful that at least Danny wasn’t in uniform. He had managed to get the job he was hoping for, and was now articled to a lighterage firm and excited at working on the barges. At least he wouldn’t be going off to war, she thought. She was terribly worried about his brothers, but Charlie caused her particular anguish. He was different from Jim in many ways. He had been sired in fear and anger, had always seemed set apart from the others when he was growing up, and now he was a man. He would show courage and endure hardship just like his brother, Nellie felt sure, but he was different. She had always been able to see it in his grey eyes.

Many local young men were now in uniform. Geoffrey Galloway had been commissioned into the Rifle Brigade and was already in France. Maisie Dougall’s two boys, Ronnie and Albert, were also in the Rifle Brigade and were doing their basic training on the Isle of Sheppey. Sadie Sullivan bade her eldest son goodbye as he left for the front and then dared the rest of her brood to follow him.

‘It’s bad enough Billy goin’ orf wivout you lot wantin’ ter go wiv ’im,’ she told them. ‘Jus’ let me ’ear one peep out o’ you lot about joinin’ up an’ I’ll tan yer ’ides, big as yer are.’

‘But, Muvver, we can’t let Billy do all the fightin’. ’E’s gonna need a bit of ’elp,’ John the next eldest told her.

‘’E’s got all the ’elp ’e needs wivout the rest of yer puttin’ on a uniform, so let’s be done wiv it, or I’ll tell yer farvver.’

‘Yer not bein’ fair, Mum,’ Michael cut in. ‘John an’ me are over eighteen, so’s Joe. We’re old enough ter fight. If we enlist, yer’ll still ’ave Shaun an’ the twins ter look after yer.’

‘Look after me!’ Sadie raged. ‘I’m tryin’ me bloody best ter look after you lot. ’Ave yer got any idea what it’s bloody well like out in France?’

Patrick and Terry were standing behind their mother and mimicked her as she waved her fist at Michael, while Shaun the youngest picked up the broom and started to prod the armchair with it in an aggressive manner.

Sadie sat down heavily in her chair and put a hand to her forehead. ‘Yer’ll be the undoin’ o’ me, yer will,’ she groaned. ‘Can’t yer be like ovver muvvers’ sons? Do yer ’ave ter drive me right roun’ the twist?’

‘All the ovver muvvers’ sons ’ave volunteered,’ Joe moaned.

‘Well, you lot ain’t gonna do no such fing, d’yer ’ear me?’ Sadie screamed.

‘My mate at work got a white feavver. Would yer like us ter get a white feavver?’ Michael asked his mother.

‘I don’t care if they send yer the ’ole bloody bird, the answer’s still no,’ she growled, screwing up her fists.

The three eldest boys recognised the danger signs and they quickly made excuses and left the house together, sauntering dejectedly along the little turning with their hands stuffed deep into their trouser pockets.

‘C’mon, I’ve got enough dosh fer a pint,’ John said, his eyes brightening.

As the three young men walked into the Kings Arms, Alec Crossley nudged Grace. ‘Old tight, gel, lock up the glasses, it’s the fightin’ Sullivans,’ he said with mock seriousness. ‘What yer ’avin’, boys?’

John pulled out a handful of coppers and started counting them. ‘Gis us a pint o’ porter each, Alec,’ he said sadly. ‘This is gonna be our last pint as civilians. We’re signin’ on termorrer fer the East Surreys.’

Alec shook his head as he pulled on the pump. ‘If this keeps up I won’t ’ave enough bleedin’ customers ter make up a domino team,’ he groaned. ‘’Ere, lads, ’ave this one on the ’ouse. All the best.’

The Sullivan boys took their drinks to a far table. When they had settled themselves, Michael turned to his brother John. ‘’Ere, Johnbo, why d’yer tell Alec the three of us were signin’ on termorrer?’ he asked.

‘Well, I ’ad ter do somefink,’ John replied, sipping his beer. ‘I only ’ad enough money fer two pints.’

Carrie Tanner finished wiping down the last of the tables then walked over to the window of the dining rooms that looked out on to the riverside lane and the river beyond. She could see the belching smoke-stack of a cargo ship as it chugged towards the Pool with its escorting tug whistling noisily, and in the lane itself could see one or two horse-carts parked ready for a call on to the jetty. It had been dreary lately with all the younger men going off to war. She missed their funny sayings and saucy remarks as they came and went, caps askew and red chokers knotted tightly round their necks. Now most of the customers were older men with less to say, except when they cursed the war and wished they were young enough to go instead of being left to do all the work. Fred had told her that he had thought a lot about whether he should volunteer and had decided against it. He had gone so far as to talk with a friend of his who was a recruiting sergeant and he had advised him that he would be exempt anyway because of the nature of his business and he should forget about taking the King’s shilling and leave the fighting to the younger men. She sighed to herself as she watched the progress of the cargo ship. She missed her brothers badly, and wondered where Tommy might be right at that minute. He had come into the dining rooms only once since she had told him their romance was over. He had looked uneasy as he ordered his tea and sandwich, and then just as he was leaving had told her he was going into the Queen’s Bermondsey Regiment the following week. The café was full of customers at the time and Carrie had found herself coldly wishing him luck and a safe return as he turned away with an embarrassed look on his face and walked out of the door, and now she wished she’d been kinder. But it was too late.

The days seemed long and tedious, with little to smile about. The only light relief was when Sharkey Morris and Soapy Symonds made their appearance. They usually came in together and were full of funny stories, often about their own misfortunes. Both were now in their late fifties and still fairly robust, although Soapy was becoming bad on his legs and always seemed to be limping these days. They had not changed in character since she was very small, Carrie reflected. They were a reminder of those carefree childhood days when she rode on the back of Titch the Welsh cob and her father took her on those lovely country trips to fetch the hay bales. She remembered her friend Sara and the look of wonderment on her face as they drove into the farm and saw the animals and the line of waddling ducks leading their unsteady offspring to the muddy pool. Sara was married now and doing well, the last Carrie heard.

Fred Bradley had been kind and considerate towards her, and since that one time he had opened his heart to her, had kept his distance, for which she was grateful. She had been afraid that he might try to force himself upon her in some way but he had been especially nice, leaving her alone to get on with her work and never harassing her at the end of the day when she cleared up and went home. Carrie knew, though, that he was still waiting patiently for her to have a change of heart, and she felt flattered that Fred wanted her to be his wife. The age difference was not so terrible. Many young girls were marrying older men who could offer them security, men who would be less likely to burden them with lots of children. Fred Bradley would be a good husband, she knew, but she was not in love with him. She sighed deeply.

It was a few minutes to five o’clock in the empty café and Fred’s helper Bessie Chandler came out of the kitchen and raised her eyes to the ceiling as she sat down at one of the tables. Carrie smiled knowingly as she carried over two mugs of tea and sat down facing her. It was usual for them to have a quick chat together and catch their breath before they left for home in the evenings. Bessie was a large woman in her forties with a wide round face and fuzzy ginger hair which she always kept hidden under her headscarf. Her face was freckled and her small green eyes stared out from beneath drooping eyelids, making her look perpetually sorry for herself. Bessie had been employed to work mornings only at first but when trade increased Fred had asked her to work full-time. She prepared the raw vegetables and made pastry for the pies, afterwards helping Fred with the orders, but she talked incessantly and he felt that she was slowly driving him mad with her accounts of the doings of all her neighbours in the buildings. Fred seriously thought about getting rid of her, but she was such a good cook and very competent in the kitchen that when her endless talking grew unbearable he simply went out into the yard and puffed deeply on a cigarette as he steeled himself to face her chattering once more. Bessie was childless, and her husband worked nights at the biscuit factory. Fred joked with the carmen that she probably spent so much time gassing to the neighbours, she had no time left for anything else.

Bessie sipped her tea slowly, her doleful eyes staring at Carrie over the mug. ‘’E’s bin in a funny mood lately,’ she said in a quiet voice, putting her tea down and nodding in the direction of the kitchen. ‘I reckon ’e’s gettin’ old an’ miserable.’

Carrie smiled. ‘What’s the matter wiv ’im?’ she asked, knowing that she was about to find out anyway.

Bessie shook her head slowly. ‘’E’s bin very jumpy lately an’ I’m sure ’e just ain’t listenin’ when yer talk to ’im. If I didn’t know ’im better, I’d say ’e ’ad woman trouble. ’E seems miles away.’

Carrie stared down into the tea-leaves as she experienced a familiar sinking in her stomach. Bessie’s comment about woman trouble was probably a little nearer the truth than she realised.

‘I was only sayin’ ter Elsie Dobson the ovver night, ’e’s a funny bloke that Fred,’ Bessie went on. ‘’E’s never married or got ’imself involved wiv a woman. I mean ter say, ’e ain’t a bad-lookin’ sort o’ fella, as fellas go. ’E’d be a good catch too. ’E mus’ be werf a few bob. ’Is family ’ad the business fer years an’ ’e prob’ly come inter money when they died.’

‘P’raps ’e ’as got a woman tucked away somewhere,’ Carrie cut in quickly. ‘After all, we don’t know what ’e does in ’is spare time.’