Gaslight in Page Street (5 page)

Aggie watched as her hostess delicately took out a pinch of snuff between her thumb and forefinger and laid it gently on the back of her long, thin hand. Aggie was the eldest of the trio. Her husband was a lamplighter and she took in washing and ironing. She also knew everyone’s business and always had a sorrowful look about her face, even when she was feeling quite happy. Her other idiosyncrasy was cleanliness. Aggie cleaned her windows at least twice every week, and her doorstep was always spotlessly white. Her aprons were invariably starched and her brown hair always neatly in place on the top of her head. When her husband Harold set off to light the streetlamps he made sure not to mark the doorstep with his boots, and when he came home late at night he left them on a piece of newspaper which had been put down in the passage for that specific purpose.

Florrie sniffed up the snuff and her friends waited until she had finished twitching her nostrils.

‘I was talkin’ ter some o’ the women last week an’ they said they’d be wiv us,’ Maisie went on.

‘Why don’t we do a bit o’ doorknockerin’? The more the merrier,’ Aggie suggested.

‘Good idea,’ said Florrie. ‘I should fink a crowd of us outside the gates might make Galloway fink twice.’

‘Last time we went ter see ’im, ’e sent that Jack Oxford out. Ooh, ’e gives me the creeps, really ’e does,’ Maisie said, shuddering.

Florrie laughed. ‘’E’s ’armless enough. My ole man told me it was an ’orse what done it.’

‘Done what?’ Maisie asked.

‘Sent ’im dopey,’ Florrie replied, wiping her nose on a clean handkerchief. ‘’E got kicked in the ’ead when ’e was a carman. Apparently ’e was a smart man once. ’E ’ad a lady friend as well. You remember that ginger woman wiv all those kids? The one who used ter live in Bacon Street Buildin’s? You know ’er - Dingle I fink ’er name was. She used ter fight ’er ole man in the street when they came out o’ the Kings Arms on Saturday nights. Pissed as ’andcarts the pair of ’em was every Saturday night. They didn’t ’alf used ter ’ave a punch-up, though.’

‘Jack Oxford didn’t take ’er out, did ’e?’ asked Aggie.

‘No, not ’er - ’er sister Clara. She was ginger too. Nice-lookin’ woman. She ended up marryin’ a copper an’ they moved away. Somewhere in the country, I fink it was. Bromley, if I remember rightly.’

‘Pity it wasn’t ole Galloway who got kicked in the ’ead instead o’ Jack Oxford,’ Maisie remarked. ‘We wouldn’t ’ave ter go roun’ doorknockerin’ then.’

Aggie folded her hands on her lap. ‘’Ere, I know what I meant ter tell yer,’ she began. ‘The police went in the Eagle last night. It’s bin closed down accordin’ ter my bloke. ’E said they was usin’ the place fer fightin’ ...’

‘That don’t surprise me,’ Florrie cut in. ‘That Eagle was always a rough ’ole.’

‘My ’Arold gets ter know all the news,’ Aggie went on eagerly. ‘’E said there was a bloke fightin’ at the Eagle last week called Gypsy Williams an’ ’e nearly killed the ovver poor bleeder. ’Arold said there was blood everywhere an’ ’e said George Galloway was watchin’ the fight.’

‘’E would be,’ Florrie said contemptuously. ‘Well I tell yer somefink. There’ll be blood on Page Street if we don’t stop ole Galloway runnin’ them ’orses.’

‘Yer right there, Florrie,’ Maisie said, nodding her head vigorously.

Florrie gathered up the empty teacups. ‘Let’s ’ave anuvver cup, gels, an’ then we’ll work out what we’re gonna do.’

Carrie lay back, feeling the sun warm on her face. The creaking of the laden cart and the scrunch of the iron-rimmed wheels over the cobbles were music in her ears as she stretched out in the hay. From above, the shadow of the high walkway across Tower Bridge blotted out the sun for a moment or two and she opened her eyes. She could see the high sweep of the massive girders and the clear blue sky above. She eased her position in the well amongst the stacked hay that her father had made for her and looked down from the top of the bales. Below, the River Thames was at high tide and she could see the line of steamships moored in the Pool. In midstream a brace of flat, tarpaulin-covered barges lay at anchor, moored to a huge iron buoy. In the distance she saw the grimy, square stone London Bridge, and beyond the grey dome of St Paul’s, its giltwork glistening in the sun. The hay smelled sweet and the gentle rocking and swaying of the cart made her feel drowsy. Carrie lay back and closed her eyes once more.

It was Carrie’s favourite treat to be allowed to accompany her father on his journey to Wanstead to bring back a supply of hay. He usually made the trip on Saturday mornings, but on this occasion he had had to go Tuesday, since the stock of bales at Galloway’s was running low. The previous evening, as they were exercising the cob in the quiet yard, Carrie had pleaded with her father to let her go along the following morning. He had pulled a face but she knew he would take her. He always did.

On the outward trip she had stood in the well of the cart, holding on to the base of the dicky seat. They were using Titch the Welsh cob, who seemed to have fully recovered. They had stopped on the way at a small country pub where her father had bought her a lemonade and they had eaten their brawn sandwiches, sitting at a wooden table in the back yard. Now, as she leaned back on top of the hay bales, Carrie sighed contentedly. Most of the children in her class would have given anything to go on the trip, of that she was sure. There were Billy and Tommy Gordon who were very poor and had to share a pair of boots. Then there was Sara Knight - her clothes were almost hanging in shreds and she was often ill. Wouldn’t it be nice if they all could have gone on the trip? thought Carrie. Sara had probably never tasted lemonade. Tommy and Billy would have been really excited and it wouldn’t have mattered if they hadn’t had a pair of boots each. The hay was soft and they would have loved to feed Titch with pieces of carrot and turnip.

Carrie sighed as she snuggled down in the hay and felt the cart sway as it turned into Tooley Street. She would be home soon and tomorrow she could tell her school friends all about the day out. Sara would listen wide-eyed and the Gordon brothers would say how they wished they could have fed the horse and sat on top of the hay. Suddenly Carrie could picture their envious expressions. She bit on her bottom lip. Why were her best friends so poor? she wondered sadly. It was then that she made up her mind to tell them she had been in bed with a sore throat.

On Friday morning a dozen Irish Draughts arrived from the horse repository in Walworth. They were led in teams of four by walkers, young lads who knew the backstreets very well and who had managed to keep the animals quiet by avoiding most of the noisy traffic in the main roads. William and some of the carmen had already moved the carts out of the large shed and hung up the stall-boards. The food trays were filled and there was clean straw bedding in place. George Galloway was on hand to take delivery. He gave every horse a quick inspection, running his hand over the withers and down the flanks. He was watched by his elder son, Geoffrey, who stood to one side looking slightly bored with the whole process. Geoffrey was a tall, dark lad in his sixteenth year, his last at school. Lately he had been having differences with his father over his future plans. Geoffrey wanted to be an engineer but his father was adamant that he should come into the business. The boy decided he would have to bide his time for the present and try to show some interest in the cartage business, while he waited for the right moment to confront his father.

The women of the street had been keeping themselves alert to developments at Galloway’s yard, and when the heavily shod animals clattered into the cobbled turning the leaders of the protest group started to gather at number 10. One or two women who lived in the stretch of the turning leading out into Bacon Street turned up, as well as the women from the Jamaica Road side of Page Street. They had realised that if Florrie and her friends managed to stop the horses being run along their end of the turning then Galloway might simply decide to run them along to Bacon Street and back. The women understood that they would have to stick together, and if the horse trader wanted to show off his nags to the military then he would have to do it inside his own yard.

Eight women in all sat in Florrie Axford’s parlour, chatting together.

‘We’ll ’ave ter be ready, an’ that means we gotta know exactly when the army’s comin’,’ Maisie Dougall said in a loud voice, her large eyes glaring.

‘Why don’t we jus’ go an’ tell that whoreson we ain’t gonna put up wiv it?’ Dot Argent said with venom.

Sadie Sullivan leaned forward in her chair. ‘What’s the use o’ that?’ she growled. ‘The ole bastard’ll say, “All right, ladies,” then when the army arrives ’e’ll jus’ go on an’ do it. I reckon we ought ter tell ’im if ’e don’t listen ter what we’re sayin’, we’ll chuck a lighted lamp in the stable. That should make ’im sit up an’ take notice.’

Florrie shook her head. ‘We can’t do that, Sadie, much as we’d like to. We don’t wanna end up in ’Olloway, do we? If we get done fer arson they’ll lock us up an’ chuck the key away.’

Maudie Mycroft nodded her head vigorously. ‘Yer right, Florrie,’ she said, her eyes widening with concern. ‘Ole Bridie Kelly burnt ’er ’ouse down over in Abbey Street a few years ago. They stuck ’er in Colney ’Atch.’

‘I should fink so too,’ Aggie Temple cut in, frowning crossly. ‘Bridie Kelly was as mad as a March ’are. She’d already tried ter burn the Post Office down in the Old Kent Road, then she set the Relief Office alight when they refused ter give ’er a few bob. A few weeks later she laid ’erself down across the tramlines in Tower Bridge Road sayin’ she was fed up wiv it all. The trams was lined up as far back as the Elephant an’ Castle. It took two burly great coppers ter shift ’er. Nearly bit one o’ the coppers’ ears orf, she did. The woman was a bloody lunatic!’

When the laughing had died down, Florrie held up her hands. ‘Look, gels,’ she said quietly, ‘we gotta do this right. We don’t want no violence or ’ollerin’ an’ ’ootin’. First of all, we gotta get the day right. If we know exactly when the army’s comin’, we can be ready. What we gotta do is all march out at both sides o’ the turnin’ near the gates. We’ll take the kids wiv us and we’ll all sit ourselves comfortable. If any of yer ’ave got knittin’ or socks ter mend, bring ’em wiv yer. Let ’em see yer ain’t in no ’urry ter leave. I tell yer, gels, there’s no way they’re gonna run them ’orses while we’re sittin’ there.’

Maudie pulled at her chin with her thumb and forefinger ‘S’posin’ they bring the coppers down? We could all get locked up,’ she said fearfully.

Florrie smiled at the worried-looking woman. ‘Look, luv, what we’re gonna do ain’t breakin’ the law. Well, not very much anyway. We can block our street up if we like. We’re the ones who live ’ere. Jus’ come out an’ act like yer mean it. Jus’ say ter yerself, sod ’em all. Are we all agreed?’

Determined, excited voices rang out and then Aggie stood up, waving her hands for the women to quieten down. ‘The question is, ’ow we gonna find out fer sure when the army’s comin’?’ she asked Florrie.

Florrie grinned slyly. ‘Now listen ter me. Yer all know Nellie Tanner’s ole man is the yard foreman? Well, she’s gonna find out from ’im when they’re comin’. She’s got kids like a lot o’ you women an’ she ain’t none too ’appy about ’avin’ ter keep ’em off the street. Besides, it’s ’er ole man who’s gonna ’ave ter run the bleedin’ nags. She told me only the ovver day she worries over ’er Will gettin’ trampled on if one o’ them ’orses falls over. She told me ’e’s fair copped out by the time ’e’s finished.’

Sadie put up her hand for attention. She was a large, middle-aged woman with dark hair and deep blue eyes. Her flat, friendly face belied a volcanic temper and she was renowned for her ability to stand up in the street and fight like a man. One or two bullying women had come to grief in the past when they had had the temerity to challenge Sadie to a fight, and on one occasion she had been taken to court and fined ten shillings for a street affray in which her opponent, a drunken docker who had questioned her birthright, was laid out cold by a swinging right-hand punch from Sadie’s massive fist. She had seven children by her devoted docker husband, Daniel, who idolised her. Sadie’s brood were often involved in scraps, and more often than not the fights were between themselves. The family had become known as ‘the fighting Sullivans’, although when Sadie and her Irish husband Daniel marched their tribe to Mass on Sunday mornings, they all looked positively angelic.

At the moment Sadie looked far from angelic. She glanced around at the other women. ‘I reckon if we stick tergevver we’re gonna beat ole Galloway, but we’ve all gotta see it out,’ she said resolutely. ‘That connivin’ ole bastard might see us all sittin’ in the turnin’ an’ e’ might well phone up fer the coppers. What we gotta do is refuse ter move. All right we might get nicked an’ put in the Black Maria, but at least we can tell our side of it ter the beak. If we get a decent magistrate we might get a restraint put on Galloway. Some o’ them magistrates ain’t so bad.’

The mention of the Black Maria and possibly going before a magistrate sent shivers through Maudie Mycroft. She went to the women’s meeting every Monday afternoon at St James’s Church, and already had visions of the other ladies there whispering together and giving her dark looks. She could hear them now: ‘Ten shillings fine and bound over to keep the peace. Isn’t it disgusting? Wouldn’t you think the woman would have better sense than to throw herself in front of the horses? Disgusting behaviour! I should think the Reverend Preedy will ask her to stay away. It’s such a bad example to the other women ...’

Maudie fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. She wanted desperately to speak about her misgivings but she bit on her tongue. If she opted out of joining the rest of the women, they would all think her a coward and pass her by in the street. Maybe she could feign illness, or perhaps go to see her sister in Deptford when the women took to the street? She could say that her sister was suddenly taken ill.