Gaslight in Page Street (7 page)

‘All right, Geoff,’ he said quietly. ‘I can see yer not ’appy about comin’ in wiv me. There’s no rush ter go inter this engineerin’, is there? The problem is, I’m desperate fer a bit of ’elp wiv the business at the moment so I’d appreciate it if yer could give me a bit o’ yer time ter straighten fings up down at the office. Give it six months, eh? Then, if yer still feel yer should make engineerin’ yer career, I won’t stand in yer way. ’Ow’s that sound?’

Geoff swallowed a sharp reply. As much as he wanted to tell his father there and then that he would not change his mind, he held back. He had gained some measure of acceptance for his plans, and his father had ended up being less hard and aggressive than he might have expected. He seemed a little sad, thought the boy. He was going through one of his bad periods, as Nora had noticed. There would be other times for Geoffrey to assert his will. In the meantime he would try to settle into the business for six months but at the end of that time would make a final decision, he resolved, even if it meant breaking with his father.

Geoffrey looked up from the flickering coals and met his father’s questioning gaze. ‘All right, Dad, I’ll try for six months,’ he said with a deep sigh.

Jack Oxford was employed to do the dirty jobs around Galloway’s stables. He’d been a simpleton since a run-in with a horse in his previous job and was considered harmless by the other workers. He was tall and thin, with stopping shoulders and jet-black hair which hung down to his collar, and his large dark eyes stared out from an angular white face. He seemed to bend from the knees as he walked, and had large hands and feet that looked enormous in the pair of heavy, studded boots he always wore.

Today Jack had swept the yard clean and refilled the sacks of chaff; he had been in amongst the newly arrived horses and mucked out the stalls; he had topped up the drinking trough at the end of the yard with fresh water, and now he felt he had done just about enough for one day. It was time to relax.

Jack idled up to the office and looked in at the window. He had noticed that Galloway’s trap was not in the yard but he knew that the boss often walked to the stables. He could not see Galloway, only Mr Gallagher the accountant, bending over the desk in the far corner. Jack growled to himself. He had taken a dislike to Gallagher ever since he had accidentally sprayed the elderly man with water while hosing down the yard. Gallagher had walked in unexpectedly and been soaked. It was an accident and no lasting harm had been done, but the accountant had tattled to George Galloway who came out of the office and yelled at Jack in front of the carmen. The yard man’s sluggish brain had caught most of the tirade of abuse and he took umbrage at being called a lazy, incompetent bastard. He wasn’t sure what incompetent meant, it was the other word that Jack objected to. There was no need for the boss to fly off the handle. Jack had always done what he was told. It was only when he was chaff-cutting that he took a nap, and then only when the bale was finished.

It made no difference how hard he worked, the boss always shouted at him and made him look silly in front of the men. He was doing it more lately, and usually for no reason. Well, not for much of a reason anyway. Jack decided it was about time he started looking after himself for a change. A little nap was nothing to be ashamed of. Not when all the work was finished. He could do with one right now, in fact.

Jack sauntered away from the office window. The mid-afternoon sun was shining down from a clear sky and felt hot on his head. Too much sun gave Jack a nasty headache, and that was another good reason for him to take a nap. Will Tanner was at the farrier’s, and the carmen would not be back for a good two hours he reasoned as he rubbed his hands together and grinned to himself. He crossed the yard and walked up the long steep ramp to the upper stable. The door to his left led into the chaff-cutting room and Jack strolled through, relishing the thought of settling down in the hay.

Carrie left school in Dockhead late in the afternoon. She was walking home with her friend Sara when she spotted the two Galloway wagons. Soapy Symonds was in the leading cart, his head slumped down on to his chest as he nodded off. Soapy knew that he could rely on the horse to take him home without prompting and had let the reins hang loose. Sharkey’s cart was following behind, his horse nuzzling the tailboard in front as they plodded home to Page Street. Carrie shouted out to Soapy but he did not hear her. Sharkey spotted her as she ran to the kerbside.

‘I s’pose yer wanna lift, do yer?’ he grinned as he jumped down from his seat and lowered the tailboard on its chains.

‘I didn’t ’spect ter see yer,’ Carrie said as Sharkey hoisted the two girls up on to the tailboard.

‘Me an’ Soapy got finished early. There’s a stoppage at the docks,’ he said with a chuckle as he climbed back into the driving seat.

Carrie and Sara sat giggling on the back of the cart as Sharkey slapped the reins and sent the horse into a slow trot in an effort to catch up with Soapy.

‘I wish my dad worked in the stables or was on the ’orsean’-carts, ’ Sara said, grinning happily at Carrie.

The Tanner girl looked at the pale drawn face of her friend and smiled kindly. ‘Next time my dad takes me ter get the bales of ’ay, I’m gonna ask ’im if yer can come wiv us,’ she said.

‘Would ’e really take me as well?’ Sara asked, her dark-circled eyes lighting up.

‘I ’spect ’e will,’ Carrie said confidently. ‘We can ’ave a lemonade an’ ride up on top o’ the load. It’s really luvverly.’

Sara squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘You’re my bestest friend, Carrie,’ she said, her face beaming.

Carrie suddenly felt a sadness which seemed to clutch at her insides and tighten her throat as she looked into her friend’s pallid face. Sara lived in Bacon Street Buildings and her father, who had been crippled in an accident at the docks, was reduced to selling bits and pieces from a suitcase at the markets. Her mother took in washing and scrubbed floors in an effort to provide for her five children, and as Sara was the eldest she had unavoidably become the household drudge. Life was not very nice for her, Carrie thought, squeezing her friend’s arm in a spontaneous show of sympathy. Well, she was going to make sure Sara accompanied her on the next trip to Wanstead. She would speak to her father about it as soon as she got home.

The carts swung into Page Street and as they slowed at the firm’s gates Carrie and Sara jumped down. The Tanner girl stood beside her front door until her friend reached the end of the turning, then after exchanging waves she went into the house.

Once inside the yard the two carmen unhitched their horses and led them to the watering trough to let them drink their fill before settling them into the stalls. When the empty carts had been manhandled out of the way back up against the end wall, and the harness hung in the shed, Soapy and Sharkey walked up to the office and peered in.

‘Seen Will Tanner?’ Soapy asked, scratching the back of his head.

Horace Gallagher looked up from the ledger and peered over his thick-lensed spectacles at Soapy. ‘He’s at the farrier’s. I don’t know when he’ll be back,’ he said irritably.

Soapy looked at Sharkey and pulled a face. ‘Let’s sort dopey Jack out, Sharkey. ’E might ’ave some tea brewin’,’ he said, grinning.

The two sauntered from the office over to the rickety shed at the end of the yard and looked in. The place was a mess, with brooms and buckets scattered around everywhere. On the bench beneath the dust-covered window was an assortment of well-worn harness straps that the yard man was in the process of repairing. Of Jack Oxford there was no sign.

‘P’raps the lazy ole sod’s takin’ a nap, Soapy,’ Sharkey said, aiming a kick at the nearest bucket.

‘Let’s go up the loft. That’s where ’e’ll be, it’s a dead cert,’ Soapy replied.

The two carmen walked up the ramp and entered the chaff store. The belt-driven chaff-cutting contraption had been installed by George Galloway after he had seen a month’s bills for feedstuffs. It was driven by a leather belt which ran from the flywheel of a steam engine housed in the shed below. The cutter was a large, square contraption with revolving blades. From its funnel chopped hay was spewed out into sacks. Around the machine there were a few bales of uncut hay and in one corner loose stalks had been piled into a heap. Bedded down in them was Jack Oxford. He was lying on his back, snoring loudly, his cap pulled over his face and his hands clasped together on his chest.

‘Look at the lazy, dopey ole git,’ Soapy said, picking up a piece of wood that was resting against the cutter.

Sharkey grabbed Soapy’s arm and put a finger to his lips. ‘’Ere, let’s ’ave a lark. C’mon.’

Soapy followed his friend back down the ramp, puzzlement showing on his hawklike features. ‘Where we goin’?’ he asked.

Sharkey hunched up his broad shoulders and grinned evilly as he pushed his cap on to the back of his head. ‘We’re gonna give Oxford a spruce-up.’

The scheming carman led the way back to the shed and rummaged around Jack Oxford’s bits and pieces until he found what he was looking for. Then, with the giggling Soapy hard on his heels, he marched back to the stable and walked quietly up the ramp.

Jack Oxford was still snoring loudly in the hay. When a coating of leather preservative was brushed across his forehead, he merely grunted. The second stroke was applied along his stubbled cheek. He waved an imagined insect away with a sweep of his hand. A few more strokes were deemed enough to finish the job on the by now uncomfortable yard man, who turned over on to his side and began scratching his painted ear.

The sound of horses being led into the yard sent the two carmen hurrying from the loft. As they came down the ramp, they saw William Tanner.

‘What are you two doin’ ’ere?’ he asked, frowning.

‘We couldn’t get in the docks fer the second load. There’s a stoppage or somefink,’ Soapy replied, standing in front of Sharkey who had the tin of preservative hidden behind his back.

‘Well, take these two an’ bed ’em down, then yer can go,’ William said, walking away to the office. As he reached the door, he turned towards the two grinning carmen. ‘’Ave yer seen Jack Oxford?’ he called out.

The two shook their heads and walked off with the newly shod horses, grinning at each other like a couple of children.

Nellie Tanner was in the scullery doing the washing up while Carrie stood beside her drying the plates, a miserable expression on her pretty face.

‘But Sara’s my best friend, an’ she’s never even bin on an ’orse-an’-cart,’ she said plaintively.

Nellie sighed irritably. ‘Look, Carrie, yer farvver shouldn’t really take you wiv ’im, let alone ’alf the street. S’posin’ somefing ’appened? I mean, there could be an accident or somefink.’

‘But it’s not ’alf the street, Mum,’ Carrie persisted. ‘It’s only Sara, an’ nuffink bad would ’appen. She’d be no trouble. She’s so poor, an’ she stays away from school lots o’ times ter look after ’er bruvvers an’ sisters. I’m only askin’ fer Sara, nobody else.’

Nellie put down the last of the plates and undid her apron-strings, leaning back against the copper. ‘Yer say Sara’s poor? We’re
all
poor. All right, yer farvver’s got a regular job, but there’s no spare money comin’ in this ’ouse, let me tell yer. It’s a job ter manage, what wiv food an’ clothes, an’ we still ’ave ter pay rent, even though Mr Galloway owns this ’ouse.
Everybody
round ’ere’s poor. It’s ’and ter mouth fer all of us, luv, so don’t go gettin’ the idea that we’re better off than everybody else. Some’s jus’ poorer than ovvers.’

‘Well, I fink Sara’s family are poorest of all,’ Carrie said, gathering up the dried plates and placing them in the cupboard. ‘She ’ad no coat on yesterday when it was chilly an’ she ’ardly brings anyfink ter school. I don’t fink she’s ever tasted lemonade, an’ when she come ’ome wiv me on the back o’ Mr Morris’s van she was so excited. She’s nice.’

Nellie bit back an angry reply and said quietly, ‘Yer know yer shouldn’t go ridin’ on the back o’ those carts, Carrie. I’ve told yer before, yer could fall off. An’ what would Sara’s muvver say if she knew she was ridin’ on them wiv yer?’

Carrie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t fink she would say anything. She don’t treat Sara very nice, what wiv makin’ ’er do all that work indoors.’

Nellie sighed deeply, not really knowing how to reply to her young daughter. Carrie was a caring, thoughtful girl who was saddened and upset by the poverty around her, and Nellie knew there was nothing she could do to protect her from it. She was going to learn a lot more about heartache and sadness as she grew up.

‘Yer gotta understand, Carrie, Mrs Knight ’as ter work ’ard, what wiv Mr Knight being the way ’e is,’ she said slowly. ‘Sara’s gotta ’elp out in the ’ome. After all, she is the eldest, an’ don’t ferget the youngest is only a few months old.’

Carrie sighed. ‘Well, I’m still gonna ask Dad if she can come wiv us next time,’ she said firmly.

Nellie shook her head in resignation as Carrie walked out of the scullery. Just like her father, she told herself with a smile. Once she made up her mind, there was no shifting her.

As Nellie started to fill the copper with fresh water, she suddenly began to wonder what sort of a reception the army would get the following day.

Chapter Four

The Kings Arms stood on the corner of Page Street and was managed by Alec Crossley and his wife Grace. Alec was a tubby character with a bald head, a ruddy face, and a liking for brandy which made his face flush up like a beacon. Grace, on the other hand, remained sober and took charge of the pub on the frequent occasions when Alec had had too much of his favourite beverage. She was a large, jolly woman with an infectious laugh. Her blonde hair was worn piled up on top of her head. The Crossleys kept a happy pub and had installed a snug bar where the local women congregated for a drink and a chat in comfort, safe in the knowledge that they were not seen as tarts because they dared enter a man’s domain. The snug bar was the women’s own little haven where men did not intrude. It was Grace’s idea and she served the women herself. There was a saloon bar too at the Kings Arms which was carpeted and tastefully furnished, but almost all of the local folk used the public where a piano and round iron tables stood on well-scrubbed floorboards.