Gaslight In Page Street Part 32

The summer of that year was a wretched time for the mourning Tanner family. Nellie became almost a recluse, hardly ever venturing out of the house after hearing the terrible news, and her friends in the street could do little to ease her pain. William went to the yard every morning, his grief bottled up inside him, and in the evening sat with his distraught wife in the silent, cheerless house that had once echoed with laughter and noise. Carrie too had to suffer her grief privately. Every day she put on a brave face and forced a smile as the carmen and dock workers came into the dining rooms. It was only when she was alone in her bedroom at night, clutching a photo of her eldest brother to her breast, that she let go, trying to ease the grinding, remorseless pain of her loss as she sobbed into the pillow.

Carrie felt grateful for Fred Bradley's support during that terrible time. He was very kind and understanding, and seemed to know instinctively when she needed to chat and be consoled and when he should remain discreetly in the background. Bessie was large-hearted too, although the well-meaning woman often upset Carrie by her open displays of sympathy and tears. There were times too when Bessie tried to cheer the young woman up with her tales of the buildings and only succeeded in making her more depressed and tearful than ever, and Fred would think desperately of ways to shut his kitchen-hand up.

The only grain of comfort for the Tanner family during that long hot summer was receiving letters from the two boys in France. Danny wrote home often and Charlie sent an occasional letter from a hospital some way behind the lines. He made light of the fact that he was suffering from a bullet-wound in the chest and told them that he hoped to be sent home before the year was out. Little mention was made of their brother's death since that first poignant, joint letter in which the surviving boys described visiting James's grave, saying that they felt he was happy to be resting beside his fallen comrades.

The huge toll of young life mounted, and during that hot summer John and Michael Sullivan were both killed in action, and Maisie Dougall's son Ronald also fell. A terrible quietness seemed to descend over the little turning and folk held their heads low and talked in hushed voices as they stood on their doorsteps, in respect for the street's fallen sons. Mrs Jones walked proud. Her son Percy had finally returned to the front and in July she read in the newspaper that he had won the Military Medal at Messines.

The grieving Sadie Sullivan and her husband Daniel took on the War Office when their remaining sons got their call-up papers. Sadie argued angrily that the loss of two sons was price enough for any mother to pay. She finally won the day, and the twins, Pat and Terry, and the youngest boy, Shaun, were not required to go into the army. Every family in Page Street had signed Sadie's pet.i.tion and Florrie put into words on the bottom the thoughts of everyone: that in the three years of war so far Page Street had already given up the lives of four of its young men, two more had been wounded in battle, and another had won the Military Medal.

The war was changing everyone's life. Since his son's death George Galloway had become morose and almost unapproachable. He barked out his orders and changed his mind regularly without reason. Nothing seemed to satisfy him. The carmen stayed clear of him and even his own son began to dread going into the office each morning. Nora Flynn did her best to bring a little light into the Galloway house but only rarely was she able to get George out of his room and away from the ever-present bottle of whisky. Her hopes had been raised when Frank told her that his wife Bella was pregnant; she had thought that the news might help rally her employer. George did brighten up for a short time, and it was evident how much he still cherished the idea of a grandson to carry the family name, but his depression soon returned and the bottle once again became his constant companion.

Josephine Galloway spent as little time as possible at the gloomy house in Tyburn Square. During the day she was busy working for the Red Cross, and now that her training was over for the time being she visited her friends most evenings or sat with Nora in the back kitchen before going to her room and writing long letters to Charlie Tanner. Her days with the Red Cross had taught her many things. She had witnessed the suffering and tragedy of war at first hand and had been privy to much forbearance and courage, and, occasionally, instances of utter stupidity. Returning casualties had on occasion been aided, tended and nursed by dedicated medical workers, and then left on cold platforms to be visited by ageing dignitaries who found it difficult to string two sensible words together.

In November bitter fighting was taking place at the Ypres salient and Cambrai, and by the end of the month Red Cross trains were rolling into Waterloo with terrible regularity. After four days of tending the returning wounded, Josephine felt exhausted as she sat chatting with the rest of the medical team one Friday morning while they waited for the first train of the day to pull into the station.

'Well, as far as I'm concerned they can do what they like,' the young doctor said defiantly. 'As soon as we get the word from transport, the stretchers will be moved off the platform.'

'But the colonel said the party will be arriving soon. Hadn't we better hold a few of the less serious back?' his colleague asked anxiously.

'Look, Gerry, I'm taking responsibility for this and I'm saying no,' the doctor declared in a challenging voice.

'All right, on your own head be it, Alan,' his colleague said, holding his hands up in resignation. 'I just hope the colonel won't be too put out. Those politicians can be an awkward bunch of sods.'

'My instructions are quite clear,' Alan replied. 'Render emergency medical attention then forward all wounded personnel to transport forthwith for conveyance to military hospitals as designated. There's nothing in the orders that states we delay transportation until all b.l.o.o.d.y visiting parasites and leeches are fully sated and glorified to the detriment of aforementioned personnel. I've had just about enough of it.'

Josephine chuckled. She had been listening intently and felt she could hug the young doctor. He had already incurred the wrath of the powers that be and she knew that he was bravely walking a very thin line.

'They're detestable,' she said with pa.s.sion. 'The way they walk along looking down their noses, as if just coming here makes them feel dirty.'

The young doctor suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheeks. 'Josie, you've just given me a great idea!' he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling.

Ten minutes before the train was due to arrive, the party of dignitaries marched into the station with the usual fuss and bother. The station master was waiting together with the young doctor and an elderly staff officer, all looking very serious.

'I think we're all ready,' a fl.u.s.tered-looking young man at the head of the official party said as he approached them.

The station master held up his hand. 'I'm sorry, but there's a little bit of a hitch,' he said apologetically.

'A hitch?' the official queried haughtily.

'The doctor will explain,' the station master replied.

'I've just got word from Southampton,' he began, looking suitably stern. 'I'm afraid there's a suspected typhoid case amongst the casualties. Apparently the man was wrongly diagnosed as having trench fever. The error was discovered too late to stop the casualty travelling. We'll need to get the man away from the station as soon as possible, but of course I don't want to stop your party from talking to the men. I can only advise extreme caution.'

The group looked taken aback and one or two were already backing away. The young official turned to the chief dignitary. 'Sir?'

'Well, I, er, - I think we should let the doctor get the men away quickly, as he suggests. What do you say, Parish?'

'Jolly good idea,' his aide said in a relieved voice.

As the party hurriedly left the concourse, the station master turned to the young doctor, smiling broadly. 'I'll make sure your part of the station is cleared of civilians,' he told him. 'We don't want them exposed to any risk, do we, doctor? Besides, it'll help you get the men away quicker. Good luck.'

The young doctor turned to the staff officer for his nod of approval but the elderly colonel was already hurrying away.

At twelve noon the Red Cross train steamed into the terminus and the platform was suddenly crowded with casualties, hobbling on crutches or being carried on stretchers. Several with bandages over their eyes were forming a line and slowly being led away. Nurses in Red Cross uniform and white-coated doctors moved amongst the men, and slowly order began to be imposed upon the confusion. Tea was handed out by volunteers and some of the helpless casualties dictated letters that were hastily scribbled down by helpers. Some of the soldiers were laughing and joking, but others looked blank-faced and shocked. Some were mumbling to themselves, ignorant of the noise around them as they suffered in their own solitary nightmare. One stretchered casualty lifted his head and looked around anxiously as he was carried from the station. Suddenly he grinned and tried to raise himself on his elbows as a young nurse hurried towards him. Josephine smiled with relief as she bent over the soldier and kissed him, then she took his hand in hers and walked beside the stretcher to the waiting ambulance.

Early in December Inspector Stanley and his a.s.sistant called at Galloway's yard.

'We've picked up Sammy Jackson,' he said, easing his bulk into a chair. 'We found him sleeping rough under the arches.'

'Did 'e admit ter startin' the fire?' George Galloway asked.

The Inspector shook his head slowly. 'He admitted to starting the fire, but I don't think there's much chance of him going to the gallows. He was ranting and raving when I interviewed him. He was going on about doing the work of the Lord. Unless I'm very much mistaken Sammy Jackson will spend the rest of his life in a loony bin. By the way, the sergeant has managed to track down the victim's next of kin,' he added, nodding to his a.s.sistant to take up the story.

'Bernard Dewsbury's sister is the only surviving relative,' the sergeant began. 'They weren't very close. Apparently he was lodging with her until he was thrown out of the teaching profession for abusing one of the children. For a while he worked as a labourer on the roads and moved about the country quite a bit. He returned to London last year but his sister refused to take him back. Until his death, Dewsbury was sleeping under the arches in Druid Street.'

'Pity 'e didn't stay there instead o' takin' notice o' that idiot Oxford,' George remarked.

'I don't suppose he'll be missed much,' Frank Galloway commented.

The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. 'From what we could gather from the headmaster of the school, Dewsbury got on well with the rest of the staff and was a very good teacher until he suddenly started going downhill. It seems he got involved with some religious group, according to his sister, and from then on started acting strangely. Anyway, the matter will have to rest there for the time being. I expect Jackson's trial will take place early in the new year and the whole sorry mess will get a good airing. By the way, Mr Galloway, we'll need to hold on to the watch-and-chain until the trial's over. I don't see any reason why you shouldn't have it back afterwards,' he concluded.

The sergeant left immediately afterwards and the Inspector stood at the gate chatting with George Galloway. Presently he gave the yard's owner a quizzical look.

'I understand you've got a good man in Jake Mitch.e.l.l?' he queried, smiling as he saw the surprised expression on George's face. 'It's all right, Don McBain's a friend of mine. I was just wondering what Mitch.e.l.l's prospects were against Don's latest boy? From what he tells me this young fighter's been doing well up in the north-east.'

Galloway smiled slyly. 'If I was a bettin' man, I'd put me money on Jake Mitch.e.l.l,' he told him. 'From what I've 'eard, McBain's lad is a rough 'andful but 'e's got a gla.s.s jaw. I don't fink 'e'll trouble my man.'

The Inspector took out a large, white five-pound note from his wallet and handed it to Galloway. 'Put that on your man for me, will you?' he said with a wink. 'I'll call round after the fight.'

Nora Flynn leaned back in her comfortable armchair and closed her eyes. The newspaper she had been reading lay on the floor beside her and her gla.s.ses rested in her lap. The accounts of the battles raging in France had made depressing reading and she tried to think of happier things as she let the heat of the fire permeate her aching body. She had been very busy that day going through the house, turning out drawers and clearing out the odd corners. She had polished the silver, scrubbed the kitchen and stairs, changed the front room curtains and generally tried to brighten up the drab, miserable house. When she was finished Nora had felt no better for all the hard work. There was no one to praise her efforts or remark on how nice the place looked except Josephine, and she was hardly ever at home these days.

It saddened Nora that George spent so little time in her company, preferring to go to his room after the evening meal and sit alone with his thoughts, and the inevitable bottle of whisky. For months now he had almost ignored her, treating her merely as a paid housekeeper and forgoing the intimate chats they had once had together. It seemed ages since he had shared her bed, and Nora was beginning to face the hard truth that George Galloway had used her the way he used everyone. She had been available to him when he needed a woman, and that was the beginning and ending of it. She had been silly and foolish to expect more. She was a middle-aged widow, plain and staid, with little physical allure to ignite a man's pa.s.sion. Why had she allowed herself to be used? she wondered almost desperately. Did she really want to build a new life for herself before it was too late, or was it just loneliness?

A light tap on the door made Nora start. She sat up in her chair as Josephine looked in. 'Come in, luv, I was jus' takin' a well-earned rest,' she said stretching.

Josephine sat down in the chair facing her and spread her hands towards the fire. 'I saw Charlie Tanner at the station today, Nora,' she said, smiling. 'He was on the first train.'

'Is 'e badly 'urt?' the housekeeper asked anxiously.

'It's a chest wound but he's all right. He's been taken to Woolwich. I'll be able to visit him soon.'

'Have you told your father yet?' Nora asked, her eyes searching the young woman's face.

Josephine shook her head. 'I know I've got to tell him, Nora, but I keep putting it off. I made up my mind that I'd do it tonight but I'm frightened of what he might say.'

'Look, Josie, yer goin' on fer twenty-one,' Nora said firmly. 'Yer've a right ter pick a young man an' go courtin', the same as anybody else. Yer farvver's got the right ter know when yer find that young man, so tell 'im, but let 'im see that yer know what yer doin'. 'E'll be pleased for yer, I'm sure.'

'Do you really think so?' Josephine asked, concern showing in her deep blue eyes.

Nora smiled at her. 'Go an' see 'im now,' she urged. 'Get it over wiv, an' don't ferget what I said. Let 'im see that yer know what yer doin'.'

Josephine stood up and walked to the door. 'Wish me luck,' she smiled, holding up her crossed fingers as she left the room.

Chapter Thirty-six.

As soon as the Tanners returned home from the Woolwich Military Hospital, William rounded angrily on his wife.

'I fink yer should 'ave at least waited till the boy was on 'is feet before sayin' what yer did,' he shouted.

'I'm sorry if it upset 'im but 'e's got ter know 'ow I feel about it,' Nellie shouted back. 'Nuffing good's gonna come out of 'im an' that gel o' Galloway's gettin' tergevver. Christ! There's plenty of ovver gels round 'ere wivout 'im gettin' mixed up wiv 'er.'

'Look, Nellie, we've got no right to interfere,' William countered. 'Charlie's ent.i.tled ter make 'is own choice. From what 'e was sayin', yer could see 'e finks a lot of 'er.'

'I don't care,' Nellie said, tears welling up in her eyes. 'I don't want a son o' mine marryin' inter the Galloway family. George Galloway's a bad man an' 'e's put 'is mark on 'is children. That bad streak runs in 'em an' I won't 'ave Charlie marryin' inter that lot.'

'But that's silly talk,' William retorted. 'Yer condemnin' the gel wivout knowin' 'er. S'posin' Galloway told 'is daughter ter keep away from our Charlie? Yer'd be up in arms then, wouldn't yer?'

'No, I wouldn't. 'E'd be doin' Charlie a favour,' Nellie said, her voice breaking with emotion.

Carrie had been listening quietly and felt moved to say something. 'She seems a nice enough gel, Mum.'

Nellie turned on her daughter. 'That's right, side wiv yer farvver,' she complained angrily. 'Yer 'ardly know the gel, anyway. I'm tellin' yer, she's a Galloway, an' that's enough fer me. It's bad enough yer farvver 'as to work fer the man wivout Charlie marryin' inter the family.'

William shook his head slowly as he slumped down in his chair. 'I reckon yer upsettin' yerself fer nuffink,' he said in exasperation. 'The lad said 'e likes 'er an' they'll be walkin' out tergevver when 'e gets 'ome. 'E ain't said anyfing about gettin' married. Besides, why all the sudden fuss about me workin' fer Galloway? It's honest work an' I bring in regular wages. That's more than can be said fer a lot o' poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds round 'ere.'

'Yer know I've never bin 'appy wiv yer workin' fer 'im,' Nellie replied quickly. 'I've seen yer slave fer 'im fer years, workin' nights an' weekends wiv those sick 'orses. An' what's yer fanks bin? Sod all, that's what. Yer said yerself George Galloway's got no feelin' fer 'is workers. Jus' 'cos you an' 'im ran the streets tergevver once don't mean yer can expect any favours. When it suits him yer'll be put off, an' when that day comes we'll all be out on the street.'

William looked appealingly at his daughter as Nellie hurried from the room. 'What's got inter yer muvver ter make 'er carry on like that?' he wondered aloud.

Carrie sighed and stared down into the fire. 'I s'pose it was the shock o' seein' Charlie lyin' there. 'E did look queer, didn't 'e?' she said quietly.

'I dunno what ter fink,' William sighed. 'It's not like yer muvver ter get upset the way she did. She knows we can't do anyfink if Charlie an' that Galloway gel get tergevver. It's up ter them what they do. I'm jus' wonderin' 'ow George Galloway's gonna react when 'e finds out, if 'e don't know already.'

Charlie Tanner's hopes of being home for Christmas had been dashed when his wound became infected. While he was lying in a haze of pain, he received a visit from Josephine. Now, as he sat propped up in bed against a mound of pillows, he could recall her sitting beside him, holding her cool hand to his forehead. A nurse was putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches to a gaily decorated Christmas tree that stood in the centre of the ward and the young soldier watched idly, occasionally lifting his eyes to the high window and watching the dancing snowflakes as they fell against the frosty panes. It was Christmas Eve. Charlie felt warm and comfortable now that the pain had left him and looked forward to seeing Josephine once more. He let his tired eyelids shut out the activity around him, and as he hovered between sleeping and waking he was aware of light footsteps and the scent of lavender as soft lips brushed his forehead. Josephine sat down beside him, and he held her hand in his as she asked him how he was feeling and poured him a drink from the bedside container. She seemed cheerful, he thought, but her striking eyes looked sad, almost melancholic, and he was moved to ask her, 'Is there anyfing wrong, Josie?'

She shook her head but her eyes gave her away. He pressed her soft hand. 'Yer would tell me if there was somefink wrong, wouldn't yer?' he entreated her.

Josephine stared down at the clean white counterpane for a few moments. When she looked up and met his gaze, he knew he had been right.

'It's my father,' she said in a low voice. 'I told him about us and he's forbidden me to see you.'

Charlie looked deep into her troubled eyes. 'Why, Josie?' he asked.

'He said I'm too young to be thinking of courting and he wants me to go to college as soon as the war's over,' she replied.

'Was that all?' he asked. 'Did yer farvver not mention me?'

'That was all he said,' Josephine told him.

Charles shook his head. 'Josie, I'm not a child. I can imagine the rest of it. 'E said yer should marry somebody wiv prospects, somebody who 'ad money an' was able ter provide fer yer. Am I right?'

She nodded, her eyes avoiding his.

'Would yer be surprised if I told yer me own family don't like the idea neivver?' he asked her. 'I told 'em about us last time they came in ter see me. Farvver was all right, but me muvver was shocked, ter say the least. I couldn't understand 'er att.i.tude.'

'I didn't realise how much dislike there was between the two families,' she sighed. 'Why should there be, Charlie? What's happened between them?'

Charlie shrugged his shoulders. 'I wish I knew. My ole man's worked fer yer farvver fer donkeys' years. I jus' can't understand it as far as my folk are concerned. As fer yer farvver, at least there's a proper reason, much as I don't like it. The point is, what d'yer intend ter do about it, Josie?'

Josephine looked at him, her deep blue eyes burning with determination. 'I want us to stay together, Charlie,' she replied in a very quiet voice. 'I want us to be lovers. I want you to hold me and never let me go.'

He smiled and stroked her hand. 'That's the way I feel too,' he said, his eyes staring back into hers. 'There could never be anybody but you. I thought of nuffink else all that time I was in the trenches. I carried a picture of yer in me mind an' it 'elped ter keep me from goin' mad.'

Josephine's eyes brimmed with tears and she gazed at Charlie's hand on hers. 'Every day when I saw the troop trains pull into the station I said a prayer that you'd be kept safe,' she said. 'When I saw you lying on that stretcher I felt I was going to die. I knew then that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I couldn't live without you, Charlie,' she whispered.

The ward sister was ringing a handbell and looking very stern. Josephine got up and leaned over him, her lips meeting his in a soft, tender kiss.

'As soon as you're back from convalescence I want us to go away somewhere, Charlie,' she said. 'I want us to spend a couple of weeks together, just the two of us. Will you promise?'

He kissed her open lips for answer, and she walked away, turning at the door to wave to him.

Father and son sat facing each other across the highly polished table at number 22 Tyburn Square. Spread out in front of them were the company ledgers and sheaves of paper containing columns of figures. To one side was a whisky decanter which was slowly being depleted. George Galloway toyed with a full gla.s.s of Scotch as he pored over the last of the figures Frank had presented him with. The older man's florid face had a set expression and his heavy-lidded eyes did not blink as he scanned the columns. Frank leaned back in his chair and sipped his third drink, feeling irritated by his father's reluctance to make the final decision. How much longer was the silly old fool going to take? he wondered. It was all straightforward and simple to understand. There was the initial outlay, which would be offset by the substantial bank loan he had negotiated, the first year's trading projection and the evidence of the ledgers too. It was all in front of him.

George took a swig from his gla.s.s. 'Are yer sure these figures are right?' he asked, looking up at Frank.

The younger man nodded. 'It's time we got moving, Father. We're going to be left at the post if we don't start moving pretty quickly,' he said testily.

'So we sell off 'alf the 'orses, an' buy the four Leyland lorries to start with?' George queried.

'That's right. We can accommodate the lorries in the yard once the carts have gone and we'll start looking for larger premises in the area,' Frank reiterated. 'If I place the order now the lorries will be delivered in January. If all goes well we can increase the fleet at the end of next year.'

George nodded slowly and reached for the decanter. 'I'll give Will Tanner 'is notice as soon as we get the confirmation of delivery,' he said, his face muscles tightening. 'I want 'im out o' the yard as soon as possible. That business wiv young Josie is the last straw as far as I'm concerned.'

Frank stared at his refilled gla.s.s thoughtfully. His father had been adamant that Josephine must stop seeing Charlie Tanner and there was no moving him. The girl had gone to her room in tears after the confrontation and his words of comfort had done little to help. Why should his father take such a hard line with Josephine? he wondered. She was old enough to make her own mind up and his att.i.tude was only going to harden her resolve. Something must have happened in the past between the families to make his father so desperate to stop her seeing the Tanner boy. Maybe nothing had, though. It was quite likely the old boy was just being cantankerous, he allowed. He had certainly become terribly moody and short-tempered since Geoffrey's death. Even the birth of Caroline had not cheered him to any great extent. If Bella had presented him with a grandson instead of a granddaughter perhaps he might have shown a little more enthusiasm. He was keen to have a male heir to carry on his name, but it was just one of those things.

It was fortunate he hadn't been present when Bella came out of the hospital, Frank thought. She had made it clear then that she wasn't intending to have any more children and that she was anxious to get back into the theatre as soon as possible. It had been so pleasant during the later months of her pregnancy as well. Bella had become resigned to her condition and had finally stopped worrying about her figure. Nancy boy Hubert stayed away for some time and Frank had been hoping he had seen the last of him, but it was not to be. Hubert was back on the scene now, large as life and as obnoxious as ever.

'Are yer goin' in fer a large family?' George asked suddenly, as though reading his thoughts.

'I expect we will,' Frank said, grateful that Bella could not hear the conversation.