Gaslight In Page Street Part 12

It was then that Billy led her into the shadows of a doorway and turned to face her, his body close to hers. Carrie's heart was pounding madly and her breath was coming fast. She let him press his lips on hers in a pa.s.sionate kiss that seemed to linger forever. She knew she should push him away and hurry from this unfamiliar, dark place but instead she let the kiss go on. She felt his hands moving down her body, slowly at first and then more urgently. Warning bells sounded loudly in her mind and as his groping hands slipped around inside her thighs she tensed and pushed him from her.

'No, Billy! No!' she cried, feeling as though the day had suddenly been spoiled.

He ignored her protestations as his lips sought her neck. His broad chest pressed against her and she felt helpless in his firm hold on her. He was breathing heavily now. 'Let me love yer, Carrie,' he gasped. 'Let me make love ter yer.'

She had become confused and frightened by his excitement and her whole body was shaking. It was wrong, she told herself. She had let him go on for too long and now he was holding her so tightly that it hurt. With a gasp, she finally managed to push him away. He sagged against the wall watching her warily.

Carrie pulled at her dress and reached behind her for her bonnet which was hanging from her neck on its pink ribbon. 'Yer took advantage of me, Billy!' she said angrily. 'Yer tried ter make love ter me.'

He gave a grin as he moved away from the wall and straightened himself. 'I'm sorry, but I couldn't 'elp it. Yer really are very pretty, Carrie,' he said smoothly.

'We'd better get on 'ome,' she replied, feeling that the magic of the day had now gone.

They walked out from the narrow cobbled lane into Dockhead and along to Jamaica Road. They were both quiet, and when Billy glanced at her occasionally she returned his looks with a hardness in her eyes. It had been so nice in the park, she thought regretfully. They had talked freely of their hopes and aspirations, and it had felt so romantic when they sat together in the flower garden. It was her fault, she told herself. She should never have let him kiss her like that. Now he must be feeling cheated and angry inside at not being able to go further. Well, she was angry too. He had led her on and taken advantage of her naivety, and if she had not stopped him . . . He had tried to seduce her on their first time out together without considering her feelings and she was angry at his heedlessness. Mary at the factory had warned her of the way in which young men treated their lady friends. She knew that deep down she had wanted him to go on, to hold her and caress her body, but he had seemed to care only about his own pa.s.sion and almost forgotten about her. She realised he would be angry now and would not feel like asking her to walk out with him any more. Well, she didn't care, she told herself. One day she would give herself fully to a man, when she was ready to receive love and when it was the right time for her.

As the two walked back into Page Street, Carrie could see her mother standing at the front door. Florrie Axford was sitting in a rickety chair by her door talking to Maisie and Aggie. Billy's mother Sadie was standing on the doorstep of her house, idly watching children playing hopscotch, and another group of women were chatting together on the bend of the turning. Billy had said nothing on the way back to the street and when they reached his house his younger brothers ran up to him. He gave Carrie a shrug of his shoulders and walked off down the turning.

As the summer light faded and darkness settled over the quiet square, Nora Flynn hummed contentedly. The evening meal had been a happy affair with the boys laughing and joking together and Josephine managing to capture her father's interest for a while. Nora was happy that George seemed to be taking more notice of his only daughter now. It was hard for the child to grow up without a real mother, she thought, though she herself had tried to give Josephine love and protect her from certain things. The girl was thirteen now and growing up very pretty. Unlike her older brothers who were dark and favoured their father, Josephine had her mother's fair hair and deep blue eyes. She had her mother's good nature too, and seemed popular with the other young girls who lived in the immediate neighbourhood.

Nora had been careful in her new relationship with the girl's father. She had not wanted it to be known that George was sleeping in her bed but the two young men of the house had realised some time ago and were happy for her, since they had grown to love her almost as much as their own mother. Josephine, on the other hand, was still very much a child and Nora had insisted to George that she must not be made aware of their liaison. Now, as she tidied up the dining room and folded the embroidered tablecloth, Nora could hear George talking to his sons in the front room. She took one more look about her before going upstairs to her embroidery.

In the large front room the heavy curtains had been drawn and the gaslamp turned high. George Galloway sat back in his armchair with a gla.s.s of Scotch at his elbow and a lighted cigar in his hand. He was much heavier in build than his two sons, having put on quite a lot of weight over the years, and he had re-grown his moustache which tended to make him look older than his fifty-three years. His face was heavy-jowled and flushed with the whisky and his dark eyes seemed to be half-closed as he eyed his sons. Facing him, Geoffrey sat back in his comfortable chair and idly twirled the contents of his gla.s.s as he listened to his father. Next to him sat his younger brother Frank, dressed for his evening out. There was a remarkable likeness between the boys who could have been mistaken for twins. Both had dark, wavy hair, although Frank was the heavier by almost a stone. Their eyes were dark and deep-set, their features clean and fine-cut.

'I'm aware we've gotta be lookin' ter the future,' George said, puffing on his cigar. 'What I don't accept though is that 'orses are finished. Take the army, fer instance. They're gettin' motor lorries but their 'orses are still crucial, although they don't get 'em from me now,' he added ruefully. 'I know that 'Atcher's an' some o' the ovver carters 'ave got motor vans but they're bigger concerns than us. Besides, where're we gonna keep the vans if we get a couple? There's no room in the yard an' the turnin's too narrer. Christ, I'd be 'avin' anuvver demonstration on me 'ands if I brought motor vans in the turnin'.'

Geoffrey prodded the sheaf of papers on his lap. 'That's what I mean about getting another yard,' he said. 'There's a list here of possible sites and they're all going reasonably cheap. In a year or two prices are going to climb, what with all the s.p.a.ce needed. Now's the time to buy or lease some land, while there's a slump. We could still run the yard at Page Street for a couple of years, then we could sell out at a nice profit. I agree with you that the yard's too small for our future needs, that's why I'm suggesting we get another site now.'

'Geoffrey's right, Father,' Frank cut in. 'The slump won't last more than a year or two and then there's going to be a rush for business. It seems to me that you can't afford to wait much longer.'

George puffed nervously on his cigar. 'What yer sayin' is that we go over ter motors an' get rid of all the 'orses?'

Geoffrey shook his head. 'Not for a couple of years. We could pick up the longer-distance cartage with two motors and still see out the existing contracts. But if we don't move, we're going to get left behind. That's a stone certainty, the way I see it,' he concluded, leaning back in his chair.

George took the bottle of Scotch from the table at his elbow and replenished his gla.s.s. Geoffrey refused the offer of a refill but Frank took the proffered bottle and poured himself a large measure. For a while George was silent as he sipped his drink.

''Ave you two considered the ovver side o' the coin?' he asked suddenly. Their blank stares prompted him to go on. 'Take the firms what's goin' over ter motor transport. They'll be chasin' after the distance work 'cos that's where they're gonna make their money. But motors are no good round the dock lanes an' they're b.l.o.o.d.y unreliable as well, by all accounts. Yer need ter remember also that yer gotta pay the van drivers more money ter drive the noisy fings. 'Orses are reliable. If yer feed and care for 'em, they'll work till they drop, an' never complain. Take my word fer it, there's gonna be some good contracts comin' up fer 'orse transport durin' the next few years, I wanna be in from the off wiv my bids, an' when some o' the motor firms go out o' business that'll be the time ter step in wiv an offer, fer the business and the land. In the meantime we'll carry on the way we've bin goin'. All right?'

His two sons nodded, each knowing that their father had made up his mind and there would be no shifting him. Frank got up and stretched in a leisurely fashion.

'Well, I'd better be off,' he said with a grin. 'I'm joining a party and we're going to a first night. As I said before, Geoff, you're welcome to tag along. Who knows? You might meet some sweet young thing.'

Geoffrey declined the offer with a smile and a shake of his head. 'I've got other plans tonight,' he said casually.

On Sunday morning Page Street was up and about, and at nine o'clock William Tanner went into the stable yard and harnessed one of the Welsh cobs. At nine-thirty a sleepy-eyed Soapy Symonds trudged into the turning to the ribald comments of the women and drove an open cart out of the yard.

Florrie Axford was organising the women and she had something to say to Soapy as he sat up in the seat with the reins slack in his hands. 'Oi! 'Ow we gonna get up there?'

Soapy was recovering slowly from his Sat.u.r.day night at the Kings Arms. 'Jump up. That's what I 'ad ter do,' he grumbled, miserable at having allowed himself to be talked into driving the women on their outing.

Florrie gave him a vile look and hurried into her house to get a chair. Soapy sat motionless while Florrie and Nellie Tanner did the roll-call.

'There's only fifteen. Who's missin'?' Florrie asked.

Aggie Temple came hurrying along the turning. 'Sorry I'm late. I couldn't find me bonnet,' she puffed.

Finally the women were all in position, sitting along both sides of the cart on two benches they had borrowed from the church hall. They were all wearing flowered bonnets, with the exception of Sadie Sullivan who had on an emerald green Bo Beep hat. Getting into the cart had been difficult for the revellers as they were all wearing long cotton dresses, but they were in good spirits as the cart moved off along the cobbled turning, watched by the male population who waved and joked with them. Soapy Symonds was feeling slightly better after Florrie had given him a swig from a bottle of ale, and he perked up no end when Aggie told him the women were going to pa.s.s the hat round on his behalf if he gave them a comfortable ride.

The journey was interrupted first by a water stop for the horse, and then at the roadside for the women to stretch their legs and pop behind the bushes. Soapy had been given his orders by Florrie: 'Oi, you! No peepin' or I'll complain ter Galloway when we get 'ome.'

At last the happy merry-makers arrived at Epping Forest and Soapy turned the cart on to a side road which led directly into the greenery. He jumped down from his high seat, and after he had a.s.sisted the women from the back of the cart, Florrie presented him with a pint of ale which he downed almost in one gulp.

White tablecloths were laid out on the gra.s.s and the women sat down to their picnic. There was cheese, brawn and boiled bacon, freshly baked bread and margarine, c.o.c.kles and shrimps, and jellied pork pies. There was ample liquid refreshment too, and as the food was devoured and bottles of ale and stout were attacked the party got under way. One of the women strummed on a banjo and Aggie did her impression of a clog dance. At the side of the path the horse munched on his oats and occasionally turned his head at the noise. Soapy had retired some way from the main group and opened his third bottle of ale, burping loudly as he swallowed large draughts.

It was later in the day when the first mishap occurred. Maggie Jones and Ida Bromsgrove went off to pick blackberries, and when Maggie fell into the brambles and got herself hopelessly entangled her friend ran back to get help. It took some time to release the unfortunate woman but she was unhurt, although her new dress had been ripped in places. It was not long after that when Aggie Temple slipped during one of her more vigorous dancing routines and sprained her ankle. Help was at hand however, and Nellie tore off strips from her petticoat and bound up Aggie's ankle after first soaking the makeshift bandages in ale.

The day remained fine and warm and the revellers from Page Street wished that it could last forever, but when the sun began to go down the women decided they would have to leave their idyllic surroundings and return to grimy Bermondsey. As they gathered the remains of the food and drink and loaded them on to the cart they realised they were being observed by two elderly women who stood on the path nearby. They were wearing tweeds and smart hats, and each carried a cane hiking stick.

Maisie Dougall was by now feeling merry from the amount of ale she had consumed. She waved over to the women. 'Fancy a swig, luvs?' she said in a slurred voice.

'Good G.o.d, I do believe they're gypsies,' the younger of the two whispered to her friend.

'I don't think so, Pearl,' the older woman replied. 'I think they're factory girls from London. Isn't it disgusting the way they're carrying on?'

Pearl sniffed contemptuously as she dabbed at her neatly coiffured hair. 'They've been drinking, Maud. I think it's absolutely nauseating.'

Maisie had walked over to the outraged women. She held out a quart bottle of stout. ''Ere, gels, why don't yer try a drop? Yer can't beat a good drop o' stout,' she said, blinking in the effort to focus her eyes on them.

'Take that nasty bottle away this minute, do you hear me?' the older woman cried.

Maisie looked crestfallen. She turned to Sadie Sullivan who had walked over to see what was going on. 'They don't wanna drink, Sadie.'

Sadie's large face was flushed under her bright green hat and she scowled as she observed the disapproving look on the two hikers' faces. 'Well, if yer don't wanna be sociable, yer better p.i.s.s orf out of it,' she said quickly, thrusting out her chin.

The two frightened women hurried off without a word and Sadie put her arm around Maisie's shoulders as they walked back to their group. 'Don't worry, gel,' she grinned. 'Them sort ain't used ter seein' a load of ole sloshers like us.'

Meanwhile there had been a serious discussion taking place over the supine figure of Soapy, who was snoring loudly.

'What're we gonna do?' Aggie groaned, stroking her bandaged ankle.

'It's no good, I've tried ter wake 'im but 'e's too p.i.s.sed,' Florrie said, shaking her head. 'There's only one fing ter do. Give us an 'and, gels.'

After Soapy had been unceremoniously thrown into the back of the cart, Nellie took charge. Having to drive the cart did not worry her. She had often gone out on trips with William in the past and he had let her take the reins. The horse was fetched from its resting-place under a clump of trees and tethered to the cart, and when all the women had clambered aboard and Aggie had been made comfortable with her damaged leg resting across Soapy, they started for home. A few hours later a tired, happy bunch of wa.s.sailers finally drove into Page Street by the bright silver light of a full moon.

Chapter Fourteen.

Early in 1910 an outbreak of diphtheria in the nearby Salisbury Street slums spread to Page Street. Two of the smaller Sullivan boys caught the disease, as did Maisie Dougall's younger son. For days the children's parents could do nothing but wait and pray. When the crisis had pa.s.sed and the three children began to recover everyone hoped that the scourge had left, but it was not to be. Mrs Jones lost her daughter, Mrs Carmody lost a son, and in Bacon Street Buildings four children died. The tragedies left a terrible scar on the hard-up families, and with the menfolk falling out of work and food prices rising there seemed little to instil hope into the drab lives of the Bermondsey folk. Anger and bad feelings were running high, and activists were beginning to make themselves heard in their efforts to get something done about the slum dwellings in the area. Salisbury Street was a major target for the campaigners, as was Bacon Street Buildings. Meetings took place in church halls, school buildings and on street corners, and the local councillors were roundly berated. The suffragettes were actively stepping up their campaign to win the vote for women and were trying ever more fervently to persuade people that their votes would force change and improve the lives of everyone.

Carrie Tanner had called on her friend Sara Knight at her home in Bacon Street Buildings often during the diphtheria outbreak and she had been moved to tears as she saw the funeral processions leaving Bacon Street. Her sadness and anger found release in the women's movement and she was now becoming more and more dedicated to the cause. She attended every march and meeting she could and volunteered to carry one of the heavy banners, along with Mary and her two friends Jessica and Freda. Local newspapers had been quick to realise that the suffragette movement was gaining many dedicated followers amongst working-cla.s.s girls and they ran stories and interviews. The South London Press and the Kentish Mercury were regularly reporting events and publicising the marches to their readers, and support for the women's movement grew.

Nevertheless, there were still many people who viewed the movement in a very unfavourable light, and at Wilson's leather factory the management issued a threat. A notice was pinned up beside the time-clock which read: 'As full-time working has been resumed, any future absenteeism due to taking part in suffragette marches will result in instant dismissal'.

'Well, I don't care,' Mary said firmly as she punched in her time-card. 'I fer one ain't gonna bow ter that sort of intimidation. As far as I'm concerned, the movement comes first, so sod 'em all.'

'What we gonna do about Friday's march, Carrie?' a worried Jessica asked her friend.

'I feel the same way as Mary. I'm not gonna be stopped by that notice,' Carrie replied angrily.

'Nor am I,' Freda said firmly. 'If they sack us, we'll jus' 'ave ter go ter Peek Freans or the tin-bashers. They always seem ter be takin' workers on. Ter tell yer the trufe, I don't fancy workin' in a metal factory, what wiv the noise an' that, but I can't afford ter be out o' collar.'

Mary had a sly grin on her wide face as she turned to Carrie. 'I wonder if the local papers'll be interested in that notice?' she remarked.

On Friday morning the management met to discuss the absence of four of their workers and the disappearance of the warning notice.

'It's going to be embarra.s.sing if the newspapers get hold of that notice,' the personnel manager, Mr Wilkins, remarked. 'It's likely to reflect badly on our good name.'

'I wouldn't worry too much about our good name,' the elderly managing director, Mr Gore, cut in. 'We're an old established business with a good employment record. We don't have strikes at our factory because the workers enjoy good working conditions, and better wages than any of our compet.i.tors in Bermondsey, I might add. I think many people are getting a little tired of the suffragettes and the disruption their marches cause. As far as this firm is concerned, our position has been made clear. We can't afford to let our girls go off on those ridiculous marches just when it suits them. In any case, we're within our rights.'

'I take it the four young women will be dismissed then?' the works manager queried, glancing at Mr Wilkins.

Mr Gore nodded emphatically. 'Are there any voices against enforcing our ruling?' he asked, looking round the table quickly. The silence gave him the answer he required and he looked at the personnel manager. 'I take it you'll be able to deal with it, Mr Wilkins,' he said brusquely as he got up and walked out of the room.

The rest of the gathering exchanged glances. 'This could cause trouble,' the works manager, Mr Faraday, remarked. 'The old man was talking about our strike-free record. I think we're likely to lose that. There's been some unrest on the shopfloor since that notice went up.'

Mr Wilkins nodded his agreement. 'I warned him about taking too hard a line. We could have just stopped the day's pay. Sacking the girls is going to give us more trouble than we bargained for, mark my words.'

'We could have spoken up and opposed him,' Mr Hopgood, the chief accountant said timidly.

'Well, we didn't, so there's no point harping on it now,' Wilkins said. 'We'll just have to wait and see what happens next.'

Across the river on Tower Hill that bright spring morning the four workers from Wilson's leather factory were collecting their banners for the big march on Parliament, in blissful disregard of their possible fate. Mary was becoming excited. She pointed to a group of women in ap.r.o.ns and white hats. 'Look over there, ' she enthused. 'They're the matchbox gels from Bryant and May's.'

Smartly dressed organisers were hurrying to and fro, distinctive in their armbands showing the letters 'WSPU'. They wore long dark satin dresses with ruffled sleeves tapering at the wrist and all had on wide hats and patent leather boots. In contrast, the factory girls and women from the working areas of London wore long shabby dresses or factory ap.r.o.ns and bonnets.

There was a mood of solidarity and quiet determination as the column finally set off along Eastcheap and into Cannon Street. Carrie carried a poster that showed ap.r.o.nclad women with raised hands. The wording above the picture announced, 'The Women's Social and Political Union', and beneath the picture was the statement, 'Women demand the right to vote. The pledge of citizenship and basis of all liberty'. Carrie walked proudly beside Mary who was sharing a large banner with Freda, and Jessica strode alongside with a smaller banner to herself. As they progressed along the busy thoroughfare the chant went up, 'Votes for Women!' City workers and fish porters stood watching at the roadside and occasionally an obscene comment was directed towards the column. Women looked down from open windows, cheering the marchers and shouting encouragement. Policemen flanked the column, looking totally disinterested, and up ahead traffic came to a standstill as the campaigners crossed into Fleet Street.

Carrie's arms were beginning to ache. She glanced across to Mary. The young woman's plump face was flushed and she was chanting loudly as she strode along. Carrie grinned to herself. What was going to happen if they lost their jobs at the factory? she wondered suddenly. Her mother had warned her of the possible consequences and would no doubt have much to say, although her father would probably shrug his shoulders and leave the chastis.e.m.e.nt to Nellie.

The procession moved along the Strand, crossed the south side of Trafalgar Square and turned left into Whitehall, where more police were waiting. Freda leaned towards Carrie with a worried look on her pale face. 'I wonder if they'll try an' stop us before we get ter Parliament?' she said.

Mary heard the comment. 'They can't do that. We're allowed ter lobby, long as we don't cause trouble,' she announced, giving the policeman walking beside her a mean glance.

The suffragettes finally arrived at the looming tower of Big Ben and the column halted while two of the organisers spoke with police at the gates of the House of Commons. Carrie could see the two women walking into the courtyard, flanked between two policemen. She rested her banner against her leg. Mary was sweating profusely and both Jessica and Freda looked tired from the long march.

The police seemed to be getting agitated as the traffic was being forced to divert around the marchers and there was some pushing and shoving going on. A group of women were protesting at being herded away from their vantage point outside Parliament, and as a policeman took one of them roughly by the arm and tried to remove her from the gates a scuffle suddenly broke out. Other women started to cry out against what seemed to be an unnecessary use of force and soon policemen surrounded the growing disturbance. Traffic was coming to a standstill in Parliament Square as the orderly lines disintegrated into a swarming, chaotic throng. Policemen's helmets became dislodged as the violence grew worse. The matchbox women were in the thick of the fray with fists flying.

Carrie picked up her banner and tried to follow her friends to the safety of the central gra.s.sed square but a policeman grabbed her arm and yanked her towards the pavement where a Black Maria was parked. Suddenly Mary's heavy banner crashed down on his head, and as he stumbled Carrie pulled herself free.

'Quick, run!' screamed Mary, setting off in the direction of Westminster Bridge.

Carrie held her skirts up from her feet as she followed her friend, tearing across the road. When the two reached the foot of the bridge they leaned on the parapet, gasping for breath.

'They was after arrestin' those what was carryin' banners,' Mary said when she had recovered slightly. 'We better not stop 'ere.'

The skirmishes were spilling on to the entrance to the bridge by now and the two women could see some of the organisers being led away by policemen.

'Quick, let's cross over,' Carrie said, pulling on Mary's arm.

They dashed through the congested traffic, and at the entrance to Whitehall spotted Freda and Jessica who both looked distressed. Freda's dress was torn at the front and Jessica was crying. There seemed to be police everywhere. There was an officer standing near the four young women, carrying a battered helmet in his hand. When he spotted Mary, his face screwed up in anger.

'Come 'ere, you!' he shouted gruffly, beckoning her with his finger.

Mary backed away and turned to run but the angry policeman reached out and grabbed her. 'I'm arrestin' you fer a.s.saultin' a police officer,' he growled.

Carrie stood directly in front of him and looked angrily into his flushed face. 'She ain't done nuffink,' she cried.

'Oh, I see. Yer both wanna be arrested, do yer?' he said, taking her arm.

Jessica and Freda had had enough trouble for one day. They backed away and hurried off in the direction of the bridge. People were standing around watching the incident. One young man wearing a cap and red scarf walked up boldly and confronted the officer. 'Why don't yer leave 'em alone?' he said. 'They ain't doin' no 'arm.'

The policeman turned to the man. ''Oppit, or I'll run yer in as well,' he snarled.

Carrie could feel her heart pounding as she struggled in the policeman's strong grip and tried to prise his fingers from her arm with her free hand. She could see more policemen crossing the road in their direction and bit on her bottom lip. With a deft movement she reached up into her hair and pulled out a hat-pin. With a quick thrust she pushed it into the policeman's leg. He bellowed in pain and at the same time Mary kicked him on the shin. The sudden a.s.sault had disabled the policeman and the two young women broke free, holding hands as they dashed off across Westminster Bridge as fast as their legs could carry them.

Once over the river, and realising they had not been chased, the two stopped and leaned against a wall to recover.

'That was a smart fing ter do,' Mary laughed. 'Where did yer learn that trick?'

Carrie grinned. 'That's what Florrie Axford would 'ave done,' she replied.

'Florrie Axford?'

'Yeah. They call 'er "'airpin" Axford be'ind 'er back 'cos she stopped a fight once by stickin' 'er 'airpin in this bloke's leg,' Carrie explained.

'I wonder if Jessica an' Freda got away all right?' Mary asked presently.

Carrie nodded. 'I see 'em both runnin' over the bridge. I reckon they'll be 'ome by now.'

Suddenly they heard a shrill whistle. 'Wanna ride?' a voice cried out.

Carrie looked over and saw that a horse cart had pulled up by the kerb. The carman wore a cap and a red scarf. 'That was the fella who sauced that copper,' Carrie whispered to Mary.