Backstreet Child (8 page)

Nellie forced a smile. ‘Anyway, don’t let it turn yer mind, gel,’ she said, patting her daughter’s hand. ‘If yer really gonna let the ’orses go, make sure it’s fer the right reasons.’

Carrie kissed her mother’s forehead and sat down once again on the arm of her chair. ‘There’s only one reason, Mum,’ she replied. ‘I don’t want ter frighten yer but as far as I can see there’s gonna be a war before long, an’ this area’s likely ter get bombed. At the meetin’ last week some o’ the transporters were discussin’ their ’orse transport an’ quite a few of ’em ’ave decided ter send the ’orses out o’ London if war starts. I’m not waitin’. I’ve already ordered two more lorries wiv the ’elp o’ the bank, an’ I’m seein’ somebody about the ’orses next week. I’ve got all the work I can ’andle an’ they’re regular contracts, so I can pay off the loan easily.’

‘What about the carmen?’ Nellie asked.

‘I’ve got ter talk to ’em this Friday,’ Carrie replied. ‘I don’t see any trouble.’

Nellie stared down thoughtfully for a few moments and then her eyes met Carrie’s. ‘D’yer remember when yer was little?’ she asked. ‘Yer wouldn’t go ter school if there was a chance of a ride out in the country. Remember the time the stable in Page Street caught light an’ yer grabbed that Cleveland that Galloway used ter use? I thought it was gonna trample yer farvver’s ’ead in that night. You got it out safely though. I don’t fink anybody else could ’ave managed that ’orse. Remember Titch, an’ the big Clydesdales? Yer cried all night when Titch died. I ’ope yer not gonna miss the ’orses too much, gel, that’s all I ’ope.’

Later that morning heavy mechanical diggers and noisy tracked vehicles roared into Page Street. Maisie hurried over to Florrie to find the old lady standing at her front door.

‘Well, there’s the start o’ yer monastery,’ Florrie said sarcastically.

Maisie winced. Ever since the day she carried the false story to Florrie she had been reminded constantly not to be taken in by people. Fred, too, had been quick to give his gullible wife the edge of his tongue. ‘Bloody monastery?’ he shouted. ‘Yer gotta be dafter than ’e is ter believe ’im in the first place. I’ope yer ain’t bin spreadin’ the news about. If ole Florrie an’ Sadie get ’old o’ this they’ll bloody crucify yer fer the silly cow you are.’

Maisie had felt sick. She had been to tell Florrie and Sadie the news before she went home. ‘I’m gonna go round the council an’ see about this,’ she had raved to them.

Florrie had been convinced that her old friend had been duped and she said as much to Sadie after Maisie had left. ‘Let’er go if she wants to, but I ain’t gettin’ involved. Besides, me legs won’t stand up ter that bleedin’ walk.’

Sadie had never been one to pass up a fight, even if it was the borough council, but she had to admit the whole thing sounded fishy. ‘Where did Maisie get the information?’ she asked.

‘Well, yer know what she’s like,’ Florrie said, reaching for her silver snuffbox. ‘She felt sorry for the ole nightwatchman an’ she took ’im over a mug o’ tea. It was ’im what told ’er. The scatty ole sod was ’avin’ a game wiv ’er. The trouble wiv Maisie is yer can tell ’er anyfing an’ she’ll believe it.’

As she stood at Florrie’s front door and watched the activity taking place at the yard, Maisie thanked her lucky stars that her husband Fred had dissuaded her from making a fool of herself at the council offices.

It was not long before Maudie Mycroft came by. She was carrying a shopping bag and looking more worried than usual.

‘Can yer see what’s goin’ on?’ she said, putting her bag down and leaning against the wall for support.

‘I might be bad on me legs, Maud, but I ain’t blind,’ Florrie replied sharply.

Normally the timid Maudie would have retired into her shell at Florrie’s sarcastic reply but on this occasion she moved nearer her and whispered, ‘They’re buildin’ a shelter.’

‘Who told yer?’ Maisie asked.

‘My younger sister’s ’usband’s workin’ on it. ’E’s a foreman, so ’e should know,’ Maudie said with satisfaction.

‘I knew it all along,’ Florrie declared, taking a pinch of snuff. ‘What did I say? Didn’t I say it was gonna be a shelter?’

Maudie picked up her shopping bag. ‘Well, I best be orf’ome,’ she announced. ‘My ’Arold ain’t none too good.’

Maisie left soon after and Florrie went into her parlour and threw a small knob of coal onto the fire, although the day was mild. Standing at the front door had become tiresome lately, she sighed, and there were things to do. She sat down in the fireside chair and reached for a tin box at her elbow. From the bottom of a pile of old photographs and dog-eared papers she removed a large green document and put the rest of the bits and pieces back in the box. With a groan she stood up and placed the document against the side of the mantelshelf clock. For a moment or two she stood staring down at the smoking coals, then she reached up to the mantelshelf again for her purse and took out a florin which she slipped into her apron pocket. ‘I mustn’t ferget,’ she said aloud as she settled herself down in the chair once more.

On Friday Carrie held a meeting with her four carmen and told them that she intended to replace the horses with two new lorries. The news was greeted with a stony silence at first and then Paddy Byrne cleared his throat.

‘Well, ter tell yer the trufe, Mrs Bradley, we’re not surprised,’ he said, looking round at the other men. ‘We’ve ’eard that some o’ the ovver firms are doin’ the same, but if yer don’t mind me sayin’ so, ain’t yer bein’ a bit ’asty? After all, nobody knows if there is gonna be a war fer sure. It might all come ter nuffink.’

Carrie gave Paddy a brief smile. He was always the optimist, the most happy-go-lucky of her men. ‘Look, Paddy,’ she began. ‘I’m sure in my mind that before long war’s gonna be declared. I ’ope ter God I’m wrong, but I’m convinced it’s gonna come to it. I can’t keep those ’orses in a place like Bermon’sey. It’d be cruel wiv the bombin’ that’s sure ter come. Yer can see fer yerself all the air-raid shelters that’s goin’ up round ’ere. All right, I could wait fer a while, but once war is declared it’ll be too late. A lot o’ transport’s certain ter be commandeered an’ then it’s unlikely I’ll be able ter move the animals.’

Jack Simpson, the eldest of the carmen, shuffled his feet and looked up at his solemn-faced employer. ‘So we’re bein’ laid orf?’ he said.

Carrie folded her arms and looked round at the men one by one. ‘There’ll be a job fer two of yer, if yer want ter learn ter drive,’ she told them. ‘I’ve spoken ter Tubby Walsh an’ Tom Armfield an’ they both said they don’t mind teachin’ yer.’

Jack shook his head vigorously. ‘Yer wouldn’t get me in those lorries, missus, not fer anyfing,’ he said emphatically.

Percy Harmer, the youngest member of the group, grinned. ‘Well, that settles it fer me,’ he said. ‘I’m not married an’ I ain’t got any ties so I bin givin’ it some thought about volunteerin’ fer the army. That’s what I’m gonna do now.’

Paddy looked at the others, then he turned to Carrie. ‘All right, I’ll give it a try,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve always fancied meself as a lorry driver.’

Carrie looked at the remaining carman. ‘What about you, Lofty?’

Lofty Bamford shook his head slowly. ‘I ain’t cut out fer lorry drivin’, Mrs Bradley,’ he replied. ‘I’ll stick wiv ’orses. I’eard the railways are keepin’ their ’orses, so I’ll try there.’

Carrie nodded. The meeting had been better than she had anticipated. Only Jack showed any sign of ill feeling. The rest seemed to understand the position, she felt.

While the meeting was taking place in the office, Jamie Robins had gone over to the house to help Rachel and Joe plough through the mass of forms that had recently arrived. Along with the applications for road licences, there were government forms which required information on the number of vehicles owned and the current contracts, as well as applications for petrol supplies should rationing be necessary. Jamie was very relieved when he saw an exemption form that was among the pile of incoming mail. He knew that Carrie would do her best to keep him and he settled down to work happier in the knowledge.

Chapter Five

During the early summer the Dawsons moved into Page Street, and their neighbours the Smiths got to know them much quicker than they might have expected. It started innocently enough when Mrs Dawson finished unpacking her bits and pieces and then went next door to ask Alice Smith for change for the gas meter. Being an inquisitive person by nature, Alice was keen to find out a little about her new neighbour and she invited her in.

‘I’ve got a tanner ’ere somewhere,’ she said, going through her various hiding places before eventually finding it. ‘Would yer care fer a cuppa while yer ’ere?’

‘That’s good of yer,’ the buxom Dolly Dawson replied, her large green eyes widening. ‘I’ve just about got straight before the tribe comes ’ome from school. I’m just ’opin’ they find their way ’ere.’

‘’Ow many kids yer got?’ Alice enquired, hoping it wasn’t going to be too many. Her husband Bill would not be too happy if his afternoon naps were interrupted by screaming and shouting.

‘Four,’ Dolly replied, touching the back of her piled-up red hair. ‘Two boys, one gel, an’ Wallace.’

Alice had a puzzled frown on her face as she poured the steaming water into the teapot. ‘That’s nice for yer,’ she said.

‘My eldest boy Dennis is ten,’ Dolly answered slowly, as if trying to remember who was who, ‘the next one Leslie, ’e’s eight, then there’s the baby o’ the family, Joyce, who’s five.’

‘What about Wallace?’ Alice asked.

‘My Wallace is a lovely boy, such a shame. ’E’s so good-natured,’ Dolly went on. ‘ ’E ain’t much trouble really.’

Alice felt her head start to spin. ‘Wait a minute. Yer said yer’ad two boys, a gel an’ Wallace. Is Wallace a boy or gel?’

Dolly waved her hand. ‘I’m sorry, I’m always sayin’ that. Wallace is me eldest son, but ’e’s different, yer see,’ she explained. ‘Wallace was got just after me ole man came back from the war. Josiah was shell-shocked, or at least some o’ the neighbours said that’s what it was. Anyway, Wallace was born retarded. Lovely-lookin’ kid ’e was too. The ’orspital said it was one o’ those fings. Part of ’is brain was affected. Mind you, ’e’s no trouble, provided yer watch ’e don’t get ’old o’ matches. ’E’s got this fascination wiv fires, yer see. Always playin’ wiv matches, ’e is. ’E almost burnt me last place down. Wallace ’as settled down a lot since then though. I couldn’t leave ’im at one time. I’ve left ’im next door wiv ’is colourin’ books. ’E loves colourin’, does Wallace.’

Alice was horrified. Of all the people who could have moved next door, it had to be a hare-brained woman with a son who was not only a half-wit, but a budding arsonist in the bargain. Whatever’s Bill going to say, she wondered gloomily.

Dolly took the proffered cup of tea and crossed her thick legs. ‘I ’ope I ain’t put yer ter no trouble,’ she said. ‘It seems a nice turnin’. Better than where I come from.’

‘Oh, an’ where was that?’ Alice asked.

‘Bellamy Street, just orf the Drummond Road,’ Dolly told her. ‘They’re pullin’ the places down, that’s why we ’ad ter move. Wallace is gonna miss the place though. ’E got used to it there, yer see.’

‘Is yer ole man workin’?’ Alice asked.

Dolly stared down at her teacup before answering. ‘Josiah’s away,’ she replied.

‘Away?’

‘ ’E’s on the Moor.’

‘The Moor?’ Alice asked.

‘Dartmoor. ’E’s doin’ five years.’

‘I am sorry,’ Alice said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t ’ave asked.’

‘Oh, it’s no secret,’ Dolly told her. ‘My Josiah’s well known in Bermon’sey. It’s the drink, yer see. Wivout a drink ’e’s the nicest man yer could meet, but when ’e’s got a skinful inside of’im ’e gets violent. ’E’s got previous, yer see.’

‘Previous what?’ Alice asked.

‘Previous convictions. That’s why ’e’s on the Moor. Mind you, though, I don’t fink it was all Josiah’s fault the last time.’

‘Oh, an’ why was that?’

‘Well, yer see, ’e was ’avin’ a quiet drink in a pub one night when this big feller comes in, an’ as ’e goes ter the counter ’e knocks Josiah’s arm an’ spills the beer all down ’is nice clean shirt,’ Dolly told her. ‘Well, my feller tells ’im ter be careful, or words ter that effect, an’ this feller takes a swing at ’im. My Josiah does no more than chucks ’im out the pub. ’E didn’t ’it ’im.’

‘That seems a bit ’ard, puttin’ ’im in prison jus’ fer chuckin’ a troublemaker out the pub,’ Alice remarked.