Backstreet Child (18 page)

‘Poor little sod,’ Maudie said with feeling.

Dolly pushed her way into the circle. ‘I’m ’is muvver. What’s’e done?’ she asked.

A large woman wearing a coarse apron with a money belt sewn into it put her hands on her lips belligerently. ‘’E come in my shop while I was busy an’ picked up an ’andful o’ bananas,’ she shouted at Dolly. ‘The cowson didn’t fink I see ’im take ’em, but I did. We’ve sent fer the police. Mr Roberts caught ’im, didn’t yer, luv?’

The elderly man nodded, wishing now that he had not taken any notice when the large woman shouted at him to stop the young man as she came waddling after him.

‘Where’s the bananas, Wallace?’ Dolly asked him in a quiet voice.

The young man’s face contorted as he wriggled to get away from the clutches of the elderly man and saliva dripped down onto his coat lapel. ‘I ain’t got bananas,’ he slurred, his eyes looking appealing towards his mother.

‘All right, let ’im go,’ Dolly said firmly. ‘Yer can see ’e ain’t got any bananas on ’im. Yer must ’ave made a mistake.’

‘Well, ’e took ’em, ’cos I see ’im take ’em,’ the large greengrocer said with venom.

‘Well, ’e ain’t got ’em now, so where’s yer proof?’ Dolly asked her.

‘P’raps ’e’s ate ’em,’ a bystander remarked.

‘Chucked ’em more like,’ another cut in.

‘Bloody idiot wouldn’t know what ter do wiv ’em anyway,’ a scruffy-looking woman with a headful of curlers butted in.

‘Who you callin’ an idiot?’ Dolly screamed at her.

People began milling about as the arguing intensified and the elderly gent decided it was an opportune time to lose his grip on Wallace’s arm. Dolly meanwhile was being pulled away from the scruffy-looking woman by other bystanders and by the time the police car pulled up she had managed to grab a handful of curlers from her opponent’s head. The elderly man had made a discreet exit and Mrs Gosnell was picking herself up from the pavement after one of Dolly’s flailing arms had sent her sprawling.

‘Now what’s all this?’ a policeman said sternly, hands on his belt.

Mrs Gosnell brushed herself down as she confronted him. ‘This bloody idiot come in my shop an’ pinched an ’andful o’ me best bananas,’ she shouted. ‘I gave chase but Mr Roberts caught’im.’

‘Who pinched yer bananas?’ the policeman enquired, beginning to feel that he had been sent on a fool’s errand.

Mrs Gosnell looked around. ‘The bleeder’s scarpered,’ she shouted, glaring at the crowd. ‘Didn’t any o’ yer see ’im go?’

‘I did. ’E went that way,’ Maisie called out, pointing in the general direction of Jamaica Road.

‘Ooh, Maisie, be careful,’ Maudie whispered to her friend, knowing that she was giving the police false information.

‘Did yer recover the bananas?’ the policeman asked the greengrocer.

‘Mr Roberts caught ’im,’ she replied.

‘Yeah, but did yer get yer fruit back?’ the exasperated constable asked.

‘No.’

‘But yer caught ’im.’

‘Mr Roberts did.’

‘Did ’e recover the bananas?’

‘Mr Roberts ’as scarpered too,’ one of the onlookers chimed in.

‘Now look, I can’t stand ’ere all day over a bunch o’ bloody bananas,’ the policeman sighed. ‘Yer got no culprit, no witness, an’ no evidence. What am I s’posed ter do?’

‘Go an’ find the fievin’ git,’ Mrs Gosnell shouted at him.

‘All right, give us a description,’ he asked, pulling out a tatty notebook from his breast pocket.

‘’E was a dopey-lookin’ git, about this ’igh,’ the greengrocer said, holding her hand up, ‘an’ ’e pulls faces.’

‘’Ere, that’s my boy yer talking’ about,’ Dolly shouted at the woman, trying to push her way in front of the policeman. ‘My Wallace ain’t dopey at all, ’e’s just a bit backward. There ain’t a bad bone in ’is body.’

‘Right, that’s enough,’ the policeman said loudly, turning to Dolly. ‘Now let’s ’ave yer name an’ address.’

‘Look, I’ll pay fer the bananas ter save any trouble,’ she offered.

Mrs Gosnell looked slightly abashed, beginning to feel that perhaps people would consider her petty if she took things any further. ‘There’s no need fer that,’ she said puffing. ‘I jus’ want’im ter keep out o’ my shop in future.’

The policeman put his notebook away. ‘Right then, let’s all move on,’ he said firmly. ‘Yer blockin’ the pavement.’

Dolly walked over to Maisie and Maudie. ‘Fanks fer that, luv,’ she said to Maisie. ‘That son o’ mine’s gonna drive me into an early grave, I’m sure of it.’

‘The lad didn’t mean any ’arm,’ Maisie said kindly. ‘’E could’ave fergotten ter pay.’

‘It’s only ’er word ’e took the bananas,’ Dolly replied.

‘’E took ’em right enough,’ Maisie told her with a large grin. ‘The lad come scootin’ round the corner an’ ’e took the bananas out from under ’is coat an’ chucked ’em in Mrs Perry’s front door. Jus’ then ole Mr Roberts came out o’ the shop there. That Gosnell woman shouted fer ’im ter grab yer lad an’ ’e did. Mind you, the boy was jus’ standin’ there grinnin’. Ter be honest, luv, I ’ad ter laugh. Ole Roberts looked scared out of ’is life.’

‘Gawd ’elp us,’ Dolly groaned as she rubbed her forehead, picturing Wallace cowering under the stairs that very minute.

Maudie had been listening to Maisie’s tale of the event and suddenly she nudged her friend. ‘Talk about the Lord providin’,’ she said. ‘Look over there.’

Mrs Perry’s two youngest had emerged from their house and were sitting on the kerbside, both munching on a huge banana.

‘I don’t fink the poor little sods ’ave ’ad many o’ them, if yer ask me,’ Maisie remarked with a chuckle.

Josiah Dawson had decided long before he regained his freedom that he was going to put his past life behind him and become a good husband and father. He had also decided that upon release he would work hard to become a good citizen and upstanding member of the little community in which he now lived. The first step was to get a job, which he had managed to do very soon after his return from Dartmoor. It was hard work labouring for a builder, but he had built up his muscles working in the slate quarries in Devon and he found that he could cope with the demands of digging and mixing cement. Being a devoted husband took a little more thought and expertise, he realised, and to that end he had promised himself that first and foremost he would not get drunk any more. After all, it had been the cause of all his troubles in the past.

Josiah kept his promise, remembering how Dolly had been the recipient of a few backhanders in the past, always when he was the worse for drink. Things were looking very good at the moment, he thought to himself. Dolly was showing him a lot of loving, and she had been very loyal. She might well have taken a lover while he was incarcerated, and it would have been understandable. Dolly was a hot-natured woman, he knew, and she had been alone for quite a lengthy period of time. She had assured him, however, that he was the only one for her, despite everything, and Josiah believed her implicitly.

Being a devoted father was even harder than being a devoted husband. The children were growing up and needed his time, which was already trying his patience. Then there was Wallace. The young man was slowly deteriorating, according to Dolly, and Josiah knew she was right. He was constantly falling against the furniture as he ambled about the house and his speech was getting more and more slurred. He was finding it difficult to hold a knife and fork properly and Dolly now had to cut up his food into manageable pieces. Wallace was trying his patience to the limit, but Josiah had sworn to himself that never again would he chastise the lad with the back of his hand as in the past. Instead, he would try very hard to be more like Dolly, who he felt had the patience of a saint and never seemed to let things get her down.

As for becoming an upstanding member of the community, Josiah was working hard in that direction. He had never been a regular church-goer, although he came from a Catholic family. He did, however, visit the church hall in Wilson Street during his midday break and offer his services as street warden for Page Street. Much to his surprise he was duly accepted and enrolled for instruction on the very many tasks which he might have to perform in the near future. One immediate task was to ensure that the blackout regulations were enforced and Josiah had to give this some considerable thought. He could no longer adopt a belligerent attitude with people, because of his police record. He would have to be firm but polite.

One thing worried Josiah. Would Dolly take kindly to his new-found duties as street warden, and the demands they would make on his time after being out at work all day? Well, he would soon know. He had finished work early that afternoon and when he got home and deposited his new equipment on the parlour table he was prepared for some hard talking. Dolly was out collecting the kids from school, however, and Wallace was nowhere to be seen, which gave him time to slip along to the Co-op shop and buy her a quarter of her favourite jelly sweets, hoping it would soften the blow.

Josiah had already decided that if he was going to be a credit to the community, one of the things he would have to do was make himself more aware of what was going on around him. That would mean talking to his neighbours, instead of shunning them as he had always done in the past. Small talk did not come easily to Josiah, but when Mr Jolly stopped him in Jamaica Road he was prepared to try his best.

‘Didn’t I see yer wiv a warden’s ’elmet in Page Street a few minutes ago?’ Bert Jolly asked.

‘’S’right,’ Josiah replied.

‘I was talkin’ wiv yer good lady a couple o’ weeks ago an’ she said yer was workin’ away,’ Mr Jolly informed him.

‘Oh yeah,’ Josiah replied.

‘So yer back now then.’

‘’S’right.’

‘Are yer gonna be our street warden then?’

‘’S’right.’

‘Yer gonna be makin’ sure we don’t let any light out at night?’

‘’S’right.’

Mr Jolly was beginning to think that the new street warden was a very anti-social sort of a bloke and he made to walk away.

Josiah gritted his teeth and tried a little harder to be friendly. ‘What’s yer name, mate?’ he asked.

‘Bert Jolly,’ the dapper pensioner replied. ‘I live at number twenty-three. I’m a widower. Me ole dutch died ten years ago, come next spring.’

Josiah was encouraged. ‘Lived in Page Street long then?’ he enquired.

‘More ’an forty years, come next May first. I’ve seen a few comin’s an’ goin’s, I ’ave,’ Bert told him.

Josiah found that it wasn’t so difficult after all. ‘We live next door ter the Tanners,’ he continued.

Bert Jolly’s face broke into a smile. ‘That’s Danny Tanner, that is,’ he said. ‘’E’s married ter Knocker Brody’s daughter Iris. Nice kid, she is. They both are, come ter that. I used to be mates wiv Will Tanner, Danny’s farvver. Lovely bloke, ’e was. Terrible shame when ’e died. The Tanners are well known an’ respected in this area. Young Carrie Tanner married ole Fred Bradley, ’im who ’ad the cafe in Cotton Lane. ’E died of a stroke, yer know. She’s married again. Married a bloke who used ter lodge in the turnin’. Joe Maitland ’is name is. Nice bloke.’

Josiah could see that his patience and forbearance were beginning to pay off. He now felt that he knew almost everyone in the turning. Mr Jolly was not finished, however.

‘She was a nice ole gel, too, that Mrs Axford. That was who Joe Maitland lodged wiv,’ Bert went on. ‘Snuff-taker she was. Took pounds o’ the stuff. I reckon that’s what killed ’er in the end.’

Josiah listened patiently for some time while Bert went on with his stories of the comings and goings in Page Street over the years. When he was finally able to drag himself away from the man’s chattering, he continued on his way to the Co-op shop.

He whistled quietly to himself as he walked back along Jamaica Road. It was easier than he had imagined to get talking to people, and if the present trend continued he would soon know virtually everything about his neighbours, he thought.

‘Wotcher, mate. I jus’ got me evenin’ paper,’ a voice called out.

Josiah groaned as he spotted Bert Jolly. There was only so much a bloke could take in one day, he felt.

‘’Ere, I fergot ter tell yer. There was a right ole set-to along’ere earlier,’ Bert said. ‘There was this young feller runnin’ along tuckin’ a bunch o’ bananas under ’is coat an’ there was ole Mrs Gosnell the greengrocer chasin’ after ’im. Waddlin’, I should say, that’d be more like it. Anyway, there was a bit of a crowd gavvered on the corner o’ Page Street. I fink they caught’im. I stood there lookin’ an’ I saw a police car draw up. I s’pose they nicked ’im. Funny-lookin’ bloke ’e was. Sort o’ stupid. As a matter o’ fact I’ve seen ’im in the turnin’ once or twice. I don’t know if ’e lives there or not.’

Josiah’s heart sank. His first reaction went against his promise to himself and he took a couple of deep breaths to strengthen his resolve. Knocking Wallace about the head was only going to make him more silly than he already was. No, he would have to use a little more guile in dealing with his wayward son. Josiah walked home gritting his teeth, his hands clenched into two almighty fists.

During October, women left their Bermondsey backstreets clutching ration books to register with a grocer and those who had not already collected their gas masks now did so, following repeated warnings that air raids could start at any time. Every night folk gathered round wireless sets to listen to the nine o’clock news, and those who did not have a wireless usually listened to the broadcasts at a neighbour’s house.