Tuppence to Tooley Street (7 page)

Dawson Street was noisy. A group of children were playing tin-can copper and a baby wailed in its bassinet. Aproned figures stood chatting in doorways, and outside number 14, old Charlie Perkins sat in his wicker chair, holding a clay pipe steady with a forefinger crooked over the brown-stained stem. His face was expressionless and he seemed oblivious to the noise of the children. To the street’s inhabitants, the sight of Charlie sitting outside his front door was as familiar as the street lampposts and the railway arch at the end of the turning.

Danny walked unsteadily down the street and veered around Charlie Perkins’s outstretched legs. The railway arch seemed to be floating before his gaze and he blinked a couple of times. At his front door he swayed and peered closer at the number. He pulled hard on the knotted door string and almost fell headlong into the passage. Lucy came out from the parlour, her face showing her disgust at his condition.

‘You’re drunk,’ she muttered darkly.

Danny put his finger up to his lips and grinned lopsidedly. He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. Slowly and deliberately he climbed the creaking stairs and staggered into his bedroom.

It was after six o’clock when Connie carried a mug of tea up to his room and found him lying face down on the bed. She put the tea down on the chair and sat on the edge of his bed. The gentle pressure of her hand on his shoulder aroused Danny from the depths of sleep, and in his semi-conscious state he thought the hand on his shoulder was pushing him under the water and Danny called out in terror.

Connie ruffled his hair, ‘Danny! Danny, it’s me, Connie. I’ve got yer tea. C’mon, it’s turned six.’

The bed springs squealed as Danny turned over and looked up at the concerned expression on Connie’s face. His head was pounding and his mouth felt parched. He attempted a grin and Connie grinned back. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve bin in The Globe, an’ everybody bought yer a drink.’

Danny reached for his tea with a shaky hand and swallowed a mouthful before replying. ‘I met Bonky an’ Johnny Ross,’ he said.

‘That’s strange,’ Connie mocked, ‘what are those two doin’ in The Globe?’

Danny sat up against the bedrail and sipped his tea. ‘Bonky Williams ain’t changed,’ he said. ‘’E’s still messin’ around wiv that glass eye of ’is.’

Connie shuddered. ‘I can’t stand them two. Johnny Ross is the worst. Dirty git wanted ter take me out last week. ’E said there was a party goin’ on somewhere.’

Danny looked serious. ‘You keep away from Johnny Ross. I don’t want you ter get ’urt.’

‘Don’t you worry about me, bruv,’ Connie laughed. ‘I’m goin’ steady.’

‘Oh, an’ who’s the lucky feller then?’

Connie looked down at the floor, her cheeks flushing slightly. ‘’Is name’s Jimmy Ellis, an’ ’e’s in the Navy.’

Danny showed mock horror. ‘Not Jimmy Ellis?’

‘You know ’im?’ Connie asked.

‘Know ’im? Course I know ’im, they call ’im “ugly Ellis”.’

Connie looked angry. ‘’E’s not ugly. Jim’s good lookin’, an’’e’s very nice.’

Danny put his hand on her arm. ‘I’m only pullin’ yer leg. I’ve never met the bloke, but if yer say ’e’s good lookin’ I’ll take yer word fer it.’

Connie stood up. ‘You comin’ down fer yer tea? There’s fish an’ chips keepin’ ’ot in the oven. I can’t stay ’ere chattin’, I’ve got a date ternight.’ She made for the door then turned. ‘By the way, bruv, ’ave you bumped inter Kathy Thompson yet?’

‘Not yet,’ Danny answered, swinging his legs over onto the floor. ‘Why d’yer ask?’

‘No reason, ’cept I know yer used ter go out wiv ’er.’

‘That was a long while ago,’ Danny replied.

Connie went to say something, then changed her mind and walked out of the room.

Danny went down to the scullery and washed in the stone sink. The cold water revived him and the pounding in his head eased slightly. When he went into the parlour Lucy looked up from her armchair. ‘Hello, how’s your head?’

Danny put his hand up to his forehead. ‘Thick,’ he whispered.

Lucy got up. ‘You’d better sit in the chair. I’ll fetch your tea, it’s in the oven.’

Danny sat at the table with his head resting on his hands. When Lucy came back with his meal Danny sat up straight in his chair. ‘Where is everybody?’ he asked.

‘Mum and Dad have gone over to see Dad’s cousin in Guy’s. She’s very ill. And Connie’s upstairs getting ready to go out.’

‘You in ternight?’ Danny asked as Lucy sat down facing him.

‘Ben’s coming round later. We’re going up West to see a concert.’ Lucy answered, her forefinger drawing imaginary circles on the tablecloth.

Danny speared some chips on his fork and started eating. After a while he put down his knife and fork. ‘You worried about Ben?’ he asked. ‘The tribunal I mean.’

Lucy folded her plump arms and leant on the table. ‘Naturally I’m worried. You see, Ben’s very sensitive, he couldn’t hurt a fly. Apart from running the youth club, he’s a regular church-goer. His parents were the same. He feels that killing is wrong, and he won’t change his thinking. Ben won’t put a uniform on. All right, I know you don’t agree with his point of view, and I know you don’t like him very much, but I hope to get married to him one day.’

Danny scratched his head and looked into his sister’s dark eyes. ‘Listen, Lucy, it’s not that I don’t like Ben, but ’e’s different from me. I can’t take ’im up The Globe fer a pint, ’cos’e don’t drink. I can’t ’ave a conversation wiv ’im, ’cos we don’t speak the same language. We’re worlds apart. I know Ben’s not gonna change, an’ nor am I. Yer gotta see that. One fing’s fer sure though, if you an’ Ben wanna get married, you’ll get no trouble from me. Ben’s okay, and while we’re on the subject I’ll tell yer somefink else too. ’E ain’t no different from the rest of us in one respect. Killin’ people
is
wrong. The ’ole bloody war’s wrong. The way Ben sees it is that if everybody’eld the same views as ’im there’d be nobody ter fight the war. Trouble is, life ain’t like that. Nuffink’s gonna change. There’ll always be some bloody maniac ready ter start a war, an’ there’s no shortage o’ people ter do the dirty work. Maybe Ben’s got the right idea, I dunno. Good luck to ’im anyway. ’E’ll be all right at the tribunal.’

Lucy smoothed the tablecloth and leaned back in her chair. ‘I’ve never heard you talk like this before, Danny. Everything was one big joke to you. You’ve got all serious.’

Danny pushed his plate away and picked up his teacup. ‘I tell yer, sis, what I’ve seen of the war ’as made me fink. I lost a few good mates, an’ I’ve seen what the war does ter people, but d’yer know what shook me most of all? I was trampin’ along wiv our company, we were goin’ up ter relieve anuvver regiment. Casualties were bein’ brought back an’ we got off the road ter make room fer ’em. Right where we stopped was a stone memorial. There was plenty o’ names on that stone, I can tell yer. It was from the 1914 war. And there we was doin’ it all again twenty-six years later. I got ter finkin’, ’ow many more stones they gonna put up when this lot’s over? I tell yer, Lucy, I wanted ter run as far as I could, away from what I was seein’. Maybe Ben ’as got the right idea-I only wish most o’ the Germans agreed wiv ’im.’

Lucy stood up and playfully ruffled his fair hair. ‘You know what Dad would say if he was here?’

Danny laughed. ‘Put the kettle on,’ he mimicked.

 

On the stroke of seven there was a knock on the front door and Danny went to answer it. A young sailor was standing on the doorstep. ‘I’m Jimmy. Is Connie there, please?’ he said with an eager expression on his face.

Danny looked out of his bleary eyes at the slim young man who was a few inches shorter than his six feet. ‘I guessed who yer was. Connie’s bin tellin’ me all about yer bad ’abits.’

Jimmy was abashed. ‘Oh!’ he breathed, still looking wide-eyed at Danny.

Danny’s face relaxed. ‘C’mon in, I was only jokin’.’

The young sailor stepped into the passage and removed his cap to reveal a mop of wavy blond hair. His baby face turned towards the stairs as Connie came hurrying down and took hold of his hand. ‘This is my ’orrible bruv, Danny,’ she said, looking at him affectionately. ‘’E’s bin out celebratin’, Jimmy, so ’e can’t see yer very well.’

The two shook hands and Danny motioned to the parlour. ‘D’yer wanna cup o’ tea?’

Connie put her hand on her brother’s arm. ‘Look, bruv, Jimmy’s only got a few days’ leave an’ I’m claimin’ all ’is spare time. Besides, I’m not gonna sit an’ listen ter you two men talkin’ about the war. C’mon, Jimmy, or we’ll miss the big picture.’

Danny stood by the front door and watched as his sister walked up the turning holding on to Jimmy’s arm, chatting and laughing. The young cockney smiled to himself. Connie was his favourite, and he hoped that nothing would ever happen to mar her happiness.

The sun had left the room and slipped down behind the lop-sided chimney pots. Danny looked into the old faded mirror over the washstand and adjusted the knot of his tie. The clock showed twenty to nine. He patted down his hair with both hands and looked down at his polished shoes. His best grey suit felt tighter than it had when he left the hospital. He undid the buttons of the jacket and peered into the mirror once more. The fading light gave the room a sombre look and Danny felt a desire for company. He opened the door and heard his father’s voice talking to his mother. He hurried down the stairs and put his head around the parlour door. Frank looked up from his paper and Alice stopped sewing.

‘You’re not goin’ out again, Danny?’ she asked, looking quite amazed.

‘Leave the boy alone, Alice. ’E’s turned twenty-one yer know,’ Frank chided her.

‘I know,’ his wife retorted, ‘but I’d ’ave thought ’e’d ’ad enough fer one day, ’spesh’ly in ’is condition.’

Danny grinned. ‘Hush, Ma, people’ll fink I’m pregnant or somefink.’

Frank chuckled. ‘’E’ll know when ’e’s ’ad enough, Alice.’E’ll fall over!’

Danny made to leave, then turned. ‘By the way, ’ow was yer cousin, Dad?’

‘Very weak,’ Frank replied. ‘Mind you, she’s turned ninety, yer can’t expect much.’

Danny dropped his gaze with a nod. ‘Well I’m off folks,’ he said quickly. ‘Don’t wait up, I might be goin’ to a party.’

Frank leaned back in his armchair. ‘All right fer money?’

Danny nodded. ‘I’m okay, fanks. I didn’t get a chance ter spend much terday.’

‘So I ’eard,’ Frank said, looking over his glasses at Alice.

The evening was still warm, with heavy storm clouds rolling in. It was still light enough to see the pavement in the blacked-out streets as Danny made his way to The Crown in Dockhead. His leg felt more comfortable now, and he had padded his chest with a few turns of bandage and a cotton wool dressing. At the outset he walked briskly but he became breathless as he crossed the Tower Bridge Road and he slowed his pace. It was fairly quiet as he continued on to Dockhead. A few couples strolled arm in arm along Tooley Street, and a number 68 tram rattled noisily past. Danny walked by a surface shelter with its sandbagged entrance, and it reminded him of Dunkirk. Farther on he saw the large grey spire of St James’s Church showing up against the angry sky. His thoughts turned briefly to Alison. I should have written to her, he thought.

The Crown stood back from the main road. No light shone out, but sounds of merrymaking reached Danny’s ears while he was still some distance away. He reached the saloon, pushed open the door and went in. The room was filled with tobacco smoke, and there was a strong smell of perfume.

Johnny Ross called out to him. ‘Over ’ere. I fought yer wasn’t comin’. Yer late.’

Danny grinned. ‘I got a few hours’ kip. I’m okay, as long as yer don’t lean on me.’

Johnny pointed over to a tall, wavy-haired individual who was talking to a young woman. ‘That’s Tony. Looks like ’e’s pulled a bird.’

A barmaid came over and set some drinks down on the counter in front of Johnny, who pointed in Danny’s direction. ‘An’ a mild an’ bitter fer me mate, luv.’

The barmaid gave Johnny a sweet smile as she reached for a glass and proceeded to pull on the pump handle. Johnny’s eyes looked down at the barmaid’s low-cut V-necked dress and her eyes flickered at him.

‘Pour yerself one,’ Johnny said, winking at her suggestively.

Danny had been casting his eyes around the bar and suddenly he saw Kathy. His immediate reaction was to look away, but he found himself staring at her. She looked even prettier than the picture of her he had carried in his mind during all those months in France. He felt a surge of jealousy when he realised Kathy was not alone. She was talking to a well-dressed, thick-set man whose hair was combed smartly back from his forehead. Danny estimated the man to be in his mid-thirties. As he watched the couple Danny noticed that Kathy seemed to be disagreeing with her companion, she kept shaking her head and he was getting more agitated.

Johnny observed Danny’s interest. ‘’Ere, cop yer drink, Danny boy, an’ take yer covetin’ eyes off ’er,’ he said. ‘That bloke spells trouble fer the likes of us.’

‘Who is ’e?’ Danny asked, still looking in Kathy’s direction.

‘That’s Jack Mason. ’E used ter run the Elephant and Castle mob a few years ago. ’E done porridge fer GBH. ’E still runs wiv the mobs, so I’m told. That sort o’ geezer don’t go out of’is way ter ’elp ole ladies across the road.’

Danny sipped his beer and paid little attention as Johnny Ross attempted to bring him up to date with the news in dockland. Kathy had seen him now. Her eyes caught his and held his gaze for an instant, then she deliberately moved around slightly so that she was out of Danny’s line of vision. Her stocky companion was still in view however, and Danny could see him nodding his head vigorously. More people crowded into the bar and soon he could not see either of them. It was getting stuffy in the saloon bar and presently Johnny nudged his pal. ‘Let’s move inter the uvver bar, there’s more room in there,’ he said.