William shrugged his shoulders. 'There's a stoppage at the Rum Quay,' he replied. 'It started on Friday mornin' and it's not bin resolved. I've sent Symonds and Morris out but it's likely they'll be turned back.'

George brought his fist down on the desk. 'I've 'ad the top man on ter me about those two b.l.o.o.d.y troublemakers. 'E told me they've got casual labour workin' on the quay an' there's two loads o' rum casks waitin' fer collection. Why didn't Morris an' Symonds go through the pickets? The police would 'ave seen to it there'd be no trouble loading.'

William shook his head. 'It's not as easy as that, George,' he answered. 'If our carmen 'ad pa.s.sed those pickets, we'd be in trouble later on. Most o' the ovver cartage firms around 'ere 'ave gone union. None o' them 'ave crossed the picket lines.'

'I'm not interested in what the ovver firms do,' growled George.

William pulled up a chair and sat down facing his employer. 'I know yer've always bin against the unions, George, but yer gotta face the facts. We'd be blacklisted if we pulled a load off the quay while there was a stoppage. It'd mean the loss o' the contract. Surely yer can understand that?'

Galloway's face was set in a hard scowl. 'Those dockers 'ave tried that little trick before an' it didn't work. Don't ferget they get a call-on every mornin' an' the troublemakers are left on the cobbles. I don't fink we've got much ter worry about on that score. What I am worried about is the complaints I've been gettin' about those two dopey gits o' mine. Apparently Soapy's bin gettin' at the rum an' givin' the manager a load o' cheek, an' there've bin complaints about Sharkey. From what I've bin told 'e's bin makin' a nuisance of 'imself wiv one o' the women an' 'er ole man's bin up the firm sayin' 'e's gonna smash Sharkey's face in. On top o' that, both of them are none too careful wiv the loads. There was two casks damaged last week when they was unloaded, an' they've bin late gettin' back. If I'm not careful I'm gonna lose that contract an' I can't afford it, not on top o' that leavver contract I've jus' lost. If fings go on the way they are, I'm gonna be out o' business, Will.'

'All right,' Will said quietly, 'I'll 'ave a word wiv 'em when they get back.'

Galloway shook his head. 'No, I've 'ad enough from those two,' he said firmly. 'As a matter o' fact, I've sent young Geoffrey along ter the rum firm ter see if 'e can square fings up at that end. If Morris an' Symonds turn round outside the dock gates this mornin', I'm gonna sack the pair of 'em, an' that's final.'

'Yer bein' a bit drastic, ain't yer?' Will ventured. 'They've both bin wiv yer fer years. Why don't yer let me talk to 'em first?'

Galloway rounded on his foreman. 'What good would that do?' he asked loudly. 'The trouble wiv you, Will, is yer too easy wiv 'em. It was the same when I wanted ter sack Oxford. I've got a business ter run. I can't afford ter let sentiment cloud me finkin'.'

William shrank back slightly in his chair, and sighed. 'That's always bin the difference between us, George,' he said quietly. 'I could never run a business, but I know 'ow ter 'andle the men. I've kept the peace 'ere fer more years than I care ter remember, an' it's not always bin easy. There's a lot o' discontent over yer refusin' ter let the union in an' if yer sack those two carmen it's all gonna blow up in yer face, mark my words.'

Galloway glared at his foreman. 'I don't see I've got any choice. It's them or the contract. Tell me, what would you do in my position?'

'I'd swop the jobs around,' William replied quickly. 'I'd put Lofty Russell an' Ted Derbyshire on the rum contract. Sid Bristow could switch ter the 'ops in place o' Russell, an' let Morris an' Symonds do the fellmongers' contracts in place o' Derbyshire an' Bristow. That leaves the two new carmen fer the bits an' pieces as usual.'

George shook his head vigorously. 'It's too much disruption. I want it left as I've said. If those two drunken gits get sent back, I want 'em sacked. That's it, finished with.'

William stood up and walked to the door, then he turned to face Galloway, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. 'You're the guv'nor, George. If that's what yer want, so be it. I'd jus' like yer ter remember that Sharkey an' Soapy are ole servants. If yer not careful, yer gonna 'ave a yard full o' casuals. What price yer contracts then?'

The firm's owner smiled briefly. 'When I started up in business I 'ad nuffink but casuals workin' fer me, except Albert Flynn, an' 'e got 'imself killed,' he said quietly. 'I worked long hours ter build up the business an' I 'ad ter make sacrifices. I didn't see much o' me kids when they were little an' that's somefink I've lived ter regret. I couldn't spend much time wiv Martha, Gawd rest 'er soul, an' I regret that too, but that's the price yer pay fer bein' in business. What I'm not prepared ter do is see the firm go down the drain over carmen who can't or won't do their jobs prop'ly, even if I end up wiv a yard full o' casuals again.'

William left the office without replying, and as he crossed the yard saw Geoffrey coming through the gates. The young man's expression was serious. He beckoned to the foreman. 'I've just come from the rum merchant's, Will,' he said. 'There's a full dock strike brewing and they're anxious to get their consignment today. Symonds and Morris are on their way to the docks. I just hope they get loaded. If they don't, we're in trouble.'

William smiled mirthlessly. 'That's jus' what yer farvver told me,' he replied. 'I 'ope they get loaded, fer their sakes. I've bin told ter sack the pair of 'em if they come back empty-'anded.'

Geoffrey winced. 'Did you argue with the old man?'

William raised his eyebrows. 'I tried ter talk 'im out of it but 'e's the guv'nor. 'E wouldn't be shifted. All I know is we'll be in trouble wiv the union if those two are put off, Geoff. It'll mean us bein' blacklisted at the docks. If our carmen get sent away, there's always ovver firms ter pick up the contracts.'

Geoffrey fidgeted with his tie. 'Would you let the men join the union if it was left to you?'

William nodded. 'Most o' the cartage firms around Bermondsey are unionised now. In time any non-union firm is gonna find it difficult ter get contracts. I've tried ter tell yer farvver that we'll be left wiv next ter nuffink unless 'e changes 'is mind, but 'e's determined ter go on as usual. 'E'll never change, unless it's forced on 'im.'

Geoffrey sighed heavily. 'I don't know what to suggest. The old man won't listen to me. I've wanted to bring a couple of lorries in as you know but he won't even consider the idea. I've been after him to get another yard too but he won't budge. I thought Frank would be able to persuade him otherwise but he couldn't make him see the sense in it.'

William had his own reservations about the firm becoming mechanised but he refrained from making any comment, merely shrugging his shoulders instead. It seemed to him that it would only be a matter of time before all horses were replaced by lorries, and he thought with foreboding about his own future. Working with horses had been his life ever since he had started work at fourteen. He had been with Galloway for over twenty-eight years now and it would count for nothing if all the horses went.

'It shouldn't make any difference to you if we do get motor vans in, Will,' Geoffrey said, as if reading his thoughts. 'There'll always be a place here for you. It'll just mean adapting to a new way of working.'

William realised that his anxiety must be obvious and hid his fears behind a smile. 'I'd better get back ter work.'

It was almost noon when Sharkey and Soapy drove their carts into the yard. 'We've bin sent back,' Soapy told the yard foreman. 'We got turned away at the dock gates an' the firm told us ter report back 'ere.'

William scratched his head in agitation. 'Couldn't yer go in the gates?' he asked.

Sharkey looked pained. 'I ain't crossin' no picket lines,' he a.s.serted. 'It's all right fer that guv'nor at the rum firm ter talk. It's us what's gonna get set about.'

Soapy nodded his agreement. 'There was only a couple o' coppers outside the gates an' there was fousands o' dockers. We'd 'ave got slaughtered if we'd tried ter go in.'

William pulled the two carmen to one side. 'I was told ter sack the pair of yer if yer got sent back,' he said solemnly.

'Sack us!' Sharkey gasped, his ruddy face growing even more flushed. 'After all these years? I can't believe it.'

'I can,' Soapy jumped in, fixing William with his bleary eyes. 'Look at 'ow the ole b.a.s.t.a.r.d sacked the Blackwell bruvvers over that union business. Well, I ain't takin' it lyin' down. I'm gonna go along ter Tooley Street an' see the union blokes. I'll get it stopped, you see if I don't.'

'What can they do?' Sharkey grumbled. 'It ain't as though we was in the union ourselves.'

'They can make it awkward, that's what they can do,' Soapy answered. 'That's why the likes of 'Atcher an' Morgan let the union in. They 'ad the sense ter see what could 'appen. Trouble wiv Galloway is, 'e can't see no furvver than 'is poxy nose. Well, I 'ope the union does somefink about it. I'm gonna see 'em anyway.'

William held his hands up. 'Look, I'll 'ave anuvver word wiv the ole man,' he said quickly. 'Not that it'll do much good, but at least I'll try. You two wait 'ere.'

George had been talking on the phone. When William walked into the office, he slammed the receiver down on to its hook. 'That was the rum firm on the line,' he growled. 'They wasn't too 'appy, as yer might expect. Did yer tell those two lazy gits they're sacked?'

'That's what I wanted ter see yer about, George,' the foreman said, closing the door behind him. 'The union are not gonna let this trouble go away wivout tryin' ter do somefing about it.'

'Oh, an' what can they do?' George asked.

'If yer'd jus' listen fer a second yer'd realise there's a lot they can do,' William replied, feeling his anger rising. 'Fer a start yer won't get any more dock work. They'll see ter that. Yer won't get contracts from unionised firms neivver, an' yer gonna be left wiv all the work no ovver firm would entertain. All right, yer'd keep the fellmongers' contracts but who'd be 'appy doin' that sort o' work, apart from yer two new carmen? Let's face it, George, who'd cart those stinkin' skins fer you when they could get more money doin' the same job fer Morgan? If yer ask me I reckon yer bein' unreasonable askin' Sharkey and Soapy ter cross picket lines.'

'Oh, yer do, do yer?' George exclaimed sarcastically, his heavy-lidded eyes brightening with anger as he glared at William. 'What should I do? Pat 'em on the back an' tell 'em it was all right? It's a pity yer can't see my side o' fings fer a change. I'd expect yer ter show me a bit o' loyalty after all the years we've known each ovver. Yer paid ter run the yard, not ter be a nursemaid ter those lazy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds o' mine.'

William felt his fists clenching and he drew in a deep breath in an effort to control his anger. 'I fink that's jus' what Sharkey an' Soapy might 'ave expected from you,' he replied quickly. 'They'd 'ave liked you ter show 'em a bit o' loyalty. As fer me, I run this yard the way I see fit. Yer 'orses are in good condition an' the carts are kept on the road. What's more, I keep the peace as best I can. If yer don't like the way I work, I suggest yer get yerself anuvver yard foreman.'

For a few moments the two glared at each other, then George slumped back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'Sometimes yer puzzle me, Will,' he said with a slight dismissive shake of his head. 'Yer willin' ter put yer job at risk fer a couple o' p.i.s.sy carmen. It was the same when I was gonna sack Jack Oxford. Sometimes I wonder jus' where yer loyalties lie. All right, s'posin' I reconsider an' let yer change the work round - what would yer fink?'

'What d'yer mean?' William queried.

George leaned forward in his chair. 'Well, would yer fink yer could barter yer job against any future decisions I might make which you don't like? I tell yer now, if that's the case yer'd better fink again. I won't be 'eld ter ransom by you or anybody else. I make the decisions 'ere, jus' remember that. This time, though, I'll let yer 'ave yer way - but jus' fink on what I've said. Now yer'd better go out an' give them dopey pair the good news before I change me mind.'

Chapter Sixteen.

Nellie Tanner was sitting having a chat with her friends from the street. 'It's bin a funny ole twelvemonth when yer come ter fink of it,' she remarked. It seemed to her that the year had been fraught with trouble of one sort or another, and she was eager to see the back of it. 'There was that trouble at Carrie's firm an' I felt sure she'd lost 'er job. It was touch an' go fer a while but fank Gawd it all worked out right in the end.'

Florrie Axford eased her lean frame back in the armchair and reached into her ap.r.o.n for her snuff. 'Yeah, it's not bin a very nice year one way an' anuvver. There was King Edward dyin' in May, an' all that short-time in the factories, then there was that comet flyin' over. That was May, wasn't it?'

Maisie Dougall put her hand to her cheek. 'Don't talk ter me about that comet,' she said. 'Maudie Mycroft drove me mad over that. She come inter my place worried out of 'er life, yer know 'ow she gets. Apparently 'er ole man frightened 'er by what 'e said. 'E told 'er that if it went off course and come down on us, that'd be the end o' the world. Mind, though, Maudie's as nervous as a kitten, she takes everyfing fer gospel. She was really upset when she come inter me. She said they was 'avin' prayers about it at the muvvers' meetin'.'

Florrie took a pinch of snuff from her tiny silver box and laid it on the back of her hand. 'That's the way the world's gonna end, accordin' ter the Bible,' she said, putting her hand up to her nostrils and sniffing. 'I remember readin' somewhere in the Old Testament that the end of the world'll come like a thief in the night.'

Nellie took the large iron kettle from the hob and filled the teapot. 'I used ter read the Bible ter me muvver when I was a kid,' she said, slowly stirring the tea-leaves. 'I 'ad ter read a pa.s.sage from it every night. She was very religious was my muvver. We used ter say grace before every meal an' she wouldn't allow no swearin' in the 'ouse, not from us anyway. She used ter let fly though, when me farvver come in drunk. She was a country lady, yer see, an' they say country people are very religious.'

Aggie Temple had been listening quietly to the conversation. She looked at Nellie. 'Royalty's s'posed ter be very religious,' she remarked. 'King Edward was by all accounts, an' so's the new King George. It ses in the paper they all go ter church every Sunday.'

'That don't make 'em religious,' Florrie cut in. 'They 'ave ter keep up appearances. Look at Sadie Sullivan. Every Sunday yer see 'er walkin' down the turnin' wiv 'er ole man an' the seven boys on their way ter Ma.s.s. She does 'er 'Ail Marys - an' then if anybody upsets 'er durin' the week, she'll clout 'em soon as wink.'

'She's quietened down a lot lately though,' Nellie replied. 'I fink that magistrate frightened 'er. 'E said the next time she goes in front of 'im, 'e's gonna send 'er down.'

Maisie nodded. 'Yer don't see 'er boys fightin' in the street the way they used to, do yer? They're all growin' up fast. Look at that Billy Sullivan. What a smart young fella 'e's turned out ter be. 'E's a boxer now, an' doin' very well, by all accounts. Is your Carrie still sweet on 'im, Nellie?' she asked.

Nellie shook her head. 'She only went out wiv 'im once. Nuffink come of it though. Mind you, I can't say as I was sorry. I wouldn't like my Carrie ter marry a boxer.'

When Nellie had filled the cups and pa.s.sed them round, Aggie stirred her tea thoughtfully. 'It's gonna be anuvver bad year,' she announced suddenly.

The women looked at her and Florrie laughed. 'Don't yer believe it! It's gonna be a lot better than this year, Aggie, jus' wait an' see,' she said with conviction.

Aggie shook her head. 'I always get Old Moore's Almanac every year, an' it said in there that next year's gonna be a bad one. It's nearly always right.'

Nellie sat down and brushed the front of her long skirt. ''Ave yer seen that paper they shove frew the door every month? Lamplight it's called. It's always sayin' the end o' the world is nigh.'

Maisie shifted position in her chair and folded her arms over her plump figure. 'Bleedin' Job's witness that is,' she said quickly.

'Don't yer mean Job's comforter?' Florrie laughed.

Maisie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. 'Yer know what I mean. If yer take notice o' fings like that yer'd drive yerself inter an early grave. You take ole Mrs Brody who used ter live in Bacon Street. She was terrified o' them sort o' fings. I remember once when there was an eclipse an' the sun was blacked out. Middle o' the day it was. Anyway, she was convinced that it was the end o' the world. She got right down on 'er 'ands an' knees outside 'er front door an' prayed. b.l.o.o.d.y sight it was. There was 'er on 'er knees an' 'er ole man staggerin' up the street, p.i.s.sed as a pudden. Singin' at the top of 'is voice 'e was. Mind yer, ole Mrs Brody frightened the life out of 'alf the turnin'. Mrs Kelly was cryin' an' ole Granny Perry was standin' by 'er front door wiv 'er shawl over 'er 'ead. All the kids run indoors, scared, an' there was Mrs Brody's ole man tryin' ter lift 'er up. "Get up, yer scatty ole cow," 'e said to 'er. "Who yer callin' a scatty ole cow?" she shouted. Wiv that she jumps up an' clouts 'im. 'E clouted 'er back, an' before yer knew it they was 'avin' a right ole bull an' cow. By that time the sun was out again an' everybody was at their doors watchin'. Gawd, I never laughed so much in all me life.'

When the laughter died down, Florrie raised her hand. ''Ere, talkin' about that, what about my ole man?' she began. 'The first one, I mean. 'E was a violent git. Well, one night 'e come 'ome from work p.i.s.sed out of 'is mind. 'E used ter work at the brewery an' 'e was never sober, but this particular night 'e could 'ardly stand. 'E comes in an' flops down at the table. "Where's me so-an'-so tea?" 'e shouts out. I was in the scullery tryin' ter keep 'is meal 'ot an' I ses ter meself, "Florrie, yer in fer a pastin' ternight." Tell yer the trufe, I was terrified of 'im. 'E'd bin givin' me a bad time an' I knew I couldn't stand anymore. Anyway, I looks around an' I spots this rat poison I'd put down by the back door. "Right, yer b.a.s.t.a.r.d," I ses ter meself. "I'm gonna do fer yer ternight." I sticks a bit o' this rat poison in the meat pudden I'd made an' I gives 'im a sweet smile as I puts it down in front of 'im. 'E was lookin' a bit grey then an' I thought ter meself, Wait till yer eat the pie. All of a sudden 'e grabs at 'is stomach an' doubles up over the table. 'E was groanin' an' floppin' about in agony. Anyway, I got scared an' I run fer ole Doctor Kelly. Ter cut a long story short they rushed 'im away ter Guy's. Peritonitis it was. 'E was dead the next day. Gawd! Wasn't I glad 'e didn't touch that meal. It jus' shows yer 'ow desperate yer can get at times. Yer does fings wivout finkin'.'

The teacups had been refilled and the four friends sat together talking late into the afternoon. They discussed the weather, the coming festive season, children, and leaving the worst topic till last, the recent rent rise.

'Wouldn't yer fink that ole goat Galloway would 'ave waited till after Christmas ter put the rents up?' Florrie commented.

'What does 'e care?' Aggie said. 'The bleedin' roofs are leakin', the front doors don't shut prop'ly, then there's the draughts comin' in them winders. I fink it's scand'lous ter charge ten shillin's a week fer our places.'

Maisie nodded. 'We'll 'ave ter nag 'im inter doin' somefing. Now 'e's put the rents up we've got a right ter complain, not that 'e'll give a sod about it,' she groaned.

Nellie felt a little guilty as she listened to her friends' grievances, and despite herself was slightly relieved when they finally left. The rent increase had not affected her but there was always a nagging doubt at the back of her mind that one day her husband would fall out with George Galloway and they would find themselves out on the street. In that event she would not be able to bring herself to plead on Will's behalf. She had done it once before and the memory still gave her many sleepless nights.

The new year started cold and damp, and throughout most of January mists drifted in from the river and swirled through the riverside backstreets. Cold and heavy, they blended with the thick yellow smoke from the chimneys and the air became choked with sulphur fumes. There seemed little to be optimistic about in the backstreets as news spread that there would be more short-time working and lay-offs. The docks and wharves were unusually quiet, even allowing for the time of year, and river workers hung about on street corners and outside dock gates, hoping for a day's work or even the odd half-day.

At Wilson's leather factory word had spread that short-time working was inevitable, and the factory girls shrugged their shoulders and prepared themselves for the worst. On the last Friday of January a notice was pinned up beside the time clock. It announced that a third of the workforce was to be made redundant. The girls cl.u.s.tered around the clock anxiously scanning the list, and when Carrie saw her name near the bottom she turned away feeling angry and depressed. Jessica's name was there as well as Freda's, but Carrie had not caught sight of Mary's name amongst the thirty or so.

Freda cursed loudly when she spotted her name on the list. 'I knew we'd be on it,' she scowled. 'They've 'ad it in fer us ever since they 'ad ter take us back.'

Carrie scanned the list once more. 'That's funny,' she remarked. 'Mary's not down 'ere. I wonder why?'

Freda snorted. ''Cos they're crafty, that's why. We can't say we've all bin victimised now, can we?' she pointed out.

Jessica had a miserable look on her round face as the three went to their work bench. 'They didn't give us much time, did they?' she moaned. 'Next Monday we'll all be linin' up down the labour exchange. Well, I tell yer now, I'm not gonna work at that tin bashers. I'd sooner go on the game first.'

'Yer wouldn't earn much round 'ere, Jess,' Freda said, laughing. 'It's only tuppence a time down the alley beside the Star Music 'All.'

''Ow d'yer know what they charge?' Carrie asked with a grin on her face.

Freda kept a straight face as they seated themselves around the long wooden bench. 'Yer might laugh,' she began, 'but I knew a young girl who used ter be on the game. She was only about seventeen an' one night I met 'er on the stairs in our buildin's. She was goin' on about all the money she was earnin.' "Four an' tuppence I earned ternight," she said. "Who give yer the odd tuppence, Ellie?" I asked 'er. "All of 'em," she said. I tell yer straight, Jess, bein' on the game ain't an easy life.'

Their early morning high spirits soon disappeared as the shock of impending redundancy struck home, and the young women became despondent as they discussed the likelihood of finding other work.

'There'll be 'undreds down that labour exchange on Monday,' one of the girls moaned. 'This ain't the only firm puttin' people off, I 'eard that Bevin'tons an' Johnson Bruvvers are puttin' their workers off. Gawd knows what we're gonna do.'

'Well, like I said, I ain't gonna work on no poxy tin machine,' Jessica stated. 'One o' the girls I know lost 'er fingers on a tin machine. There's the b.l.o.o.d.y noise ter contend wiv an' all. They reckon the noise o' those machines makes yer go stone deaf in time. I don't fink the tin bashers pay as much as this firm neivver.'

'Well, if it comes ter the worst I'm gonna let me fella get me pregnant,' another of the girls said. ''E'll 'ave ter marry me then an' I can let 'im keep me.'

'Don't be so sure,' Freda said quickly. 'I got pregnant when I was sixteen an' the farvver didn't keep me. In fact, I nearly ended up in the work'ouse.'

When the lunch-time whistle sounded the young women hurried from their work benches and gathered in the large room which they used for eating their sandwiches in when the weather was cold. Mary Caldwell approached the three friends with an angry look on her round flat face. 'I'm sorry yer gettin' put off,' she said. 'I was surprised they didn't put me on the list but they've done me no favours. Betty's got the sack.'

Carrie felt sorry for the young woman. Mary and Betty had become inseparable during the last few months and their relationship had become the talk of the factory.

'If that's not bad enough, they've put Mrs Loder on my floor,' Mary went on, looking miserable. 'I don't know if I can stand workin' wiv 'er. I'll end up walkin' out, I know I will.'

Carrie understood how Mary felt. Her friend's new workmate was known for her vitriolic tongue and she had openly condemned Mary's relationship with Betty. It seemed to Carrie that the new arrangement had been carefully thought out by the management in the hope that it would force Mary to do what she was threatening. Carrie looked around her as she ate her sandwiches. She had got to know all the girls during the five years or so that she had worked at the factory and it was going to be a wrench leaving on Friday. What was in store for her? she wondered. Would she be forced to work at one of the tin factories or in one of the local food canneries? She knew that whatever factory job she found it would be the same tedious slog, and began to feel more and more depressed.

At Galloway's yard the general slump had been taking effect, and on that cold Monday morning the firm's owner called his foreman into the office to tell him that the two casual carmen would be put off. There was more bad news too. Yet another leather firm which used Galloway's carts had announced that they would not be renewing their cartage contract.

'It's bad but there's nuffink I can do about it, Will. I'll 'ave ter put Lofty Russell an' Darbo off on Friday,' Galloway said, slumping down at his desk. 'I'm after a contract wiv the bacon curers. If I'm lucky, I'll take the two of 'em back, but there's nuffink definite yet.'

William shrugged his shoulders. He had fought the old man over jobs before but he knew that it was useless to try the way things were now. The mention of the new contract made him think, however, and he looked sharply at his boss. 'That's foreign bacon yer talkin' about, ain't it, George?' he said quickly.

Galloway nodded. 'If I get the work, it'll be local wharf collections,' he replied.

William sat down facing him. 'Are yer aware that if yer lucky wiv the contract the carmen'll need union tickets, especially if the bacon's comin' out of Mark Brown's Wharf? Those dockers there are pretty strict about who they load.'

Galloway nodded. 'I'll see to it they'll 'ave tickets,' he said in a low voice.

William was very surprised at his change of heart. George had never entertained the idea of his carmen joining the union before and now he had agreed without a word. Things must be bad, he thought.

'I've already bin on ter Tooley Street an' the union official there said 'e'll look after it,' George added.

William hid his disgust. His employer and the union official had probably been out for a few drinks together and it was more than likely that George had lined the official's pocket, he reasoned.