Josephine had borne the tragic news with courage, and the following Monday evening attended her nursing training at the church hall as usual. She had tried to talk with her father and find some common comfort with him but found it impossible. Geoffrey's death seemed to have widened the barrier between them and Josephine was left to grieve alone. She was determined to be strong and threw herself into her work, but each day as she gazed down at the sick and maimed soldiers on the endless rows of stretchers she thought of Geoffrey, and found herself mumbling frantic prayers that Charlie Tanner would return safely.

The death in action of Geoffrey Galloway had saddened everyone who knew him. William Tanner was particularly upset. He had always found Geoff to be a friendly and easygoing young man with a serious side to his nature. He had managed the firm well and at times gone against his own father when he deemed it right. William felt that this was something Frank Galloway would not be inclined to do. The younger brother was less approachable than Geoffrey had been. He was more like his father and seemed to have the same ruthless streak.

The young man's death had come at a time when there was already a tense atmosphere in the yard. Jake Mitch.e.l.l had grudgingly apologised for his a.s.sault on Jack Oxford but still displayed a sullen, mocking att.i.tude. William could not help dwelling on the frosty meeting he had had with George the morning following the attack on the yard man. Galloway had spelt out in no uncertain terms the reasons why he was not prepared to get rid of Mitch.e.l.l and there had been a thinly veiled threat in the owner's words. William knew for certain now that if it ever came to a choice between him and Mitch.e.l.l, he would be the one to go. In that eventuality Jack Oxford would be sacked too, William was sure, and he felt sorry for the tall, clumsy yard man. Jack did his work well enough and asked only that he be left alone to get on with it. He too had worked in the yard for many years, although William was well aware that this did not seem to count for much where Galloway was concerned. There was also a distinct likelihood that things would begin to change for the worse now that he had lost his elder son. William felt that the loss of Geoffrey would make Galloway even more ruthless than ever.

During the quiet days of late December, after the Christmas festivities, Fred Bradley suddenly summoned up the courage to invite his young employee out for the evening. Carrie was wiping down the tables after the last customers had left, and Fred sauntered over looking a little awkward.

'Look, Carrie, would yer like to come to the music 'all on Friday night?' he said suddenly. 'The Christmas revue's still on at the Camberwell Palace, and it's supposed ter be really good.'

Carrie looked at him in surprise. 'This Friday?' she asked, too taken aback to say anything else.

Fred nodded, his face flushing slightly. 'Well, after all, everyone else has been enjoyin' 'emselves over the 'oliday. The break'd do yer good,' he said, smiling nervously. 'As long as yer can put up wiv an old geezer like me escortin' yer while all the young lads are away ...'

Carrie was touched by Fred's disarming remark, and the wide-eyed look of antic.i.p.ation on his face made her chuckle. 'All right, Fred,' she replied. 'Thank you, that'd be very nice.'

'We can go in the first 'ouse,' he went on, 'an' I'll see yer back to yer front door, don't worry.'

As the time of the outing approached, Carrie began to feel apprehensive. She remembered the times she had gone to the music hall with Tommy and she was worried in case Fred tried to become too familiar with her. But it turned out to be a lovely evening.

Fred looked smart in his tight-fitting suit, starched collar and sleeked-back dark hair, and he held his head proudly erect as he escorted Carrie along the Jamaica Road to the tram stop.

The show was very entertaining, and Carrie was tickled by Fred's noisy laugh. During the interval he bought her a packet of Nestle's chocolates wrapped in gold paper, which they shared, enjoying the sweet taste. When the lights dimmed for the second half of the show, Fred sat forward eagerly in his seat, looking directly in front of him as though afraid he might miss something, and Carrie was touched by his boyish enthusiasm.

When the performance was over and the audience crowded into the street, Carrie held on to Fred's arm tightly and screwed up her face against the cold as they waited at the tram stop.

As good as his word, Fred saw her back to her home in Page Street, and as they walked they chatted together like old friends. At the front door Carrie thanked him for the evening and he made a slight, comical bow, smiling awkwardly. Then he turned away and walked off through the gaslight, whistling loudly as though to hide his embarra.s.sment.

A week later, at the beginning of January 1917, Carrie heard from one of the carmen who called in the cafe that Tommy Allen was home from the war. She was unable to glean much information from the customer except that Tommy was wounded and had got his discharge. The news threw Carrie into a state of confusion, wondering whether she should go to see him. She could still remember clearly all the anger and remorse she had experienced at the end of their affair, and yet despite all that had happened between them she was still very fond of Tommy.

When she finished work that Sat.u.r.day morning Carrie walked through the railway arches into St James's Road and knocked on Tommy's front door. She stood there waiting in the cold air for what seemed an eternity. Finally she heard noises in the pa.s.sage and the door opened. Tommy seemed taken aback to see her but quickly invited her in and led the way into the tiny parlour. He was leaning on a walking stick and his left foot was heavily bandaged and encased in a boot that had been cut away at the instep.

'One o' the customers told me yer was 'ome,' she said, sitting herself down beside the lighted kitchen range.

Tommy smiled awkwardly. 'News travels fast. I only got back a few days ago. I've been fer convalescence in Wales.'

Carrie watched as he eased himself back in his chair and stretched out his bandaged foot towards the fire. 'What 'appened?' she asked.

'Frostbite,' he answered simply. He saw her enquiring look. 'I lost me toes.'

She winced visibly. 'I'm so sorry. Are yer in a lot o' pain?'

He shook his head. 'There's not much pain now. The only problem is, I can't walk prop'ly. I'll be able ter do wivout this stick in time but I've gotta get used ter 'obblin' about.'

Carrie felt uncomfortable under his gaze and glanced towards the fire. Tommy pulled himself up straight in the chair. 'I'm sorry, I should 'ave asked yer if yer wanted a cup o' tea,' he said quickly.

'I'll get it,' she said, getting to her feet, but Tommy stood up and reached for the teapot.

'I'll do it. I'm not exactly useless,' he remarked with a note of irritation in his voice.

Carrie watched him as he poured the tea and could see that he had lost weight. He looked pale and drawn, and there were dark shadows around his eyes. His short-cropped dark hair showed signs of premature greying. ''Ow's yer mum?' she asked, trying to ease the tension.

'She's all right. She's still wiv me bruvver,' he answered, handing her the tea. 'I'll be 'avin' 'er back, soon as I can.'

She sipped in silence, her eyes straying down to his bandaged foot. She grew more uncomfortable, realising she could not think of anything to say.

Tommy suddenly brightened. 'I'm not complainin'. I was one o' the lucky ones,' he told her, smiling. 'I was on a night patrol, the last in the line, an' I slipped in a sh.e.l.l-'ole. It was freezin' cold an' I couldn't call out. I jus' sat there until the patrol come back. By that time I couldn't feel me feet an' that's 'ow I got frostbite. As I say, though, I was one o' the lucky ones. The next day I was carted off ter the forward 'ospital an' at the same time me mates went over the top. It was sheer murder, so I was told. I could 'ave bin wiv 'em if I 'adn't fell in that sh.e.l.l-'ole.'

Carrie looked down into her empty cup. 'My bruvvers are all in France. Danny, the youngest, 'as only jus' gone over there,' she said quietly.

'They'll be all right,' Tommy said cheerfully. 'It'll be over soon. There was talk about an armistice when I was in the 'ospital.'

'I 'ope yer right,' she said with feeling. 'We're all worried sick. Me mum didn't want Danny ter go, 'im bein' the youngest, but 'e wouldn't listen.'

'None of us would,' Tommy replied, easing his position in the chair. 'Anyway, let's change the subject. What about you?'

'I'm well, an' I'm still workin' in the cafe,' she told him. 'It seems strange now, though. Most o' the customers are older men. There's only a few young ones come in. It's the same in our street. All the young men 'ave gone in the army.'

Tommy looked into the fire. 'I b.u.mped into Jean,' he said suddenly, his eyes coming up to meet hers. 'Yer remember me tellin' yer about Jean? She was the young lady I used ter go out wiv. Apparently she's split up wiv 'er bloke an' we've been out a few times. She wants us ter get tergevver again.'

'Will yer?' Carrie asked him.

'I dunno,' he answered, prodding at a torn piece of linoleum with his walking stick. 'It all went wrong before an' now I'm takin' me muvver back as well.'

'Does Jean know?' Carrie asked.

'I told 'er, but she still wants us ter try an' make a go of it,' Tommy replied.

Carrie's eyes searched his for an indication. 'Do yer really want to?'

He nodded slowly. 'I've bin finkin' over all that's 'appened an' I realised I didn't give 'er a fair chance. It was the same wiv me an' you, Carrie. We were doomed right from the start. I've decided ter try again wiv Jean, an' this time I won't let the ole lady come between us. One fing's fer sure, though, I'll never ferget our time tergevver. We did 'ave some good times, didn't we?'

Carrie nodded, a strange feeling of sadness and relief welling up inside her. Tommy had been her first love, but she knew that he was right. Their romance had been doomed to failure. She had come to accept their parting and realised that he had too. Although she was sad at the thought of what might have been, it was some relief to know that Tommy had a prospect of happiness.

'I wish yer all the best, Tommy,' she said, getting up from her chair.

'That goes fer me too, Carrie,' he said, taking her arm and planting a soft kiss on her cheek. 'I 'ope we can stay good friends.'

Carrie walked back through the railway arches deep in thought. The war had cruelly changed Tommy just as it had Billy Sullivan. How many more young men would be maimed or killed before it was over? she wondered, trying not to think about her three absent brothers. A train pa.s.sed overhead and the rumble sent a flock of pigeons into the air. A chill wind stung her face and Carrie shivered as she crossed Jamaica Road.

Since his brother's death Frank had been hard put to it at the yard. His father had lost interest in the business and very rarely shown his face in Page Street. It was only after many arguments and much pleading that Frank managed to persuade the old man to become involved in the firm again. At first George called into the yard once or twice a week, but as time went by he began to turn up more regularly, and it was obvious to everyone how he had changed. He was an embittered man, and he made life uncomfortable for those around him. Jack Oxford was always an easy target for the firm owner's anger and he kept himself out of sight whenever possible.

On Sat.u.r.day morning George Galloway drove his trap into the yard and jumped down, looking agitated. ''E's bin droppin' 'is 'ead. I fink it's the knee joint,' he said to William.

The foreman bent down and lifted the gelding's foreleg, gently running his thumb and forefinger down from the knee to the fetlock. 'It's a thoroughpin,' he p.r.o.nounced, lowering the horse's leg.

'A what?'

'An inflamed tendon sheath. Look, yer can feel it.' William showed him.

'What yer gonna do, poultice it?' Galloway asked.

William nodded. 'I'll put the 'orse in the small stable an' put a linseed poultice on. It'll need a couple o' days' rest.'

Galloway nodded and walked away, mumbling under his breath.

Frank looked up as his father came into the office. 'There's a message from Don McBain,' he told him. 'He said it's on for next week.'

George allowed himself a brief smile. 'Well, that's a bit o' good news. Don's bringin' anuvver punch-bag down from Glasgow,' he said, lowering himself heavily into his chair. 'I'm sure Jake'll be pleased. 'E's bin waitin' fer this one.'

Frank shook his head slowly. 'You ought to be careful, Father. One of these days someone's going to put Mitch.e.l.l down on the floor and you'll lose a packet.'

'I know what I'm doin',' George said quickly. 'I can judge a fighter, an' if the opposition looked too good I wouldn't lay a bet. Besides, McBain pays 'is boys ter climb inter the ring. I pay Jake Mitch.e.l.l on results. That way there's an incentive. Not that Jake needs any goadin'. 'E's got a vicious nature, an' when 'e pulls those gloves on 'e wants a lot o' stoppin'. Jake jus' loves ter fight.'

Frank shrugged his shoulders and got on with the books. He was feeling worried and not in the least inclined to hear about Jake Mitch.e.l.l's prowess. Bella had told him she was pregnant, and she was none too happy about it either. Frank had already been rowing with her over her socialising, the endless round of parties she had been attending with that nancy boy Hubert. Not that there was reason to suspect him of any impropriety, Frank thought to himself with a smile. Even Bella admitted that Hubert preferred men to women. Frank knew that the young man had many contacts in the theatrical profession, and being seen in Hubert's company was helping to further Bella's career, but he felt angry that she never asked him to attend the parties as well. He seemed to be totally ignored. Well, her little forays would soon be over, he told himself. Even Bella would blanch at the thought of attending one of those parties in an interesting condition.

There was another problem causing Frank considerable anguish and dismay. He had been receiving a spate of anonymous letters and the most recent one was torturing him. Enclosed was the usual white feather, but the contents of the letter itself had grown darker and even more hateful. It was printed in crude capitals and badly composed but the message was clear enough. Frank was accused of getting rich from the war, exploiting the poor workers under him while being an abject coward, hiding away while his elder brother did his fighting for him and laid down his life on the battlefield. Frank knew that he should have burnt all the letters as he had the first one but found himself carefully keeping every one hidden in his desk drawer at home, aware that he might never find out who had written them.

That Sat.u.r.day evening was quiet in the Tanner household. William dozed in front of an open fire and Nellie sat quietly working on her embroidery. Carrie was curled up in an easy chair, reading a short story in the Star, her eyes occasionally flitting to the drawn curtains as the wind rattled the window-panes. After a while she folded up the newspaper and dropped it on the floor beside her. How different from when the boys were at home, she thought. Usually there was a fight for the paper and the fireside chair, or an argument over cards or a game of dominoes. Usually James and Danny would be doing the arguing, with Charlie burying his head in a book and refusing to get involved. They were all involved now, Carrie sighed.

As though reading her mind, Nellie looked up from her sewing. 'Wasn't the newspaper bad terday?' she said in a worried voice. 'It was full o' the war. There don't seem no end to it.'

William stirred. He sat up, scratching his head. 'I ought ter see if the geldin's all right,' he said wearily.

'Yer changed the poultice this afternoon,' Nellie said without looking up from her sewing. 'Surely it'll keep till the mornin'?'

'I s'pose yer right,' he nodded. 'I'll change it first fing termorrer.'

'Was it Galloway's fault the 'orse fell lame?' Carrie asked.

William shrugged his shoulders. 'It's 'ard ter say,' he replied. 'What 'e is or what 'e ain't, George don't ill-treat 'is 'orses. But 'e might 'ave run it a bit 'ard, 'specially if 'e'd bin at the booze.'

'It's a beautiful 'orse,' Carrie remarked. 'It'll be all right, won't it, Dad?'

'It's an inflamed tendon. It'll be fine in a few days.'

Nellie got up and stretched. 'I'll put the kettle on an' see 'ow that currant pudden is,' she said. 'It's bin boilin' fer over two hours.'

Suddenly there was a loud rat-tat on the front door and Nellie exchanged anxious glances with Carrie as William went to see who it was. Immediately, he rushed back with a serious look on his face. He grabbed his coat from behind the door and s.n.a.t.c.hed the yard keys from the mantelshelf.

'It's 'Arold Temple. 'E reckons there's smoke comin' from the stable,' he shouted as he dashed from the room.

Carrie and her mother jumped up and put on their coats, following him out into the street. William quickly unlocked the wicket-gate, and as he was about to step through into the yard the end stable burst into flames.

'Quick!' he shouted to Harold. 'Run up the pub an' tell 'em ter phone the fire brigade!'

William stumbled through the gate and dashed across the yard, aware that the gelding was tethered in the flaring stable. He could hear its terrified neighing as he drew close and he felt the heat of the flames on his face. There must be a way of getting in there somehow, he thought frantically. In desperation he grabbed a saddle blanket draped over the hitching-rail and threw it in the horse trough to soak it, intending to shroud himself and dash through the flames, but then the side of the stable was suddenly kicked out and the singed animal darted out into the yard, bucking and rearing. William just managed to throw the blanket over the animal's back as it reared up and sent him sprawling. The stable was now burning fiercely and the heat of the flames was making it difficult for him to breathe. He could hear the women screaming as the horse reared up above him, about to trample him. He tried to dodge the hooves and Carrie was suddenly beside him, grabbing at the gelding's trailing bridle-rope. William rolled out of the way and Carrie struggled to reach the bridle as she pulled back on the rope. The gelding was backing into the far corner of the yard, away from the flames, and Carrie was being pulled forward despite leaning her whole weight back. William staggered to his feet, fearing for his daughter's safety, but she was slowly managing to urge the terrified animal towards the gate. It was still rearing up, frightened by the crackling flames, as he ran to the gate and slipped the main bolts.

'Take 'im up the street, Carrie,' he shouted as he threw open the heavy gates.

Once he saw that she was in no danger from the horse, he dashed back into the yard and grabbed a bucket. As fast as he could he scooped water from the horse trough and tried to contain the fire, but soon realised it was no use. The stable contained bales of hay which were burning fiercely. Smoke was billowing up to the main stable and he could hear the animals there neighing and crashing their hooves as they tried to get out of their stalls.

'Quick!' he screamed at Nellie as she stood by the gate. 'Get me somefink ter cover the 'orses' 'eads wiv. Towels, coats, anyfing.'

Smoke was now seeping into the upper stable and William dashed up the slope carrying his coat. There were a dozen horses stamping and crashing their heavy hooves against the stall-boards. With great difficulty he managed to untie the far horse, throwing his coat over its head as he ran with it down the ramp. Nellie grabbed the bridle-rope from him and quickly led the frightened animal out into the street as William dashed back up the ramp. By the time he had rescued seven of the horses the stable was filling with smoke. Flames were licking at the dry weatherboards and he realised that he might not be able to save all the horses before the whole place went up in smoke. He had to save the Clydesdales, he thought, grabbing a blanket that Nellie held up for him and dashing back up the ramp. The two animals worked together in the shafts and one might follow the other down.

He managed to free the first of the ma.s.sive beasts. Once it had the blanket over its head, it allowed itself to be led towards the ramp. It was a desperate gamble, William knew. He was taking a change that the animal would not bolt while he was freeing the other Clydesdale. If it ran down the ramp it would either stumble and break its neck or else career into the onlookers in the turning and probably kill someone.

William finally managed to untether the second Clydesdale. It reared up, ma.s.sive hooves crashing down on the stone floor. There was nothing to cover its head with and the yard manager said a silent prayer as he grabbed the first horse and led it down the ramp, whistling loudly at the other animal. The second horse reared up again and stared wildly for a few moments, then it trotted forward and followed its partner down to the bottom of the ramp. When they were beyond the gates the horses became quiet and allowed themselves to be led away up the street.

William felt near to exhaustion after his efforts and Nellie was screaming for him to wait until the fire brigade arrived but he knew he must try to save the last three horses. They had broken loose in the upper stable and were likely to cause themselves injury or worse if he did not get to them quickly. As he staggered up the steep ramp, gasping for breath and with his heart pounding, Carrie ran into the yard. She had helped tether the horses together at the end of the street and they were being calmed by Florrie and some of the local menfolk. Nellie cried out to her as she dashed past but she ignored her mother's entreaty. Suddenly she was grabbed by Florrie's lodger Joe Maitland, who forcibly dragged her screaming back to Nellie.

''Old 'er!' he shouted. 'I'll give yer ole man an 'and.'

When Joe Maitland reached the upper stable he could barely see William who was dodging about, trying to stay clear of the horses' flying hooves. Joe made his way over to him, and together they managed to grab one of the terrified animals. There was no time to cover its head. Joe brought the horse rearing and kicking down the slope, holding on to the tether as tightly as he could. Once out in the street the animal quietened down, and Joe ran back up to the smoke-filled stable as he heard the fire bell coming. The yard foreman had his back against the far wall, holding on to a tether and trying desperately to shorten the rope. Joe slid along the side of the stalls narrowly avoiding being struck by the kicking hooves and the two men pulled the last but one of the horses to the exit. The animal had kicked and reared until it was exhausted, and blew hard as they led it down the ramp.

Firemen were dashing from the tender and the first hose had already been connected to a stand-pipe as the two men ran back to save the last horse. They could hear the water being played on the fire and against the walls of the main stable as they reached the top of the ramp. The terrified horse was lying on its side with its foreleg trapped in a splintered stall-board, unable to get up. The two men found it difficult to breathe in the dense smoke as they worked to free the animal. Desperately they tried to prise the planking away but it resisted all their flagging efforts.

'It's no good!' William shouted. 'We need somefink ter lever it wiv!'

Joe dashed back down the ramp and soon returned with a fireman who set to work with his axe.

'Is its leg broken?' Joe shouted to William.

The foreman shook his head. 'I don't fink so. We'll soon find out.'

Finally the animal was freed and it struggled to its feet. The fireman led the limping horse down to the yard, followed by the two staggering rescuers who had their arms around each other's shoulders to hold themselves up. Folk were clapping and cheering as the men stumbled out through the gates and collapsed on the pavement.

The blaze had been contained and the main stable saved. Firemen were dousing the weather-boards and black smoke was rising into the air from the ruins of the end stable as Nellie brought out mugs of tea for the two exhausted men.

'It's Joe, ain't it?' William asked, holding out his hand.

'Yeah, that's right,' the young man answered, his white teeth gleaming in his blackened face.

'Well, I couldn't 'ave saved all them 'orses on me own, Joe. I'm much obliged,' William said gratefully. 'It took guts ter do what yer did.'

The two rescuers were finishing their tea when the fire officer walked out of the yard with a serious look on his smoke-streaked face.

'Is the owner here?' he asked William.

'Somebody's gone fer 'im,' Nellie cut in.

'I'm the yard foreman,' William said, standing up.

The officer took him by the arm and led him to one side. 'Keep this to yourself,' he said in a low voice, 'we think there's a body in the stable. We can't be sure yet but I've sent for the police.'