7,19 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Southampton 1920. Phoebe Collins rose to the challenge of running the family fruit and veg stall when her father did not return from the front. The work outside in Kingsland market in all weathers can be hard, but with her mother and younger brother Tim to support, she's determined that it continue to be a success. However, when Phoebe finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnesses something terrible, she will need all her strength to face the trials ahead and the fear that her loved ones may come to harm.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 412
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
Ähnliche
The Girl from Kingsland Market
JUNE TATE
To Stefan and Mark Field with love
Contents
Chapter One
Southampton 1920
Phoebe Collins stood beside her fruit and vegetable stall in Kingsland Market, rubbing her cold hands together. Her mittens were not enough to totally keep out the sharp chill in the late November air, but she needed to have her fingers free to pick up her wares and serve her customers. She straightened the cabbages, polished the apples until the skins shone, moved the carrots around, picked out the few that were shrivelled and threw them into the basket beneath the stall. These, and other wasted bits, she would slip to the children who came scavenging at the end of the day to help feed their dirt-poor families.
This had been her father’s stall for many years, and she’d helped to run it with him, but he’d lost his life in the Great War at the Battle of the Somme and she’d run it alone ever since. The war had been over for two years now, and times were hard. At nineteen, she’d had no other choice. She was good at selling and had managed to make a living – albeit a small one – ever since. Her mother took in washing to add to their income at the same time looking after her brother, Timothy, or Tim as they called him. He was ten and still at school, but on a Saturday, he’d come along and help her.
Kingsland Market was set up in a square, well lit from the surrounding streetlights, with many different stalls. Some were selling second-hand clothes, there was the Jones family with their pots and pans and kitchen equipment and Milly Coates with her home-made cakes and jams. On one stall Len Black, a cobbler, was at work with a boot over a last, hammering on a new set of soles, and there was Tony Jackson with his ironmongery. There were others with various goods and some selling fruit and vegetables too, but there was a camaraderie between them all. The banter could be quite saucy sometimes, but everybody was there to make a living.
Next to Phoebe’s stall was Marjory Simmons, or Marj as she was known, a middle-aged woman of ample proportions and a heart as big as her body. She sold second-hand clothes, but they had to be in good condition and she was very adamant about that.
‘Bloody cold today, girl, ain’t it? Proper brass monkey weather. Thank the Lord it ain’t raining. ’Ere, I’ve got a ’alf decent jumper that would fit you. You can ’ave it for a tanner.’ She held it up for Phoebe to see. It was cream, made of heavy wool, with a polo neck. Phoebe looked at it and thought it was ideal for keeping out the winter weather. She handed over a sixpence and took it.
‘Thanks, Marj, it’s just what I need.’ She put it to one side to wash and wear when it was dry.
At night Phoebe would take down the canvas top that covered her stall, then wheel it to a lock-up she’d rented on the edge of the market, where it would be secure until the following morning. Once a week, she’d go along to the wholesalers to buy her stock and barter ferociously about the prices.
She and her family lived in a two-up two-down council house in a tough area of the town. Not that it seemed that way to her, after all she’d lived there all her life so to her it was simply home. It wasn’t that she was unaware of her surroundings. She knew that in the next street there was a brothel in a house rented by two girls, and she also knew to keep clear of the Stanley brothers who lived in the area and worked in the market. Their stall was full of second-hand goods bought from house sales. Lamps, furniture, china, bric-a-brac and a few antiques. Anything that would bring in a shilling or two. They were small-time villains, into anything illegal that would bring in money, but they were cunning, clever and ruthless. Always one step ahead of the law. Percy was the eldest at thirty. A dour-looking man who seldom smiled. He would look at you with a steely glare that was enough to chill your blood. His brother, Arthur, was twenty-three, reasonably good-looking with an eye for the ladies, but who had to do as he was told by his dictatorial brother.
Phoebe, aware that she was alone at night, carrying money after she closed, was prepared for all eventualities and always carried a long hatpin in the lapel of her coat, and hidden on her stall was a small cudgel, just in case of trouble.
It was Friday, pay day for those who were employed, and tomorrow was their busiest day, with families stocking up for the week ahead. Early every Saturday morning a butcher’s horse-driven van would arrive and set up. Chickens and rabbits would hang from hooks at the open back of the van; on a long table in front would be displayed cuts of meat laid out ready for sale. Those who could afford it bought decent cuts, others would buy up scrag ends of mutton and bones to make a broth.
The upper classes would shop in the town centre, but Kingsland Market was where those who had little money or those looking for a bargain would do their buying.
‘Mind your backs!’ came a cry in a gruff male voice as Percy Stanley pushed a barrow through the middle of the market towards his stall. Sometimes the brothers would use a horse-driven vehicle when they had furniture to sell after going to a house clearance or sale. They would give the horse a nosebag to keep it quiet and would often have to clear up its mess with a shovel at the end of the day.
Every now and then the police would walk through the market, chatting to the stallholders and always stopping longer at the brothers’ stall, which they searched for stolen goods. Percy would take delight in baiting them, knowing that there was nothing untoward for sale. Any stolen goods were well hidden elsewhere and trading for those was done very carefully at night, in different locations.
Whereas the police would exchange friendly banter with most of the traders, with the Stanley brothers their demeanour was quite different. They had no respect for these men, and it was a challenge among the men in the force to be the ones to eventually catch the brothers in their illegal deals and put them behind bars.
Percy was being his usual belligerent self as the constables looked through the goods on sale. ‘Find anything dodgy, did you, then?’
One of the men looked at him with distaste. ‘You’ll end up behind bars one day, Percy. It will be my pleasure to see you locked away. Inside you may learn some manners and respect.’
Percy just laughed.
‘Every villain makes a mistake one day, and on that day, I’ll be just behind you!’ snapped one of the policemen as he walked away.
Percy just muttered a few expletives as he watched the men leave.
Eventually it was time to close. Phoebe took down the canvas cover from its poles, laid it on top of her stall. She gave a bag of fruit and vegetables to a scruffy little lad who was looking longingly at the fruit and was hovering nearby, then she wheeled her cart away, locked up for the night and walked home.
Her mother, Mary was folding laundry when she opened the door and stepped into the room. The air felt damp from the washing and Phoebe put some wooden logs into the small grate of the range to dry out the room and made herself and her mother a cup of tea, pouring the boiling water from the kettle on the hob over the fire of the blackleaded stove. Tim was sitting at the table eating a bowl of hearty chicken and vegetable soup with a thick slice of bread and dripping.
Phoebe sat beside the fire, holding her frozen hands out to the warmth, rubbing them together to help the circulation. It was good to be inside after such a long cold day. She removed her high-buttoned boots and then her stockings, plus a pair of socks, pouring some of the hot water into a bowl, adding a little cold water, then putting her feet into the bowl. She sat back in the chair and sighed.
‘I can’t tell you just how good that feels. I’ve not been able to feel my feet all afternoon.’
‘I know how you feel,’ said her mother. ‘No good me trying to dry the clothes in the backyard, they just freeze solid. The spring can’t come soon enough for me. Get yourself some soup, that’ll help warm you.’
Phoebe did so and sat at the table beside Tim. ‘You going to give me a hand in the morning?’
He smiled at her. He loved being in the market. He was a good-looking boy and polite and the ladies loved him. Marj spoilt him whenever he was there, slipping him sweets. It gave the lad something to look forward to.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘make sure to wake me when you get up.’
‘I will − you wrap up warm. I don’t want you freezing to death!’ She rubbed his tousled hair as she spoke. He was a good lad and Phoebe hoped he’d be able to find a decent job when he eventually left school. He was bright and, in her mind, being a market trader wasn’t good enough for him. He was worth a better future.
‘Best get off to bed, Tim. We have an early start in the morning. I’ll not be long behind you.’
She and her mother shared a bed and Tim had the other room. There was no bathroom, so on a Sunday, when the market was closed, they would haul in the tin bath, fill it with water and take it in turns to bathe. The toilet was outside and on such cold days, no one was in a rush to use it, hanging on until the last moment. In the market they used public toilets, which were a deal more comfortable, housed in a brick building instead of a shed, which let in the cold.
Phoebe, once warm, sat down and ate; it had been a long day and she was hungry. She eventually rose from her chair. ‘I’m tired so I’m off to bed, Mum. I’ll buy some meat tomorrow for the weekend. If we make a stew, it’ll last us a couple of days. Do you need anything else?’
‘No, love, that’ll do. I’ll be up in a while after I’ve ironed these sheets.’ She covered the kitchen table with a heavy cloth and put out two flat irons, placing one on top of the stove to heat up. ‘I’ll try not to disturb you.’
Phoebe chuckled. ‘You’d have a job! I’m so tired I could sleep on a clothes line.’ So saying, she went into the kitchen, swilled her face, cleaned her teeth, then made her way upstairs, undressed and climbed into bed, snuggled under the blankets, knowing that tomorrow would be a busy day.
Chapter Two
While Phoebe was sleeping, the Stanley brothers were inside a small garage on the outskirts of the town, checking the goods stacked against the walls. There were pieces of antique furniture, small statues, paintings and different artefacts of value that were a part of their stolen goods. Percy was ticking off various items on the list, looking pleased with himself as he did so.
‘This lot should bring a pretty price,’ he said to his brother.
‘When are they being collected?’ Arthur asked. ‘We don’t want them hanging around for much longer or the Old Bill will get wind of this place.’
‘Len Taylor is coming down from the Smoke tomorrow night, around eight, so don’t worry. This lot will be gone then. Will you stop your fretting! We don’t use this place often and we’re careful that we’re not followed. I’m not stupid!’
Knowing his brother’s hot temper, Arthur backed off. ‘I know that. It’s just that until we get rid of the stuff it’s always a bit of a worry. That’s all.’
Percy muttered to himself as he locked the doors. Outside were two bicycles the men used. They were less conspicuous than any other means of transport and easier to hide.
‘Come on, let’s go home. We’ll leave the bikes there and then I’ll buy you a beer before the pubs close.’
They eventually strolled to the Horse and Groom in East Street on the corner of Canal Walk, known as The Ditches. Not a salubrious part of town. It was here that the brasses plied their trade, where the dregs of the male population gathered. Villains met and illegal deals were done undercover. Drink-fuelled fights broke out with great regularity.
The brothers ordered two pints of bitter and sat in a corner away from other customers. No one bothered them. They kept very much to themselves. In their line of business, it didn’t pay to become friends with outsiders. That way, no one could be bribed or threatened to give away any information about them. Apart from which, once crossed they were dangerous. In the past one or two chancers had tried to cheat them and had ended up floating in the docks. Nothing against the boys had ever been proven and so they were free to carry on with their way of life – so far.
At six o’clock the following morning, Phoebe was woken by the sound of the alarm. She reached out to shut it off before her mother was disturbed. Getting out of bed, she went into the other room and woke her brother.
‘Get dressed, Tim. I’ll get us some breakfast and put on a kettle for a wash, then we’ll be on our way.’
When the boy came downstairs, Phoebe had raked the fire and thrown on some coal and wood to build the heat, made some porridge and was holding some bread up against the fire on a toasting fork.
Tim sat and ate his breakfast while his sister washed and then he did the same. After clearing the dishes, they left the house and headed for the market. It was dark as they walked and Phoebe carried a torch to use until they reached her lock-up. Other traders were doing the same but at this time in the morning they were all too busy to make much conversation except to say hello and grumble about the cold.
However, once they had settled on their patches, there was a buzz among the traders, especially the ladies, as there was a new trader on the square. A tall young man, well wrapped up against the weather with a scarf around his neck and a woollen hat pulled well down over his head, not revealing much of his face but enough to show his handsome features. His stall was selling men’s clothes. Jackets, heavy-duty shirts in check, normal white shirts, vests, long johns, leather belts, bracers and socks. He smiled and greeted everyone with a cheery, ‘Good morning’, but that was all.
Marj sidled up to Phoebe. ‘Bloody ’ell! I wish I was a few years younger, love. I’d soon ’ave ’im in my bed!’ Her raucous laughter rang out over the square.
‘Marj! Behave yourself,’ chided Phoebe but she started laughing.
‘You could do worse, love. You should get in there while you can. A good-looking girl like you should ’ave no trouble.’
‘I don’t know who he is! Besides I’m happy as I am, thank you.’
Marj peered at her. ‘Maybe so, but a good man beside you is a great comfort. A bit of love makes the world go round.’ She glanced across at the newcomer. ‘I didn’t know there was a vacancy for a new stall. I wonder who ’e is?’
‘No doubt we’ll soon find out. You know what stallholders are like, they want to know who is on their patch. We don’t need to worry, he’s not selling the same goods as us.’
The Stanley brothers were curious too. Any stranger was looked upon with suspicion.
‘Have you ever seen him before?’ Percy asked his brother.
‘No, never. Best keep an eye on him, I don’t like strangers, they make me nervous.’
It was Tim who eventually spoke to the newcomer. During a lull, he amused himself by juggling with a couple of apples and dropped one which rolled towards the new stall. The stranger picked it up and handed it back to the boy.
‘You won’t be able to sell that now,’ he said, ‘it’s bruised.’ He nodded over to Phoebe. ‘Your mother won’t like that.’
Tim grinned. ‘She’s not my mother, she’s my sister!’
‘Oh my goodness, what a dreadful mistake! Please don’t tell her, she would not be best pleased, I’m sure.’
‘What’s your name?’ asked Tim.
‘Ben, and you are?’
‘Timothy, but everybody calls me Tim.’
The new trader held out his hand and shook Tim’s. ‘Happy to know you, Tim.’
Seeing her brother talking to the newcomer, Phoebe called to him to come back.
‘Better go,’ he said hearing his sister.
Ben leant forward. ‘You won’t drop me in it, will you? Your sister wouldn’t be flattered to think I thought she was your mother.’
‘No, I won’t tell. Bye,’ and he ran back to his stall.
‘You mustn’t bother the new man,’ chided Phoebe.
‘His name is Ben and he’s really nice. He didn’t mind at all, honestly.’
Phoebe looked over to the new stall. Ben smiled at her and held up his hand in greeting. Phoebe felt her cheeks flush, but she smiled back at him.
The day was busy as usual and Phoebe and Tim weighed the fruit and vegetables, putting them in brown paper bags before handing the goods to their customers, always with a cheery word. Tim was always polite, calling the ladies ‘madam’ and the men ‘sir’. Sometimes, charmed by his manner, they would slip him a tip of a few pence, which he thanked them for and put into his pocket. Phoebe paid him a couple of shillings for helping out and this was on the understanding he didn’t fritter it away. His tips were his to choose how they were spent.
At lunchtime, Phoebe sent her brother off to buy some fish and chips for their lunch, which they ate out of the paper between serving customers. It was a long day to be standing in the cold and a meal of some kind was a necessity.
Ben, the new stallholder, looked over and saw them eating. The look of longing didn’t escape Phoebe and when they’d finished theirs, she sent Tim over to the man to ask if he wanted some as well.
‘Oh Tim! You have been sent from heaven. I’m starving!’ He fished in his pocket for some money and when Tim returned, he gave him sixpence for going, which delighted the boy.
‘I can do this for you every Saturday if you like.’
The trader laughed. ‘I can see you have an eye for business, young man. It’s a deal.’
At the end of the day, the traders started to pack up their stalls, but Phoebe was having trouble undoing the canvas that covered hers. It had got twisted around the poles and she was struggling.
‘Here, let me give you a hand, I’m taller than you.’ Ben took the cover from her and soon untwisted it. He folded it neatly and handed it back to her.
‘Thank you so much,’ said Phoebe, ‘it’s never done that before. How was your first day on the market?’
He grinned broadly at her. ‘I’ve no idea how you do this every day. My feet are killing me and I’m frozen to the bone.’
‘You should buy a pair of the long johns you sell, and two pairs of socks help, the rest is practice. Are you here every day?’
‘Yes I am, so I’ll take your advice.’
‘Bring sandwiches is another piece of advice. If your stomach’s full it helps keep out the cold.’
‘Thanks, I’ll remember. See you tomorrow!’
Marj sidled over. ‘Oh love, you’ve made a good start there.’
‘I haven’t started anything, Marjory!’
‘No need to get stroppy, girl. I know you are, because it’s the only time you call me by my full name.’
Phoebe just laughed. ‘Then behave!’
As she and her brother wheeled the stall away for the night, Tim said, ‘That Ben really is nice, Phoebe.’
‘Now don’t you start too! Come on, get a move on so we can get home in the warm.’
‘I wonder where he keeps his stall?’ the boy added as an afterthought.
Ben had a lock-up just outside the market square. Having secured the door, he made his way to a small cafe for a sandwich and a mug of tea, then he strolled to The Grapes pub on Oxford Street and ordered a pint of bitter. Wandering over to a table, he sat and started reading the local paper he’d picked up on his way. It was early in the evening and the bar was almost empty, but before long the door opened and another workman entered. Ordering a pint of beer, he paid for it, then walked over to where Ben was sitting and joined him.
‘So, how was your first day at work?’
With a grimace Ben told him. ‘How these traders do that every day, I don’t know. I nearly froze my balls off!’
His companion laughed. ‘Better get used to it, my friend, you could be there for some considerable time. It’s one of the joys of working undercover. Anything interesting happen?’
‘No, it was busy, being Saturday, but nothing untoward.’ He smiled slowly. ‘The best thing about today was a lovely girl on a fruit and veg stall who saved my life by letting her little brother go and buy me some fish and chips. I was starving.’
‘Now, you behave yourself, don’t let a pretty face stop you from doing your job.’
Ben pretended to look outraged. ‘Excuse me! Are you suggesting I’m not up to it?’
‘No. Just a warning – but on the other hand it might be to your advantage to further this friendship. If she’s a regular she might be a source of information. Nothing gets by among the traders. They always keep tabs on each other.’
Ben frowned. ‘I’ll give it a day or two and see. I need to tread carefully. I don’t want to give any cause for suspicion or the whole thing will be a waste of time.’ He drank up. ‘I need to go and soak in a hot bath to get my circulation working again.’ Picking up his paper, he left the bar and waited for a tram to take him home.
Home was a very comfortable flat over a shoe shop in Bedford Place. He took off his coat, went to the bathroom and ran a bath, throwing in some bath salts before he stripped off the rest of his clothes and stepped into the hot water. Laying back he let out a deep sigh, wondering just how long he was going to have to man his stall in the freezing cold.
When he’d dried himself, he sorted out the clothes for the morning. He remembered Phoebe’s advice and had taken a pair of long johns home with him. He laid them out with a long-sleeved vest, a jumper, then a thicker one and two pairs of socks, thinking to himself he’d look two sizes larger in the morning with all this clobber, but he had to shut out the cold, that much he’d learnt today. He cooked some eggs and bacon and after eating, he set the alarm, climbed into bed and fell asleep.
Phoebe walked home with Tim. As they passed the street next to hers, she saw a queue of men waiting outside the house rented by the two prostitutes. Tim also saw them.
‘What are they waiting in the cold for, Phoebe, it isn’t a shop?’
She hurried him along. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she lied.
For once there was no washing hanging about as they entered the house, but the aroma of cooking filled the air.
‘Oh, Mum, that smells good.’
‘I’m making a stew from a bit of ham on the bone. Did you bring any veg with you?’
‘Yes,’ said Phoebe, taking out some onions, a cabbage and a cauliflower from a bag beside her. ‘I bought some cheese to make a sauce for the cauliflower too. That and the stewing steak I bought today should see us through for a bit. When it’s gone, I’ll buy a chicken to roast. We had a good day, so it’ll be a nice treat.’
‘There’s a new man in the market, Mum,’ Tim chipped in. ‘He’s ever so nice. He gave me sixpence for getting him some fish and chips. He even helped Phoebe undo the canvas over the stall when it got tangled.’
Mary looked over at her daughter. ‘Is that right?’
‘Yes, don’t know who he is, but he’s very polite. I was pleased of the help. I think he’s new to trading as he said he didn’t know how we did the job every day.’
‘Young, is he?’
‘Now don’t you start! It’s bad enough with Marj teasing me about him.’
Her mother just smiled and stirred the pot on the stove. She’d like to see her daughter settled with a nice young man, she thought, as she added some salt and dumplings to the meal. It would be nice for her to have someone to care for her, look after her. Phoebe had taken over her husband’s position since his death, which was a godsend, but she did have a life of her own, after all.
As they sat down to their meal, Phoebe looked at her mother. ‘How about going to the cinema tomorrow afternoon? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Tim?’
His eyes lit up. ‘Can we go and see the Keystone Cops? It’s on at the Gaiety. They’re so funny, they make me roar with laughter.’
‘All right with you, Mum?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I could do with a good laugh.’ So, it was decided.
The next afternoon, they queued for a short time to get into the cinema and sat ready for the film. The pianist arrived and took his seat in front of and to the side of the screen and as the credits rolled he started to play. As with all silent films, the pianist contributed to the excitement by interpreting the motion on the screen, playing stirring music as the Keystone Cops hurtled around on a fire engine that was out of control, with the cops hanging from it, clinging on to a ladder for dear life. All three of them were crying with laughter as they watched the mad antics. The second film was just as hilarious, and they left in a state of exhaustion.
Mary clutched at her stomach as they reached the street. ‘Oh, my poor tummy is aching with laughter,’ she complained.
Tim was grinning broadly. ‘That was so much fun, but it’s a wonder they don’t get hurt.’
‘Maybe they do,’ declared Phoebe, ‘but they wouldn’t show it. They certainly are clever, though.’
They wandered home, thoroughly entertained.
‘Right, young Timothy,’ said his mother. ‘Go and get your stuff ready for school in the morning. I don’t want a mad rush because you’ve forgotten something. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.’ But she was only chivvying him along. Young as he was, Tim had learnt to be organised because Phoebe always left early, and he’d learnt how to cope for himself.
Every Monday morning, Phoebe would walk to the wholesalers and restock her stall. She was a favourite with the sellers who knew her story and admired the girl for taking over her father’s stall. They also knew that she would argue fiercely with them about the price of the goods. It took guts to do this, but she stood up to them all.
‘I’m not paying that price!’ she retorted to the man trying to sell her cabbages. ‘I could get them cheaper in the market.’
‘Oh, Phoebe, you’ll be the death of me,’ he complained before reducing his price. ‘I’ve got a family to keep, you know!’
‘Oh come on, Archie. Don’t give me that old flannel, I know you bury all your money in a tin in the garden,’ she laughed. ‘Now what about some onions?’
A little later she walked away, pleased with her wares, which would be delivered to her that afternoon.
Monday was always quiet after the weekend and she took this time to clear the stall, moving the vegetables into boxes to allow her to wash the stall down. She prided herself on the cleanliness and the goods she sold, knowing that some of the other stallholders weren’t so thorough. It paid in the long run, as the customers could see the difference and would come to her for their goods.
She saw Ben arrive and smiled across at him. She was pleased to see that his things were laid out in a pristine fashion, so he obviously took a pride in his work. She was curious as to how he became a trader. He was well spoken and not as rough and ready as many of the other men who worked the market.
Ben wandered over to her when he was set up. ‘Good morning! How are you today? I can see you’re having a good clean up − now I know why your stall looks so inviting to the customers.’
‘Well I wouldn’t like to buy my food from a dirty stall, would you?’
‘Certainly not. I took your advice, by the way, and I’ve several layers on today.’
She smiled at him. ‘You’ll get used to it in time. What made you do this work? You obviously aren’t used to it?’
He hesitated for a moment. ‘I was out of a job, so I thought I’d give it a try.’
‘What did you do before then?’
He was saved from answering as a customer stopped at his stall and he left to serve them. As he didn’t return, she never did find out.
Marj wandered over. ‘’Ow’s your new friend, then?’
‘He’s not my friend, Marj. He’s new to this and I was asking him about his previous job, but he had to go.’
Her friend looked across at Ben. ‘Not the usual sort to be a trader, I would ’ave thought. Interesting.’
The Stanley brothers were of the same mind.
‘Go and have a chat to the new trader and do a bit of digging. He’s not your usual type. See what you can find out,’ Percy told his brother.
Arthur wandered over to the stall and looked through the stock. ‘These warm shirts look good. Decent price too.’ He looked at Ben. ‘Been trading long, have you?’
‘No, this is my first time. It takes some getting used to, standing about in the cold.’
‘What on earth made you choose this way of life, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘I moved down here from Gloucester and the only work on offer was in the docks and I didn’t fancy that, so I thought I’d give this a try. How about you? Have you always been a trader?’
‘Yeah. Me and me brother have done it all our lives. Buying and selling’s in our blood. Well, best get back.’
‘Well?’ asked Percy.
‘He came down here from Gloucester looking for work. Didn’t fancy the docks so here he is. Seems harmless enough.’
But Percy wasn’t convinced. ‘Maybe so, but we’ll keep an eye on him.’
‘Well at least Len Taylor will clear the stuff tonight, so we’ll be as clean as a whistle for the time being.’
‘We’ll take a break until around Christmas. People get careless then, rushing around getting ready for the festive season.’
‘Ha! Be like a holiday,’ laughed Arthur. But his brother was not amused.
Chapter Three
It was mid December and the market looked very festive. The stalls were decorated with tinsel and baubles. Lanterns were hung in each stall with lit candles inside and someone had brought an old phonograph and some records and was playing Christmas carols. Tony, who sold saucepans among his goods, used two lids to play like cymbals until he was told to stop because it was too loud. He did so after much fussing, instead he picked up a bunch of mistletoe and visited all the females on their stands, lingering at Marj’s, but it was all done with good humour.
Phoebe had bundles of holly and mistletoe for sale beside her stall and half a dozen Christmas trees. She and Tim – when he was there – used to sing along to the carols. Phoebe had a sweet pure voice, which was much appreciated by the other traders who would join in with gusto. At this time more than any other, there was an air of jollity in the market, filled with the Christmas spirit − apart from the Stanley brothers, who had just strewn a few strands of tinsel on their stall, so as not to look different, but it hadn’t been done with any cheer and it showed.
Ben wandered over to Phoebe’s stall. ‘Doesn’t the older Stanley brother ever smile?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think his mouth knows how,’ she retorted. ‘To be honest, he scares me a bit.’
‘Why? Have you had any trouble with him?’ he asked quickly.
‘No, never, but he’s got a cruel face and when he looks at you it makes me go cold.’
‘Yes, I can see what you mean. He’s a mean man with a mean face. Just keep clear of him is my advice.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry, I do. I was wondering,’ she said, ‘if you could get one of your warm jackets in Tim’s size, if it isn’t too expensive. I’d like to give him one for Christmas. He’s almost grown out of his.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Ben said. ‘Give me a call when you close, I’ll help you move the trees again.’
She thanked him profusely. Ever since she’d had them delivered, Ben had helped put them away, which had saved her time and energy. To thank him she’d sometimes bring him a large piece of her mother’s bread pudding, which he devoured eagerly.
Marj watched their growing friendship with interest, but these days didn’t tease her friend, hoping that the nice young man might come to be important to the young girl of whom she was so fond.
As Christmas Eve approached, young Tim’s excitement grew. Like most children, the thought of opening presents on Christmas morning was something to look forward to, but for many a child whose parents were too poor, it was mostly a disappointment. Some of these children were the ones that hovered around the market stalls at closing time, hoping to glean anything that was free. With this in mind, Phoebe always had a stash of sweets to hand out on Christmas Eve and any spare fruit and vegetables.
Ben watched as she quietly handed round such bounty to children wearing worn clothes and scuffed shoes. He noticed how she did so, quietly and unobtrusively, so as to leave the children with some dignity. It was endearing to watch. He too added to this with warm gloves and scarves from his stall. He had also managed to purchase a jacket in Tim’s size, which Phoebe had hidden away until Christmas morning.
Towards closing time, Phoebe looked at what remained on her stall. All the Christmas trees had sold, and she had one at home to be decorated that evening. There was no holly left but just one small sprig of mistletoe. The rest had gone.
It had been such a busy day. Seeing how tired Tim was, she’d sent him home early, telling him to start decorating the tree, knowing how he loved to do this. She gave him a bag of apples, oranges and some mixed nuts she’d ordered for the Christmas period only, to take with him and she would add another of vegetables with her to go with the chicken on Christmas Day, which she’d purchased the day before.
Ben put his stall away, then returned to help Phoebe with hers. He wheeled the cart and she carried the canvas cover. Inside the shed, Ben put the stall down and seeing the sprig of mistletoe, he picked it up and as Phoebe walked in behind him, he held the sprig over their heads and kissed her gently on the lips.
‘Happy Christmas, Phoebe!’
She was so surprised she didn’t know what to say for a minute. Then she stuttered, ‘You too, Ben.’
As she locked up she asked him, ‘Where are you spending the holiday?’
‘With some friends. It should be a lot of fun. See you in a couple of days. Have a good time.’
The Stanley brothers put their stall away and took some fish and chips home to have with a couple of bottles of beer. They had a long night ahead of them, so they made themselves comfortable in a couple of armchairs to grab a few hours’ sleep.
In the very early hours of the morning, the Stanley brothers got out their bicycles and rode away towards the more palatial part of the town where the houses were bigger and set back in a private garden. They hid the bikes in a hedge; and creeping along, chose a house that was in darkness. They crept round to the back door. Using a jemmy, Percy proceeded to break into the premises as quietly as possible. Using torches, they crept into the house, picking up anything that was small and expensive. Going into the living room, they ignored the presents under the tree and opened cupboards and drawers, removing pieces of silverware, putting them into a sack each one was carrying.
Then slowly moving upstairs, they quietly opened a bedroom door. In the bed, the owners of the house were asleep as the brothers quietly opened drawers, removing any jewellery they saw before going back downstairs and out of the house, moving onto the next one, doing the same. After the third house, they found their bicycles and rode away.
Once back in their own home, they tipped out the contents of the sacks and studied their haul, eyes glittering with anticipation at the cash they would pocket from their ill-gotten gains.
‘We were bloody lucky that no one woke up,’ Arthur remarked.
‘Not at all. That’s why I picked tonight. The adults would have been so tired with all the preparations for the day ahead, they would have been exhausted. Merry Christmas!’ He held up a gold necklace and a string of pearls. ‘These will bring a decent price, with these rings.’ The diamonds from a couple of rings sparkled in the light.
‘With a bit of luck with so much going on today, no one will discover anything missing. Maybe it will even go unnoticed for longer. Nevertheless, I’ll take some of it and catch a train after Boxing Day up to London. I’ll call Charlie and arrange a meet. The sooner these are passed on the better. I’m going to get my head down for a few hours.’
‘Me too,’ said Arthur. ‘I’m bloody knackered!’
On Christmas morning, Tim woke and rushed downstairs to see what was in his stocking. Phoebe was up already, and the room was warm. She grinned at her brother.
‘Didn’t think it would be long before you were up.’ She handed him a stocking to open. ‘Here, you can open this now, but we’ll wait for Mum before we open the presents under the tree.’
He took it from her and started to take out the contents. There were sticks of barley sugar. A pair of gloves and a scarf, a pen knife and a toy car, plus an orange, an apple and a small bar of chocolate. The lad was thrilled.
Mary soon joined them and they sat down to breakfast. Phoebe had cooked bacon and eggs and had toasted some bread, which they ate with marmalade. It was a veritable feast. Normally their breakfast fare was simply a bowl of porridge and mug of tea. When they had finished, Phoebe replenished their mugs with fresh tea and then she went over to the tree.
‘This is for you, Mum.’ Phoebe handed Mary a package and watched her open it. Inside was a warm shawl in deep maroon. Mary was delighted and placed it around her shoulders, thanking her daughter profusely.
Phoebe then handed Tim a large parcel tied with ribbon. ‘This is yours.’
His eyes bright with anticipation, he tore at the wrapping and let out a cry of delight and surprise when he saw the warm jacket. ‘Oh, Phoebe, thank you, it’s lovely!’ He immediately put it on over his pyjamas, did up the buttons and buried his hands deep within the pockets.
‘This will keep me warm, it’s so thick.’ He flung his arms around her neck. ‘Thank you.’
She was delighted that it fitted him with enough room for him to grow a little. ‘Ben managed to get it for me,’ she told him.
Tim beamed. ‘I’ll thank him next time I see him,’ he said.
‘There’s this too,’ she said, pushing her way behind the tree to retrieve a large hoop that had been hidden from sight. ‘You’ll need to find a stick to help you bowl it along. I’ll probably find one in the market for you.’
Mary rose to her feet and retrieved a parcel, handing it to Phoebe. ‘This is for you.’
Inside was a hand-knitted woollen hat in bright red and a pair of warm mittens with a scarf to match.
‘Oh, Mum, whenever did you find the time to make all this?’
Laughing, Mary said, ‘While I waited for the laundry to dry!’ Then she gave a parcel to Tim.
Inside was a hand-knitted jumper in dark green. ‘That should keep you nice and warm, son.’
After clearing away, the three of them sat preparing the vegetables to go with the chicken. They peeled the potatoes, the carrots and the parsnips, cut off the outer leaves of the sprouts and Mary prepared a batter for a Yorkshire pudding. Then they put a Christmas pudding on to steam. Once that had been done, they all changed out of their nightclothes.
As Mary laid the table, she wished with all her heart that Edward, her late husband, could have been here to share their happiness. He’d been a good husband and father and she missed him still. He would have been so proud of his daughter and the way she’d taken over the stall, and of young Tim, who had such a lovely nature, but she knew that she was better off than many other widows and she was grateful for that.
After the Christmas dinner, the dishes were cleared away, and still wearing the party hats from the crackers, the two women settled down, one on the settee, the other in an armchair, and fell asleep. Tim was at the table playing with his new car. The house was at peace.
The day after Boxing Day, Percy Stanley was in a backstreet in the East End of London, tucked away in the back room of a shop, his stolen loot being appraised by another villain, Charlie Blackmore. Blackmore made his living from buying stolen goods and selling them on. His pawnbroker shop sold everything that had a price and was a front for his unscrupulous dealings. The police were aware of this, but he was a devious man and so far had stayed out of trouble. He and Percy were arguing about the prices he was offering.
‘You’re a fucking con man, Charlie! Do you think I’m bloody stupid or something? Those pearls are worth more than that, and that diamond ring!’
Charlie wasn’t bothered. He knew that Percy had to get rid of his stuff quickly and he knew that he was the only fence he trusted.
‘Take it or leave it, that’s my final offer.’ He sat back, smoking his cigar.
Percy walked up and down cursing loudly, but he knew he had no choice. ‘Another ten quid and you’ve got a deal.’
Charlie just raised an eyebrow and stared at him.
Eyes narrowed, Percy stared back at him and waited, but as Charlie didn’t say a word, Percy finally had to concede.
‘You’re a bloody robber. Every time I come to you, you take me for a ride.’
‘You could always try someone else, my friend.’ He smiled softly. Then, taking a wad of notes out of his pocket, he peeled off the amount he needed and handed it over.
Percy grabbed at it and put it in his inside pocket, muttering beneath his breath as he did so. ‘You’ll be wanting a pint of my blood next!’ he snapped, then he walked to the door and left.
Charlie Blackmore chuckled to himself. This gear he’d just bought was worth a nice little earner for him, and what’s more, he disliked Percy Stanley intensely and it gave him great pleasure to see him squirm. Any other punter he would have been prepared to offer a little more, but not Stanley. Let him crawl!
Percy sat on the train back to Southampton, still fuming. He knew he’d been cheated and that stuck in his craw. In his home town he was feared, but in that back room with that bloody shyster, he was nobody! That was hard to stomach. He’d have to find another outlet in the future. He scowled as someone getting off at the next station wished him a happy Christmas.
‘Stuff Christmas!’ he yelled back at the man and slumped back in his seat.
When he arrived in Southampton, he made for the nearest pub. Walking up to the bar he slammed some money down on the counter. ‘A large Scotch and don’t you dare mention Christmas, understand?’
The barmaid just looked at him, thinking what a miserable old bugger he was. ‘Suits me,’ she said and served him his drink. He took the glass and sat down, wracking his brains as to who else he could find to move the rest of his stuff in the future.
He eventually walked home without finding an answer. He’d have to make some discreet enquiries over the next few weeks. Not in Southampton, but he had a few contacts elsewhere. He’d get his head down, have a good sleep and decide tomorrow.
Chapter Four
The new year began and Christmas was long forgotten. The weather was not quite as cold on some days, which pleased the traders in the market, but they all longed for the spring. January and February were dull and dark months and there was always an air of depression around this time.
In Ireland there were troubles with the IRA and there was talk of more troops being sent over.
‘Everybody ’as enough trouble without those bastards killing people,’ Marj grumbled one morning. ‘Look about you! Everyone ’as a long face. It’s that time of the year and I ’ates it!’
‘Never mind, Marj, it won’t be long now. We’ll soon be able to take off a couple of layers of clothes. I’m sick of being bundled up, I have to say.’
‘Makes no difference to me, love. Ain’t nobody going to look at me, not at my age.’ She gave a wicked grin. ‘Mind you, I’ve ’ad me moments in the past.’
Phoebe looked at her friend with affection. ‘I bet you were a handful.’
Marj burst out laughing. ‘That’s a poor choice of words love.’
Ben wandered over. ‘It’s good to hear somebody laughing. It’s so quiet today and look at all the glum faces around you. Apart from you two lovely ladies, of course.’
