Gaslight in Page Street by Harry Bowling Page A

called out. ‘We’ve gotta run these ’orses up the street.’
     
    ‘Not in our bleedin’ turnin’ yer don’t,’ Florrie called back defiantly.
     
    Galloway walked quickly up to the women’s leader and stood facing her, his features dark with anger. ‘What’s all this about?’ he demanded.
     
    ‘I’ll tell yer what it’s about,’ Florrie replied, glaring back at him. ‘We’re just about fed up wiv’ avin’ ter keep our kids off the street while you run those ’orses. One o’ these days a kid’s gonna get killed, so we’re stoppin’ yer little game.’
     
    ‘Game! Game!’ George spluttered. ‘I’m sellin’ those ’orses ter the army an’ they’ve a right ter see what they’re buyin’. I’ve gotta run ’em.’
     
    ‘Not in our street yer don’t. Not any more,’ Florrie said firmly.
     
    ‘Walk ’em up an’ down in yer poxy yard,’ Sadie called out.
     
    ‘Piss orf out of it,’ shouted Maisie.
     
    ‘Tell the army ter piss orf back where they come from,’ someone else called out.
     
    Galloway held up his hands. ‘Now look, ladies. The kids are at school. We can be finished before they come ’ome.’
     
    ‘It ain’t jus’ the kids,’ Florrie said, looking around at the nodding faces. ‘We’re all likely ter get trampled on. It ain’t right ter gallop them bloody ’orses up an’ down outside our ’ouses. Now I’m tellin’ yer straight - yer ain’t gonna do it so yer might as well get used ter the idea.’
     
    Galloway glared at the determined woman and tried to decide what to do. ‘I’ll get the police,’ he threatened.
     
    ‘You do that,’ Florrie goaded him. ‘We’ll tell ’em the same as we’re tellin’ you. Besides, if yer bring in the rozzers it’ll get in the papers, an’ ovver streets might back us up. Nah, I don’t fink that’s a very good idea, do you, gels?’
     
    Loud voices shouted their support along the turning and the cartage contractor winced. ‘Right,’ he said, his eyes narrowing with menace. ‘I’m givin’ yer five minutes ter clear the street, an’ if yer ain’t gorn by then I’ll turn the ’ose on yer.’
     
    Florrie watched as Galloway strode quickly back to the gates. ‘Stay put, ladies,’ she called out. ‘’E wouldn’t dare.’
     
    The two officers had retreated back into the office and were looking perplexed. Galloway stormed back into the yard, cursing loudly. ‘Oxford! Get yerself out ’ere,’ he bawled out.
     
    The soldiers peered out of the office window and saw the tall, shuffling figure of the yard man emerge from the shed. They looked at each other in disbelief. ‘Good God! Who’s that?’ the adjutant gasped, wide-eyed. ‘It looks like a blasted banshee.’
     
    Galloway took Jack Oxford roughly by the arm. ‘I’ve got a job fer yer,’ he bellowed. ‘Get that ’osepipe out an’ connect it up.’
     
    Jack scratched his head in puzzlement. He had only just rolled it up and now they wanted him to do the yard again. ‘It’s clean, Guv’nor. I done it first fing,’ he said in a pained voice.
     
    ‘Jus’ do as yer told an’ connect it up,’ Galloway growled.
     
    The yard man shuffled back to his store shed and came back carrying the heavy rubber hosepipe. When he had secured the connection to the stand pipe, Galloway handed him the nozzle. ‘Right. Get outside an’ ’ose those silly mares down,’ he said gruffly. ‘If yer make a good job of it, I’ll buy yer a pint.’
     
    Jack did not understand what the boss was talking about but his face broke into a crooked grin. He had worked at the yard for a number of years and had never known the boss offer to buy him a pint before. He shuffled out through the gate, pulling the heavy hose behind him. When he saw the two lines of women sitting across the street, he chuckled loudly.
     
    When they caught sight of Jack Oxford brandishing the hosepipe, they gasped and stared open-mouthed.
     
    ‘What the bloody ’ell’s ’e done