The Girl from Cotton Lane by Harry Bowling

road.
     
    ‘They’re on to us,’ he groaned, wondering whether he should put his foot down on the accelerator instead. Billy felt his heart sink but Freddie remained calm. ‘It’s all right. Leave the talkin’ ter me,’ he said as Tony turned left and stopped the vehicle by the kerb.
     
    ‘Evenin’, lads,’ the constable said affably. ‘There’s a water main burst down by Lime’ouse Church so yer’d be better goin’ via Cable Street. I saw the emblem on the front o’ the lorry as yer drove up an’ I guessed where yer was goin’.’
     
    ‘That’s more than we ’ave,’ Freddie mumbled under his breath.
     
    ‘Strikes me there’s a lot o’ good bein’ done at them meetin’s,’ the policeman said cheerfully. ‘Don’t mind a drink meself, but I was never one ter get drunk. Moderation is what I say. That’s the trouble, yer see. Too many people can’t ’old their drink an’ they can’t say no. It’s the likes o’ them should be at those meetin’s, an’ if your people manages ter convert just a couple o’ drunkards each time then they’ve done a good job. I see a lot of it, as yer would imagine.’
     
    The three young men sat in the cab totally confused by what he was saying, but Freddie smiled benignly at him nevertheless. ‘You’re perfectly right, constable. I think strong drink is damnation. I think it’s worse than fornication in the eyes of the Lord,’ he declared, nudging Billy with his elbow.
     
    ‘Me too,’ Billy said quickly.
     
    Chopper Harris had peered around the vehicle, and his mouth fell open as he saw the officer talking to his friends. ‘We’ve bin nabbed!’ he gasped out to Frankie. ‘It’s a bluebottle!’
     
    Frankie Albright put his finger up to his mouth and motioned Chopper to get down. The two slipped quietly over the tailboard and marched off smartly along the Commercial Road, not daring to run in case they attracted the policeman’s attention.
     
    ‘By the way, lads, I’m makin’ fer Cable Street. I’d be grateful fer a lift ter the site if yer don’t mind,’ the constable asked.
     
    Billy made to get out of the cab but the policeman held up his hand. ‘Stay there, son. I’ll stand on the runnin’-board,’ he said.
     
    The lorry pulled away from the kerbside with Tony the driver looking helplessly at his two friends. ‘Where we s’pose ter be goin’?’ he asked in a whisper.
     
    ‘It mus’ be some sort o’ meetin’,’ Freddie mumbled in reply. ‘I fink ’e finks we’ve got the equipment.’
     
    Billy was too close to the policeman to make any suggestion, though he was at a loss anyway, but Freddie suddenly remembered something he had read in a newspaper about the temperance revivals in the East End of London. ‘’E finks we’ve come ter put the tent up!’ he hissed.
     
    ‘Oh, fer Chrissake,’ Tony gasped. ‘What we gonna do?’
     
    ‘’Ow the bloody ’ell do I know?’ Freddie growled. ‘Bluff it out, I s’pose.’
     
    The policeman was hanging on to the door and obviously enjoying the ride. ‘If yer turn right ’ere then turn first left yer’ll come out right by the site,’ he shouted helpfully.
     
    Tony did as he was told and finally saw the large area of waste ground ahead. A lorry similar to theirs was parked by the roadside and on the site there was feverish activity. A large marquee was being erected and everywhere men seemed to be pulling and heaving on large ropes.
     
    ‘I thought you lot ’ad the tent,’ the policeman said with a puzzled look on his face.
     
    ‘No, officer. We’ve been sent to sort out the finer details,’ Freddie said with a flash of inspiration.
     
    ‘Oh? An’ what might that be?’ he asked.
     
    ‘There’s lots o’ seats to set up and they want a nice big pulpit built,’ the Nark continued, beginning to enjoy himself despite the possible danger to their freedom.
     
    ‘I’d say yer got yer work cut out,’ the officer remarked.
     
    ‘There’s anuvver