Tuppence to Tooley Street by Harry Bowling Page B

da shop.’
    The buxom figure of Sofia Arpino appeared in the doorway at the back of the shop. Her raven hair was tied up in plaits which covered her ears, and she had a white crocheted shawl draped loosely around her wide shoulders. When she saw Danny she came around from behind the counter and took his head in both hands and planted a kiss on his forehead. ‘Danny Sutton! It’s good you come back. Didn’t I say Danny will be okay, Lou?’
    Lou Arpino put his arm around her shoulders. ‘We see da papers an’ we ’ear da news. Mamma cried, didn’t you Mamma? She prays for your safety. It’s a good to see you.’
    Danny grinned, ‘It’s good ter see you two again. Where’s Tony?’
    Lou Arpino leaned his head around the door and called out to Tony. Sofia’s face became serious. ‘You heard about the Lucianis? Tony is very upset, he’s not seen Melissa since they come to take them away. It’s a very sad.’
    Tony appeared in the doorway and his eyes lit up. He came over and threw his arms around the young cockney. ‘It’s great ter see yer, Danny boy. We all knew you’d be okay. Your Connie told us yer got wounded–’ow d’yer feel now?’
    ‘I’m all right, Tony. ’Ere, I’m sorry about Melissa an’ ’er family. Are yer gonna get ter see ’er?’
    Tony’s face darkened. ‘I don’t know where they’ve all gone. They’re puttin’ ’em all over the country. Melissa said she’d write, soon as she could. I’ve jus’ gotta wait, nuffink else I can do.’
    Danny looked at Lou Arpino. ‘Can yer spare ’im fer ’alf an hour?’
    Lou nodded and Danny put his arm around Tony’s shoulders. ‘C’mon, let’s get a drink, an’ I’ll tell yer all about those French girls.’
    The two walked out of the shop and Sofia dabbed at her eyes. Lou watched them as they sauntered up the street, and then he went back to his shelf-filling. Sunday customers came and went, and some passed by the shop, preferring to take their custom to the English shop owner further up the street. The war had already touched the Arpino family, just as it had the Lucianis.
     
    In The Globe that Sunday midday the landlord felt uneasy. Eddie Kirkland had been in the business a long time and he had a nose for trouble. He had seen his share of bar brawls and right now he could smell one brewing.
    At first he had paid no attention to the strange crowd of dockers in one corner of the public bar. It was not unusual for a strange group to come into the pub, and though there was a lot of rivalry between dockers from various wharves, it was nearly always good-humoured banter. Today it was different, however, and the big docker who seemed to be the ringleader was ranting off about conscientious objectors.
    Eddie picked up his ears as the argument got more heated and glanced over to where Frank Sutton and his son-in-law Joe were standing. They seemed to be unaware of what was being said, but the discussion was getting louder.
    ‘Well you can say what yer like, Bob,’ the ganger was saying, ‘but as fer as I’m concerned, anybody who says ’e’s a “conchie” is a coward. The only people who can say that are vicars an’ priests.’
    ‘I dunno,’ replied Bob. ‘It’s a free country. If yer got them principles about not fightin’, yer should ’ave the right ter refuse ter put on a uniform.’
    ‘Cobblers!’ roared the ganger. ‘’Ow long’s it gonna be a free country if everybody said the same? You’d ’ave the bloody Germans walkin’ in. I bet they don’t allow conchies in Germany. They’d lock ’em up or shoot ’em.’
    ‘Don’t talk silly, Ted, this ain’t Germany. Yer can’t compare us wiv them. You yerself could ’old the same views. ’Ow would you like ter be banged away?’
    The big ganger was getting more irate. His bulging neck was red and he began to shout. ‘Yer can fink what yer like, but in my book, anybody who’s a conchie is a bastard coward. An’ I tell yer somefing else, I only wish I was a