Scrap CH TWO part 25

CH TWO 25
Harry Tobin has been cashing in on the various strikes in the area, transporting coal, sugar and newsprint past picket lines all over the south east. His drivers have all been complaining about the enforced ‘scab’ activities despite being issued with balaclava hats to hide their faces and police escorts to see them through the gates. Although none of the men are card holding Union members they have some sympathy with the aggrieved workers and mostly they don’t want to get their heads kicked in for strike breaking, although the extra danger money is coming in very handy.
All identifying marks have been obscured on the lorries and Tobin is confident there will be no comeback on himself. He justifies his actions by reasoning that he is not the only operator doing this work and if the strikers succeeded in halting the flow of goods then the Country would soon grind to a halt and everybody will suffer. Mostly he is simply enjoying all the extra money which is coming in, much of it in untraceable cash payments. He has even been promised tickets for the FA Cup Final by one customer who doesn’t wish to be named but has friends in all the right places.
Beanpole Brett arrives unexpectedly half way through the afternoon. His face is streaked with dried blood and he has a bandage wrapped around his head which obscures his left eye. He parks up and shakily steps down from the cab. Harry rushes over to support him as his legs begin to give way and guides him into the kitchen where a horrified Carol gasps at the sight and does what all good Englishwomen do in a situation like this: she makes a pot of tea.
As they sit at the kitchen table drinking the hot beverage Brett relates the story of how he came by his injuries. ‘The police were seeing me in through the gates when all of a sudden the crowd surged round the cab and some of them were throwing bits of brick and bottles. One came through the driver’s window and just missed my shoulder, another smashed the passenger window then the third came through and caught me square on the jaw. The doctor at the hospital said I was lucky to get away without a dislocation. It knocked out two of my teeth and fractured my eye socket, that’s why it’s bandaged up. They wanted to keep me in overnight but I said I had to get the lorry back to the yard.’
‘Serves you right,’ screeches Captain, ‘scab, scab, Brett’s a scab.’ The three exchange horrified looks; Captain is mimicking someone but who has he heard using that kind of language? Harry tries to laugh it off, telling the bird to shut up, which only has him calling out a stream of obscenities. ‘I’ll run you home,’ offers Harry, ‘you’ll need to take some time off; you can’t drive with one eye covered up.’ Brett declines the offer but there is no mention of claiming compensation or insurance. As a self-employed man Brett has to take his chances like so many other drivers.
The two watch him drive out the yard but the only thoughts on Harry Tobin’s mind are who is going to take over Brett’s drive and how quickly can he get the lorry repaired and back on the road.
Meanwhile there are more important things to be getting on with. Harry has the smaller of his sea-going vessels due on the evening tide and Merck’s men will be waiting to unload the cargo. Carol has no idea that her husband has been dealing with this man and she would hit the roof if she found out, so best to keep her in the dark. For once he is pleased at the arrival of his mother-in-law Julie who bustles into the kitchen with two large cardboard boxes all set for a serious gossip session. Harry takes this as the perfect opportunity to return to the shed where he is completing preparations for the evening’s activities.
‘What have you got there mum?’ asks Carol as she hands the older woman a cup of tea. ‘I’ve been to the East End for some samples,’ she explains, taking the lids off the boxes. She draws out items of lingerie which Carol inspects enthusiastically. ‘These are lovely,’ she says, holding a nightie against her bulging front, ‘how many did you have to buy?’
‘You’re supposed to buy a dozen of each but if you can’t afford to you can take as little as a quarter dozen and in different sizes. You’ll never guess how much that one cost me: I got all three for a penny less than a quid. You know how much they charge in the shops, even the cheap places you pay four or five pounds for one so look at the mark-up. We sell at house parties so no overheads and we only buy what we know we can sell.’
‘Mother, you are a genius,’ smiles Carol, giving Julie a hug and a kiss on the cheek. ‘I love the baby clothes, what sort of prices are we looking at here?’ When Julie shows her the invoice Carol is stunned at how cheap everything is and she is already working out what she will buy for her own babies. They will have the best of everything without it costing a fortune.
‘What happened to the tipper?’ asks Julie, who has seen it parked up in the yard with its windows shattered and more than the usual number of dents in the doors. ‘Beanpole got into a bit of bother crossing the picket line. He had to go home with his head bandaged; he may be off sick for a while. It’s a nuisance because he was one of the few who don’t care about breaking the strikes. We’ll have to get someone else to do his loads once the damage is fixed. There’s always some drama or other with the haulage side.’