CHAPTER 12
An Army of Rats
Davey's mouth was watering with the smells wafting from the kitchen. He went through to where his mother was removing a fresh-baked loaf from the range.
"Hi Mum! Missed me?"
"Oh so there you are darling, what have you been up to then eh? What's that Paddy been telling you?"
"Well he didn't tell me much but I did find out something," replied Davey.
"Come on then, out with it," she smiled.
"Well you'll never guess what happened, Mrs Murtagh made me up a bed of old blankets on the floor but these blankets were proper Indian blankets, you know like they put on their horses. I asked her where they were from and she said Uncle Paddy traded them for half a dozen eggs from an Indian in the war, she said they're blood-brothers now and this Indian is going to come and stay here and live."
"You're kidding me!" said Liz.
"No honest Mum, ask her yourself if you don't believe me."
Hugh was standing in the little doorway, "Eh don't start listening to that feller," he laughed, "even Paddy says that lad's the tallest teller of tales he's ever come across."
Liz laughed, "Oh Davey go on with you, I nearly believed you then. You're not getting your breakfast now."
Davey ran behind her and pushed his thumbs into the sides of her waist, shrieks of laughter and howls of "Mercy !" only ended when gave in and agreed to provide the meal.
Hugh stood grinning from ear to ear as Liz dished out eggs and beans with a doorstep sized chunk of fresh bread. "Eh up," he said as a loud knock came on the door, "who's that then?"
"That'll be the tallyman come for the rent," whispered Liz. "You answer it Davey, tell him we're out."
Hugh and Liz hid in the kitchen as Davey went to the door, the man who waited was not the talley-man, he caused Davey such surprise that he stammered, "Me Mam said to tell you she's out."
"Oh no, what's he saying," said Liz.
"Stay there girl, I'll sort it out."
He went to the door where the bulk of Mr Quirk filled the frame.
"Morning Mr McCann," he introduced himself, AMr Quirk.@ Holding out a large perfectly manicured hand towards Hugh and totally ignoring Davey.
Although Hugh stood in the hallway which was higher than the pavement outside Mr Quirk still towered above him. He took the extended hand and felt the strength of the teacher but the softness of his skin felt almost sickly to a man used to working out of doors.
"Pleased to meet you Mr Quirk," said Hugh politely but not inviting him in.
"I won't waste your time Mr McCann. I've come about your boy. Yesterday he walked out of school without permission, he was offensive and rude to myself and my wife and...." He stopped as Liz called from the kitchen.
"What does four feather's want?"
"Excuse me Mr Quirk," said Hugh. He walked back in to the house and spoke quietly with his wife, "Now now Liz, let's hear him out there's a good girl." He winked at her and Davey and whispered, AThen I'll get rid of him.@ He returned to the unwelcome visitor, "I do apologise Mr Quirk, you were saying?"
Totally unruffled Mr Quirk straightened an imaginary kink in his perfectly flat tie. "I have placed my concerns in writing Mr McCann." He passed Hugh a letter then continued, "We, at the school, take the view that David must be disciplined for his actions." He emphasised the word disciplined.
Hugh opened the letter, "One moment Mr Quirk whiles a fetch me reading glasses." He walked into the kitchen and took the glasses from his trouser pocket. "Let's leave him to stew for a bit should we?" he whispered. He started reading the letter, "Put the kettle on there's a girl, these glasses are hard to find." But as he read the letter he grew more and more annoyed, "This is a pack of lies if ever there was one!"
"Calm yourself down now Hugh," urged Liz seeing that he was beginning to get upset but Hugh was already walking back to the door. "This disciplined," said Hugh in a fairly good effort at copying the emphasis even down to the twitch, "does it mean that you want to hit him with a stick or humiliate him in some other fashion?"
Mr Quirk grinned, he could see that Hugh was losing his cool. "Appropriate disciplinary measures will be taken Mr McCann."
"Appropr.." Hugh began to repeat the sentence in disgust but his anger had affected his breathing and he coughed. Once started he could not stop but began wheezing and gasping for air.
"Perhaps another time when you are more able?" smirked Mr Quirk.
"Hughie, are you alright!" cried Liz running to his aid.
Hugh reached to undo his shirt collar stud and dropped the letter.
"Another time, Mrs McCann," repeated Mr Quirk, "it's all in this," he bent down to retrieve the letter to pass to her.
"Little bit lower, that's it, perfect," said Paddy as he trained the sight on its target.
A sound like a hammer striking an anvil as the rifle was fired was followed almost immediately by a loud scream from Mr Quirk. He jerked himself bolt upright and clasped his hands to his injury. The pain forced tears from his eyes as he screeched, "I've been shot!" Off he hobbled looking frantically around, keeping his back to the wall for fear of receiving another wound to the same area.
The laughter from number 99 could be heard the full length of the street as Paddy pinged pellets off the pavement to spur him on his way.
"Well that'll be the last we'll see of him," said Liz when Hugh had finally begun to regain control of his breathing. He lay propped up on the sofa .
"He's a right pain in the backside, now he's got one himself," said Hugh.
Howls of laughter erupted.
"I tell you what that Paddy's still a crack-shot."
They all fell about laughing. It was to be some minutes before Liz was able to disappear into the kitchen and return with Davey's breakfast.
"Here y'are son," she said, "have this now before it gets too cold."
She indicated that he should not to do anything to cause Hugh to laugh, they could hear his lungs grating away as they sought to cope with the extra demands for air.
Davey tucked into the meal, throughout it he did not dare exchange glances with his father, the slightest thing would have triggered them both off, it was all he could do to eat without thinking of the expression on Mr Quirk's face as the slug buried itself into him. By the time he had finished Hugh had settled down.
"Feeling alright now Dad?"
"Fine lad, fine,@ he grinned, AWell Davey it doesn't look like you'll be going back to that place even if you wanted to, it's just as well, your mum went round to Mrs Fegan's last night and she's got something for you. Go and see 'er." Hugh sank back onto the sofa.
Curious Davey walked through into the kitchen and smiled when he saw his mother in 'her spot'. "Me dad said you've got something for me Mum?"
"Yes, I have," she laughed, "this is a story you'd be proud of you little tinker."
"What is it Mum?"
"Well you know how Mrs Fegan always goes on about her granddad working on the railroads in London?"
"Yeah" said Davey.
"Well what you don't know is that most of the parts for them engines are made here in Liverpool, in a factory called Stilsons, do you know the one, on the Dock Road?"
"The great big place opposite the grain warehouses?"
"Yeah that's the one. Well Mrs Fegan's granddad orders those parts from Stilsons. So I got to thinking and went round and had a word with her, there's a letter from her on the sideboard."
Davey went back into the living room, Hugh was fast asleep, his breath rattled in and out.
"Look at the poor love," said Liz, "I few measly quid and 'e' could be so much better."
Davey opened the letter and read it.
Dear Mr Stilson,
I am the grand-daughter of Mr Fegan of Great Western Railways. I have sent round this young man to see you, he is the son of a friend of mine. He is a good lad who has just left school and is after a job. I would be grateful if you could have a word with him and see what you
think, I know he won't let you down.
"Wow! This is fantastic Mum. When should I go down!"
"Well now's as good a time as any. Get yourself washed and dressed, I've hung your best stuff in the wardrobe."
Davey went into the kitchen and filled the bowl, the cold water cleared away any cobwebs that were lurking after his long night, then he dashed upstairs. It was the quickest Liz had ever known him to get dressed.
"How'd I look Mum?"
"As bright as a button. Tell you what, sneak out now while yer Dad's asleep, when he wakes up I'll tell him what's happening."
"Thanks Mum," he said as he pecked her on the cheek.
"Oh Davey. On the shelf in the outhouse, on your way out. Give them boots of your's a good polishing. Shoes are important, they always check your boots."
With the letter clutched in his hand Davey walked down onto the Dock Road. It would be several miles of hard walking before he reached Stilsons. Past the huge sugar factories where ships were queuing at anchor waiting to off-load their cargoes of cane the air smelt sweet and sickly, above the massive ten storey high building flocks of pigeons fattened on molasses flapped in great flocks. Past the cotton warehouses where powerful men with muscular chests and arms hauled on hoists heaving great bales six or seven storeys high. The lines of men who stood beneath watched enviously. They stood silently with hungry, worried looks on their faces, almost hoping that someone would reach out a little too far. Past the tannery and brewery where the fetid smell of curing leather mingled with the stench of hops poisoning the air and making him afraid to breathe. Even after he had left them behind the smell clung to his clothes.
Against the high wall which separated the docks themselves from the road, unemployed men stood in great lines, in some places five deep, waiting for the chance that someone might offer work. Occasionally an overseer would appear at one of the narrow entrances and a small number of lucky men would be taken on to unload a newly arrived vessel. The ebb tide would see them return to the line.
As he continued on his way, Davey walked on the opposite side of the road to the men. Mile after mile the lines stretched. He could feel the anger rising from their mass but they held themselves in check knowing that their only reward for displaying their temper would be black-listing. Although carts, trams and other vehicles separated him from them, occasionally when the traffic died down he would attract their bored attentions. After one man had shouted, "Eh lad, is that letter for me, tell them I'm not available at present!" he hid it inside his jacket. Not much further on a tram came past, he ran after it hoping to hitch a ride on its bumper but was spotted by the conductor, "Hop it! Don't even think about it!"
Past carpet manufacturers where rough girls and coarse women on lunch-break teased him. "Looking for work sweety! Come on up 'ere, we'll put yer to work!" Davey's face coloured as he rushed on to further cat-calls.
The huge silos of the grain warehouse came in sight and he knew he was nearing Stilsons. Many was the tale he'd heard of the grain silos, myriads of rats were said to inhabit them, he could well imagine it. They towered above every other factory along the waterfront.
Up a steep, cobbled side street lay Stilsons. As he turned up it he stepped over a gutter, set into the gutter was a metal grid, a faint noise from the grid caused him to looked down into it. He thought he glimpsed a pair of glinting eyes and shivered with the memory of the giant snake. The night's adventures had seemed part of another world but the eyes gave him a different feeling. His thoughts flashed to the white lady and he knew he would do everything he could to help her. He passed another grid and heard another noise, hardly daring to look he glanced down ready at any moment to run for it and saw the same pair of eyes, they were set into the head of a huge rat which stared back at him, it was trying to force its way out between the heavy iron bars.
Davey shuddered and walked more quickly up the street, keeping away from the gutter, to where a sign over the front of a large building read STILSONS - METAL WORKING.
Underneath the sign a notice said NO WORK but four men had formed a queue. Past their staring eyes Davey walked to the entrance. A man in a uniform who sat in a little wooden hut stopped him. "Got a 'pointment?" asked the man.
Davey showed him the letter.
"Ten a penny those son. Get to the back of the queue."
"But me Mam said...."
The man did not even answer, he just swung his thumb towards the line.
In despair Davey walked the short distance to the back of the queue. The man in front of him had a totally bald patch on the back of his head, long unkempt hair straggled over the bald patch as though the man had made some half-hearted attempt to hide the offending area. After some time he turned round and asked, "Alrighty there sunshine, after a job?"
"Aye.@
"There's not a lot going today. Now last week I was lucky, >appened to find a nice little number down at the tannery."
"Been waiting here long?"
"Naw, only joined this one an hour ago. But looking at this sityation realistically, givin' due attention to all those concerned with due respects given accordingly I'd say we've got as much chance of getting a job 'ere as an eskymo 'as of gettin' a sun tan."
Davey laughed, he felt his spirits beginning to pick up.
"That's more like it young 'un, yer've got to toughen up to this or yer might as well throw yer hand in. It's like me old sergeant used to tell me, 'Face the fact Fletcher, yer a failure, the sooner yer accept it the better it'll be for the both of us.'"
Davey felt he could trust the man, he reached into his jacket and took out his letter, "Me Mam got me this letter.@
Fletcher read it, "Now that's an intryduction that is. An intryduction like that could get yer a steady job. >It's not what yer know, it' oo yer know.'"
"But the man on the gate..."
"'e's just some know nowt, a brown-nosing, lick spittling, suck-holing nobody. That feller's kissed so many rear-ends 'e' doesn't know if 'e's coming or going. What you've got there lad is an intryduction.@
"But how do I get to show it to someone if I can't even get in the place?"
"Yer looking at complycations now. That's a diffrent matter. Take me for example, I'm a qualified, indentured 'prenticed fitter. I can take a block of metal and do thinks with it yer wouldn't believe. I can mill, grind, shape, turn, braze, burnish and buff standin' on me flippin' 'ead. Now if I 'ad me an intryduction like that, I'm away, can't see me for scurf."
Davey's look of confusion seemed to bring clarification.
"What I mean is this, once yer in, yer in. Simple as that. What yer needs to do is come back 'ere tomorrow, dead early, before anybody else. Then, soon as yer get the chance, yer get in there and show them yer letter!"
"So its not worth me waiting here now?"
"Naw, yer wasting yer time 'ere now lad."
Davey stood pondering what he had been told then said, "Thanks a lot mister. I'll come back tomorrow."
Fletcher watched Davey walk away then turned to another man, he gave a sly nudge with his elbow then said, "Like they say 'It's not what yer know but who yer know'. Flamin' qualyfications I've got, then this snotty nosed kid comes along with a flippin' intryduction. I got rid of 'im but he says he'll be comin' back tomorrow."
The man had a shock of ginger hair and an angry face, his face grew even angrier as he thought about what Fletcher had told him, "Well we'll just 'ave to point 'im in another direction won't we, I'll get me lad to nobble 'im before he get 'ere."
Davey walked disconsolately back down toward the Dock Road. As he walked he heard a metallic clanking sound intermingled with thousands of tiny high-pitched squeals. The men in the queue also heard the noise, they looked down the road towards him. Again they heard the metallic sound this time the squeals were clearer. One man in the queue shouted, "It's a rat army!" and ran up the steep street away from the river.
Fletcher, the red-headed man, and the other man left in the queue did not wish to give up their places
but they were unsettled.
Ignoring the sounds Davey carried on. In the centre of the street he heard a sudden clank and saw movement, the inspection hatch to a large sewer bumped up into the air before settling back down. His eyes saw the rats forcing against its weight. When he reached the Dock Road a pony and cart went hurtling past with two men clinging to the back but no driver, dozens of men running as fast as their legs would carry them were close behind to avoid their rush Davey jumped back against the side of a building.
"Run for it lad, the rats are on the move!" yelled one of the men.
Choosing not to follow the men Davey ran back up the side street, as he neared Stilsons he saw huge steel shutters being lowered at its entrance. He sprinted for them but from one of the inspection hatches a mass of rats erupted. The three men left in the queue begged the guard to allow them into his hut, they forced themselves inside and shut the door. Davey was deciding whether to join them or not when Fletcher shouted out through the window, "Only room for us in 'ere lad!"
Davey found himself alone, the rats were pouring into the street from all directions, every grid cover was opened, the cobbles were alive. He looked down at the Dock Road, a cyclist had rested a pedal of his bike against the kerb and was perched with his feet up on the handlebars, the rats swarmed beneath. Back against the high walls of Stilsons he was pressed, frantically he looked around for some means of escape. The tall slender column of a street lamp was his only hope. A number of rats seemed to understand his intention and ran to cut him off. He took off his jacket and thrashed at the rats, he kicked out with his boots, connecting with some. By the time he had reached the lamp he was completely surrounded and leapt for the post. One of the rats jumped after him and managed to sink its teeth into his trouser leg. AGet off it!@ he shouted as he kicked and shook his leg forcing it to dislodge its grip. Quickly he shinned up further until he was out of reach but the ground beneath him turned brown with swarming bodies.
Just beneath the light, two wrought iron arms protruded. He took hold of one of the arms and swung free. The rodents looked eagerly up at him seeing that their chance might come, but his grip was secure, he clambered up onto the arm and sat there, looking down at the heaving mass.
A particularly large rat walked amongst the others, its tail was the thickness of a child's wrist, the animal was as long as a man's step. The giant rat seemed to be controlling the mass of bodies around it, wherever it moved the mass flowed. Davey searched through his pockets for something to throw at it. Finding nothing he turned his attention to the gas lamp, he wrapped round his hand then smashed the panels knocking the glass into the lamp.
The first chunk missed the giant rat but it was impossible not to hit one of the others, it sheared into a tail, slicing it off sending the animal squealing away. Another throw, this time just missing the giant rat. It looked evilly up at him. realised what he was doing and began making off, droves of rats followed in its wake. Some of them did not make it, they fell victims to the razor sharp shards winging amongst them. A final throw sent a segment of glass spinning through the air, it dipped down sharply and sliced into the back of the giant rat's head, it squealed in pain before it followed the brown mass, down, down into the sewers.
Davey's actions had not been witnessed by the men crowded into the guard's hut. He slid down, ran across and fastened a small bolt in place, locking the men inside. Fletcher was squeaking like a rat, "What do you reckon? Have they all gone? Don't go out there they could be hiding round the corner!"
The steel shutters of Stilsons started sliding open. Davey walked across the yard and into the building.
Sparks and flashes of light arced through the air. Motors whirred driving thick belts which led to machines of every shape and size. Raw-metal ingots clanged along rollers to begin undergoing the various processes of heat, hammer and hardening. Men were leaning over huge lathes which turned steel blocks at fantastic speeds; as they manipulated dials and levers to apply cutting tools, white coolant liquid dropped onto the blocks singeing and tainting the air with the smell but preventing the coils of cut metal from burning.
"Could I see the manager please, I've got a letter for him," said Davey to a man wearing a full-length boiler suit which was covered in thick oil-stains, the man was wiping his hands with an equally oily rag. "Up there lad!" he shouted above the clanging and battering, he pointed across the factory floor to a metal stairway. At the top of the stairway, apparently suspended in mid-air, was a flat hut-like building with windows set into the side which looked down upon the workers.
Davey's thankyou was engulfed in the noise. He crossed the factory floor passing close to whirring machines, four men ran past him, each carried a heavy floor brush. As they ran through a large opening into another area of the factory a door at the top of the stairway opened, out stepped a man dressed in a suit whose large beer-belly threatened to topple him down the stairs.
"Oi! You lot!" he yelled after the disappearing brush carriers then began to descend the stairs, encumbered by his belly which rolled and bounced around, the only thing that seemed to hold it in place was a thick leather belt. By the time he had reached the bottom the effort had slowed him enough for Davey to be able to hand him his letter. Out of breath, the man took the excuse to stop and read.
"Foller me lad!" he panted as he pocketed it. Through the doorway they went, into a workshop where men staggered as they carried heavy crucibles of white-hot molten metal. The men wore leather gauntlets; leather aprons, steel toe-capped boots and helmets which protected their heads. Davey's mind jerked when he saw the helmets but the shout of, "In 'ere!" sent him following through a door.
They emerged into a large room. Against one wall barrels of oil were stacked, where there was a slight gap between the barrels wads of rags had been stuffed. Standing around the room holding their brushes in various stages of readiness were the five men.
"What's this then?" asked the beer-bellied man, "A flippin' lynch-mob with nowt to lynch?"
Without looking up a tall thin man with a rough beard pointed up above their heads. Pipes of various diameter ran the length of the room, where they exited through the walls all the gaps around them had been packed with rags.
"What yer trying to say? Have yer all gone religious or sommat?" asked the man with the belly.
He got his answer as a rat fell down almost landing on his head, instantly five brushes were curving in almighty swings as they scrambled to connect with the rodent. The shouts and yells were murderous as the rat scurried round trying to escape but found all exits barred.
Bending low the man led Davey from the room, "I'll deal with them in a minute," he said trying to sound officious but the dislodged hair-piece upon his head lent him such a comical appearance that Davey was barely able to stop himself from laughing. A shout came from the workshop, "WIGGY!"
Ignoring the shout but re-settling his wig the man introduced himself, "Mr Stilson Junior at your service young man, anything Stilson's can do for Mrs Fegan is a pleasure." He shook Davey's hand warmly, "Follow me to my office where we will discuss matters further."
As they walked through the workshop he scowled at the workers as if daring them to make another sound. Safely back in the safety of his office he motioned for Davey to take a seat. His secretary looked up from a typewriter as they entered, tutted to herself, then returned to her work.
"They're all good blokes in 'ere lad. Most of 'em kept this country going against Kaiser Bill, without Stilson's England wouldn't have an Empire, the Great wouldn't be in Britain. Look at 'em," he stood standing proudly at the window taking a cigar out of his breast pocket. His secretary flicked a lighter from which Mr Stilson lit up, "engineers, fitters, machinists, you name it Stilson's 'as got it."
AHow many men work here Mr Stilson?@ asked Davey trying to sound enthusiastic.
Mr Stilson choked on his cigar, AHalf of them lad!@ It started him coughing, the cough was unlike those Davey was used to, it was a long screech then a sudden stop.
"Right my lad, you're going to learn yourself a trade. I'll put yer under Mr Herbert Henry Hodgson, he's me best man, City and Guilds First Class. An engineer you're goin' to be lad, a credit to Stilson's and to yer country."
His speech ended Mr Stilson opened the door and roared, "BERT!" and to the returning brush carriers he shouted, "Bloody heroes. I'll see you lot later about yer medals."
He returned and sat down opposite Davey blowing smoke rings up into the air, from the factory floor the workers looked up, saw the rings and slowed work almost to a stop.
"Shirley," said Mr Stilson turning to his secretary who totally ignored him, he wheezed, then said rapidly, "Tanner a week, three days annual leave, six till six weekdays, six days a week, one Sunday in four.". He turned back to Davey, "Start tomorrow, provide own lunch and footwear," he looked down at Davey's, "they'll do, company'll provide the rest."
After some minutes a light tap came at the door.
"Yarse," called the secretary without looking up.
Bert had to bend down to enter, he was so tall. But he could have fitted through a railing fence, Davey could almost hear Paddy saying, "I've seen more meat on a butcher's hook."
"Yes Mr Stilson," said Bert in a gruff but friendly voice that had a sing-song quality to it.
"This 'ere lad is goin' to train to be an engineer. I'm putting 'im under yer wing Bert, educate and elucidate 'im..."
Mr Stilson's words were lost upon Davey, he was so taken aback by Bert's appearance; a boiler suit which was two sizes too small revealed hairy ankles and even hairier wrists, the body of the suit cut up tightly between his legs making them seem even longer than they were. On his head was perched a bobble hat, minus the bobble. There was barely an inch of skin on his hands which did not have sticking plaster either sticking to it or trying to hang grimly on by gripping to a few hairs. Wrapped around his elbows were thick rags taped into position with black insulation tape, the same protective measures had been taken with his knees. Bert appeared to be a walking disaster zone.
"Leave him to me Mr Stilson. We won't make any mistake with him."
"Excellent. Take him down to stores, get him kitted out."
Davey was left to wonder about the inflection upon the word him as he was led off.
"Wiggy's not a bad sort of feller, so long as he's had a belly-full of booze he's friendly enough, his missus, now there's another matter, her face'd turn milk sour, she get's 'im going sometimes then 'e comes down a bit 'ard on us but most of the time this is not a bad place," said Bert as they walked into the storeroom.
With his brand new boiler suit rolled under his arm Davey walked past the guard's hut. The guard's furtive eyes set deep into his fleshy face looked suspiciously at Davey as he passed, but unable to prove anything. His fellow prisoners had disappeared, Davey skipped down the street in elation but giving the grids a wide berth.
Hooters and sirens were sounding as factories and warehouses signalled the ends of the day. The men lucky enough to have been in work joined the throngs of those who had waited hopefully but had not been fortunate. Davey was so buoyed up with his good luck he ran along the Dock Road, ignoring any opportunity for jumping a tram or hitching a lift on a cart.
"MUM! DAD! I've got a job. I'm going to be an engineer!" he shouted through the door of Number 99. A thumbs up to Paddy watching from across the street was enough for him to smile happily to himself as he settled back and waited for whatever the evening would bring.