Tuppence to Tooley Street Read Online Free PDF Page A

well-trimmed goatee beard and wore a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. The bus jerked away from the stop, accelerating quickly as it moved down the King’s Cross Road. Danny saw the long queue outside the working men’s hostel waiting for their chance of a bed, and the second-hand book market traders packing away for the day. Farringdon Road was heavy with lorries, taxis and horse-drawn carts, and to his left Danny caught a glimpse of the now deserted Smithfield Meat Market. The bus passed under Holborn Viaduct and reached Fleet Street before it stopped. The hustle and bustle of the City had always fascinated Danny, but it now seemed there was a strangeness in the way people hurried by. Everyone seemed to have a serious expression, and nearly everyone was carrying a newspaper under his arm. There were no smiles, and no one was standing still. As the bus got under way again and started over Blackfriars Bridge Danny saw the exodus from the City as crowds flowed along the pavements overlooking the river.
    The little gentleman next to Danny chuckled and tapped the window. ‘Look how calm that River Thames is down there beneath all those frantic people,’ he said.
    Danny smiled cautiously. The bus had reached the centre of the bridge, and down below the grey water sparkled in the evening sunlight. Barges were moored up for the night, crane arms were secured against the closed and bolted warehouse loop-holes, and the ebbing tide lapped lazily against the mud-streaked stanchions.
    ‘That is the greatest river in the world, young man,’ the man continued. ‘There are longer rivers and wider rivers, but where else is there one with such character? It’s our heritage,’ he said with conviction, his small eyes glaring at Danny through his spectacles.
    ‘You’re right there, pop. It wants some beatin’,’ Danny grinned.
    The old man nodded his head. ‘I know I’m right. And yet those crowds we just passed, they seem to walk over that river without even noticing it.’
    ‘Well, I s’pose they see it every day. They mus’ get fed up wiv the sight of it,’ Danny said.
    ‘“When a man is tired of London he’s tired of life”,’ the man said, his eyes twinkling. ‘I worked in the Royal Mint for more than twenty-five years, young man. Do you know where that is? Well let me tell you, I walked over Tower Bridge twice each day for all that time. I never once got fed up with the sight of Old Father Thames. It is London. Without that river this city would be nothing. London would dry up like a desert. It’s your heritage, young chap.’
    The bus stopped at the Elephant and Castle junction and the old gentleman bid Danny farewell. Danny eased up against the window and the vacant place was taken by a large lady who puffed noisily as she sat down. He stared out of the window, excitement building up inside him as he recognised the familiar sights of South London. At the Bricklayers Arms he got off the bus and walked towards the river. The evening was cool and clear, and starlings were chattering noisily in the leafy plane trees. The quiet thoroughfare had taken on a cloak of war. Windows were criss-crossed with brown paper strips and sandbags were piled against factory entrances. He saw the shelter signs, the war posters, and the arrow that pointed to the first-aid post. He noticed the splashes of white paint on the kerb stones, and around the boles of the large trees. He glimpsed the iron stretchers strapped to the roof of a passing car, and up ahead the huge imposing mass of Tower Bridge.
    He could now smell the Thames and the docks, the spices and fruit, and the pungent smell of vinegar as he walked past a quiet factory. At Tooley Street he turned left and saw the familiar wharves and warehouses to his right. Small streets led off opposite the large buildings and it did not take him long to reach Clink Lane. The next turning was his street.
    The slanting hitching post was still leaning towards the wall and the little houses on