Tales of London's Docklands by Henry T Bradford Page B

to be used for discharging the cargo. The first lorry was driven ‘under plumb’ to receive bags of plumbago.
    The ship’s gang received 2 s 11½ d per ton for discharging the plumbago under the quay receiving piecework pay rates. That equated to 3 d per ton per man. The plumbago was brought out of the ship’s number 5 upper ’tween deck in ropes. It was made up in sets of twelve bags and was landed on the backs of lorries. It was an absolutely filthy job, and as it was a hot June day and the dockers were sweating profusely, the plumbago stuck to their clothes and skins. They were absolutely covered from head to foot in a thick black coating, except for those areas of their bodies where the sweat, running down in rivulets, showed long streaks of white flesh. Coal miners coming up from the deep pits look clean by comparison. When the Port of London mobile tea van arrived on the scene to sell refreshments, the tea lady, as the tea-van girls were known, looked at the lads and burst out laughing.
    Then she said, ‘I knew there was a shortage of stevedores on this berth, but I didn’t know they allowed coal miners to come and do stevedores’ jobs.’ She quickly stopped laughing, though, when twelve pairs of eyes simultaneously turned to glare menacingly at her, before the dockers all saw the funny side of her quip and burst out laughing at themselves.
    Then one of the dockers broke the ice by saying, in a put-on, sort of Oxford accent, ‘Can’t you see it’s ’cause we are putting on our make-up to be ready for the Notting Hill Carnival.’ Then, reverting to his natural voice, he said, ‘What about me and the lads taking you up to the West End on a binge tonight?’
    â€˜I don’t know about you lot taking me out on a binge, and what’s that horrible smell? Have some of you been working on wet skins? It’s more like I should get you to a public baths for a good scrub in disinfectant.’ A mobile tea lady always managed to have the last word as the gangs went back to work. On this occasion she was staring directly at Arthur and puckering her nose.
    â€˜What’s she staring at me for?’ he said.
    Bob, his workmate on the quay, rolled his eyes and said, ‘She probably fancies you, Arthur! Or something.’
    The gang, as the ship worker had predicted, completed the discharging operation at five o’clock in the evening. We were given our attendance books, stamped till seven o’clock as promised, and made our way home by the route we had come. There were no provisions in the docks for us to wash or clean our clothes. As we retraced our way to the Wicket Gate, the dock policeman was the first to make a comment.
    â€˜Are you lot part of the cast in the Black and White Minstrel Show , or are you nicking plumbago? You could all do with jumping in the dock and cleaning yourselves up, and it may get rid of that awful bloody smell, too. Ha ha ha!’
    Arthur turned round menacingly and began to walk towards the policeman. ‘I’ll bloody ha ha ha! you in a minute,’ he threatened.
    The gang foreman grabbed his arm. ‘Leave it, Arthur,’ he said. ‘We’ve got another 30 miles of these comments to put up with before we get back to Tilbury.’ And of course he was right.
    When we boarded a bus outside the dock the conductor was polite but firm. ‘Don’t sit on the seats, please, lads,’ he said. ‘If you stand in the centre aisle it will be OK for me to take you to the railway station. Otherwise I’ll have to ask you all to get off the bus.’
    None of the dockers argued with this request. After all, he could have asked them to leave the bus (yes, them, not me: I was the crane driver) as he had not yet issued tickets. Other passengers took no notice of us. They were obviously used to seeing dockers and stevedores plastered in all sorts of obnoxious filth that could not be removed within