The Ballad of Peckham Rye

‘Did right,’ said Dixie.

‘I said did. I didn’t say done. Keep your hair on, girl.’ Mavis opened the door and called, ‘Leslie, put the kettle on.’ She returned with her quick little steps to her chair. ‘You could have knocked me over,’ she said. ‘I was just giving Dixie her tea; it was, I should say, twenty past five and there was a ring at the bell. I said to Dixie, “Whoever can that be?” So I went to the door, and lo and behold there he was on the doorstep. He said, “Hallo, Mavis,” he said. I said, “You just hop it, you.” He said, “Can I see Dixie?” I said, “You certainly can’t,” I said. I said, “You’re a dirty swine. You remove yourself,” I said, “and don’t show your face again,” I said. He said, “Come on, Mavis.” I said, “Mrs Crewe to you,” and I shut the door in his face.’ She turned to Dixie and said, ‘What about making a cup of tea?’

Dixie said, ‘If he thinks I would talk to him again, he’s making a great mistake. What did he say to you, Trevor?’

Mavis got up and left the room, saying, ‘If you want anything done in this house you’ve got to do it yourself.’

‘Help your mother,’ said Arthur Crewe absently to Dixie.

‘Did he say whether he’s gone back to the same job?’ Dixie said to Trevor.

Trevor put a hand on each knee and gave a laugh.

Dixie looked from the broad-faced Trevor to the amiable bald head of her stepfather, and started to weep.

‘Well, he’s come back again,’ Arthur said. ‘What you crying for?’

‘Don’t cry, Dixie,’ Trevor said.

Dixie stopped crying. Mavis came in with the tea.

Dixie said, ‘He’s common. You only have to look at his sister. Do you know what Elsie did at her first dance?’

‘No,’ said Mavis.

‘Well, a fellow came up to her and asked her for a dance. And Elsie said, “No, I’m sweating.”’

‘Well, you never told me that before,’ Mavis said.

‘I only just heard it. Connie Weedin told me.’

Trevor gave a short laugh. ‘We’ll run him out of Peckham like we run Dougal Douglas.’

‘Dougal went of his own accord, to my hearing,’ Arthur said.

‘With a black eye,’ Trevor said.

Round at the old-fashioned Harbinger various witnesses of the fight were putting the story together. The barmaid said: ‘It was only a few weeks ago. You saw it in the papers. That chap who left the girl at the altar, that’s him. She lives up the Grove. Crewe by name.’

One landlady out of a group of three said, ‘No, she’s a Dixie Morse. Crewe’s the stepfather. I know because she works at Meadows Meade in poor Miss Coverdale’s pool that was. Miss Coverdale told me about her. The fellow had a good position as a refrigerator engineer.’

‘Who was the chap that hit him?’

‘Some friend of the girl’s, I daresay.’

‘Old Lomas’s boy. Trevor by name. Electrician. He was best man at the wedding.’

‘There was I,’ sang out an old man who was visible with his old wife on the corner bench over in the public bar, ‘waiting at the church, waiting at the church.’

His wife said nothing nor smiled.

‘Now then, Dad,’ the barmaid said.

The old man took a draught of his bitter with a tremble of the elbow and a turn of the wrist.

Before closing time the story had spread to the surrounding public bars, where it was established that Humphrey had called at 12 Rye Grove earlier in the evening.

Even in one of the saloon bars, Miss Connie Weedin heard of the reappearance of Humphrey Place, and the subsequent fight; and she later discussed this at length with her father who was Personnel Manager of Meadows, Meade & Grindley, and at present recovering from a nervous breakdown.

‘Dixie’s boy has come back,’ she said.

‘Has the Scotch man come back?’ he said.

‘No, he’s gone.’

Outside the pub at dosing-time Nelly Mahone, who had lapsed from her native religion on religious grounds, was at her post on the pavement with her long grey hair blown by the late summer wind. There she commented for all to hear, ‘Praise be to God who employs the weak to confound the strong and whose ancient miracles we see shining even in our times.’

Humphrey and Dixie were widely discussed throughout the rest of the week. The reappearance of the bridegroom was told to Collie Gould, aged eighteen. unfit for National Service, who retold it to the gang at the Elephant; and lastly by mid-morning break at Meadows Meade the occurrence was known to all on the floor such as Dawn Waghorn, cone-winder, Annette Wren, trainee-seamer. Elaine Kent, process-controller. Odette Hill, uptwister, Raymond Lowther, packer, Lucille Potter, gummer; and it was revealed also to the checking department and many of the stackers, the sorters, and the Office. Miss Merle Coverdale, lately head of the typing pool, did not hear of it. Mr Druce, lately Managing Director, did not hear of it. Neither did Dougal Douglas, the former Arts man, nor his landlady Miss Belle Frierne who had known all Peckham in her youth.

But in any case, within a few weeks, everyone forgot the details. The affair is a legend referred to from time to time in the pubs when the conversation takes a matrimonial turn. Some say the bridegroom came back repentant and married the girl in the end. Some say, no, he married another girl, while the bride married the best man. It is wondered if the bride had been carrying on with the best man for some time past. It is sometimes told that the bride died of grief and the groom shot himself on the Rye. It is generally agreed that he answered ‘No’ at his wedding, that he went away alone on his wedding day and turned up again later.

Chapter 2

DIXIE had just become engaged to marry Humphrey when Dougal Douglas joined the firm of Meadows, Meade & Grindley, manufacturers of nylon textiles, a small but growing concern, as Mr V. R. Druce described it.

At the interview Mr Druce said to Dougal, ‘We feel the time has come to take on an Arts man. Industry and the Arts must walk hand in hand.’

Mr Druce had formerly been blond, he was of large build. Dougal, who in the University Dramatics had taken the part of Rizzio in a play about Mary, Queen of Scots, leaned forward and put all his energy into his own appearance; he dwelt with a dark glow on Mr Druce, he raised his right shoulder, which was already highly crooked by nature, and leaned on his elbow with a be-coming twist of the body. Dougal put Mr Druce through the process of his smile, which was wide and full of white young teeth; he made movements with the alarming bones of his hands. Mr Druce could not keep his eyes off Dougal, as Dougal perceived.

‘I feel I’m your man,’ Dougal said. ‘Something told me so when I woke first thing this morning.’

‘Is that so?’ Mr Druce said. ‘Is that so?’

‘Only a hunch,’ said Dougal. ‘I may be wrong.’

‘Now look,’ said Mr Druce, ‘I must tell you that we feel we have to see other candidates and can’t come to any decision straight away.’

‘Quite,’ said Dougal.

At the second interview Mr Druce paced the floor, while Dougal sat like a monkey-puzzle tree, only moving his eyes to follow Mr Druce. ‘You’ll find the world of Industry a tough one,’ Mr Druce said.

Dougal changed his shape and became a professor. He leaned one elbow over the back of his chair and reflected kindly upon Mr Druce.

‘We are creating this post,’ said Mr Druce. ‘We already have a Personnel Manager, Mr Weedin. He needs an assistant. We feel we need a man with vision. We feel you should come under Weedin. But you should largely work on your own and find your own level, we feel. Of course you will be under Mr Weedin.’

Dougal leaned forward and became a television interviewer. Mr Druce stopped walking and looked at him in wonder.