On hearing the lunchtime klaxon sound out, Jack pulled open his desk drawer and took out his sandwiches that had been wrapped up in greaseproof paper and tied with string. Mrs Westley had told him they were a surprise when she had handed him them this morning after breakfast. She told him they had always been his favourites. He was curious to know what he used to like, and was just untying her neat bow when there was a tap on his office door, which he always kept open.
When he looked up he saw an old man standing in the doorway. He was tall – very tall, in fact – for a bloke of his age. And he still had a full head of silver hair. For a moment Jack stared at the old man’s face. There was something familiar about him. Was this someone he had met recently? Or a face from his past?
‘Hello, there.’ Jack stood up, abandoning his sandwiches. ‘Can I help you?’ He moved round his desk and walked across to the man and stretched out his arm to shake hands. ‘Or, what I should really say,’ Jack smiled a little awkwardly, ‘is do I actually know you? Because if I do I apologise in advance as the old memory’s not working properly at the moment.’ Jack had learnt that it was best to just come out with it up front. It saved a lot of misunderstanding and time.
‘Aye, Jack,’ Arthur shook the proffered hand energetically, ‘you do know me. It’s Arthur Watts. I used to work with you down the docks when I was under the employ of the Wear Commissioner,’ Arthur let out a gruff laugh, ‘many years ago now, mind you. But we always stayed in touch. My grandson Tommy was dock diver at Thompson’s until recently.’
‘Ah,’ Jack said, ‘now I do know of Tommy.’ Jack saw Arthur’s face light up. ‘But I’m afraid that’s not because I remember him as such, only that I was told he’s engaged to one of the women welders. Polly, I believe her name is. Polly Elliot.’
Jack looked pleased with himself. ‘See. Nothing wrong with my present-day memory. Just the blasted past I’m struggling with.’
Arthur looked at Jack. He seemed so vulnerable. Like a man floundering around in the dark, not able to find the light switch to see where he was going.
‘Aye, well,’ Arthur said, getting straight to the point, ‘that’s why I’m here. See if I can help. Do yer fancy a walk along the river?’ He looked across at Jack’s sandwiches partially unwrapped on his desk. ‘Bring yer bait along and we’ll eat it by the quayside.’
Jack looked at the man called Arthur. He wished he could remember him; he seemed like a man who knew what was what.
‘Sounds good to me,’ Jack said, turning and grabbing his lunch, and then his jacket from the back of the door.
Within five minutes they were walking along the edge of the Wear, heading towards the north dock that was just on the cusp of the mouth of the river.
‘So,’ Jack said, ‘when did we first got to know each other?’
He looked at the old man and felt the same familiarity with him as he was beginning to feel about the place he had lived and worked in all of his life. As if there was a whole batch of memories just lying out of his reach, but if he could just drag them forward a little, they’d be within snatching distance.
Arthur suggested they sit by the quayside. ‘One of my favourite views,’ he said. ‘Actually, this was where me and you used to come to eat our lunch when you were working as a plater.’
Arthur eased his old body down so that he was sitting on the side of the quayside, his long lanky legs dangling over the side. He laughed. ‘Sitting down is easier than getting up, so you might have to give us a hand when it’s time to go.’
Jack looked at Arthur and for a moment an image flashed across his mind of a middle-aged man with a thick mop of brown hair wearing a cumbersome, dark green canvas body suit, and huge lead boots.
‘Aye,’ Arthur said, looking out at the south pier and then up at the large grey barrage balloon that was looming above them like a heavy storm cloud. ‘It feels like it’s been a long life.’
Arthur looked at Jack, who was staring intently at him, much like he used to as a young lad, and he began to talk. He started by telling Jack how he had actually seen him on his first day at the yard, standing in front of the head foreman, asking to be taken on as an apprentice.
As Arthur spoke another image darted across Jack’s consciousness. This time the middle-aged man was standing on the diver’s pontoon being helped out of his huge 12-bolt copper helmet by two smaller men wearing dungarees, rolled-up cigarettes dangling from their mouths.
As Arthur chatted on, Jack listened, unaware of everything around him – the slight wind coming in from the North Sea, the bitter cold, the usual incessant squawks of the seagulls above.
‘Aye, you were a determined little bugger,’ Arthur smiled at the remembrance. ‘I remember asking you if you had taken up residence at the yard, as yer were always there. Working every hour God sent.’
‘What about my mam and dad?’ Jack asked, captivated by Arthur’s story. His story.
Arthur chose his words carefully, but reading in between the lines it would seem that Jack’s parents had been glad to see the back of him; his da a big drinker who spent most of his time in the taverns lining the south dock; his mother trying her best to bring up her brood of children that was added to each year. Jack asked Arthur what had happened to his many brothers and sisters, but he didn’t know.
‘It was like the yard became yer home,’ Arthur said, thoughtfully. ‘Yer never liked to leave it.’
Arthur related how Jack used to come and watch the divers whenever he had a break and that was how they had become friendly. He described his wife Flo, and told him briefly how their daughter had killed herself after her husband had died in the First World War, and that Jack used to come round for his tea and kick an old leather football around with Tommy.
‘Sounds like I spent a lot of time with you all?’ Jack asked. He was curious as Miriam had not mentioned anything about Arthur or his closeness to him and his family.
Arthur nodded. ‘Aye, yer did that.’ Arthur chuckled. ‘I used to joke that yer were like part of the furniture. Flo loved having yer there, though, loved having someone else to fuss over.’
Arthur was quiet for a moment as he held on to the image of Flo bustling about the kitchen, cooking and chatting, or singing along to some new tune she’d heard on the wireless.
‘And Miriam?’ Jack asked tentatively. ‘Did you know Miriam?’ It seemed strange to be asking about his wife, felt almost a little disloyal, but the question was out before he could stop it.
‘Aye, Miriam,’ Arthur said. He paused for a moment. Jack waited. ‘Miriam,’ Arthur repeated. ‘Well, I’m sure you know this already, but yer met Miriam through Thompson’s. She’d come with her da, ya know, old Mr Havelock.’ There was another pause. ‘Well,’ Arthur continued, ‘you and Miriam courted, and got married. Just like yer do at that age.’
Jack looked at Arthur and felt he was holding something back.
‘I dinnit want ta overload yer with information,’ Arthur said, a little uncomfortably.
Jack felt a stab of panic, as though the old man was thinking about giving him something precious but wasn’t sure whether he should or not.
‘I want to be overloaded,’ Jack said. ‘Go on.’ It was more a plea than a request.
‘Well,’ Arthur said, starting to haul himself back up on to his feet. Jack jumped up and gave the old man a hand. ‘There was someone else before Miriam came along,’ Arthur puffed as he straightened his tall frame.
‘Who?’ Jack sensed his heart beating faster. The pair of them were now walking back to Crown’s as it was only a few minutes before the end of the lunch break.
‘A young woman called Gloria, although … of course … she’s not so young now,’ Arthur said. He looked at Jack, who had stopped in his tracks.
‘Gloria?’ Jack sounded shocked. ‘One of the women working at Thompson’s – one of the women welders?’
‘Aye, that’s the one,’ Arthur said, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘She’s been working at Thompson’s for well over a year now. Was one of the first women to be drafted into the yards.’
Just then the klaxon bellowed out. Jack panicked. They were out of time.
‘Bloody hell,’ Jack said, ‘I can’t believe how fast that hour’s just gone.’
Arthur sensed Jack was troubled. That he wanted – needed – to hear more.
‘I tell you what,’ Arthur said. ‘I know you’ll probably be working tomorrow, but if you can get an hour off in the morning, we could have a cup of tea and some breakfast together.’
Jack couldn’t agree fast enough. ‘Definitely,’ he said.
‘Grand,’ Arthur said, ‘I know you won’t remember, but me and you would often pop into a little café just up from the south dock on High Street East. It’s called Vera’s. It’s a canny place – even if the old woman that owns it isn’t exactly the most hospitable. See you there around nine?’
‘See you then,’ Jack said, feeling happy for the first time in a long while. ‘But the bacon baps are on me!’ he shouted as he hurried back to the yard.
Arthur felt a jolt. That was what they used to always get – bacon baps and two mugs of hot steaming tea.
He knew it!
Jack’s memory was there. It just needed coaxing out.