As the Crow Flies

“While everyone else is a seller?”

“That’s exactly when you should buy,” I replied. “The time to get on a tram is when everyone else is getting off. So let me have those names, Tom. Meanwhile, I’m going to the bank.” I strode off in the direction of Knightsbridge.

In the privacy of his new Brompton Road office Hadlow informed me that Trumper’s was now holding a little over twelve thousand pounds on deposit: an adequate buttress, he considered, were there to be a general strike.

“Not you as well,” I said in exasperation. “The strike will never take place. Even if it does, I predict it’ll be over in a matter of days.”

“Like the last war?” said Hadlow as he peered back at me over his half-moon spectacles. “I am by nature a cautious man, Mr. Trumper—”

“Well, I’m not,” I said, interrupting him. “So be prepared to see that cash being put to good use.”

“I have already earmarked around half the sum, should Mrs. Trentham fail to take up her option on Number 1,” he reminded me. “She still has”—he turned to check the calendar on the wall—“fifty-two days left to do so.”

“Then I would suggest this is going to be a time for keeping our nerve.”

“If the market were to collapse, it might be wise not to risk everything. Don’t you think, Mr. Trumper?”

“No, I don’t, but that’s why I’m—” I began, only just managing to stop myself venting my true feelings.

“It is indeed,” replied Hadlow, making me feel even more embarrassed. “And that is also the reason I have backed you so wholeheartedly in the past,” he added magnanimously.

As the days passed I had to admit that a general strike did look more and more likely. The air of uncertainty and lack of confidence in the future meant that first one shop and then another found its way onto the market.

I purchased the first two at knockdown prices, on the condition that the settlement was immediate, and thanks to the speed with which Crowther completed the paperwork and Hadlow released the cash, I was even able to add boots and shoes, followed by the chemist’s, to my side of the ledger.

When the general strike finally began—on Tuesday, 4 May 1926—the colonel and I were out on the streets at first light. We checked over every one of our properties from the north end to the south. All Syd Wrexall’s committee members had already boarded up their shops, which I considered tantamount to giving in to the strikers. I did agree, however, to the colonel’s plan for “operation lock-up,” which on a given signal from me allowed Tom Arnold to have all thirteen shops locked and bolted within three minutes. On the previous Saturday I had watched Tom carry out several “practice runs,” as he called them, to the amusement of the passersby.

Although on the first morning of the strike the weather was fine and the streets were crowded the only concession I made to the milling throng was to keep all foodstuff from numbers 147 and 131 off the pavements.

At eight Tom Arnold reported to me

that only five employees had failed to turn up for work, despite spectacular traffic jams causing public transport to be held up for hours on end and even one of those was genuinely ill.

As the colonel and I strolled up and down Chelsea Terrace we were met by the occasional insult but I didn’t sense any real mood of violence and, everything considered, most people were surprisingly good-humored. Some of the lads even started playing football in the street.

The first sign of any real unrest came on the second morning, when a brick was hurled through the front window of Number 5, jewelry and watches. I saw two or three young thugs grab whatever they could from the main window display before running off down the Terrace. The crowd became restless and began shouting slogans so I gave the signal to Tom Arnold, who was about fifty yards up the road, and he immediately blew six blasts on his whistle. Within the three minutes the colonel had stipulated every one of our shops was locked and bolted. I stood my ground while the police moved in and several people were arrested. Although there was a lot of hot air blowing about, within an hour I was able to instruct Tom that the shops could be reopened and that we should continue serving customers as if nothing had happened. Within three hours hardware had replaced the window of Number 5—not that it was a morning for buying jewelry.

By Thursday, only three people failed to turn up for work, but I counted four more shops in the Terrace that had been boarded up. The streets seemed a lot calmer. Over a snatched breakfast I learned from Becky that there would be no copy of The Times that morning because the printers were on strike, but in defiance the government had brought out their own paper, the British Gazette, a brainchild of Mr. Churchill, which informed its readers that the railway and transport workers were now returning to work in droves. Despite this, Norman Cosgrave, the fishmonger at Number 11, told me that he’d had enough, and asked how much I was prepared to offer him for his business. Having agreed on a price in the morning we walked over to the bank that same afternoon to close the deal. One phone call made sure that Crowther had the necessary documents typed up, and Hadlow had filled in a check by the time we arrived, so all that was required of me was a signature. When I returned to Chelsea Terrace I immediately put Tom Arnold in charge of the fishmonger’s until he could find the right manager to take Cosgrave’s place. I never said anything to him at the time, but it was to be several weeks after Tom had handed over to a lad from Billingsgate before he finally rid himself of the lingering smell.

The general strike officially ended on the ninth morning, and by the last day of the month I had acquired another seven shops in all. I seemed to be running constantly backwards and forwards to the bank, but at least every one of my acquisitions was at a price that allowed Hadlow an accompanying smile, even if he warned me that funds were running low.

At our next board meeting, I was able to report that Trumper’s now owned twenty shops in Chelsea Terrace, which was more than the Shops Committee membership combined. However Hadlow did express a view to the board that we should now embark on a long period of consolidation if we wanted our recently acquired properties to attain the same quality and standard as the original thirteen. I made only one other proposal of any significance at that meeting, which received the unanimous backing of my colleagues—that Tom Arnold be invited to join the board.

I still couldn’t resist spending the odd hour sitting on the bench opposite Number 147 and watching the transformation of Chelsea Terrace as it took place before my eyes. For the first time I could differentiate between those shops I owned and those that I still needed to acquire, which included the fourteen owned by Wrexall’s committee members—not forgetting either the prestigious Number 1 or the Musketeer.

Seventy-two days had passed since the auction, and although Mr. Fothergill still purchased his fruit and vegetables regularly from Number 147 he never uttered a word to me as to whether or not Mrs. Trentham had fulfilled her contract. Joan Moore informed my wife that her former mistress had recently received a visit from Mr. Fothergill, and although the cook had not been able to hear all the conversation there had definitely been raised voices.

When Daphne came to visit me at the shop the following week I inquired if she had any inside information on what Mrs. Trentham was up to.

“Stop worrying about the damned woman,” was all Daphne had to say on the subject. “In any case,” she added, “the ninety days will be up soon enough, and frankly, you should be more worried about your Part II than Mrs. Trentham’s financial problems.”

“I agree. But if I go on at this rate, I won’t have completed the necessary work before next year,” I said, having selected twelve perfect plums for her before placing them on the weighing machine.

“You’re always in such a hurry, Charlie. Why do things always have to be finished by a certain date?”

“Because that’s what keeps me going.”

“But Becky will be just as impressed by your achievement if you manage to finish a year later.”