The arguments raged and tempers became hotter. ‘Not bloody true,’ cried one; ‘Churchill wants ter get his facts right afore he goes shouting fro’ the rooftops,’ said another, this one pledging allegiance to another public figure by the name of Alfred Marshall, a Cambridge economist. This ‘educated’ fellow claimed that while there had been in the previous ten years ‘a gradual depression in prices, a depression of interest and a depression of profits’ for those above working-class status, there had been ‘no considerable depression in any other respect’. In fact, it was becoming widely accepted that the working-class were beginning to enjoy a ‘much better quality of life’.

‘Oh, aye?’ interrupted a somewhat irate and weary man, dressed in a threadbare jacket that was too small, trousers that shone with wear and a cap whose peak was limp with age. ‘It’s all very well tekking notice o’ those plump, well-to-do fellas with their airs an’ graces, an’ the smell o’ money up their noses… but let the buggers do what us dockers ’ave to do day in an’ day out! They’d have quite another smell ter contend with… an’ it wouldn’t be half so bloody pleasant neither. I wonder how long the sods would last if they had ter turn up at these ’ere docks in all weathers, four times a day ter the call-on, eh?… An’ there may be work, an’ there may not! Oh, aye, they’d change their tune then, I’ll be bound… hanging about at the docks, begging an’ hoping fer a bit o’ work an’ thinking usself bloody lucky if we get six hours’ work in a week!’ The cry was quickly taken up, and so the heated arguments continued.

Molly was often used to bounce grievances off, but she was always very careful not to get involved. She had enough of her own problems to contend with, and anyway, she thought, it wouldn’t matter whether she agreed or disagreed, her opinion was unlikely to alter the dockers’ grievances; in truth she did believe their arguments were not without foundation.

‘That geezer’s had his eye on you all night long. You ain’t been encouraging him, have you?… You know how Bill frowns on that sort o’ thing!’ The accusing voice belonged to Nell Casey, the fair-haired girl who came in of a Saturday tea-time, waiting-on for three hours, when the crush of customers was at its worst. Molly had taken an instant dislike to the brazen, sour-tempered creature. Nell in turn made every attempt to belittle Molly in front of the customers, and she particularly resented the way Bill Craig ogled the beautiful Molly when he thought no one was looking.

Nell Casey had almost collided with Molly when the two of them had returned to the counter to collect their respective orders. Molly felt uncomfortable beneath the other girl’s hostile stare. ‘I don’t encourage no one!’ Molly told her quietly. ‘You know that.’

‘Well, what the ’ell’s he staring at you for then, eh?… I’m telling you, he ain’t took his eyes off you all night!’