Shipyard Girls at War, page 30
‘Urgh, I think this ham’s gone off! It tastes foul,’ she said, prising open the two slices of buttered white bread and peering inside.
‘If you can’t even make a bloody sandwich, I don’t think you’re ever going to make anyone a good wife, Dorothy.’ Gloria couldn’t resist the opportunity to get a dig in. She loved working on the cranes, but she missed the women’s banter.
‘Don’t want to!’ Dorothy shot back as quick as a flash. ‘Ange and I are going to be footloose and fancy free until we’re old maids. No husbands. No children. We’re just going to have fun. And lots of it. Aren’t we, Ange?’
Angie looked at Gloria and rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, Dor. That’s right,’ she said in a deadly serious, downtrodden manner. Gloria thought about Polly’s remarks – that the pair of them were like a female Laurel and Hardy – and chuckled to herself.
‘Talking of which,’ Dorothy continued, as she tossed her sandwiches aside and looked into Angie’s box, before nabbing one of her fresh Spam baps, ‘Ange and I are going out on a double date tonight with a couple of the riveters.’
‘Honestly!’ Gloria said, exasperated. ‘What is it with you two and riveters? I would have thought Eddie’s antics would have been enough to put you both off that lot for life.’
Last year Dorothy had been distraught at finding out the man she was obsessed with (who had been the reason for her starting work at the yard in the first place) had been seeing Angie behind her back. She had found out and caused uproar in the Admiral when she had given her two-timing beau an ale shower, pouring a pint over his head. Of course, she had been upset and had felt humiliated, but some good had come out of it when she and Angie had become best buddies.
‘What’s this about riveters and double dates?’ It was Rosie back from the main offices.
‘Don’t ask!’ Polly said. ‘It seems like the whole world is going out on dates at the moment. Dorothy and Angie. Joe and Maria … And,’ she added cheekily, ‘I think our very own boss may even be stepping out with someone?’
Everyone looked at Rosie as a slight flush started to creep across her face, causing all the women to make a right old ruckus.
‘He’s just a friend,’ Rosie spluttered. ‘Nothing more … Anyway, what’s this about Joe? Who’s this Maria?’
‘I think that is called “changing the subject”,’ Hannah piped up.
The women started chattering over each other. Martha was asking Hannah what a ‘double date’ was, Dorothy was quizzing Polly about Maria, and Rosie was quietly telling Gloria that she had not heard any more news about when Jack was due back, other than that he had definitely set sail and could possibly be back in a few weeks.
‘I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not,’ Gloria confided. ‘I think a part of me was hoping he wouldn’t be back until after the baby was born. Give me more time to decide what I’m going to do.’ Then she sighed. ‘I can’t believe I just said that! I’m missing him terribly. What a state to be in, eh?’
Rosie leaned over and squeezed Gloria’s hand. ‘The main thing is that you are both keeping well. How does everything feel in there?’ Rosie nodded down at Gloria’s huge egg-shaped belly. She knew very little about being pregnant, or having a baby, and did not pretend to know.
‘All good, fingers crossed. I can feel the little nipper moving around quite a bit. Only about six weeks to go.’
‘And no more visits from Vinnie?’ Rosie asked with a frown.
‘Not a squeak,’ Gloria said, ‘which suits me just fine.’
‘Good, let’s hope it stays that way,’ Rosie said. She was so relieved that the bastard was keeping well away, but also a little puzzled. Knowing what men like Vinnie were capable of, she would have expected that he would have been back, causing more trouble.
After Gloria had turned up to work with her black eye and battered face, Rosie had been resolute that she would put a stop to this detestable man’s abuse. But she had struggled to know how she was going to do it. Now it looked like something – or someone – had caused Vinnie to keep his distance. In doing so, whatever or whoever it was had taken a big, worrisome weight off her shoulders.
‘Hey, Gloria!’ It was Polly, who was wrapping her long chestnut-brown hair back up into her headscarf. She loved to let it loose during their breaks, but, like all the women, kept it scraped back away from her face and protected by a hat or scarf for fear of it being singed by their welds. ‘Do you fancy coming to our neighbour’s birthday party next Saturday? Bel’s going to be there. Give you both a chance to meet. And,’ she added dramatically, ‘there’s going to be cake there!’
Gloria’s eyes lit up. ‘Definitely. I’ll be there. Come hell or high water!’ Though her excitement at the prospect of cake was soon squashed when she spotted Helen shimmying across the yard like a catwalk queen.
‘Oh no, here comes trouble, I’m off,’ Gloria said, as she heaved her body up and waddled off as fast as her extended belly would allow her.
‘Rosie!’ Helen’s voice trilled out, causing the women to quickly pack up their boxes, dust down their overalls and head over to their welding machines.
‘Actually, I need to speak to you all. Everyone apart from Polly and Angela, that is. You two can tootle off.’ She said the words breezily, but her eyes locked on to Polly. Both women glared at each other for a second, before Polly tore her gaze away and marched off with Angie back to their machines.
Rosie, Dorothy, Hannah and Martha stood in a semi-circle, feeling like lemons, waiting to see what Helen had in store for them.
‘Sorry, girls,’ she said in the most condescending manner she could get away with, ‘but Hannah, your skills are needed again with Mickey in the fitting-out basin.’
‘Why can’t Polly or Dorothy go instead?’ Rosie butted in before Helen had a chance to say anything else.
‘Sorry, Rosie, but they need someone small – like your “little bird” here – to get into some awkward spots.’
Rosie forced herself to take a deep breath.
‘And, I’m afraid,’ Helen continued, a sneer sneaking across her face, ‘Martha is needed with the riveters again. They really are short. They don’t seem to be able to make up the numbers.’
Helen said all of this without once looking at Martha, who had let out a very audible huff and now stood with her sizeable arms akimbo.
‘So, chop-chop, you two,’ Helen said, just as the horn blared out for the start of the shift, waving them both away with a perfectly manicured hand. Rosie noticed her blood-red nails matched her lipstick perfectly.
‘And now for you two,’ Helen said, her voice losing its singsong lilt and dropping into a deadly serious monotone. ‘I just want you both to know that I am well aware of what you have been doing to help Hannah … Rosie, I know you’ve been giving her the lightweight pick-up work for months now. And, Dorothy, I know you’ve been carrying your little pidgin-English-speaking workmate as well – taking on a good part of her workload but letting the little Czech pass it off as her own. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. If your little bird is not able to pull her weight, then I’m afraid she’s going to be set free …
‘And, I want you both to know that it’s only down to the goodness of my heart that I haven’t reported you.’
There was a deathly silence between the women for a long moment before it was broken by the sound of one of the drillers starting up nearby.
‘And by the way, Dorothy.’ Helen took a step forward and hissed in her face. ‘I know it was you.’
Dorothy looked at her all innocence. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
Helen glared at her with unguarded hatred. ‘You were the squawker with the big mouth who went blabbering to that plater’s wife. I knew it was one of you lot, but not which one.’
Helen took another deep breath. ‘And just so you know, I won’t forget. You will pay for what you did. If not now, then later. Mark my words.’
And with that she turned on her heel and swaggered off back across the yard.
As she did so, Dorothy stuck her tongue out at her, before turning to Rosie who was at a loss for words.
‘Don’t worry. She doesn’t scare me,’ Dorothy said. ‘I’m tougher than I look. And more than anything, I’m your best and fastest welder. There’s no way she could get shot of me.’
Rosie was not so sure, though. Helen’s desire for retribution knew no bounds.
‘Let’s speak later,’ she said as she spotted Hannah slopping off to the outfitting dock, her welding mask almost trailing the ground as she walked.
Rosie ran to catch up with her. ‘Just hang in there,’ she said when she was by Hannah’s side. ‘I’ve got a plan, which I think may work well. But you need to stick it out for another few weeks. You’ll promise me you’ll keep at it? For just a little while longer?’
Hannah’s crestfallen face looked up at Rosie. ‘I’ll try my hardest,’ she said.
Rosie let Hannah go on her way, but was not reassured by her promise – and she doubted whether Hannah’s ‘hardest’ would be enough.
By the end of the day’s shift, Rosie felt as mentally exhausted as she did physically.
The one thought that had kept her going all day was her weekly ‘date’ with Peter, who she would be with in a short while.
She had to admit to herself, though, that these were dates. Polly was right. She wasn’t just having tea and a chat with a friend – friends didn’t hold hands, or have the kind of feelings she had when they touched.
But, she argued with herself, providing it stayed the way it was, she was happy to continue as they were.
For now, anyway.
Chapter Forty-One
Saturday 5 July 1941
It had been over a week since Bel had lain wide awake in her bed in the middle of the night and asked herself if she was starting to have feelings for Joe. Her life, which had finally just started to level out, had once again suddenly been whipped up into a frenetic spin, like one of Lucille’s wooden spinning tops she loved to see zigzagging across the back yard; only it had been several days now and the spinning did not show any signs of abating.
She had actually felt physically dizzy with fear.
Bel had tried telling herself that she must be having some kind of strange breakdown – a delayed reaction to the death of her husband. The thought of her being mentally unstable had bizarrely given her some comfort, for it was a far better prospect than harbouring romantic feelings towards her brother-in-law.
Whenever Joe went out on Home Guard duty, she was both relieved as well as forlorn. Relieved that she didn’t have to deal with her feelings, and forlorn because she wanted to be with him. There was a part of her, a part she didn’t seem able to control, that really wanted more than anything for him to stay in and simply be with her and Lucille, playing games, chatting and laughing. But she had also started to feel incredibly awkward around Joe, and she was sure he had picked up on it. She had tried to behave normally, or at least act the same way she had been with him these past few months, but she was aware her attempts at conversation were coming across as forced and stilted.
This evening she really was going to have to act her socks off as the whole household was going to a party next door at Beryl’s. It was her birthday, and Agnes had decided it needed to be celebrated. Agnes had made one of her scrumptious Victoria sponges, and a big mince and onion plate pie, and Bel had made a mountain of sandwiches with a variety of fillings from a load of meat offcuts that Arthur had got from the market in town.
The house was presently buzzing with the sound of Vera Lynn’s singing ‘We’ll Meet Again’ blaring from the wireless in the kitchen, and doors were banging open and shut as they all hurried to get ready, enjoying the frivolity of getting dressed up and putting on their glad rags. Agnes was wearing her hair down for a change, and had put on her best little black dress, and was bustling to and from next door with trays of party food. The cake, now covered in little white candles, would be brought out when it was time to sing Beryl ‘Happy Birthday’. Surprisingly Agnes was being helped by Pearl, who was managing to puff on a cigarette, while balancing two plates of food on each arm like a skilled silver service waitress.
‘Don’t you dare let any fag ash get in that food!’ Agnes shouted out as they passed each other on the pavement outside.
Arthur and Joe were already next door, helping to move tables and create space for the guests. In the midst of it all, Tramp was running around, partly deranged by the lingering smell of the minced beef and the cold meats, and on alert for any more scraps that might be accidentally on purpose dropped by both Bel and Agnes.
Sensing the excitement pervading the Elliot household, Lucille was tearing around the house like a tiny whirlwind, shouting out, ‘Party! Party!’ And Bel was doing something she had not done since Teddy had died – she was putting on a little make-up.
‘Lucille, calm down!’ she shouted out to the blur of yellow she caught running past the bedroom door. Lucille was still obsessed with wearing her sunflower-yellow pinafore dress, which now only just fitted her. It was remarkable the dress had withstood yet another wash and repair, but there was no denying the time was nearing when it would either no longer fit Lucille, or it would have to be worn one last time before being chucked into the rag box. Bel dreaded the day; could well foresee her little girl’s distraught reaction.
‘I’ve got her,’ Polly shouted from the kitchen, as Tramp let out a little bark as if to confirm Lucille had been brought under control. ‘And, by the way, you and Ma are going to have to stop feeding this dog so much – it’s getting fat!’
Bel turned back to the mirror on her dressing-room table. She applied a smudge of lipstick, and brushed a little mascara on to her already very dark eyelashes. She had pulled out an old dress she hadn’t worn for so long she could not recall the last time she had put it on. It was her favourite party dress, and she was hoping its floral pattern and bright colours would hide the shameful thoughts and feelings she had been experiencing of late – and was now having to batten down on a daily basis.
‘Mummy! Mummy! Go party!’ Lucille came barrelling into the bedroom, along with a highly excited Tramp.
‘All right, little lady.’ Bel looked down at her daughter, who had already managed to get a mark on her freshly laundered dress, but who looked so happy and expectant she hadn’t the heart to reprimand her.
‘Mummy just needs to get her dress on and we’ll be ready to go.’
Bel took off her pale pink cotton housecoat, slipped into her knee-length V-neck tea dress, and stood and looked at her reflection.
For some reason she thought she would look different, that her improper thoughts would somehow distort her looks; but they didn’t. She looked the same as she always did.
‘Eee, Beryl, you are a funny one!’ Agnes was chuckling away with her friend, laughing at some reminiscence from the past. Nearly all the guests had arrived and the little house party was now in full swing – aided by Jimmy and Sheila’s home-made wine and a bottle of port Beryl had scraped the money together to buy. People were spilling out of the front lounge and into the hallway, or stood nattering in the kitchen, nibbling on sandwiches, or relishing slices of Agnes’s thick-crusted meat pie.
Beryl’s three older boys were serving in the Royal Navy, and so what had been their shared bedroom had been converted back to its original use – that of a living room. Beryl, like Agnes, didn’t allow smoking in the house, so those who liked a puff were standing in the back yard, which was where Pearl had been stationed most of the time, glass of port in one hand and fag in another. She had spent much of the evening chatting away to Ronald, for whom Pearl had wangled an invite at the last moment, mainly due to her putting Beryl on the spot and catching her in a good mood. Both Beryl and Agnes had observed Pearl’s growing closeness to their widowed neighbour, and had speculated whether Pearl genuinely liked the man, or if she was more interested in his seemingly limitless supply of cigarettes.
Joe and Arthur were standing together, both looking a little uncomfortable but not unhappy. The two men of the household had also made an effort to look smart: Arthur was in a black three-piece suit that normally only saw the light of day for weddings or funerals, and must have been at least as old as his grandson as he’d worn it to Tommy’s christening, and then again a short while later to his daughter’s funeral. Joe had put on his best trousers, which were still a little loose on him, despite Agnes’s best attempts to fatten him up, as well as a starched white shirt, the sleeves of which were slightly puffed up thanks to his father’s shirt-sleeve holders, which had been given to him and Teddy to share when they had become young men. He had also been cajoled by Polly into wearing a navy blue tie that, Bel noticed, exactly matched the colour of his eyes.
Joe had invited Maria to the party, but she was not there as she hadn’t been able to get out of her WAA duties. She had argued the case with the head driver in charge of the rota that there had not been any air raids now for well over five weeks, and all she would end up doing would be sitting on her backside the entire evening, but her words had fallen on deaf ears, and she’d had to work – party or not.
Just after seven, there was a knock on the front door, which had been left slightly ajar. It was Gloria, who had come armed with a bottle of gin that had been left untouched in her cupboard since she had found out she was expecting.
‘Over here!’ Polly shouted out over the heads of the other guests. She had positioned herself by the living-room doorway so that she could see Gloria as soon as she arrived, for her workmate did not know anyone at the party other than herself.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ Gloria said, pushing the bottle of gin into Polly’s hand.
‘Don’t worry – you haven’t missed the cake!’ Polly laughed. ‘Come in and I’ll introduce you to Beryl. You must have known – her favourite tipple is gin … And then I’ll find Bel and the rest of the clan.’
Ten minutes later, Polly took Gloria into the kitchen to find Bel and Agnes, who were just starting to light the candles on Beryl’s cake.
