Shipyard Girls at War, page 34
Rosie’s acid sarcasm made Hannah grin.
‘And then we can go and meet your new boss!’
Hannah’s hands sprang free from the hold they were in, and she clamped her hands together and held them to her chest, her excitement struggling to be contained.
‘Oh, yes please! Thank you, Rosie. You are the best!’
As soon as the hooter sounded out for the lunch break, Martha came marching over to Rosie. She had no idea what was in store for her, but she sensed they were about to do battle, and she was happy to follow her general into the war zone.
Ten minutes later, while the women welders were all tucking into a pie and pea lunch at the canteen to celebrate Hannah’s new job, Rosie and Martha were heading over to the Admiral Inn, where it had been arranged they were to meet Mr Archibald Pike, one of the yard’s union representatives from the United Society of Boilermakers and Iron and Steel Shipbuilders. The odd-looking trio greeted each other with a brisk shake of hands and sat themselves round one of the small wooden tables.
The slightly plump, fleshy-faced, middle-aged Mr Pike, who was dressed in a cheap but well-pressed shiny brown suit, had already got himself a pint. He started chatting earnestly to Martha, occasionally looking across at Rosie. He then pulled out a number of official-looking forms from his battered briefcase. Between mouthfuls of frothy beer he took his time explaining various points.
Throughout their meeting, Martha wore a serious, slightly apprehensive look on her round, candid face, and either nodded in understanding, or interjected with a question when she was unsure of something.
After Mr Pike had talked for a while longer, Rosie then asked a few questions, which the man answered as concisely and as comprehensively as possible.
The two women then stood up, shook hands with Mr Pike in turn, and left him to his drink. They went back to the yard but, rather than head over to their work area, the pair walked straight across to the administration building.
‘You again!’ Helen sneered on seeing Rosie at her office door. As usual she completely ignored Martha.
‘Have you come to tell me you’re letting another one of your squad go? You won’t have anyone left at this rate.’ Rosie could almost see Helen’s mind working overtime, wondering if she would be able to disband them sooner than anticipated if there were just the three women welders left under her charge.
‘No chance, Helen. You don’t think I’d make it that easy for you, do you?’
This really was brewing up to be a bare-knuckled fight.
‘In case you haven’t noticed, there is also someone else here in your office,’ Rosie said, looking up at Martha, who seemed even larger in the confines of the small office.
Rosie took a deep breath and mentally crossed her fingers.
‘Martha here has something she’d like to impart to you,’ Rosie added, stepping aside a little to allow her workmate to take centre stage.
You can do it, Martha, Rosie prayed.
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Well, come on then, I’ve not got all day, you know!’ Helen spat out.
Rosie’s bile rose to the back of her mouth, but this was Martha’s skirmish and she had to come out of it on top. Thankfully Helen’s sharp words seemed to snap Martha into action.
‘Here …’ Martha said, pulling out the documentation given to her by Mr Pike, ‘… is my work contract.’
She lumbered forward, and Helen automatically took a step back, even though her desk was shielding her from the two women welders.
Helen stuck her arm out and tentatively took the papers from Martha’s huge, man-sized hand.
‘Page six,’ Martha commanded.
Helen flicked through to the appropriate page.
‘Please read,’ she instructed.
Rosie could feel the euphoria rise in her.
Martha was doing it!
It took Helen a few minutes to read through the contractual jargon, but Rosie could tell by the look of pure venom spreading across her enemy’s face that she had understood the basic gist of it all. When she reached the end of the page, she glared at Martha. Rosie thought it was the first time Helen had actually looked her in the eye.
‘No more riveting.’ Martha said simply.
‘Exactly.’ Rosie stepped forward. ‘As I’m sure you’ve read Helen, Martha was contracted to work as a welder at Thompson’s. If you continue to order her to work with Jimmy and his crew of riveters, you’ll be in blatant breach of her contract. The only exemption to that is if her welding is below par, which we both know is never going to be the case – you’ve even said yourself that she’s already handling twice the workload of a male welder.’
Rosie looked at Martha, who was standing expressionless, looking straight ahead of her as if she was a soldier on parade. She then turned her attention back to Helen.
‘Well, that’s all for today. We won’t be taking up any more of your time, Helen. Good day.’ And with that Rosie turned to walk out of the office, with Martha falling in behind her.
As the pair made their way out of the office and back into the afternoon sun and the fresh air, Rosie looked up at the woman who had just saved her squad of female welders.
‘Well done, Martha! Well done!’
And with that Martha allowed a big, gap-toothed smile to overtake her chubby, childlike face.
Chapter Forty-Seven
As Rosie walked home, she had to force herself to be strong and not to take a diversion to Vera’s café.
It was hard not to, though, but she told herself she didn’t have a choice.
Today, of all days, she would have loved to have sat and chatted to Peter about what had happened with both Hannah and Martha, and she would have particularly revelled in sharing with him her glee at gaining a partial victory over Helen. Of course, she knew the civil war raging between her and Helen at the yard had not, as yet, been won or lost. She knew Helen would continue to plot and plan other forms of revenge on her welders, and, of course, on the main object of her hatred, Polly.
And she also knew that Helen would still be baying for Dorothy’s blood after finding out it was her who had told Ned’s wife about the lies she had spread; it worried her what punishment Helen would concoct to inflict on Dorothy, but she would just have to deal with that as and when it happened. One thing about Helen, she was no windbag – if she said she was going to do something, you could bet your boots she would; she was not one to issue empty threats. The woman was not only seriously motivated by a need for vengeance, but also by a real jealousy of the women’s closeness and their friendship.
Rosie was aware that there were still battles to be fought, and that this was not the end, but at least for now, she and her welders had gained a reprieve.
As she reached her flat, Rosie’s mind once again swung back to Peter. He had become a good friend, and she was going to miss that as much as anything else. It was perhaps due to their burgeoning closeness that she had managed to fool herself that, by seeing him in a purely platonic capacity, she would spare herself any heartache.
But, she had not.
They might not have made love, or even shared a kiss, but she knew the feelings she was having were those that a woman had when she was falling in love.
And she knew she had to break the fall.
The desire and love she had started to feel for this man had to end – not just in reality, but in her mind also.
This love could never be a part of her life.
Vera was pressing down on her large kitchen knife, halving one of her doorstep sandwiches with such vigour it was as if she was a butcher dissecting a particularly tough carcass. She had not been able to stop herself from glancing up every time the little bell above her door tinged, signalling the arrival of a new customer.
Every time, she felt a disappointment that the metal jangling did not herald the late arrival of the woman in the overalls with the scarred face. Vera didn’t even know her name, but she felt as if she knew her. Age and experience had taught her to read a person well without ever exchanging more than a cursory hello or goodbye.
As Vera took a surreptitious look at the copper sitting on his own, she felt the tiniest bit sorry for him.
She chastised herself for becoming so sentimental in her dotage. ‘Yer getting as soft as clarts in yer old age,’ Vera mumbled under her breath.
The clock struck six and it was clear the woman was not going to turn up. Vera watched as DS Miller left his customary tip on the table; he had only taken a few sips of tea and had just taken a bite or two of his sandwich. She watched him weave his way around the other tables, all tightly packed into her small teashop – and as always he turned to give her a wave farewell.
He pulled the corners of his mouth up, but it wasn’t enough to create a convincing smile; she caught his eye and saw the all too familiar look of heartache. A look she seemed to see too much of these days.
What a shame, Vera thought, they seemed so smitten with each other. They positively buzzed with life when they were together.
Why hadn’t she come?
Vera told herself to stop being so pessimistic. There might be a perfectly understandable reason why she hadn’t turned up. She wasn’t going to give up on them. Something might just have happened and she hadn’t been able to get a message to him.
Vera resolved that she was still going to save their table for them next week.
She was determined that this would not be the end of their love affair.
Chapter Forty-Eight
‘Isabelle?’ Pearl’s face appeared around the bedroom door. She had been putting off this chat for over a week now since her letter from Victor had arrived.
‘Can I come in for a moment, pet?’
Bel was sitting on her bed, reading a picture book of Aesop’s Fables. She hadn’t been able to face reading ‘The Lambton Worm’, and Lucille seemed happy with her mum’s explanation that it was best read by Joe, and she should save it until he was able to do her bedtime story. Bel knew that Lucille would soon start to ask questions as to why Joe was no longer a part of her evening ritual, as he hadn’t ventured into her room since the night of their kiss three weeks ago, but for the moment Lucille seemed content with Bel’s explanation that her Doey was like the knight from ‘The Lambton Worm’ and he was out keeping the town safe – only that instead of protecting a castle from an awful fanged monster, he was helping guard the town against a man called Hitler.
Bel knew her daughter was too young to understand the concept of war, but she was old enough to sense the fear every time there was an air raid, and she had seen with her own inquisitive eyes the devastation and mass destruction that lay around them. Bel often wondered how this war would affect her daughter and the other children being brought up during this terrible time. She knew a lot of mothers had evacuated their children to homes out in the country, but there was no way she would do that with Lucille. The thought of her daughter being looked after by people she had not even met, never mind did not know well, was more frightening than the threat of the Luftwaffe’s bombs. Bel was not going to risk anything happening to her daughter. The only people she would ever trust her child with were Agnes, Polly and, of course, Joe.
‘Yes, Ma, what do you want?’ Bel looked at Pearl suspiciously as she snaked her wiry body round the door and quickly sat down next to her daughter.
‘Pearl! Story!’ Lucille demanded.
Pearl looked at Lucille’s expectant little face and at her daughter’s stony face, which said, Don’t you dare say no, and she reluctantly took the large hardback book from Bel’s hand and opened it up at the first story.
‘“The Young Man and the Swallow”.’ Pearl’s gravelly voice sounded quiet and a little uncertain, which Bel put down to the fact that this was a new experience for her mother, as not once during the entirety of her own childhood had Pearl ever read Bel a bedtime story.
As Pearl made her way falteringly through the tale of the young man who spends all his money on gambling and luxurious living until he has nothing left but the coat on his back, she paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before continuing to read how the man ends up selling his coat after spotting a swallow and believing spring has arrived; he then uses the money from the sale of his coat on one last bet in the hope of making his fortune. But, instead of winning, he ends up not only losing his last few pennies, but also his life when he finds the swallow frozen to death, and he too dies from the cold.
Bel had not realised the tale was so tragic, and was glad Lucille had fallen asleep and had missed the ending. Pearl also looked slightly unnerved by the tragic tale – and also unusually pensive.
‘Do you want to go into the kitchen and chat, Ma?’ Bel broke the sombre silence of the room. She was becoming increasingly curious as to what had impelled her mum to come to see her. It must be something she really wanted, otherwise she would not have acquiesced and read the story.
‘No, no, it won’t take long, pet.’
Bel interpreted this as meaning she wanted to ask her something that she didn’t want anyone else overhearing.
Pearl shuffled about a little uneasily, perching on the edge of the bed but still managing to face Bel.
‘Well, I was wondering …’ She straightened her back and paused.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Ma, just spit it out. What do you want?’
‘Well, I was wondering,’ Pearl began again, ‘if … when Teddy was killed while he was fighting so bravely for King and country.’
Another pause.
‘I was wondering if, because he was a soldier … and I know that the army pay their soldiers … whether or not they gave you any kind of widow’s pension or allowance?’
Bel was stunned. It took her a few moments to find her voice. ‘You are joking, aren’t you, Ma?’ Bel hissed at her mother vehemently, but as quietly as possible so as not to wake Lucille.
Pearl shuffled on the bed uneasily. ‘Isabelle, dinnit get yer knickers in a knot. It was only a question,’ she whispered back, starting to fidget around uncomfortably. ‘It’s only that I’m a bit short and wanted to ask you for a sub?’
Bel could feel the rage within her rise. ‘What do you need money for? You’ve not paid a penny towards your board and lodgings since you turned up here. I know for a fact you’ve been keeping money back whenever you’ve gone out with Lucille and I’ve given you some spending money. And I’ve got a good idea you’ve done the same with Agnes when she’s given you money to buy the shopping. No wonder she prefers Arthur to go to the market. No one might have said anything, Ma, but that’s not to say it hasn’t been clocked!’
Bel was now furious. ‘Blimey, you’ve even started earning a bit at the pub. What the hell do you need more money for? More fags? More drink?’
Pearl looked at her daughter and knew she was going to have to tell her something by way of explanation. It was just a question of how much of the truth she was willing to divulge.
‘I need to go back to Portsmouth for a bit and I need money for the train fare down there – as well as some money to live off … I know you can find some from somewhere. Agnes and you are raking it in with your little laundry business … and I’m sure you both get a little bit here and there for looking after all those bairns every day? And Polly … well, she must have a load stashed away with the amount she’s on at the yard – especially with all that overtime.’
Bel shook her head in disbelief, and looked at Lucille, who was starting to stir. She kept her voice low as she leaned into her mum and spat out her anger.
‘Ah, well, at least I know now why you came up here. And don’t think for one minute I believed all that tosh about it being because of Teddy’s death. How would your presence in my life give me any comfort whatsoever?’
Bel took another breath. ‘Thought I’d come into a load of dosh did you, Ma? And that you’d be entitled to some of it being my ma ’n all? Well, you’re wrong. On all counts.
‘But,’ Bel went on; she could hear her voice starting to shake, ‘I suppose I should be glad you’ve actually told me that you’re off again. I should be thankful for small mercies. Not like when I was a child, and you just used to up sticks and disappear without a word to anyone. So, what’s it to be this time? You off for a few days? Weeks? Or is it for good this time? Me and Lucille not worth sticking around for, eh?’
Bel was so angry. Angry that the only reason her mother had turned up again in her life was for money, a roof over her head, and food in her belly.
But she was also angry with herself, for hoping that her mum might have come back to see her and Lucille. She felt like punching herself for still feeling like a child inside – hurt by her mother’s seeming indifference to them both. By her complete lack of maternal love. Foolishly, she had actually started to think, to believe, that Pearl wanted to be a part of her family. To be a mother of sorts. And a grandmother – if not in name.
‘You know, Ma,’ Bel continued, her mind pinging about like one of those pinball machines she had seen.
‘I should have known – it was always the same with you.’ Bel’s anger was now starting to break free and she was struggling to keep her voice low.
‘Money and men. And it still is. A leopard never changes its spots … You got some fancy man down south you want to get back to? You’ve just about drained us dry here and now you want that very last drop before you bugger off again?
‘Well, I have news for you, Ma, normal mothers are meant to give to their children – not take, take, take!’
Pearl looked at her daughter’s hate-filled face. She was unable to see Bel’s hurt or feel any kind of empathy or understanding. Her concern, as always, was for herself, and Bel’s words had pushed a button inside her, releasing her own feelings of rejection. And, as was her way, Pearl’s instinct was to strike back.
‘Well, if I were you I’d get off my high horse,’ she whispered harshly, pushing her words out from her wrinkled-up, taut mouth. ‘Because you’re far from perfect yourself, Isabelle.’ She glared at her daughter. She knew it was wrong to say what she was about to, but she just couldn’t stop herself.
