Shipyard Girls at War, page 39
The rest of the women helped an exhausted-looking Gloria, who was wearing a brand new pair of overalls pilfered by Angie from the yard’s storeroom, on to the boat that was now churning water ready to head back over to the south dock.
There was something about the vision of Rosie, though, as she rocked the baby gently in her arms, that deeply affected him. He didn’t know if it made him feel incredibly sad, or incredibly happy.
What he did know was that he wasn’t going to give up on this woman. There was something special about her, and he was not prepared to simply walk away.
What they clearly felt for one another was just too precious. He knew he couldn’t let that go, or relinquish all hope of them being together.
For whatever reason, Rosie had given up on him, and he wondered if she had also given up on love. But whether or not that was true, he wasn’t about to follow suit. It might take time, but he was a patient man. He could wait. There was no other woman for him.
‘I don’t want you to slip through my fingers – nor am I going to let you,’ DS Miller said aloud.
Rosie had caused him no end of sleepless nights – from first meeting her after her uncle had been pulled from this very river, she had both intrigued him and mystified him. He felt instinctively that she cared for him, and was also attracted to him. There was most certainly a chemistry there, whether she would admit it to herself or not.
His guess was that there was something stopping her from allowing herself to be with him – and preventing her from experiencing love. But exactly what that was, he just didn’t know– not yet, anyway. But he would find out. No matter how long it took him. He was determined.
He was a detective, after all.
As the ferry dragged itself across the breadth of the river, DS Miller watched as the woman he had fallen in love with disappeared from view and all he could see was a thick trail of white foaming surf.
As Polly stood leaning against the side of the ferry’s iron railings, she looked at Rosie cooing down at the baby she was gentling swaying in her arms, and at the rest of her workmates, who all looked exhausted but also incredibly happy, and she realised just how much these women meant to her.
If it hadn’t been for their support after Teddy had died, and their quiet understanding and words of comfort, she would have struggled to keep her head above water. Gloria might feel as if they had saved her, just as Rosie felt her women welders had rescued her from the murderous hands of her uncle, but they had all saved each other, just in different ways. Martha had come out of her shell and was no longer cut off in her own private world. Hannah had made a new home for herself and was now doing a job she liked and was good at, and which had finally given her a sense that she was being of some use to the war effort. And Dorothy had got what she had always craved – a strange kind of surrogate family; it was something she felt was also the case for Angie.
They were all true friends, who could rely on each other, and help each other out – and would always be there for each other in times of need.
As the ferry gently bobbed on the water, now a little choppy as there was a slight wind coming across from the North Sea, Polly watched Stan the boatswain go and take a peek at the baby. He made a funny face, and she could see the tiniest of hands reach up to touch his weather-beaten face.
She recalled her thoughts earlier on in the year, not long after they’d received notification of Teddy’s death, and how down she had felt, and how hopeless life had seemed; how she’d felt her brother’s death had somehow signified the inability of the Allies to overcome Hitler and his evil.
She did not know whether it was because she had just witnessed new life coming into the world, but now she really had the feeling they could win this war. That they had right on their side. Light could overcome darkness. And that, more than anything, there was hope.
Death, she mused, might feel like the end, but in a strange way it also heralded a new – and often different – life.
She thought about the little baby they had just brought into the world and how it had taken its first breath at the exact same time that others, just half a mile away – fatalities in this most recent air-raid attack – had breathed their last.
Polly’s mind wandered to Bel, and how the death of her husband had thrown her into a terrible state of anger and despair, but she had managed to free herself from that dungeon of deep depression, and forced herself to start living again. Albeit a different life. And one without Teddy.
She just hoped that her sister-in-law could see that not only could she live after Teddy had died, but that she could also love again.
Polly wondered how long it would take her sister-in-law to realise she had feelings for Joe. Polly had seen how Joe’s love for Bel had slowly patched up her broken heart, but would Bel admit to herself the love she felt in return? And, if she did, would she allow herself to love again?
Polly hoped so.
As she looked across to Thompson’s yard, sitting proudly on North Sands, she spotted the magnificent steel ship whose keel they had watched being laid at the ceremony at the start of the year.
It was now sitting, looking almost majestic, as it waited in the fitting-out quay ready to be launched and to start its new life out at sea.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
As Agnes and Arthur walked along Tatham Street, smiles spread across both their faces as they watched Bel and Joe give in to Lucille’s demands and, holding on to her arms, they swung her little body off the ground amidst squeals of delight.
As they approached their front door, though, their faces dropped a little as they saw Pearl staggering around the corner from Murton Street, her blonde hair resembling a bird’s nest, and her scrawny arms struggling to heave her suitcase along the pavement. Bits of her clothing were trying to break free from the sides of the case, which had been wrapped up and tied with a thin bit of rope she’d been given by one of the station porters from whom she had sought help.
Spotting her grandmother Lucille immediately let out a loud cry of, ‘Pearl!’
Hearing her granddaughter’s excited greeting, Pearl looked up and saw Lucille bobbing between Bel and Joe. She gave up dragging her luggage, and straightened her aching back. ‘Ah, my little Lu-Lu,’ she said, catching her breath. As she spoke her suitcase toppled over, causing it to break free from the confines of the loosely tied rope and release its cargo on to the pavement.
Bel and Joe let go of an impatient Lucille, tugging to be released from their grip so she could run to her grandma.
For the first time ever, Bel felt glad to see her mother. During the air raid she’d had a worried, unsettled feeling about her mum, although she wasn’t quite sure why. Seeing her here now, safe and unharmed, she was hit by a wave of relief, which was followed more or less straight away by an annoyance that she still cared so much for her mother.
Bel looked at her mum’s abandoned baggage. She had sensed this morning when she’d seen her ma puffing away in the back yard, looking suspiciously thoughtful, that something was up, and she realised now that her mother had clearly been intending to go back down to Portsmouth – back to whatever, or whoever, she had originally run away from – and she hadn’t been going to tell Bel.
‘You off somewhere?’ Bel asked, looking down at the open-mouthed luggage, tongues of clothes lolling out on to the street.
‘Nah,’ Pearl said, looking at her daughter. Her tone had struck its usual gravelly harshness, but the way she looked at Bel was curiously soft; try as she might to disguise it, the love she felt for her daughter had managed to dodge her defences and had momentarily shone through.
‘I changed my mind,’ she said, picking her granddaughter up and giving her a big cuddle. ‘Couldn’t leave this cheeky little monkey behind,’ she said, looking at Lucille, who was giggling and had started to play with the loose straggles of blonde hair on her grandma’s head.
Bel looked at her mother but didn’t say anything. For once she didn’t feel like throwing an angry retort back at her.
She was not quite convinced her mother’s words were genuine and, as always, Bel had a sneaking suspicion that although there might be a sliver of truth in her ma’s purported motive for staying, she would bet there was also some other reason why she was still here and not heading back down south.
But, whatever it was, Bel knew that her mother did love her, or at least as much as Pearl’s hardened heart and self-obsessive nature would allow her to love anyone, and, in return, Bel could no longer deny the love she felt for her ma.
And she realised now that, despite everything that was annoying and dislikeable about her mother, she didn’t want to lose her – either as a casualty of war, or to whoever was expecting her back in Portsmouth.
Bel watched as her mother carried Lucille past her and Joe, following Agnes and Arthur into the house.
She was still looking when Pearl cast a glance back. ‘Do us a favour, Isabelle,’ she shouted over her shoulder, ‘and bring me bag in, will ya?’
As always with Pearl, it was a demand more than a request, for she didn’t wait for a reply as she stepped over the threshold of their home, still carrying a giggling Lucille on her hip.
Joe looked at Bel and shook his head. Bel grimaced in response.
Bel knew Joe was not quite as relieved about her mother’s return as she herself was, but there was no malice in his demeanour, just a weary resignation that this clearly meant that Pearl was to continue to be a feature in their lives.
After bundling Pearl’s clothes back into her broken suitcase, Joe hoiked it under his arm, and he and Bel both trundled into the house, where they found Agnes tearing around, checking every room and shouting out her daughter’s name.
‘Pol? You home?’ It was half question, half plea.
But there was no reply. There was no one at home. The house was just as they had left it – empty. Polly wasn’t anywhere in sight.
As Joe dumped Pearl’s broken suitcase and belongings on the kitchen table, he grabbed his mother’s arm.
‘Ma, why don’t you put us a brew on?’ Joe suggested, knowing his mother had to keep busy or she would go out of her mind.
‘I’m going to go to Thompson’s, check she’s all right … which she will be,’ he added, trying to sound as positive as possible, but worried sick himself as it had looked and sounded as though the bombs had been dropped on the north side.
Agnes looked at her son and knew he was right; she had to keep calm, like the posters kept telling everyone to do – ‘keep calm and carry on’. The only problem was she wasn’t sure she would be able to carry on if anything happened to another one of her bairns.
She knew her son was right, though, and they all needed a cup of tea with perhaps a little tipple of something strong in it. She was sure she had some brandy stashed in the back of one of her cupboards.
As Agnes followed her son’s orders and traipsed her way into the scullery, she stopped in her tracks – inhaled a deep glug of air – and then declared to the house:
‘Oh my goodness!’ She let out a chortle of disbelief. ‘Everyone come and look at this!’ she shouted.
Arthur, Pearl, Joe, Bel and Lucille ended up in a bottleneck in the pantry doorway, curious to see what was causing Agnes to sound so shocked, but – judging by the tone of her voice – also a little amused.
And then they saw it.
As they peered into the small galley-like room, at the very end, cuddled up in the corner, and lying on a yellow bed made up of Lucille’s favourite little pinafore dress, was Tramp – along with half a dozen tiny puppies.
‘Trampie!’ Lucille burst into gleeful excitement.
Bel laughed. ‘Well, that’s one way of finally getting her out of that raggedy dress.’
Joe put his arm around Bel and pulled her close.
Agnes was just telling Lucille she would have to wait before cuddling the puppies as they were all happily nuzzled into their mother’s belly, when Polly’s voice could be heard shouting down the hallway.
‘Ma! I’m home!’ Agnes practically fell over trying to get to the front door to greet her daughter. Tears of relief poured down her face.
‘Thank God!’ she cried, clasping her hands together as if she really were offering up her thanks to the heavens above.
She flung her arms round Polly, who hugged her mother back, equally relieved to find their house was still standing and, moreover, that everyone in it was alive and well.
‘And I’ve brought someone special back to show you,’ she said, turning round.
Agnes’s mouth dropped open and a huge smile spread across her face, followed by another burst of tears.
‘Ah, Gloria – you’ve had your baby!’ she said, stepping forward to take the little baby from Gloria’s arms.
Behind her stood the women welders: Rosie, Dorothy, Angie, Hannah and Martha. They all had identical tear streaks running down their filthy faces.
‘A girl?’ Agnes asked.
The women all nodded in unison.
‘Oh, she’s beautiful,’ Agnes gasped.
Agnes looked from the women and then back down at the perfect little baby swaddled in what she thought looked like a pair of overalls.
‘Name?’ She was still a little breathless from the dam of tears she was trying desperately to hold back.
Gloria leant in to look at her baby daughter, touching her cheek gently and smiling, thinking how much she looked like Jack.
‘Hope,’ she said. ‘Her name’s Hope.’
COMING SEPTEMBER 2017
Sunderland 1941
As the war drags on, the shipyard girls find themselves facing their own battles.
Gloria is over the moon with her bundle of joy, but Hope’s first weeks are bittersweet. Gloria’s love, Jack, is still missing at sea, and with their future as a family so uncertain, Gloria must lean on her girls to get her through.
Meanwhile, head-welder Rosie has turned her back on love to keep her secret life safe. But her persistent beau is determined to find out the truth and if he does, it could ruin her.
And there is finally a glimmer of hope for Polly and her family when Bel and Joe fall in love. But it isn’t long until family secrets threaten to pull them all apart.
As the shipyard girls face hardships at home, their work and their friendship helps pull them through.
ORDER YOUR COPY NOW
Dear Reader,
I hope you have enjoyed Shipyard Girls at War – the second instalment of the Shipyard Girls series – and that you will continue to join Polly, Rosie and Gloria, and the rest of the women (and men), as they cope with the many highs and lows, as well as secrets and shocking revelations, that are thrust upon them in book three.
Hope, as I’m sure you have guessed, is the underlying theme of Shipyard Girls at War, just as love was in The Shipyard Girls.
During my research for both books, it struck me just how much love and hope were essential for those living through such a hateful war, and it occurred to me that, despite people’s lives nowadays being very different to the lives of those surviving the hardships of World War II, love and hope are still just as essential today as they were then.
I hope your life is filled with both.
With love,
Nancy
x
History Notes
Very little has been written about the remarkable women who, like Polly, Rosie, Gloria, Dorothy, Angie, Martha and Hannah, worked in the shipyards during World War II.
There has never been any kind of commemoration, or indeed any praise, given to the seven hundred women who carried out such perilous work in such harsh conditions in the Sunderland shipyards – or, for that matter, to the women who worked in other shipyards in the North East.
These women, who not only needed to work but also wanted to be a part of the war effort, often worked seven days a week to repair and build the ships desperately needed to win the war.
Without the shipyards, the country would have been forced to surrender, as the cargo vessels being built were essential for the transportation of vital food, fuel and minerals – and, of course, troops.
It is therefore not surprising that Sunderland – then the biggest shipbuilding town in the world, which produced a quarter of Britain’s merchant shipping at the time – was also one of the most heavily bombed towns during the war.
The women shipbuilders, many of whom had young families at home, were not only carrying out dangerous and back-breaking work, but they were also doing so under the constant threat of Hitler’s Luftwaffe.
I hope the Shipyard Girls series will continue to keep the memory alive of those brave and inspirational women who played such an important role in such a crucial period of our history.
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Epub ISBN: 9781473536753
Version 1.0
Published by Arrow Books 2017
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Copyright © Nancy Revell, 2017
Cover photograph: Colin Thomas
Background © English Heritage/Heritage Images/Getty Images
Nancy Revell has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Arrow Books
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