The Shipyard Girls Read online

  Contents

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Find out more about Nancy Revell

  Dear Reader

  History Notes

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Sunderland, 1940, and the women go to the shipyards to do their bit for the war effort.

  Polly never dreamed she would be able to work in the shipyards like the men in her family but times are tough and her new job ends up giving her more than she ever expected when she meets enigmatic dock diver Tommy Watts.

  During the day, head welder Rosie teaches her fledgling flock of trainees their new trade, but at night she hides a secret life.

  And mother hen Gloria signs up to escape her brutal husband, but finds she cannot run from her problems.

  The Shipyard Girls start off as strangers – but end up forging an unbreakable bond of friendship in the most difficult times.

  About the Author

  Nancy Revell is a writer and journalist under another name, and has worked for all the national newspapers, providing them with hard-hitting news stories and in-depth features. She has also worked for just about every woman’s magazine in the country, writing amazing and inspirational true-life stories. Nancy has recently relocated back to her hometown of Sunderland, Tyne and Wear, with her husband, Paul, and their English bull mastiff, Rosie. They live just a short walk away from the beautiful, award-winning beaches of Roker and Seaburn, within a mile of where The Shipyard Girls series is set. The subject is close to Nancy’s heart as she comes from a long line of shipbuilders, who were well known in the area.

  To my Mum and Dad, Audrey and Syd Walton.

  Acknowledgements

  A tribute must be made to the amazing women who worked in the shipyards during World War Two, whose strength and resilience, and the invaluable part they played in the building and repairing of ships has never been formally recognised or commended.

  For help with the research, I would like to thank former female shipyard worker, Joan Tate, and her daughter, local historian Pam Tate, retired shipyard worker, John Bedingfield and his son Peter, author and historian Jack Curtis, journalist Sarah Stoner from the Sunderland Echo, the Sunderland Antiquarian Society, Sunderland Maritime Heritage, and Royal Navy historian, Jock Gardner.

  A special thank you has to go to my mum, who has given me so much help and inspiration for the book in so many different ways – and who has always encouraged me to follow my dreams; to my dad for instilling in me a love and loyalty for the town in which I was born and brought up; and my sister, Jane, for her love, care and encouragement, and for sharing with me her and her husband Sion’s three lovely children, Ivor, Matilda and Flynn.

  I would also like to thank my agent Diana Beaumont for her belief in me as a writer, and the lovely team at Arrow, who are a continuing joy to work with.

  And, finally, I could not have written this book had it not been for my husband, Paul Simmonds, who not only upped sticks and moved 267 miles from his hometown of Oxford to my hometown of Sunderland so that I could write The Shipyard Girls – but, for asking the question which started it all off, ‘Did women work in the shipyards?’

  ‘Oh, ’tis love, ’tis love, that makes the world go round!’

  The Duchess in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll

  Chapter One

  Thursday, 15 August 1940

  Sunderland

  ‘Mr Hitler is not going to get in the way of my favourite little girl’s birthday celebrations!’

  Agnes Elliot’s theatrical tone of voice and exaggerated facial expressions triggered an eruption of giggles from her two-year-old granddaughter.

  Agnes had just placed the little girl’s birthday cake in the black lead cooking range, and was feeling rather pleased with herself as she’d managed to make the cake from real eggs and milk. There was even a jar of her own home-made plum jam and half a teacup of icing sugar waiting on the side to make it into a proper Victoria sponge.

  ‘Oh, and look at this.’ Agnes pointed at the replica birthday cake her beloved grandchild was drawing on the back of an old washing powder box. ‘Our very own Vincent Van Gogh.’

  Agnes stood for a moment, looking down at this little girl happily drawing away, her legs stretched out on the threadbare floor rug, before her attention was diverted by the sound of footsteps hurrying down the tiled hallway.

  ‘Ah, but he’s not a patch on our Lucille,’ Agnes’s daughter Polly declared, announcing her arrival and bustling into the kitchen.

  ‘Auntieee,’ Lucille squealed with excitement.

  ‘Look at you! What a bonny birthday girl you are.’ Polly bent down to pick up her niece and gave her a big cuddle.

  ‘You managed to get away on time then?’ Agnes asked as she went into the back scullery to fetch some plates and cups and saucers.

  ‘Yes, you know Mrs Hoggart, nothing’s ever a bother.’ Polly was balancing Lucille on one hip, whilst picking up her niece’s crayons and artwork from the floor. ‘Besides, it wasn’t as if we were rushed off our feet. Dead as a doornail more like. Who wants to have tea and cake sat looking out at a load of barbed wire? You can’t even see the beach, never mind the sea. To be honest, I can’t see the cafe staying open for much longer – I think it might be time for me to get another job.’

  Polly searched her mother’s face for a reaction, but didn’t see one since Agnes was only half listening. Her mission at this moment was to make this the best birthday possible, given the times they were now living in.

  As Polly sat down at the large wooden kitchen table, balancing Lucille on her knee, she smiled. She had to hand it to her mum: she really was the master of make-do-and-mend, with a real knack for turning the ordinary into something special. Today she’d outdone herself with a candle lit in an old jam jar and some colourful wild flowers arranged in a milk jug. She’d even dug out some Christmas decorations and paper chains and hung them around the kitchen.

  ‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ Polly whispered into Lucille’s ear. ‘Let it be a happy, and safe, year for you.’

  ‘About ten minutes for the cake,’ Agnes declared, putting her best pink and copper lustre crockery from the town’s famous Garrison Pottery on the table. ‘Hopefully Bel will be back by then.’

  The words were barely out of Agnes’s mouth when a soft voice could be heard singing, ‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Lucille…’ Bel’s perfectly pitched rendition resounded down the hallway and through into the heart of the house, causing Lucille to cry out with glee that her mummy was home.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ Agnes said, smiling at her daughter-in-law, who was more like a real daughter than simply a daughter through marriage.

  Isabelle, whom they had all called Bel for as long as they could remember, had been more or less a constant presence in the Elliot home since she’d been knee-high, owing to a mum who’d spent more time in the pub than at home, and no father worth mentioning. Bel and Agnes’s son Teddy had only ever had eyes for each other, even as children, so it had been no surprise when they’d declared their intention to marry each other when they were just sixteen. Agnes had persuaded them to wait until they were both eighteen, and exactly nine months after they tied the knot Lucille had been born. But the little girl had so far been denied a brother or sister, as Teddy and his twin brother Joe had signed up within days of war being declared.

  As Agnes’s mind drifted to her two boys, she felt the heavy pull of worry in the bottom of her stomach and she had to consciously push away
all thoughts of her sons, at least for the next hour. This lunchtime party was going to be fun. And frivolous. They were all going to have at least one hour off from this wretched war.

  ‘I was just telling Lucille that Mr Hitler is not going to stop our favourite little girl having the best second birthday party ever,’ Agnes told Polly and Bel as she pulled open the drawer of her kitchen dresser to retrieve the cutlery.

  The two women both looked at Lucille and, like a comedy duo act, dramatically rolled their eyes to the ceiling, making the birthday girl chuckle.

  ‘I saw that,’ Agnes said in mock anger, without looking round. ‘I have eyes in the back of my head, as you both know.’

  ‘Ma, it’s like you’re waging your own personal war against the Nazis in this very kitchen,’ Polly laughed, although she and Bel both secretly admired Agnes’s stubborn determination to win at least a culinary war against the Germans. It never ceased to amaze them that, by hook or by crook, Agnes always managed to put food – and tasty food at that – on the table in spite of rationing.

  ‘Oh Agnes, this looks lovely.’ Bel stared at the mountain of ham sandwiches and the plate of oatmeal biscuits on the table. Her mother-in-law had even managed to get hold of an orange, which she had carefully peeled and cut into segments for them all to share.

  ‘Now, let me just take a quick peek at that cake and see if it’s rising.’ Agnes grabbed hold of her oven gloves and bent down to inch open the heavy oven door. ‘I don’t want to let too much cold air in, just in case,’ she muttered to herself as she squinted to see through the tiny crack of the partially opened stove door. But at that exact moment, the mournful wail of the air raid siren suddenly started up, sounding out across the town, and infiltrating the Elliot household and their joyful little party.

  All three women looked at each other, shocked. This was the middle of the day.

  Hitler’s Luftwaffe had only ever visited their town at night. So far every single air raid warning had been during darkness. Indeed, it had only been these past few weeks that the physical reality of Hitler’s malevolence had shown itself to the town. The first bombs had been dropped eight weeks before, killing two horses and obliterating a barn in the nearby fishing village of Whitburn. The second attack had damaged the town’s railway bridge and one of the shipyards, and the third had left a deep crater in the town’s east end, just a few streets away from the Elliots’ home.

  So far there had not been any human casualties.

  ‘No. Not today, of all days.’ Agnes flung open the oven door and pulled out her half-baked cake. The middle of the piping-hot sponge immediately sank to form a crater. This was one battle the Germans were going to win in Agnes’s small kitchen.

  Polly snatched up their boxed-up gas masks from various corners of the room and, clocking the hesitation in her mum’s demeanour, shouted, ‘Come on, Ma!’

  Agnes was clearly loath to leave her lovely – and hard-earned – birthday party.

  ‘Damnation!’ Agnes tossed her apron aside and followed the two young women and toddler out the front door.

  As they hurried out, Polly grabbed her niece’s favourite raggedy soft toy off the floor. ‘Here you are, Lu,’ Polly tried her hardest to smile and appear casual, ‘your favourite bunny.’

  She was determined that this little girl would not be left scarred for life by the sound of sirens and the explosions of bombs. The very least she could do as her aunty was try to pretend it was all a lark, a bit of excitement and fun, and not a terrifying run for their lives.

  As they hurried down the street and towards the nearest air raid shelter, Lucille jiggled about like a baby monkey, legs tightly wrapped round Bel’s thin frame.

  ‘Do you want me to take her?’ Polly asked.

  ‘No, I can manage,’ Bel said breathlessly.

  Polly could tell there was no point in arguing, as she could see a pale-faced Lucille was not going to be peeled away from the safety of her mum’s arms.

  As the women joined the throng of people heading to the nearest underground sanctuary, not for one second did Polly or Agnes take their eyes off Bel and Lucille. Teddy had made his mum and sister promise to guard his wife and precious baby girl with their lives, although it was something both women would have done without even consciously thinking about it.

  When Polly, Agnes, Bel and a wide-eyed Lucille arrived at the shelter underneath the old church, which also doubled up as a community centre during the week, they were immediately ushered down the steep stone steps and into the large, windowless crypt. Candles had been lit and there was a smattering of toys brought down from the nursery cupboard for the children to play with. Those who had arrived before them were busy putting up the black fold-up chairs for the more elderly members of this impromptu congregation to sit on.

  Within minutes of arriving, Agnes was rallying the other children together and explaining to them that they were going to have a party to celebrate Lucille’s birthday.

  ‘There’s not going to be any food or presents,’ Agnes explained to the curious little faces listening to this dishevelled older woman with smudges of flour still on her face, ‘but there’s going to be plenty of games.’

  Over the next hour Agnes, Polly, Bel and a few of the other mums helped to organise marble competitions, card games, pin the tail on the donkey, and even musical chairs, thanks to an old wind-up gramophone and a few scratched records which had been left there.

  As Bel watched her mother-in-law organise this most unconventional of birthday parties, she counted her blessings that she’d fallen in love with a man whose family had taken her in as if she were their own.

  When Teddy had signed up to go to war and asked her to go and live with Agnes and Polly, she hadn’t fought his wishes. She hadn’t wanted to be left alone with a new baby, worried sick about whether the man who meant the whole world to her would come back from this hateful war alive.

  ‘I know you and Lucille will be in safe hands there. They’ll look after you both until I get back,’ he had told her as he’d packed up their few belongings to take to the house he’d been born and grown up in. And Bel had had no doubt that they would. Agnes had been more of a mum to her than her own mother, so it had been just like going back home, or rather going back to a home she wished she’d grown up in.

  Bel was snapped back to the present by the sound of a series of distant explosions. The party fell silent as they felt the soft thud of each aftershock resound underneath. A while later, when the single monotonous sound of the all-clear siren could be heard, they breathed a collective sigh of relief and all emerged bleary-eyed from their self-imposed prison.

  As Agnes, Polly and Bel, with Lucille holding both her mum’s and her aunty’s hands, walked quietly back home, they knew the German air force had succeeded in leaving its imprint on their hometown. Just like the Luftwaffe’s ominous-looking emblem of a giant eagle carrying a large black swastika like a dangling piece of dead prey, its aeroplanes had released a succession of bombs from their metal talons over the skies of Sunderland. Although their own home had escaped unscathed, several four-thousand-pound bullet-shaped hulks of metal and explosive had succeeded in tearing up dozens of homes, as well as damaging gas and water mains on the other side of the River Wear.

  For the first time since war had been declared, the town had suffered fatalities. An air raid warden had been killed, and the bodies of a family of three were discovered buried under the bricks of their kitchen.

  The Battle of Britain was now well and truly under way, with one of Hitler’s primary targets being the world-famous shipyards in Sunderland, County Durham, on the north-east coast of England.

  The trio of women tried to lighten the mood as they walked back over the threshold of their home, but like Agnes’s sunken cake, it was nigh on impossible to lift their spirits. The worry they all felt for the future, and, most importantly, for the future of this innocent little two-year-old in their care, hung heavily on them all.

  Chapter Two

  Saturday, 17 August

  Two days later Polly handed in her notice and worked her last shift at the little cafeteria only a stone’s throw away from the beach in Seaburn, which was just a few miles up the coastal road from Sunderland. Before the war, and especially at this time of year, the promenade across the road from Mrs Hoggart’s tea shop would have been teeming with families enjoying a day out, the air filled with the smell of fish and chips and the screams and shouts of hundreds of children enjoying the nearby funfair.