Courage of the Shipyard Girls Read online

‘I think we need ta find Pol, make sure she’s all right?’

  Sensing the urgency in Arthur’s voice, Maud and Mavis stood up. No one had touched their tea.

  ‘We’re so sorry,’ Mavis said.

  Her sister nodded.

  ‘If there’s anything we can do, just ask.’

  And without further ado, the sisters left, shutting the front door quietly behind them.

  ‘We did the right thing,’ Mavis said to Maud, linking arms with her as they stood on the pavement.

  ‘I want to go and light a candle. Say a prayer,’ Maud told her sister, who nodded her understanding.

  And so the pair turned right and started the short walk to St Ignatius Church.

  Mavis wasn’t a believer, but she was glad of the fresh air, and didn’t mind sitting in the pews while her sister begged the Lord above to save yet another soul that this war looked likely to have taken.

  Agnes got changed quickly.

  By the time the town hall clock struck eight, she and Arthur were heading towards the ferry landing.

  ‘Yer don’t tink she’ll have done anyting stupid, do yer?’ The Irish in Agnes’s voice was strong, as it always was when she was either worried or angry. She looked at Arthur as they crossed the Borough Road and started heading down to the south docks.

  ‘Polly won’t have done ’owt daft,’ Arthur reassured her. ‘She’s got a good head on her that one … She’ll have gorra hell of a shock, though. There’s no doubting that.’

  ‘Yer tink she’ll have gone ta the yard?’ Agnes asked, unsure.

  ‘I’d wager a bet that’s where she’s gone.’ Arthur stuck his hand in his pocket to pay the ferryman but was waved on. Everyone who worked on the river knew Arthur. His years working for the Wear Commissioner as a deep-sea diver afforded him a free pass.

  ‘If she’s not at Thompson’s, we’ll find her. Dinnit worry, Agnes. She’ll be all right. Or as all right as can be.’

  As they looked across at the shipyards, coal drops and timber stores that lined the riverbanks, Arthur offered up his own silent prayer. Unlike Maud, though, Arthur’s invocation was to his wife, Flo, who he believed would look after ‘their Tommy’ on this side as well as the next.

  ‘This bloody war!’ Agnes couldn’t stop the fury that had been building up in her since she’d read the words of Tommy’s commander.

  ‘And that bloody letter!’ She turned her head to look at Arthur. ‘It just doesn’t make sense. Is he missing? Is he a prisoner of war?’ She paused. ‘Or do they really tink he’s dead?’

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She squeezed Arthur’s gnarled hand again, which was gripping the side of the old steamer, presently heaving its way across an uncannily calm River Wear.

  Arthur let out a long sigh.

  ‘God only knows. Sounds like they’ve got no idea themselves. They should knar soon enough if our Tommy’s been taken prisoner o’ war, but yer just dinnit knar. They didn’t exactly tell us much about where, or when, or how he went missing.’ Anger was now creeping into Arthur’s voice. ‘Poor Polly, she’s not gonna knar where she is. Her head’ll be all over the shop.’

  Chapter Three

  Polly was aware of the hustle and bustle as she made her way to J.L. Thompson & Sons, the place she had been working at for almost two years now. She could smell the familiar odour of burning tobacco mixed with the salty air, particularly pungent this morning due to a low tide and the warm weather. She felt the gentle bob of the W.F. Vint as the screw steamer made her tired way across to North Sands, and she heard the excited squawking of the seagulls circling above.

  Stepping off the ferry and walking up the embankment, she found herself being jostled by her fellow workers, and felt the weight of their bodies pressing into her as the usual bottleneck formed at the clocking-on cabin. She saw her hand reaching out to grab the white board on which her number, 111, had been scrawled in pencil by the young timekeeper, Alfie, along with her start time. And as she walked into the yard, she looked about her, as if for the first time. The world was now very different from the one she had known only yesterday.

  ‘All reet, pet?’

  Polly looked to see Jimmy the head riveter standing with his squad, a young apprentice burner stoking up a smouldering metal brazier. She felt her mouth widen and pull itself into the semblance of a smile and her hand rise up by way of a response.

  Making her way around a mound of thick chains next to a crane, Polly looked up to see the driver sitting in the small steel cabin, watching the early-morning sun making its slow ascent over the endless expanse of the North Sea. He seemed to be enjoying the stillness before the start of the day’s shift.

  It wasn’t until she saw her friends – the yard’s squad of women welders – chatting and drinking tea at their work station that Polly’s fractured mind started to understand what she had just learnt. She felt in her pocket for the letter, before remembering she had let it go.

  In the corner of her eye she caught the glint of diamonds. She looked down and touched her little ruby ring.

  Looking up again she saw Dorothy, who was wrapping her thick chestnut-coloured hair into a turban, expertly done so that not a wisp was visible.

  Angie was chatting to Rosie, who was smiling and laughing at something her young welder was telling her.

  And Martha, who had her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare, was inspecting a warship that had just docked.

  It took Polly a moment to realise that one of their team was missing: Gloria. Then another moment to recall that she had told them yesterday she would be in late.

  ‘Yeh! Here she is! At long bloody last!’ Dorothy shouted out, having spotted her workmate walking towards them.

  ‘Hurry up! We’ve got loads of goss to tell you!’

  It wasn’t until Polly was near that they all realised there was something very wrong. They had spent the best part of ten hours a day, six – sometimes seven – days a week with each other for the past twenty-three months. They had got to know just about everything there was to know about one another, but most of all, they could read each other as well as if they’d been friends their entire lives.

  And this morning they all knew instantly that Polly was not herself.

  ‘Oh my goodness, Polly.’ Rosie strode over to her workmate. ‘What’s happened?’

  Dorothy, Angie and Martha formed a semicircle around Polly, their eyes filled with genuine concern.

  Polly looked at their worried faces but didn’t speak.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ Martha took Polly’s arm and pulled her forward, manoeuvring her over to a stack of wooden pallets.

  Polly allowed herself to be guided to the makeshift seating.

  Dorothy told Angie to get Polly a cup of tea, before sitting down next to her.

  ‘What’s happened, Pol?’ Dorothy asked.

  ‘Is it Tommy?’ Rosie asked tentatively, as Angie handed Polly a tin cup of steaming hot tea.

  Polly nodded.

  ‘Wot’s happened to him?’ It was Angie, who had never met Tommy, having joined Rosie’s squad later than the rest. She still felt that she knew him, though, having had endless discussions with Dorothy, the two of them agreeing that the romance between their workmate and the shipyard’s dock diver beat all the made-up love stories they’d ever seen acted out on the silver screen.

  Rosie bobbed down on her haunches so that she was looking straight at Polly.

  ‘Have you had a telegram?’

  Polly shook her head.

  ‘That’s good.’ Martha stared down at Polly as her large frame cast a shadow across the women, shielding them from the sun’s early morning rays.

  Rosie looked up at Martha and then back at Polly.

  ‘That’s good, eh? No telegram?’

  Again Polly nodded. Slowly.

  ‘No telegram,’ she said, her voice shaky. ‘But a letter. From his commander.’

  The women didn’t move, so intent were t
hey on hearing what Polly had to say.

  ‘He said,’ she continued, ‘that Tommy’s “missing”. Might be a prisoner of war … Might be …’ Polly’s voice trailed off.

  The women were quiet. They were all thinking the same.

  Might be dead.

  ‘Did the letter say anything else?’ Rosie gently coaxed.

  ‘Not really. Just that they sent their sympathies … and that they were going to send his things back to me.’

  There was a morbid silence.

  ‘Drink yer tea,’ Angie cajoled. ‘Do yer want a biscuit? Martha’s got some of her mam’s home-made ginger nuts.’

  Polly shook her head, but took a slurp of tea.

  Rosie looked at the clock on the side of the admin offices and saw they only had a few minutes to go before the klaxon sounded out and then there would be no chance of hearing themselves think, never mind talk.

  ‘Do you want to go for a cuppa in the canteen?’

  ‘No.’ Polly shook her head. ‘I just want to work.’

  Rosie looked at Polly’s ashen face and wondered if it was a good idea.

  Reading her thoughts, Polly looked around at the women.

  ‘I’m all right, honestly. I just want to get on and work. I need to do something.’

  ‘All right,’ Rosie said, ‘but if you feel funny, or light-headed, you must say. Promise?’

  ‘I promise,’ Polly agreed, handing Angie’s tin teacup back to her and getting off the wooden pallets.

  As she did so the horn blared.

  Rosie looked at Martha and cocked her head over to Polly, now collecting her helmet and welding rods from the nearby shed they used to store their equipment. Martha nodded her understanding and went over to Polly.

  Rosie, Dorothy and Angie followed Martha and Polly up the metal gangplank and onto the main deck. One of the ship’s gun mountings needed welding.

  The three women looked at Polly and Martha and then back at each other.

  Even if they could have been heard, there was no need to put into words what they were thinking and feeling.

  By the time Agnes and Arthur arrived at the main gates of Thompson’s it had gone half eight.

  It had been many years since Agnes had ventured over to North Sands. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been here. There had never been the need, until now.

  As Agnes started to walk through the main entrance, determined to find her daughter, to make sure she had, in fact, gone straight to work, she heard a voice from above calling out to her.

  ‘Madam! Madam! Sorry, but you can’t just go in there!’

  As Agnes was looking around to see where the voice came from, she felt Arthur’s bony hand on her arm.

  ‘Yer need a pass, Agnes,’ he explained. ‘Let’s ask the young lad here,’ he pointed up to Alfie in the timekeeper’s cabin, ‘and see if Polly’s clocked on today.’

  As they walked towards the cabin, Agnes felt over-whelmed by the intensity of sound – the constant clashing and clanging of metal. She could almost feel the thudding in her head. How on earth Polly stood this day in, day out, she had no idea. Her hatred for the yards and for her daughter’s working there seemed to be gaining momentum by the second.

  If Polly hadn’t got a job here, then she would never have met Tommy, and if she hadn’t met Tommy, she wouldn’t now be looking at a lifetime of heartache – for there was no doubt in Agnes’s mind that Tommy would not be coming back.

  ‘Young laddie!’ Arthur put his hands around his mouth and shouted up to the cabin window, but there was no one there.

  A few seconds later he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  It was Alfie.

  He looked at Arthur and then Agnes.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he shouted.

  Agnes and Arthur nodded energetically.

  ‘Do yer know if Polly Elliot has clocked on this mornin’?’ Agnes asked.

  Alfie put his hand to his ear. He hadn’t caught a word.

  ‘Polly Elliot!’ Arthur stepped nearer to the young lad and shouted in his ear.

  Alfie’s face immediately lit up and he nodded.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, looking across the yard. Turning to the old man and the middle-aged woman, he pointed to a metal grey warship that was docked by the quayside.

  ‘There!’ he shouted. ‘There she is!’

  Agnes and Arthur squinted into the sun. It took them both a moment to adjust their vision and focus on the ship’s top deck before they could see five overall-clad figures working closely together. It was clearly the women welders and they recognised Polly instantly by the red headscarf she’d had since starting work at the yard. She was next to Martha and they were both on the top of what looked like a huge gun mount. Martha was easily recognisable by her size and her short hair that meant she had no need of a turban. Both women were hunched over a flickering live weld that Agnes thought looked like a small, sparkling waterfall. It was almost pretty.

  ‘She’s all right. Or as all right as she can be.’ Agnes nudged Arthur. ‘Come on. Let’s go home. She won’t want us fussing about her. Not with everyone about, gawking.’

  Arthur shook the young lad’s hand and mouthed ‘Thank you’ before guiding Agnes back down the embankment and onto the waiting ferry, now relatively empty after the rush of the early-morning shift.

  As the ferry churned water and they made their way back across to the south side, Agnes kept her eyes on Thompson’s. She could no longer see the women, but she could see the warship they were working on.

  ‘I wish I’d never let her start work there,’ Agnes said. ‘I should have put me foot down. If her da had been about he’d never have let her.’

  Arthur looked at Agnes. She rarely mentioned her husband.

  ‘I dinnit think wild horses would have stopped her working here,’ Arthur said. ‘Even if your Harry had still been here. Yer’ve got yerself a very headstrong daughter there, Agnes Elliot.’ Arthur smiled at the woman who had shown him nothing but kindness since first meeting him. ‘Takes after her ma.’

  They were silent for a few moments, looking out at the river life, and listening to the rhythmic lapping of the greeny-grey water against the hull. Neither of them said anything, but, having seen Polly hard at work and surrounded by her workmates, they were both more than aware that this was now her life, whether Agnes liked it or not.

  As they neared the docks, Agnes turned to Arthur.

  ‘This is just the start, isn’t it?’ Agnes said.

  ‘Aye, it is,’ Arthur agreed sadly.

  ‘It’s going to change her,’ Agnes said.

  Arthur’s voice was low. ‘Aye, it will.’

  Chapter Four

  As soon as the blare of the klaxon sounded out dead on midday, Rosie pushed up her metal mask and looked at Martha and Polly, who were doing the same.

  ‘Come on,’ she shouted to Dorothy and Angie, who had been doing flat welds on the platform on which the huge cannon-sized guns had been mounted.

  ‘Let’s have our lunch on the bridge today, there’s some shade there.’ Rosie wiped sweat off her brow. They’d all been working like troopers this morning. Polly had shaken her head when she’d suggested a mid-morning break and, in a show of solidarity, Martha, Dorothy and Angie had also declined and soldiered on.

  ‘How you feeling?’ Rosie asked, as they all rummaged around in their bags, unwrapped sandwiches and poured tea from their flasks.

  Polly tried to force a smile.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said, but she sounded and looked anything but.

  There was a moment’s quiet. An uncertainty as to what to say.

  Martha leant forward. For once she wasn’t tucking into her sandwiches as though she had been starved for a week.

  ‘There’s still hope, you know.’ Her eyes were focused on Polly. ‘He might not be dead.’

  All the women stared at Martha, shocked at her bluntness.

  ‘I know … I know,’ Polly agreed, but her tone and the undisguised
sorrow pouring from her eyes betrayed her true feelings.

  An unnatural quietness fell on the squad, and the absence of the usual incessant chatter and verbal jousting created a void that was filled with a great communal sadness.

  The silence was broken a few minutes later by the sound of Gloria’s arrival.

  ‘Cooeee!’

  They all turned automatically at the sound of their workmate’s excited voice and watched as she hurried across the gangplank and onto the main deck. She was waving what looked like an official document in the air with unreserved glee.

  ‘I’m free!’ she shouted out as she strode towards them.

  ‘Free as a bird!’ She let loose a guttural laugh.

  ‘Free of that bastard!’

  As she ducked under one of the machine guns, she declared:

  ‘I am now officially – and unashamedly – a divorcee!’

  But as soon as she was near enough to clock the faces of her workmates, she dropped her arm and slowed her pace.

  ‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’ she asked, the sing-song voice now gone, her tone laced with panic. She saw Rosie, Martha, Dorothy and Angie turn their gaze to Polly.

  ‘What’s happened?’ This time the question was directed at Polly. ‘Is it Tommy?’

  Polly nodded and Gloria immediately strode over to her friend, wrapped her arms around her and held her close.

  ‘He’s been declared missing.’ Polly’s voice was shaky. ‘They don’t know if he’s dead or alive, or a prisoner of war.’

  Gloria hugged Polly hard.

  ‘Oh, my poor girl. I’m so sorry. So sorry.’

  And then the dam burst and tears erupted from Polly, her body heaving with great sobs.

  For a good while the women watched sadly, with tears in their own eyes, as Polly sobbed her heart out into the folds of Gloria’s overalls. Her juddering body held tightly by the strong arms of the squad’s mother hen. The tight embrace not easing but holding her fast, showing her that she was supported. They would not let her fall.

  And when there were no more tears, Polly let her head rest on Gloria’s chest, closed her eyes and let the sun fall on her face.