Triumph of the Shipyard Girls Page 9
It was on the tip of Helen’s tongue to ask Rosie about her husband, who she knew had been a detective with the Borough Police, but she didn’t. Their new-found friendship didn’t extend that far.
‘I better go,’ Rosie said. ‘Talking of classes, I’ve got one to go to now.’
Helen looked puzzled.
‘Don’t ask,’ Rosie said.
‘Right, who’s got what papers?’ Polly was sitting at the head of the women’s table in the canteen. They’d all had their lunch and cleared it away.
‘Are yer gonna tell us what we all have to dee?’ Angie said, getting out her copy of the Daily Telegraph.
‘Blimey, Ange. Where did you get that from?’ Dorothy gave a gasp of disbelief as her friend smoothed out the newspaper on the table. ‘No, let me guess.’ She looked around at the rest of her squad, who were all pulling newspapers out of their haversacks. ‘I’ll bet Quentin gave it to you?’
‘He might have done,’ Angie said. ‘Then again I could have bought it from the newsagent.’
‘Mmm, I don’t think so – someone has scrawled “7A” on the top corner.’ Dorothy pointed a finger at the evidence. ‘Which I do believe is the number of Quentin’s flat.’
Angie looked around the table before explaining defensively, ‘I was telling Quentin about Polly’s idea of bringing in newspapers so we can “keep abreast of the news”, ’n he said what a brilliant idea that was, especially with everyone having someone they loved away at war.’
The women were listening intently. Angie’s burgeoning friendship with Quentin fascinated them all. It proved that opposites did indeed attract, even if Angie totally denied that there was any kind of attraction there.
‘Do you want to start then?’ Polly said, putting her copy of the Daily Mirror on the table.
‘Yer dinnit think I’ve read it, do yer?’ Angie’s face showed her disbelief. ‘Look at it! It’s huge. And look at the writing – it’s tiny.’
‘The print,’ Dorothy corrected.
‘Well, I can’t tell whether it’s print or writing, can I, it’s that small!’
The women all laughed.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ Rosie dumped her haversack on the ground and got out her sandwiches. ‘Have I missed much?’
‘Angie’s brought the Daily Telegraph,’ Martha said.
‘Really?’ Rosie took a bite of her lunch.
‘But she’s not read it because the “writing’s” too small,’ Dorothy said, rolling her eyes.
‘What have you brought, Hannah?’ Rosie asked, looking across at a newspaper she didn’t recognise.
‘The Jewish News,’ Hannah said. She was sitting up straight, ready for what she was calling their ‘current affairs class’. ‘It’s a “weekly review of Jewish events”.’ Hannah read the small headline under the paper’s emboldened title. ‘Aunty Rina gets it from the rabbi.’
‘Cooee!’ The women all looked up to see Marie-Anne approaching with Bel in tow.
‘Sorry, miss, we’re not late, are we?’ She was waving a copy of the Sunderland Echo about. Bel was clutching a copy of the Daily Mail that Joe had pilfered off the Major.
‘No, we’ve not exactly started yet,’ Polly said.
‘Just so I’ve got this right,’ Gloria said. ‘We’ve all got to bring a newspaper into work every day, so we know exactly what’s happening in the world?’
‘And in Great Britain,’ Bel chipped in.
‘And Sunderland,’ Marie-Anne added, again waving the morning’s edition of the Echo.
‘That’s about the sum of it,’ Polly said.
‘Glor, where’s yours?’ Dorothy demanded.
‘I thought I’d share Angie’s paper. It looks big enough for two.’ Gloria looked to Angie, who was sitting next to her.
‘Definitely,’ Angie said, pushing the newspaper towards her. ‘We can share.’
Gloria gave Angie a wink, then looked down at the newspaper, making a show of squinting hard.
‘I think I need glasses.’
‘So, to summarise today’s news,’ Dorothy said. She had, of course, taken on the role of head teacher during the lunchtime class. Polly, despite being the one to organise it, had been demoted to deputy.
‘The call-up for women,’ Dorothy said, ‘has been lowered to nineteen for single women with no dependents. And there is now a total ban on civilians travelling to the Isle of Wight.’
Angie let out a bark of laughter. ‘As if anyone would want to gan there anyway.’
‘Actually, it’s meant to be really nice,’ Marie-Anne chirped up. ‘My nan used to live in Portsmouth and apparently they’ve got lovely beaches – and the weather’s loads warmer.’
‘That can’t be hard,’ Gloria huffed.
Everyone murmured their agreement. December’s snow had been replaced by a New Year of rain, rain and more rain. On top of which it was bitterly cold. Rosie had promised that she was going to try and get them working on the inside of the new ship once they’d patched up the frigate that had been brought in.
‘And elsewhere in the world?’ Dorothy asked.
Martha put her hand up.
‘Yes, Martha.’
‘The Soviets are going all out to get back Stalingrad. And in my opinion, they’re going to succeed.’
‘Well, let’s hope so,’ Rosie said, standing up and looking at the canteen clock. It was a few minutes before the end of the lunch break. ‘Come on then, back to work we go.’
Everyone groaned and dragged themselves to their feet.
The canteen windows were rattling with the force of the wind and the rain. The women welders buttoned up their overalls and made sure their turbans were on tight. Bel and Marie-Anne used their newspapers as makeshift umbrellas and made a dash across the yard to the administration building. Hannah carefully folded the Jewish News in half and put it inside her jacket before hurrying back to the drawing office.
‘Hopefully another air-raid-free night,’ Gloria said to Rosie as they left the warmth of the canteen.
‘Fingers crossed it keeps on like this,’ Rosie said.
The town was having a respite from Hitler’s bombs. There had been a few air raid warnings, but no more attacks since the Tatham Street bombing three months ago. Not that a day went by when the women didn’t think of that night, or what might have been.
When the air raid sirens sounded out at eight that evening, Rosie silently cursed herself. If Angie had heard Gloria and her talking earlier on, she’d blame them, saying they’d jinxed it. Rosie put down her pen and closed her ledger. This was the first time she hadn’t been with Charlotte when the sirens sounded out.
‘Come on, ma chère.’ Lily appeared in the doorway. ‘George reckons this one’s going to be real. He’s been looking into that crystal ball of his.’ Lily was fanning herself. She had apparently run out of her Chinese medicine and her hot and cold flushes had come back with a vengeance, as had her rather erratic mood swings.
Hearing that George thought this one was for real worried Rosie, for she knew he was privy to information not normally broadcast to the general public. She walked out of her office. Two of the girls were wrapping silk dressing gowns around themselves as they hurried down the wide staircase. Their ‘dates’ for the evening were on the landing, wearing white vests and pulling on their trousers.
Rosie looked at Lily herding everyone down to the cellar, telling them to be careful on the stone steps and to help themselves to a drink once they were down there to calm their nerves.
Rosie thought of Charlie.
She’d be grabbing her siren suit and getting herself settled in the Jenkins’ shelter …
Wouldn’t she?
‘Charlotte! Where are you going?’ Mrs Jenkins was standing at her front door, trying her hardest to make herself heard over the blasted sirens.
‘I’m going to Lily’s,’ Charlotte shouted back. She was already on the gravel pathway, her gas mask slung over her shoulder.
Mrs Jenkins opened her mouth to obj
ect, but Charlotte had already turned her back and had started to run towards the gate at the end of their street. Within minutes she was crossing over the main road and jogging up Tunstall Vale. She reckoned she could make it to Lily’s in under five minutes. It was only about half a mile away, and although it was mainly uphill, she was good at athletics; when she’d last been timed for the 800 metres, she’d done it in under four minutes.
Once she was halfway up the hill she had begun to slow down. Her legs were tiring, but she still felt invigorated. Her adrenaline was pumping. This was the first time she’d been out in an air raid on her own. She felt free. More than anything, though, she was excited. So very excited. She was going to see inside Lily’s. See the big chandelier, the polished parquet flooring and the sweeping staircase. She was going to fulfil her New Year’s resolution.
She looked ahead.
It was dark but she could see the turning to West Lawn.
She was nearly there.
Lily wouldn’t mind her turning up. It’s not as if she’d be working. Not during an air raid. Then, afterwards, they could all have a cup of tea, or better still, a hot chocolate, and Lily could show her around the house.
She’d see it with her own eyes.
She turned the corner.
Only a few hundred yards more and she’d be there.
Suddenly she slammed into something.
Another person.
‘Charlie!’
Charlotte stood and stared at her sister.
She saw the look on her face.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Rosie was shouting not only because she was angry, but also because she had to if she wanted to be heard over the wailing of the sirens.
‘I … I thought I’d come and see you,’ Charlotte shouted back. Her heart had turned over, seeing how furious her sister was.
Rosie grabbed Charlotte’s shoulder and practically dragged her back around the corner.
‘Come on!’ Rosie bellowed as she started running back down Tunstall Vale.
Charlotte followed, desperately wanting to ask why they were going back home when it would have been quicker and safer simply to go to Lily’s.
But the mood Rosie was in, she knew better than to argue.
Having spent the last three-quarters of an hour with Mr and Mrs Jenkins in their Anderson shelter, Rosie and Charlotte were now back in their own kitchen.
‘Why on earth did you take it upon yourself to go to Lily’s?’ Rosie demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ Charlotte said. She had been dreading this. Knew Rosie wouldn’t play holy war with her in front of their neighbours, but would be storing it all up for when they were on their own.
‘There must have been a reason, Charlie?’ Rosie was trying her hardest not to have a complete fit at her sister. ‘Not only have I drummed it into your head that you are to go straight next door and get yourself safe as quickly as possible, but to go out – on your own – in the middle of a raid …’ Rosie gasped. ‘To be honest, words escape me … I really don’t know why you would do something so stupid – and so dangerous.’
Rosie could feel the anger rising again.
‘All I’ve ever wanted to do is keep you safe!’
Charlotte looked at her sister. She’d never seen her like this.
‘I’m sorry, Rosie,’ Charlotte said. She knew what she’d done was reckless. She’d just got it into her head that she had to see Lily’s and all other logic had flown out the window.
‘So, what on earth possessed you?’ Rosie could see her sister’s defences had dropped.
‘I wanted to see the inside of Lily’s.’ There, she’d said it.
‘You wanted to see Lily’s?’ Rosie repeated.
Charlotte nodded.
‘It wasn’t because you were frightened something might happen to me?’ The thought had gone through her head – Charlotte would be left totally alone. No mam, no dad, and no sister.
Charlotte shook her head.
‘So, this whole running about the streets in the middle of an air raid was really all about you wanting to see Lily’s?’
Another nod.
‘Why are you so desperate to see Lily’s house?’ Rosie asked.
‘I heard Dorothy and Angie talking about it on New Year’s Eve. When I was helping with the drinks.’
Rosie held her breath. Had Charlie heard anything else?
‘And?’ she asked.
‘And they were saying how incredible it was. The chandelier. Curtains. Some magnificent French mantelpiece …’
‘And that was all you heard them say?’
‘And that the floor was polished parquet,’ Charlotte added.
Rosie breathed a sigh of relief.
She knew her sister was telling the truth.
Chapter Fourteen
Thursday 14 January
The town had been hit, but not badly. Just a scratch here and there. A cluster of small fires in the south docks caused by incendiary bombs, but no real damage. And, mercifully, no lives lost.
Rosie was in her office, juggling the accounts and working out how much of Polly and Tommy’s wedding could be put through the books. She thought a good portion could be palmed off on the Gentlemen’s Club.
It was still early, but she was shattered. She felt well and truly wrung out, having hardly slept after her chat with Charlotte. Then all day at work she’d had to stop herself from having a go at Dorothy and Angie about letting their mouths run off with them. She’d said nothing, though. The cat was out of the bag and there was no shoving it back in.
‘Bonsoir, ma chère!’ Lily came bustling into the room, full of energy. ‘Oh, mon Dieu!’
She stopped dramatically in her tracks and stared at Rosie.
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t stand up, my dear, otherwise your face will trip you up. What’s the matter?’
‘I’ve got a problem,’ Rosie said.
‘Let me guess …’ Lily started walking over to Rosie’s desk.
Knowing what she was about to do, Rosie opened the top drawer, took out a packet of Gauloises and handed it to her.
‘Merci, ma chère. You know me too well.’ Taking the proffered packet, Lily pulled out a cigarette and lit it. ‘I would wager a bet that your problem is something beginning with C. A capital C.’ Lily blew out a plume of smoke.
Rosie sat back in her chair.
‘This is not a joke or some game, Lily.’
‘But I’m right, aren’t I?’ Lily took another deep drag. ‘Your problem is Charlotte. Now that you’ve got over the problems with that awful fascist school in Harrogate and Charlotte is happily ensconced at the High School, you’re back to your original concern – or should I say obsession – about this place.’ Lily gestured dramatically around the room. ‘About her finding out what happens within its four walls.’
Just then the door opened.
‘George, mon amour, entrez! Entrez!’
‘Are you two sure you want company? I’m not disturbing anything, am I?’ George looked at Rosie for confirmation.
‘No, George. Come in and sit down. I might get some sense out of you. I can see Lily is in one of her – how should I put it – happy moods.’
George grimaced. ‘I would agree with you there, my dear.’
‘Honestly.’ Lily scowled at George and then at Rosie. ‘You two can be such stick-in-the-muds.’ She waltzed over to the fireplace and tapped her cigarette ash into the fire.
‘Aren’t you hot, mon cher?’ Lily fanned herself and moved away from the fire. ‘Rosie was about to tell me about a little problem she has. And I guessed correctly that her problem was Charlotte and that now she’s settled here – where she should have been all along – Rosie’s back to square one with her anxiety over Charlotte finding out about this place.’
She sat down next to George on the chaise longue.
‘Well,’ Lily sighed theatrically, ‘I’m not going to waste my breath telling you what I think – as you know it already.’
Lily raised her eyebrows.
‘The problem I have,’ Rosie continued, ‘is her safety. This has been ongoing, to be honest, but it came to a head last night … When I left here to check Charlie was all right, I literally bumped into her as she rounded the corner into West Lawn.’
Lily looked at George.
Both were surprised.
‘But I thought she was meant to go to the Jenkins’ Anderson shelter whenever there was a raid,’ George said, getting up and pouring himself a brandy from the decanter on Rosie’s desk. ‘Regardless of whether or not you were at home.’
‘That’s exactly what I had drummed into her to do,’ Rosie said. ‘Only Charlie got it into her head that she had to see Lily’s – has had it firmly stuck in her head since New Year’s Eve, when she overheard Dorothy and Angie chatting about how absolutely wonderful this place is.’
‘Oh dear,’ George said. ‘Did she overhear anything else they might have been chatting about?’
‘Like the fact Peter’s friend thought Dorothy was one of my girls?’ Lily chuckled. She stopped when she saw Rosie’s face. ‘Ma chère, it was funny – even you have to admit it.’
‘No, thank goodness, Lily, she didn’t overhear anything else. Which is about the only good thing I can take from all of this.’
Lily patted George on the knee and pushed herself up from the chaise longue. Walking over to the mantelpiece, she warmed her hands in front of the open fire.
‘I thought you were hot?’ Rosie looked at Lily.
‘Hot one minute, cold the next.’
Lily turned her back to the fire.
‘Right, this is what I think,’ she declared.
Rosie looked at Lily.
Any port in a storm.
‘Go on.’
‘I think you should give Charlotte what she wants, but …’ Lily paused to stress her point ‘ … in such a way that you get what you want.’
Rosie looked at Lily and then at George, who looked equally perplexed.