by Ellie Dean
Gladys was the same age, but scrawny and hard-bitten. She rarely smiled, for she thought the world was against her – which it probably was, because she never stopped complaining about the raw deal life had handed her. However, both women were stalwart union members, and Gladys had taken on the role of mouthpiece and troublemaker at the slightest provocation, and Peggy knew Solly was very wary of the power she wielded. The last thing they needed now was a strike.
Peggy kept smiling and nodding as she made her way to the delivery bay where a huge lorry was being unloaded by the storemen. Buckling under the weight of the vast bales of pinstripe cloth and grey flannel, the men hoisted them onto heavy-duty trolleys.
Solly was issuing orders and warning the men not to drop the bales on the dirty floor or scuff them against the rough walls as they wheeled them away, whilst his niece, Loretta, checked that each bale had a delivery ticket, before putting a cross beside the corresponding order number on her list.
‘Ah, Peggy, my dear,’ said Solly. ‘Just in time. Help Loretta with that delivery list whilst I go and make sure they’ve stowed the cloth correctly.’ He didn’t wait for a reply but went bustling off to chivvy the men who already knew very well how to stow cloth properly and wouldn’t appreciate his interference.
Loretta smiled at Peggy, her dark eyes soft with affection as well as amusement. ‘Uncle Solly has been like a cat on hot bricks ever since he got the contract,’ she said. ‘Thank goodness the cloth has arrived at last so we can get on.’
She quickly explained the list as another bale was unloaded. ‘We’ll check each bale more closely once we’ve got it into the storage bay, but for now we feel the quality and check the width against this list and tick each one off as it comes in.’
She handed over two of the four sheets of inventory, a pencil and a spare clipboard. ‘We can work on this together. Just shout out the number if you don’t have it on your list, and I’ll make sure it’s on mine and tick it off.’
‘And what if it isn’t on either list?’
‘Then it has to be stored over there,’ said Loretta, pointing to a far corner just as another bale was unloaded.
The flannel for the trousers was grey, and the pinstripe woollen cloth for the three-piece suits came in grey or charcoal. It took over an hour for it all to be unloaded and put away. The inventory matched the delivery, so Loretta got the driver to sign them off before he drove away.
‘Now we’ll give Uncle Solly a hand in checking that the quality is the same right through the bales,’ said Loretta. ‘I’m sure it is as it’s been paid for by the government, but you can never entirely trust the suppliers,’ she warned. ‘They try to get away with cutting corners and slipping in inferior cloth to make a bigger profit. It happens all the time – especially as supplies are at such a premium at the moment.’
The morning fled past as each bale was duly checked and found to be correct. Solly disappeared back into his office, and the storemen heaved a sigh of relief and went off for a fag break and cup of well-earned tea.
‘Time for a cuppa in my office,’ said Loretta, leading the way to a small room off the canteen, and ordering a pot of tea along the way. She shot Peggy a wry smile. ‘Just think, Peggy, this will all be yours soon.’
Peggy giggled nervously as she took in the filing cabinets, the cluttered desk and two utility chairs. ‘I’ve never had an office before,’ she said. There was a telephone and intercom on the desk, a trade calendar on the wall depicting machinists hard at work, and a sickly looking spider plant on the window ledge. The poor thing needed some water, but as she didn’t want to be seen as interfering, she decided to deal with that when Loretta was busy elsewhere.
Loretta’s diamond engagement ring flashed fire as she smoothed back strands of her dark hair which had come loose during the delivery inspection and tucked them back into the neatly coiled victory rolls on either side of her head. ‘It’s not much, I grant you, but with the door closed, it gives me a bit of peace to get on with the paperwork, and when the weather’s better, this window opens to let the fresh air in.’
She noticed the spider plant and poured some water into the pot from a carafe that sat on the desk. ‘I keep forgetting this poor thing,’ she sighed. ‘I really should take it home, but it’ll probably get ignored there too.’
‘I’ll look after it,’ said Peggy, itching to pick off the dead bits, repot it and add a bit of Ron’s compost to what looked like very poor soil.
The tea arrived along with a plate of digestive biscuits and Loretta became businesslike. ‘We’ll go through the questionnaire I’m giving out to the machinists and cutters whilst we drink this. I wanted to see if you can spot anything I’ve forgotten.’
They settled down to go through the list of questions and discuss the rest of Peggy’s duties – which included becoming mother hen to those who were struggling for some reason; watching out for theft; stepping in at the first sign of bullying or infringement of the strict factory rules; and dealing with complaints, incompetence or idling.
It was a bit daunting, for it was on a much bigger and more diverse scale than she was used to, but having run a boarding house and brought up a large family, she felt fairly confident she could manage. It would be a case of feeling her way at first, and seeing the women she’d worked with from a different perspective. She had few illusions about being regarded as management and therefore no longer one of the workers, but she didn’t really mind. She knew the ones she could rely upon, those who might distance themselves, and some who would try to push the boundaries with a newcomer.
‘I’ve already told the workforce you’ll be taking over from me when I leave next month,’ said Loretta once the questionnaire had been discussed and, after a few minor adjustments, approved and sent upstairs to have copies made. ‘I can’t see that it will cause any problems, but then you never know with people like Gladys and Winnie sticking their oar in.’
‘They were giving me the evil eye this morning,’ said Peggy, ‘so I won’t be at all surprised if they feel they have something to say about it.’
Loretta cocked her head, her gaze thoughtful. ‘But you can handle them, right?’
Peggy stubbed out her cigarette and finished the last of her tea. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said firmly. ‘I have long experience of dealing with Winnie and Gladys, and I’ve a suggestion to make that – if you agree to it – will definitely take the wind out of their sails.’
Loretta grinned. ‘I’m all ears.’
Peggy told her the idea that had come to her the night before, and the younger woman chuckled. ‘A stroke of genius,’ she said. ‘Uncle Solly will definitely approve, and I’ll do the same with two of the more troublesome ones on the night shift. He was right to promote you, Peggy. You’ll do very well.’
Madge came in with a stack of copied questionnaires and Peggy gathered them up, still warm from the mimeograph. ‘I’ll take these round so I can get a sense of how the land lies and perhaps allay any fears they may have. They’ll have seen the delivery and will know something’s up.’
‘Uncle Solly has already informed the night shift about the new orders, and as gossip spreads like wildfire in this place, most of them in there will already know. But he’s planning to make another short speech during lunch break. Go ahead and pass those out – it doesn’t hurt to give the personal touch, and you’re good at that.’
Peggy started at the line of machines where she’d so recently worked. Handing out the pieces of paper she explained what they were for, and how necessary it was they filled them in before the end of their shift, for it would give Solly some idea of the numbers that would continue to work for him even when the war ended.
There were some guarded congratulations on her promotion as well as more genuine smiles and good luck wishes. And as Peggy went up and down the lines, she could see that Gladys and Winnie were watching her like a couple of hawks, waiting to unsheathe their talons.
She deliberately left them until last, and finally approache
d their work area. ‘Here we are,’ she said pleasantly. ‘You need to fill these in as best you can so we know if we can rely on you to continue working for us while we fulfil this latest contract.’
Winnie folded her meaty arms beneath her large bosom and sat back from her machine. ‘How come you got the job, then? Me and Glad have been here for years, and never got a sniff of promotion.’
‘Yeah,’ snapped Gladys sourly. ‘It ain’t right. You’ve only been here for five minutes.’ Her expression became sly. ‘But then I seen you cosying up to Solly the other day – all friendly and intimate like. You and him got something going? Is that why you got the job?’
‘No, Gladys, it isn’t,’ Peggy said firmly. ‘And I don’t like what you’re implying.’
‘I got a right to be suspicious when I seen what I seen,’ she replied belligerently.
‘Indeed you have every right to think what you like, but it wouldn’t be wise to cast aspersions – not if you want to keep in with Solly – or more importantly, Rachel.’
Gladys’s mouth shut like a trap, for if Rachel got wind of her remarks, she’d be out on her ear quicker than she could blink.
‘Oh, yes?’ snapped Winnie. ‘Are you threatening Gladys?’
‘Not at all,’ said Peggy calmly, all too aware that they were now the centre of attention. ‘I’m just advising Gladys that it would be wise to keep her thoughts to herself in the light of your new positions on the factory floor.’
Both women’s eyes narrowed. ‘What new position?’ demanded Winnie with deep suspicion.
‘You’re to be promoted to senior machinists who will be in charge of the new intake, and those still on probation. There would be a pay rise of an extra ten bob a week each, starting today.’ She looked at the stunned women. ‘What do you say? Are you both up for it?’
‘Well, I …’ Winnie was clearly lost for words.
Peggy looked at Gladys who shrugged as if she wasn’t that bothered. Then, with bad grace, she said, ‘Yeah, why not?’
Winnie unfolded her arms and gave a nod. ‘I could certainly do with the money,’ she muttered. ‘But I’m not doing extra hours, I’m telling you straight.’
‘You won’t have to,’ Peggy assured her. ‘Thank you for agreeing to do it. Solly regards you as the best and most experienced machinists, and will be very happy to know you’re willing to do your bit for the war effort.’
Realising she was laying it on a bit thick, she plucked two questionnaires from the stack in her arms and handed them over. ‘I’ll catch up with you in the lunch break to explain your duties, but if you could fill in those, I’d be grateful.’
She turned away to sweep a stern gaze across the women sitting idle and earwigging at their machines, and within seconds work was in full flow again. She’d got over the first major hurdle, but she was sure there would be many more in the coming weeks – especially once Mavis put in an appearance.
6
India
The air was full of beautiful birdsong, and Jim could hear the scamper and chatter of the monkeys as they ran across the roof gathering the fruit that had fallen from the mango trees growing behind the hospital. It was the first day of November and barely past sunrise, but the heat was already rising, and by noon it would be unbearable – the sun glaring from a molten sky until every living thing was silenced and stilled into torpor.
Jim had spent almost three months in the military hospital – most of it dead to the world under heavy sedation – but it felt as if he’d been here for half a lifetime. Now he was at last on the mend, he was becoming bored and restless; eager to be with his regiment again even though it meant leaving this peaceful, orderly haven for the chaos and noise of battle.
He stood naked to the waist at the basin in the large communal shower room and ran the razor over the dark stubble on his chin. When he’d first recovered enough to get out of bed, his legs had been so weak he could barely walk, let alone stand for any length of time, and he’d had to rely on the nurses and a walking stick to help him get about the place. It had come as a terrible shock to see himself in the bathroom mirror that first time, for the fever had ravaged him and he hadn’t recognised the gaunt old man staring back at him with sunken eyes in a drawn face, his skin the colour and texture of old newspaper, the bones of his skull visible beneath it.
Now, as he looked in the mirror, the sight wasn’t quite so shocking, and he was almost back to the old Jim despite the glints of silver in his black hair and the cobwebs of fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He’d filled out and could no longer count his ribs, although the muscles he’d been so proud of still needed a good bit more work, and the scars on his back were inclined to itch.
He finished shaving and washed his face before easing off the light bandaging to check on the progress of those scars. The main one ran in a thin arc from beneath his armpit and over his ribs to his hip bone; the lesser one branching off at an angle towards the base of his spine. They were still a little red, the scars left by the stiches like punctuation marks on either side, but they looked impressive enough to show off to the girls when he finally got back home, and prove to his father that he too could have an operation to retrieve the shrapnel that still bothered him.
Yet Jim doubted Ron would heed his advice, for he was a stubborn old devil and seemed attached to that shrapnel for some strange reason. He replaced the dressing, dropped the towel from around his waist and pulled on pants, a singlet and shorts – the customary attire for all the patients in this heat. The surgeon had told him that not all the shrapnel could be removed at the field hospital due to the infection he’d picked up whilst waiting to be airlifted out. It had therefore been necessary to perform the second operation on his arrival here. He’d had a lucky escape, that was for certain, and if he hadn’t been poleaxed by that damned septic fever and kidney infection, he’d have been out of here weeks ago.
His mellow mood dimmed as he thought of Ernie, whose luck had run out through Jim’s carelessness and gung-ho belief that nothing could touch them after they’d survived those torturous weeks of the Japanese barrage. The shrapnel had severed Ernie’s spinal cord, and the poor wee man would spend what was left of his life in a wheelchair. The knowledge that Ernie didn’t blame him, and his wife had written to thank him for saving him that day, simply made him feel all the more guilty.
He shoved his bare feet into the rubber sandals that everyone wore – apart from the nurses – and headed back into the ward where the nurses were attending to those who were still bedridden. The injuries were many and varied in severity, and he knew from his time here that not all of them would survive.
It was a depressing thought, and as he walked through the French doors that opened onto the veranda he wanted nothing more than to fall into a dreamless sleep – something that had been denied him ever since he’d been taken off the heavy medication. Yet he knew that if he slept the nightmares would come, and he’d be haunted by the sounds, smells and horrors of that flooded battlefield in which so many of his comrades now lay buried. Asleep or awake, the images came anyway, and he’d yet to discover how to blot them out. Perhaps once he was discharged and fully occupied with something useful again, he’d find respite.
Jim greeted the other injured men who were lounging in rattan chairs beneath the ceiling fans, playing cards, reading or listening to the wireless. There were others playing croquet on the lawn with rather more enthusiasm than skill, whilst Indian servants chased away the thieving monkeys, and the orderlies tended the potted plants and hanging baskets which swung gently in the draught of the spinning fans.
The orderlies were mostly late middle-aged Italian POWs who’d been captured in Africa and brought to India for the duration to assist the overworked nursing staff in the many military hospitals that had sprung up since the start of the Burma campaign. Despite the fact that Italy had changed sides the previous year and declared war on Germany, they were now stuck here, but they seemed happy enough to carry on their duties, and Jim susp
ected they were relieved not to have been roped into the British Army to rejoin the fighting.
He headed for his favourite chair, which was placed at the end of the veranda beneath a fan and in the shade of a vast palm tree.
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ said Staff Nurse Fitzpatrick in her broad Australian accent as she bustled up to him with purpose before he could put his behind on the chair. ‘You’re supposed to be at the parade ground for your morning exercises.’
Jim gave her his most appealing smile. ‘Do I have to?’
The plump little nurse looked up at him, her grey eyes warm with humour. ‘There’s not much wrong with you, Jim Reilly, that a good dose of exercise wouldn’t cure.’
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he admired her deliciously rounded figure. ‘I can think of better ways of getting exercise than running round a track with an army PT instructor bellowing at me.’
She shook her head, the twinkle in her eyes still present. ‘I’m sure you can, but if I had a quid for every time that’s been suggested to me, I’d be rich and living the high life in Sydney. Now move that skinny backside and get out from under my feet.’
‘You’re a hard woman, Sarah,’ he sighed. ‘What’s a man got to do to get any sympathy around here?’
She chuckled. ‘You’ve had all the sympathy you need, so don’t try and pull a fast one. Get to the parade ground.’ With that, she turned on her heel and sashayed off, the starched apron crackling as her well-rounded hips moved delightfully beneath the thin cotton dress.
Every man on the veranda watched her appreciatively until she went out of sight, and then returned with some lethargy to what they’d been doing before. It was incredibly hot, even in the shade, and the fans were making little headway in lowering the temperature.
Jim drank a cup of tea and then reluctantly went to fetch his plimsolls and a towel before heading for the parade ground which fronted the nearby army barracks. He’d have preferred to stay on the veranda than go through the torture of these morning exercises, but at least he was capable of doing something physical, which was more than could be said for most of the other men in the hospital, and he knew that once he’d begun the seemingly endless round of running, jumping and press-ups, he’d feel a lot more positive.
