by Nancy Revell
Nancy Revell
* * *
CHRISTMAS WITH THE SHIPYARD GIRLS
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Epilogue
About the Author
Nancy Revell is the author of the Shipyard Girls series, which is set in the north-east of England during World War Two.
She is a former journalist who worked for all the national newspapers, providing them with hard-hitting news stories and in-depth features. Nancy also wrote amazing and inspirational true life stories for just about every woman’s magazine in the country.
When she first started writing the Shipyard Girls series, Nancy relocated back to her hometown of Sunderland, Tyne and Wear, along with her husband, Paul, and their English bull mastiff, Rosie. They now live just a short walk away from the beautiful award-winning beaches of Roker and Seaburn, within a mile of where the books are set.
The subject is particularly close to Nancy’s heart as she comes from a long line of shipbuilders, who were well known in the area.
Also available by Nancy Revell
The Shipyard Girls
Shipyard Girls at War
Secrets of the Shipyard Girls
Shipyard Girls in Love
Victory for the Shipyard Girls
Courage of the Shipyard Girls
To Cassandra Di Bello, the best editor an author could wish for.
Why YOU love Nancy Revell
‘How wonderful to read about everyday women, young, middle-aged, married or single all coming to work in a man’s world. The pride and courage they all showed in taking over from the men who had gone to war. A debt of gratitude is very much owed’
‘It’s a gripping, heart breaking and poignant storyline. I couldn’t put it down and yet didn’t want it to end.’
‘I felt I was there in those streets I know so well. This series of books just get better and better; a fantastic group of girls who could be any one of us if we were alive in the war. Could only give 5 STARS but worth many more.’
‘What a brilliant read – the story is so good it keeps you wanting more … I fell in love with the girls; their stories, laughter, tears and so much more’
‘I absolutely loved this book. I come from Sunderland and knew every street, cafe, road and dock’
‘This is a book that lets the reader know the way our ancestors behaved during the two world wars. With strength, honour and downright bravery … I for one salute them all and give thanks to the author Nancy Revell, for letting us as readers know mostly as it was’
‘Marvellous read, couldn’t put down. Exciting, heart rendering, hope it will not be long before another one. Nancy Revell is an excellent author’
‘Oh my word, the Shipyard Girls series is truly amazing. Each book grips you and you come to the end immediately looking for the next in the series’
‘I have now read all of the Shipyard Girls books – I was absolutely enthralled. I laughed, cried and rejoiced with each and every character’
‘Each book, at some point, has had me lying wide-eyed in my bed wondering, and caring, questioning what’s going to happen next? Thank you Nancy, as if I could be any more proud of my hometown’
‘I love these books. The courage of all the girls at such a horrendous time is unbelievable. Bring on the next instalment!’
What the reviewers are saying…
‘Well-drawn, believable characters combined with a storyline to keep you turning the page’
Woman
‘The author is one to watch’
Sun
‘A riveting read is just what this is in more ways than one’
Northern Echo
‘Researched within an inch of its life; the novel is enjoyably entertaining. A perfect way to spend hours, wrapped up in the characters’ lives’
Frost
‘We’re huge fans of Nancy’s Shipyard Girls saga, and this is as emotional and gripping as the rest’
Take a Break
‘Stirring and heartfelt storytelling’
Peterborough Evening Telegraph
‘Emotional and gripping’
My Weekly
‘A truly heart-warming saga of the women of the shipyard. Would definitely recommend if you love your wartime sagas!’
Stardust Book Reviews
‘My series of the year! I have read all the books within the series this year and they just keep getting better and better. A superb saga series 5*’
Anne Bonny Book Blog
‘Nancy Revell has created a fantastic saga that could literally have fallen from the TV. As a reader you feel like you are right there watching all the action take place’
Chellsandbooks
Acknowledgements
A huge thank you to Suzanne Brown, Soroptimist International Sunderland, Lowri Bond, Project Manager at Igloo Regeneration, Kevin Johnson, Principal Landscape Architect at Sunderland City Council and Artist Rosanne Robertson, for all your determination and enthusiasm to make the commemoration to the real shipyard women a reality.
To the Sunderland Antiquarian Society, especially Linda King, Norm Kirtlan and Philip Curtis, for their help with research and for the use of the wonderful photograph on the cover of Christmas with the Shipyard Girls.
To Ian Mole for setting up The Official Shipyard Girls To
ur, Kathleen Tuddenham for her help with research, Margaret Morgan for her transcription of taped interviews of women’s experiences on the Homefront during WW2.
Thank you also to all the lovely staff at Fulwell Post Office, in particular postmaster John Wilson and Liz Skelton, Waterstones in Sunderland, researcher Meg Hartford, Jackie Caffrey, of Nostalgic Memories of Sunderland in Writing, Beverley Ann Hopper, of The Book Lovers, journalist Katy Wheeler at the Sunderland Echo, Stephen McCabe and all the team at Sun FM, and Lisa Shaw and her fantastic producer Jane Downs at BBC Newcastle.
Thank you ‘Team Nancy’ at Arrow, publishing director Emily Griffin, editor Cassandra Di Bello, my wonderful literary agent Diana Beaumont, and TV agent Leah Middleton, for all your ongoing hard work, experience and expertise.
And, of course, to my mum Audrey, dad Syd, hubby Paul, and my ‘little’ girl, Rosie.
Thank you all.
‘And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.’
1 Corinthians 13:13
Prologue
Gibraltar
21 June 1942
Tommy looked up at the darkening sky. Its palette of yellow and orange mixed with an array of blues reminded him of the huge oil paintings that Arthur had taken him to see as a child in the town’s museum. His grandda had told him that a person could learn a lot about the world simply by looking at these depictions of days gone by, but all Tommy had wanted to do was run out of the musty-smelling exhibition room and look up at the real skies and stare out at the real sea.
‘Here you are.’ A woman’s soft voice drew his eyes away from the oil-painted sky. ‘Let’s get this around you.’
Tommy looked at the pretty face of the nurse as she bent over his stretcher and tucked a blanket tightly around his body. She nearly lost her balance a few times as the lifeboat bobbed about in the choppy waters.
‘Help’s on its way,’ she reassured. Tommy felt her palm on his forehead. Her hands were icy cold, cooling his own hot brow.
‘You’re cold,’ Tommy mumbled.
The nurse smiled but didn’t say anything. Tommy looked at her familiar white pinafore emblazoned with the distinctive emblem of the Red Cross and he suddenly realised that he didn’t know her name. Hers was the only face he had seen during his spells of consciousness. He’d heard the living and the dying since he’d been hauled on board the hospital ship, but hers was the only face he’d seen, or at least remembered.
Turning his head to the side, Tommy looked out at the Atlantic Ocean, which was now covered in a layer of black oil from the ship’s fractured fuel tank. He could just make out the ship itself, its white flank slowly disappearing beneath the surface.
‘Here! Over here!’
Tommy felt the lifeboat sway as two dark figures got to their feet and started shouting and waving their hands. He craned his neck.
‘See, I told you.’ The nurse put her cold hand on his forehead again before easing a thermometer into his mouth. ‘They’ve come to get us.’ Tommy heard the Yorkshire Dales in her accent.
There was lots of movement, shouts, cries of jubilation as a ship’s grey bow ploughed towards them, a sense of euphoria spreading through the packed lifeboat as salvation approached.
Tommy watched as the nurse took the thermometer out of his mouth and looked at it. Her face was sombre.
‘And not a moment too soon,’ she muttered, grabbing the side of the boat, unsteadied by the swell created by the approach of their rescuers.
‘Come on.’ She put her arm around Tommy’s shoulders and helped him to sit up. ‘I want you to be one of the first off.’
Tommy’s body was shaking but he didn’t feel at all cold.
‘Listen!’ a man’s voice next to him suddenly shouted out.
The excitement died down.
And that’s when they all heard it – an ominous drone above them.
Looking up, they saw a lone bomber thudding its way across the sky. Its target was obvious. There were no ships within sight other than the one coming to their rescue.
‘Please, God, no!’
Tommy saw panic and alarm on the young nurse’s face as she made the sign of the cross.
Turning his vision back to the sky’s oil-painted canvas, he could just about make out the bomber’s metal underbelly releasing its innards and the outline of three giant-sized bullets as they careered through the air, see-sawing awkwardly before smashing into the sea. Three white mountains of frothing, angry seawater erupted one after the other, causing Tommy’s world to suddenly turn upside down. Air was replaced by water. The burning heat that had been consuming his body for weeks now, extinguished in an instant.
A familiar quietness followed. It was the sound of silence that Tommy knew well. An instinctive feeling of relief surged through him – he was where he belonged.
His body had stopped shaking and his arms and legs felt strong and fluid as they stretched out and swam back up to the surface.
Breathing in air, he looked around and saw the upturned lifeboat. Two men had managed to climb on top and were trying to pull someone out of the water. His vision blurred as another angry wave washed over him.
Blinking, he caught sight of the nurse. She was gasping for air. Tommy could see her arms were trying to keep her afloat, but her clothes, like deadweights, were dragging her under.
Tommy started swimming, punching through the surface of the sea to get to her. She disappeared under the water again, then re-emerged, coughing and gulping for air.
He had to get to her.
He powered through the water. His arms pulled his body forward while his legs kicked furiously.
He was nearly there.
Just a few more strokes and he’d be able to grab her.
Another wave pushed him back, but only for a second.
Coming up for air, he scanned the surface of the turbulent waters but he couldn’t see her. He swung his head around, frantically treading water, but she was nowhere.
Taking a huge gulp of air, Tommy upended his body, diving underneath the waves and back into the quiet, watery underworld.
Through stinging, blurred eyes he spotted her.
You can’t have her! his whole being screamed as though the sea was his foe.
Swimming, pulling water back with every ounce of energy he possessed, Tommy desperately tried to reach her.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him. Tommy saw the look of desperation as she reached out to him with splayed hands.
No!
He saw her mouth open and knew what she was about to do.
Don’t breathe!
But it was too late.
Her mouth formed an oval shape, her body jerked just once before a mass of bubbles started streaming around her young, pretty face.
She was gasping silently, sucking in water instead of air, then her body began convulsing.
Please, God! No!
Tommy strained every muscle as he tried to grab her. Frantically, his arms dug deep into the darkening waters, dragging himself down after her.
But then the writhing stopped and her body became still.
Tommy saw the red cross on her white uniform fluttering like a flag in a gentle breeze.
Still he tried to reach her, but her body was now sinking. Tommy swam deeper, snatching at water, refusing to give up.
Suddenly the nurse’s head tilted upwards – her brown hair swirling about her face like Medusa – her eyes dead.
It was too late.
Life had left her.
And then Tommy’s own world went black.
When Tommy was hauled into the wooden lifeboat, spewing seawater and retching death from his lungs, he looked at his rescuers but the only face he could see was that of the nurse.
This would be the case for many weeks; whether in a sweat-soaked semi-consciousness or in a deep, medicated slumber, the Red Cross nurse stayed with him.
As the ship he was on rocked its way across the Atlantic, so did his mind similar
ly crash back and forth.
Like the pull of a strong current, he would often find himself sucked back to memories of his former life, encased in his diver’s suit and twelve-bolt helmet, immersed in the murky waters of the River Wear.
Occasionally, as though elevated by strong winds and high waves, his mind’s eye would surge upwards, escaping reality and catapulting itself into a future devoid of warmongering and death. It was then he would see a vision of Polly’s smiling face, and he would imagine their life together. He clung to that image, but it was never long before it began to fade and in its place, like an image in a photographer’s developing tray, the grey, lifeless face of the Red Cross nurse would slowly emerge.
The weeks spent crossing the Atlantic passed in a vague, dream-like haze. Tommy heard snatches of conversations. Always about either love or war. Always in a constant cloud of cigarette smoke.
He heard medics coming and going, soldiers near him either vomiting with seasickness or crying out in a delirium of agony. Occasionally someone was carried out on a stretcher and did not return.
As the ship crossed the seas, the stench of death seemed to grow increasingly odorous and might well have ended up suffocating them all had they not reached their homeland when they did.
Then the undulating wash of the Atlantic was replaced by the jarring feel of the army first-aid truck on terra firma.
On the second day of October, Tommy was stretchered out of the makeshift ambulance and into a building he guessed, by the smell of antiseptic and the blur of white coats, was a hospital.
‘Have we a next of kin for this one?’
As he was wheeled along a narrow, windowless corridor, Tommy heard the polished tones of an educated man.
