Christmas with the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘Yer wanna be careful,’ Angie bellowed over. ‘It might just happen to you!’

  Dorothy tugged her friend away from further confrontation.

  In normal circumstances, the women would have all been cock-a-hoop. The launch of any ship was a cause for celebration. And today even more so, as not only had they beaten their deadline in getting Brutus into the water by a good few weeks, it also looked as though they were going to hit a new production record. The highest in thirty-six years.

  ‘Bloomin’ heck,’ Angie said, staring up at the main stage where Helen was standing with the mayor, Myers Wayman, as well as Mr Havelock, Miriam and half a dozen other local bigwigs and dignitaries for the traditional smashing of the champagne bottle.

  ‘Blimey,’ Dorothy said, ‘she certainly looks the part, doesn’t she?’

  Polly looked at Helen in her stunning navy-blue dress, but all she could think about was her own stunning ivory wedding dress.

  A dress that she should have been wearing tomorrow.

  A dress that was now for sale.

  The women tried to stay together as they were pushed from all sides and hundreds of workers crowded around the quayside to get a view.

  ‘Can you hear what they’re saying?’ Martha asked.

  They all shook their heads.

  Mr Havelock was speaking into a microphone, but his words were unintelligible.

  ‘I’m surprised Charlotte didn’t want to see the launch?’ Gloria asked Rosie.

  ‘Oh, believe you me, she did,’ Rosie said. ‘She pleaded. Begged. Even offered to clean the house from top to bottom.’

  Gloria laughed out loud. ‘I know what I would have said!’

  Rosie chuckled.

  ‘To be honest, I would probably have let her come, but the school’s red-hot on absenteeism. The head teacher made a point of telling me pupils have to have a very good excuse if they want even half a day off school. I didn’t think she’d be too impressed if Charlie wanted time off to watch a launch. Especially as she’s only just started at the school.’

  Rosie and Gloria looked down at the slipway as half a dozen shipwrights pulled away the blocks, and then up to see a mechanical arm of steel flinging a bottle of champagne against the bow.

  A huge roar sounded out around the yard.

  ‘There she goes!’ Gloria shouted out as Brutus slowly eased her girth down the ways, gaining momentum at a leisurely pace. She looked at Helen, the epitome of professionalism, talking to Mr Thompson. Jack would be so proud of his daughter if he could see her now.

  Polly watched as the waters of the Wear parted and Brutus ploughed her way into the river. White foam rose up, mirroring the effervescence of the exploding bottle of champagne.

  Polly did her maths.

  It was exactly two years and one week since they had watched their first launch. She recalled it so vividly, not because of how proud she’d felt, but because, just a few weeks previously, she had said a heart-rending goodbye to Tommy at the train station.

  Like now, she had watched the tugboats gently guide the newly launched ship along the river to the engine works.

  Back then, she had made a wish for Tommy’s safe return.

  How much had changed.

  Looking back, she realised how young and naïve she’d been. Now she felt older. Her heart more worn and battered.

  ‘What’re you thinking about?’ Rosie asked, breaking her reverie.

  Letting out a laugh that was wholly without mirth, Polly rolled her eyes.

  ‘Tommy,’ she said. ‘What else?’

  ‘How are you feeling about everything?’ Rosie asked tentatively, knowing that tomorrow must be playing heavily on Polly’s mind. As it was for them all.

  Polly avoided the question.

  ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she said instead.

  ‘With Peter?’ Rosie asked.

  Polly nodded.

  Rosie sighed a little sadly.

  ‘Ours is a very different relationship to yours,’ she tried to explain. ‘I don’t know if I’d feel like I do if I was in your shoes.’

  Polly looked at Rosie before focusing back on the afternoon’s main attraction.

  ‘Thank you,’ Polly said.

  ‘For what?’ Rosie asked, curious.

  ‘For not judging me,’ Polly said simply.

  She looked at Rosie.

  ‘I just don’t feel I know myself any more. Does that sound stupid?’

  Rosie shook her head, showing she understood.

  ‘I don’t understand how I can feel like this,’ Polly said. ‘I used to think I was a good person, but I’m not.’ She took a breath. ‘I actually think I’m an awful person.’

  A pause.

  ‘But knowing it doesn’t mean I’m able to switch back to the person I was.’

  Rosie could see tears beginning to pool in Polly’s eyes.

  ‘I feel like I’m the most unpatriotic person ever.’

  Rosie let out a short burst of laughter and put her arm around Polly.

  ‘How do you figure that one? Look what you just helped build.’ She nodded her head over to Brutus’s back end.

  ‘Because I should be waving Tommy off with my wholehearted blessing,’ Polly argued. ‘I should be bursting with pride that he is going off to war. Serving his country. Saving his country.’

  Polly exhaled.

  ‘I really wish I could, but I can’t … It’s like something inside of me won’t let me.’

  As Helen waited patiently for the start of the afternoon’s show, she thought of how well the whole yard had done to have completed Brutus a month ahead of schedule. The launch had originally been scheduled in the New Year – ironically the same time as her due date.

  Helen pushed the thought from her mind.

  Today was about her life now – not the life that could have been.

  She watched as the men prepared for the launch. Two more rows of blocks had been built on either side of the row that held the centre keel, like a wide pair of wooden railway tracks on which another pair of tracks called sliding ways had been rested. Thick yellow grease had been melted and poured between them. Helen’s eyes fell on the launching triggers placed at both ends of the tracks, ready to be released, allowing Brutus to start her maiden voyage.

  Her grandfather had started to speak. His voice was strong and confident, belying his advancing years and fragile physique.

  Down by the side of the slipway lay heavy coils of rusty chains, like an oversized pile of guts, ready to act as breaks to ensure Brutus didn’t hit the riverbank opposite.

  Listening to her grandfather’s speech and exclamation of ‘May God bless her and all who sail in her!’ Helen thought of the day when she would be the one to speak. The one to press the button that would smash the bottle. The one to launch the ship.

  She was determined that day would not be far off.

  Helen watched as Brutus moved slowly, majestically forward, before plunging into the water. The blocks of the sliding ways gathered around her wide hull, floating like debris.

  The ship had been born.

  The wooden blocks a sort of afterbirth.

  The tugs, like midwives, taking her away to the engineering works further down the river, where she would get her engine.

  And her first feed of oil.

  Helen felt a mix of pride and power. She had been at the helm, metaphorically speaking, when it came to building this ship.

  Her intention was to be there for many more.

  ‘Well done, Papa, dear.’

  Helen looked to see her mother, done up to the nines, ingratiating herself with her father. She must want something. Money probably.

  Helen felt the urge to slap her – and her grandfather for that matter.

  They were as bad as each other.

  She would never forgive them for the way they had behaved towards her when she had been expecting her child. Or for their undisguised glee when she’d had her miscarriage.

  Just as she wou
ld never forgive her mother for sending her father over the border and forbidding his return, so terrified was she of people finding out that her marriage was a sham.

  If it wasn’t for her mother, her father would be here now, revelling in her success.

  Looking again at her mother, Helen thought how outwardly she appeared to be the ideal of a doting daughter. A loving wife and mother. With her perfectly bobbed blonde hair, make-up, French-polished nails and olive-green dress, she was the envy of those who were not privy to the truth.

  I will never be like you, so help me God, Helen vowed to herself.

  Seeing Mr Thompson, Helen put out her hand and smiled graciously as the owner of J.L. Thompson & Sons took her gloved hand and expressed his gratitude for all her hard work.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Thompson.’ Helen spoke clearly and confidently. The cheering of the workers below had died down now that Brutus was being settled in her new, albeit temporary, home.

  ‘I was hoping to chat to you about the future,’ she said. She held his hand for a second longer than normal before releasing it.

  ‘My future, to be exact,’ she said.

  ‘Talk to my secretary,’ Mr Thompson said. ‘And set up a meeting.’

  Mr Thompson looked at Mr Havelock’s granddaughter. Jack Crawford’s daughter. She might well have her father’s looks, but it was clear she had her grandfather’s drive and ambition.

  ‘And congratulations,’ he added as he made to leave.

  Helen raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘It’s official,’ Mr Thompson said with a genuine smile. ‘The yard’s hit a new tonnage record.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news,’ Helen said, a wide smile spreading across her face.

  She watched as Mr Thompson made his way back down to the yard, shaking hands and saying the odd word here and there.

  She felt so excited she could burst.

  Her immediate thought was that she couldn’t wait to tell John, until she remembered they weren’t speaking.

  On the south side of the river, there was the usual large crowd of proud Sunderland folk who had braved the cold weather to see their town’s latest creation. Amongst the swell was Joe, Lucille perched on his shoulders. He rarely missed a launch, especially one from the shipyard where both his sister and his wife now worked.

  Agnes and Beryl were standing in front of him. They had brought Hope and were taking turns carrying her. They had both agreed it was important the little girl saw the fruits of her mam’s labour.

  Tommy and Arthur were positioned further along the south docks, just a few yards in front of their old home, the Diver’s House. It hurt Tommy to recall Polly’s enthusiasm about where they might live once they got married. He thought about tomorrow – what should have been their wedding day – and felt awash with sadness.

  Tommy knew it was pointless to scrutinise the hundreds of workers gathered on the north side in an effort to get a glimpse of Polly, but he did anyway.

  Arthur, meanwhile, was contemplating how this might well be his last launch and felt fortunate to be watching it with his grandson. He only wished that Tommy and Polly had patched up their differences. He had thought and thought about possible ways to persuade the pair to make up and enjoy the short time they had together, but he had drawn a blank.

  He had been hoping the women’s plan that Agnes had told him about might be a success, and that once the pair were in the same room as each other, they’d sort themselves out. But that had failed.

  And, of course, he’d asked Flo for her advice, but even she had not given him any clues.

  Chapter Fifty

  By the time the launch was all done and dusted, it was nearly half-past five. Spotting Hannah walking towards the main gates with Olly, Polly grabbed her haversack and gas mask, said a quick goodbye to the women and broke into a trot.

  ‘Hannah!’ she shouted out.

  Hannah and Olly both turned. Their movements synchronised.

  ‘Are you two off anywhere in particular?’ Polly asked as she reached them and came to an abrupt halt.

  Hannah shook her head.

  ‘No, why?’

  Polly sighed.

  ‘Ma says I should go and see your aunty Rina and Vera at the café. Thank them for their offer of making the wedding cake …’ Polly blinked back a sudden welling of tears that seemed to come from nowhere ‘ … and apologise for not going to see them personally when I called the wedding off.’

  ‘You don’t need to apologise. Aunty Rina and Vera were just sad when I told them.’ Hannah tried to sound sincere, but she was really telling a half-truth. Vera had been sad. Much as the old woman revelled in her reputation of being unsentimental, with a skin thicker than a rhinoceros, she had failed to hide her disappointment that Polly and Tommy had split up.

  Her aunt’s reaction to the news, on the other hand, had been a bit shocking. Normally Rina was a very empathetic woman. But on hearing the news, she’d bashed the tray down on the counter and given anyone who would listen a mini sermon on why humanity as a whole needed people like Tommy to do whatever they could to win this war.

  ‘Honestly, you don’t have to,’ Hannah said as they all handed over their boards to Alfie.

  ‘No, I do,’ Polly said. ‘Even if it’s just to appease my ma. She’ll give me an earbashing if I don’t.’

  ‘All right, then,’ Hannah said, throwing Olly a concerned look. ‘We’ll come with you.’

  Twenty minutes later, after a squashed ferry journey back over the river and an equally squashed walk back up to High Street East, they’d reached Vera’s.

  Walking into the café, they were hit immediately by warmth mixed with the comforting smell of freshly made bread.

  Looking over to the main counter at the far end of the tea shop, Polly could see the top halves of Rina and Vera, who were standing side by side behind the counter.

  Seeing Hannah, Olly and Polly, they both waved.

  Vera pointed over to a spare table by the window. Her face looked serious. Polly could have sworn she gave Rina a slightly apprehensive look.

  A few minutes later, Vera brought over a pot of tea and three cups and saucers on a tray, before hurrying over to the front door and changing the sign to ‘Closed’.

  She shuffled back again.

  ‘You all right, pet?’

  Polly was taken aback by Vera’s tone. It lacked its usual bite. She nodded and once again swallowed hard.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you for offering to make the cake.’ Polly couldn’t bring herself to use the word ‘wedding’. ‘And that I’m sorry I didn’t come and tell you myself. Personally.’

  ‘Yer ma sent yer round?’ Vera said.

  Polly nodded, a little shamefaced.

  ‘Dinnit worry, pet,’ Vera said. ‘Nothing’s spoilt.’ She unloaded the contents of the tray onto the table. Seeing Rina drying her hands on her pinny as she made her way over, Vera picked up the tray again.

  ‘Just shout if yer want owt to eat,’ she said, before turning to clear the table next to theirs, even though a couple were still sitting there.

  ‘Polly, this is a surprise,’ Rina said as she reached them. She smiled briefly at Hannah and Olly, before focusing back on Polly.

  ‘How are you, my dear?’ There was no trace of her Czechoslovakian roots. Her pronounciation was perfect BBC.

  Polly forced a smile.

  ‘I’m all right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I just wanted to apologise for not coming in person to tell you that the wedding was off.’ Another swallow. ‘And to thank you for the offer of baking the cake.’ There, she had said it. Hopefully she could drink her tea down relatively quickly, make her excuses and go.

  Go home and bury herself under her bedcover.

  Rina pulled a chair from the table that was just being vacated by the couple, who had taken Vera’s not so subtle hint that it was closing time. She sat down and looked at Polly. Seeing the despair on the young girl’s face softened her heart. She
looked terrible. She might be as pretty as a picture, but it went no way towards camouflaging the mental hell she was clearly languishing in.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘Honestly?’

  Polly looked at Rina. There was something about her demeanour that demanded a truthful answer.

  ‘Awful,’ Polly said.

  Rina looked at her.

  ‘I want to show you something,’ she said, getting up and going back to the other side of the counter. Her head disappeared for a moment. When she reappeared, she was carrying her handbag. She manoeuvred her way back to the table, sat down and plonked the bag onto her lap.

  Polly, Hannah, and Olly watched with interest as she flicked the clasp. Unzipping the inside pocket, she pulled out a worn and rather dirty piece of paper.

  She handed it to Polly.

  Everyone looked at the paper.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Polly saw Hannah sit back in her chair.

  ‘What is it?’ Polly asked.

  ‘That, my dear, is what is known as a Kindertransport number.’ Rina’s voice was sad.

  Polly looked at her, puzzled.

  ‘Kinder is the German word for “children”,’ Rina explained, glancing across at Hannah. ‘And transport is self-explanatory.’

  She paused.

  ‘It was Hannah’s number when she was sent over here.’

  Polly was listening intently. This was not what she had expected. Hannah had never talked much about the practicalities of how she had been brought here.

  ‘I won’t go into all the details as I know it still upsets my niece.’ Rina glanced quickly at Hannah. ‘But when my sister and brother-in-law made the decision to send their only child over to me – to this country – it was the hardest decision they had ever made. I know the pain they went through because I spoke to my sister at the time.’

  She looked across at Hannah again. Olly had taken hold of her hand.

  ‘Do you know why I carry this tatty and worn piece of paper with me wherever I go?’ Rina was working hard to keep the grief out of her voice.

  Polly shook her head.

  ‘I keep it as a reminder of what love is,’ she said, looking at Polly.

  ‘My sister and her husband loved Hannah so much that they let her go. They sent her away. To somewhere safe. Somewhere she stood a chance of living. My sister told me that she felt her heart had been ripped from her chest. It was as though she was missing a part of her very being when she sent Hannah away. But I told her that what she had done was the greatest act of love I had ever seen. She had sacrificed her own feelings and her own needs to ensure the safety of her child.’