The War Girls

by Rosie James

  Now she and Emily were away from Coopers, away from everything they’d ever known and just then, as if to welcome them to their new lives, bells from the church nearby began to ring out, welcoming worshippers to the Sunday morning services.

  The strident clanging certainly encouraged Emily to wake up, and she jumped out of bed and went over to stand by Abigail. ‘What are we going to do today, Mummy?’ she asked. ‘Are we going to see Janet?’

  Abigail shook her head. ‘Not today, Emily – because we need to really look around Bristol and find out where everything is. But we will go to the café soon,’ she added.

  ‘And see Eileen and Carrie?’ Emily said eagerly. ‘Will they be there?’

  ‘Oh, maybe,’ Abigail said. ‘But first of all, after we’ve had our breakfast, we will just wander around and get our bearings.’ She hugged Emily to her. ‘We are going to be in Bristol for a long time, so we must try and remember the names of streets, and how to get around – and where all the buses go.’

  Emily’s face lit up. ‘I’ve never been on a bus,’ she said.

  ‘Nor me,’ Abigail said cheerfully. ‘This is going to be fun, Emily.’ She paused. ‘And that bed was comfy last night, wasn’t it? We were like two bugs in a rug!’

  There was no sound in the house as they crept along to the bathroom. After getting dressed, they went downstairs to the kitchen which was deserted. It was eight o’clock so Miss Grant would already have had her breakfast, Abigail thought, as she shook some cornflakes into their bowls and fetched milk and sugar from the pantry. After they’d cleared up, they were going out into the sunshine, into Queen Square where she had seen those people sunbathing yesterday afternoon. In fact, they might as well take a few sandwiches and biscuits and some orange squash with them and have a picnic there on the green. Emily would love that.

  Abigail glanced down at her daughter who was scooping up the last of her cornflakes. ‘You look lovely in your new dress, Emily. What a good job we could buy one which had a pocket for dolly.’

  Emily nodded. ‘I promised her we would,’ she said. ‘Do you think Aunt has collected the eggs yet, Mummy? And given the chickens their breakfast?’

  Abigail shrugged briefly. ‘Probably,’ she said, ‘but Aunt Edna has others to help her do everything now, so she doesn’t need us, and we don’t need her, do we?’

  ‘No – but the chickens might need me, because they did love me,’ Emily said. ‘They used to run up calling and clucking as soon as they saw me coming.’

  ‘Never mind those chickens,’ Abigail said firmly. ‘Now, help me make our picnic. We are going out for the day!’

  The following morning, the first thing Abigail knew she must do was to change her sovereigns. Not that she would change all of them – perhaps ten to start with. The ready money she’d brought with her seemed to be going a bit too quickly, and the thought that she might be faced with a bill she couldn’t pay filled Abigail with horror.

  It proved to be quite a long walk to the General Post Office, but the building was easy enough to find, and when they emerged – with Abigail feeling like a millionaire as she clutched her purse now comfortably full of notes and coins – she gave a sigh of relief. This was going to keep them going until she found a job, and until then she needed no instructions in how to be thrifty.

  For the next few days it seemed to Abigail that she and Emily were here on holiday enjoying themselves instead of trying to establish a foothold on the city. Part of this was thanks to Miss Grant who directed them to the children’s play parks nearby where there were swings and seesaws. She also told them that you could stroll along beside the river at Bristol Bridge and watch the little boats. And she also gave them the number of the bus that would take them to Clifton Downs. The landlady much preferred it when her tenants were out of the house for the day.

  ‘Lovely place for a picnic, the Downs,’ Miss Grant had declared. ‘There’ll be crowds of other people up there, and if you walk along and look over the wall you can see right over to the Suspension Bridge.’ She’d paused for a second before adding smugly, ‘I don’t suppose you’ll have ever heard of the Clifton Suspension Bridge?’

  ‘Of course I have, Miss Grant,’ Abigail had replied at once. ‘It was designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, who was famous for many other buildings, too, including Temple Meads Railway Station.’ Abigail remembered all those history lessons she’d loved, drinking in every detail. Her education, though not extensive, had been sound and well taught, and she would always be grateful for that.

  Miss Grant had looked quite disappointed that she’d not been able to impress this newcomer up from the country. The landlady had eyed Abigail suspiciously for a moment. This Mrs Wilson was a strange one, you couldn’t make her out really. And why wasn’t her husband with her?

  So, as far as Abigail was concerned, July was turning out to be a month of interest and relaxation as she enjoyed watching Emily having time out to play with one or two other children in the parks, or throwing bread into the river for the ducks. And once, they’d gone to the Central Library where Emily had soon become engrossed in the children’s section where there were hundreds of books for her to look at.

  The time had gone so quickly that despite Emily’s entreaties that they go to see Janet and Eileen and Carrie, they had only visited Robertson’s twice, and the first time, as it happened, neither Janet, nor Eileen and Carrie, had been there at the time.

  The second time, the following Wednesday afternoon, the place had been packed as Abigail and Emily looked in at the door. But Janet had spotted them and had hurried across at once.

  ‘Hello!’ she’d said. ‘We’ve missed you! And tell me quickly – are you living at number fourteen? Was it a nice place? Eileen, Carrie and I have been thinking about you – and worrying about you!’

  Abigail had nodded. ‘Yes, we took the room,’ she’d said, ‘and it’s perfectly adequate – but we’re not allowed any visitors, or I would invite you all over to come and see it.’

  Emily – who hadn’t said a word – had spoken up. ‘Can I come and help Pat and Fay now, please? We can stay, can’t we, Mummy?’ she’d added eagerly.

  Abigail had shaken her head regretfully. She’d only come in to buy an ice cream for Emily. ‘No we can’t, Emily, because we need to get a few supplies from Dawson’s and he closes early today.’

  Janet had given Emily a quick hug. ‘Never mind, Emily – you come whenever Mummy says you can –because I can always do with your help. And I’ve found a little apron all ready for you!’ Then Janet had smiled apologetically at Abigail. ‘I’ll have to fly, it’s always frantic on Wednesdays. But just you wait until I tell Eileen and Carrie that I’ve seen you and that you accepted number fourteen! They will be so relieved when they know where you are – but I’ll warn them that they’re not allowed inside the door!’

  After they’d had breakfast the following Monday, Abigail and Emily left number fourteen, preparing to go into town. As usual, they’d seen nothing of Miss Grant who seldom put in an appearance until later in the day – unless she could find something to complain about. Last week it had been that she’d been certain she’d had three eggs left on her shelf, but that now there were only two. Had Mrs Wilson taken one by mistake? (Afterwards the landlady did admit she’d forgotten she’d used one to make a Yorkshire pudding.) And one of the major things that seemed to rattle her was when the mat in the hall by the front door wasn’t left neat and exactly straight, but at an angle. ‘It makes the place look so untidy,’ Miss Grant would declare.

  Now, as they walked along, Abigail’s eyes clouded briefly. After having found them a roof over their heads – obviously the most vital thing of all – her next hurdle was to find work … And she didn’t really know how to start. As Aunt Edna had said – what did Abigail have to offer, with no experience outside Coopers?

  Even so, Abigail thought, the new amount of money she now had in her purse would soon dwindle if it wasn’t replaced.

  Then her eyes so
ftened as she thought of Dada – her lovely, gentle dada – who’d made sure that she was going to be safe, at least for the time being, in a savage world where money was so essential. And Abigail knew that he would have loved his little granddaughter as much as he’d loved her, his beloved daughter.

  With Emily now in charge of the pushchair, they went into the Centre and began to walk up Park Street. As they passed Baker Baker, Abigail stopped to gaze in at the window thoughtfully. The assistant who had served them recently had been so pleasant and helpful, but she’d also mentioned that they were short-staffed at the moment. Did Abigail dare?

  She glanced down at Emily. ‘Come on, I need to go in here again for a moment.’ Emily interrupted.

  ‘Are we going to buy another dress for us, Mummy? And more shoes?’

  ‘No, not today,’ Abigail replied, pushing open the heavy door and leading Emily inside. Almost at once an assistant – not the same one as before – came over.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the woman said pleasantly, and Abigail smiled hopefully.

  ‘Yes – I would like to speak to the manager, please,’ she said.

  ‘Well, you have come at just the right time,’ the woman said, ‘because I am duty manager today. Now, how can I be of assistance?’

  Abigail swallowed. ‘Well, the thing is, my name is Mrs Wilson, and my daughter and I are new to the city having recently moved up from the country, and we came to your shop recently and bought a few things, and—’

  ‘Yes,’ the woman said, ‘I recognise the pushchair and the pretty dress!’ She paused. ‘Was there a problem with any of your purchases?’

  ‘Oh no, not at all,’ Abigail said at once. ‘Everything suited us perfectly, but … what I am really looking for is a job.’

  ‘A job?’ the woman repeated. ‘Um – what sort of job?’

  ‘Well, to help in any way I could, and to serve the customers,’ Abigail said. ‘I thought it would be lovely to work here, and the assistant who dealt with us mentioned that you were short-staffed.’

  ‘Have you had any experience in the retail trade, Mrs Wilson?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. But I’m quick to learn new things,’ Abigail said, ‘and Emily would be no trouble.’

  The manager glanced down at Emily who was standing quietly by her pushchair. ‘Oh, are you saying that you would expect to bring the little girl with you to work each day?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Abigail said, ‘I’m afraid I have no option, because we know nobody here with whom I could leave her – and besides, I wouldn’t want her to be without me all day. Not yet. She is far too young.’

  The manager smiled kindly. ‘I think you have hit the nail on the head, Mrs Wilson,’ she said, ‘but I’m afraid it would be totally impossible for me to take anyone on who is in your position.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry, but I think you are going to have great difficulty finding any employment under your particular circumstances.’

  Abigail stepped back, automatically taking Emily’s hand in hers, and turning to leave. ‘Oh well, never mind. I shall have to go on looking.’

  The manager went forward to open the door for them. ‘What I might suggest is that you visit the Labour Exchange across the road over there, Mrs Wilson. They will tell you of any vacancies they have on their books, and you never know, there might be something they could offer you.’

  Abigail had never heard of the Labour Exchange, but it wasn’t difficult to work out what the words meant.

  ‘Thank you, anyway,’ she murmured as they left, and the manager nodded.

  ‘Good luck,’ she said.

  As they made their way slowly across the road to the Council House, Abigail couldn’t help feeling dejected. Although she hadn’t imagined she’d find a job straightaway, she had not expected such a flat refusal – together with a warning that finding work was not going to be easy if you had a small child in tow.

  She bit her lip, hard. So Edna had been right all along. What had she said Emily would be? A millstone around the neck?

  Emily had chosen to sit in the pushchair, and Abigail leaned down to gently caress that precious head of hair. Her little daughter could never be described as anything other than a gift from God, a treasure – whatever Aunt had said, and however many more times she, Abigail Wilson, was going to be shown the door by a prospective employer.

  The Labour Exchange turned out to be a small room on the ground floor of the building. There were three chairs for people to sit and wait, and three booths allowing some privacy for hopeful employees to be interviewed. All the booths were occupied, the candidates speaking quietly to someone sitting on the opposite side of the desk.

  Abigail and Emily sat down in the waiting area, and Emily looked up. ‘What is this place, Mummy?’ she whispered. ‘What have we come here for?’

  ‘To see if they have a job for me, Emily,’ Abigail whispered back. ‘I’ve told you that I must find work, haven’t I, so that we have enough money to pay for whatever we need.’

  Emily nodded slowly. She’d picked up something of what had been said at Baker Baker, but hadn’t fully understood it. ‘Will you get a job here?’ she said softly.

  ‘Maybe,’ Abigail replied, smiling. ‘But don’t worry. I will make sure we’re going to be all right.’

  They had to wait for half an hour before being called over, and, taking Emily’s hand, Abigail went across to sit at the empty booth, lifting Emily onto her lap. The man facing her was not young, but he had a kind face.

  ‘Now then, who have we here, where do you live, and what are you looking for today?’ he said.

  Trying to be as precise as he was, Abigail gave him the details he’d asked for. ‘So you see, I am hoping to find something – well, anything, really – which would allow me to take my daughter with me.’

  The man sat back, shaking his head slowly. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘that is going to be very difficult, I’m afraid, because casual work – which I assume is what you want – would not be suitable with a very young child involved.’ He glanced down at his lists. ‘There is something here, but I imagine that cleaning schools and offices in the early hours of the morning, or later in the evening, would be hard for you – and of course you’d have to find your way there on your own.’ He sighed. ‘And the money is not very good,’ he added.

  Abigail looked away for a moment. She’d imagined that a big city would have plenty of opportunities for someone willing to work. But she had to admit that what he’d suggested just wouldn’t be suitable.

  ‘So – there’s nothing else that you could suggest?’ she said.

  He sat back. ‘Yes, there is, my dear young lady,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you think about applying for the little one to attend a nursery school? She would be looked after all day, and you would know that she’d be perfectly safe there.’

  Abigail’s first instinct was to turn the suggestion down straightaway, but it seemed only polite to show a little interest. ‘Would you, um, give me a few details?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Now then, there is a very good nursery school in Milk Street. A bit of a walk from here – but it’s very well run. And it is a council-run school, so would cost nothing.’

  ‘I see, and how many children attend?’

  ‘Oh, I think that altogether there are about forty youngsters there, separated in three classes,’ the man said, ‘aged between two and five years old.’ He glanced at Emily. ‘How old is the little one?’

  By now, Emily had picked all this up, and she immediately spoke. ‘I will be three next birthday,’ she said. She turned to Abigail. ‘Won’t I, Mummy?’

  ‘Just right, then,’ the man said. He glanced at Abigail. ‘Some of the children are eighteen months old or so, and little more than babies of course, but they’ll be accepted as long as they can walk, and are not in nappies.’

  Abigail frowned briefly. Tiny babies, going to school?

  The man warmed to his subject. ‘Now, when they arrive each day, they are given a light breakfast, and at mid-morning the
y have a mug of milk and a rusk. A very good, hot dinner is provided – freshly cooked on the premises – after which they are expected to lie down for a little rest. The canvas beds are quite comfortable,’ he added. ‘Then, just before their mothers come to fetch them at three-thirty, they are given a mug of orange juice.’ He paused. ‘And of course, during the day the older ones receive a basic education as well.’

  Listening to all this made Abigail feel uneasy. This was never what she’d intended for Emily – who, although advanced for her years – was still too young to be holding her own with a crowd of strange children in a city she was only just beginning to know. And the oldest ones, the five-year-olds, would have already learned how to demonstrate their superiority – about which Abigail herself knew only too well.

  The man turned to Emily. ‘So – do you think you would like to go to this nice school?’ he enquired. ‘I know that you would have your own peg to hang your coat on, and your own apron to put on at dinner time when you wait in line for your meal to be given you … and of course there are lots of other children there as well. I believe the playground can be quite a noisy place which means everyone is having fun, doesn’t it?’

  Emily considered this for a moment. ‘Mummy will be there as well, won’t she?’

  The man chuckled. ‘Oh no, my dear, mummies are not allowed to stay! Mummy’s got to go to work, hasn’t she, but she will take you to school first, and then hand you over to your teacher who will show you where to sit and what you must do.’

  In the silence that followed, the man glanced over at his waiting area where all the chairs were now occupied. ‘So,’ he said, ‘do you think you would like to go to this school?’

  ‘No,’ Emily said. ‘No thank you.’

  The man looked quite disappointed. He thought he’d given that nursery school a very good recommendation and he knew it was well thought of. He glanced at Abigail.