Soul Searching

by Chrissie Loveday

  ‘In half an hour love. We get ten minutes. Just time to go for a pee and maybe get a cuppa.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispered, feeling the whole place seemed a bit like a schoolroom. It seemed that nobody spoke when they were working, something she was not used to. But, she realised, it was war time and perhaps they all had to change. The subjects of their typing meant little to any of them. It was quite boring and her mind wandered slightly. Suddenly the whole atmosphere changed and everyone seemed to be on the move. Most of them went over to the tea trolley that had arrived where a woman was busy pouring out cups of tea into thick cups. She was handing them out quickly and everyone drank it down gratefully. The woman from the next desk told her where the toilets were and she rushed along to join the queue. Then it was back to typing for another two hours before lunchtime.

  Ruth went to the canteen with some of the other girls and looked for her dad but he was nowhere to be seen. She got her food and sat down with others. There were lots of women with a yellowish look about them. She stared surreptitiously at them until one of the typists whispered that they were responsible for handling the munitions.

  ‘It makes them turn yellow. The company does give them something extra for makeup and I think they have extra stockings, too.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Very sad for them. Thank goodness I don’t work there. Isn’t it dangerous, too?’

  ‘I think everyone’s pretty careful. Mind you there are often bangs coming from somewhere. I usually hope it’s just them experimenting but nobody ever says anything.’

  Ruth listened to all the chatter and felt worried about her dad. He never spoke much about his work and she really hoped he wasn’t involved with the testing in any way. She planned to ask him when they went home. She wasn’t even sure what was meant by ‘testing’ but it didn’t sound good. A bell rang and everyone started to move. They had to stack their plates on stands by the wall and she followed the other girls before returning to the typing room.

  The morning’s work had been taken away and more pages left for them to type. It was obviously the daily routine as no one commented on it. Another two hours of work and they got another break. She drank the tea-flavoured water and went along to spend a penny.

  ‘You getting on all right?’ asked one of the girls. ‘My name’s Vera, by the way.’

  ‘I’m Ruth. Yes, thanks. I seem to be managing okay. I’m not sure if I’m being fast enough but hopefully it’s accurate at least.’

  ‘Shouldn’t worry. It’s only stuff for the files. The more important people who write letters have their own secretaries. Where were you before?’

  ‘Oh, a place in the Potteries.’

  ‘I s’pose they’ve closed down for the duration? Funny phrase that. I always wondered what a duration meant.’ Ruth smiled. It was nice to have a friend, or at least the makings of one. ‘Ah well, back to the grindstone.’ They went back into the typing pool and settled down again. It was a pleasant sort of rhythmic sound, the clatter of keys. She finished her pile of typing and got up to take it to the person in charge.

  ‘I’ve finished this lot. What do you want me to do next?’

  ‘Oh. Well, see if one of the others needs any help. I must say, you’ve been fairly quick. It all looks good though. Ask Mary there. She’s pretty slow.’ Ruth went along to the person indicated and the girl handed over a pile of work she hadn’t even started on. Ruth knew she wasn’t going to get it done in the time there was left.

  ‘I’ll do some of it,’ she murmured, ‘but there’s no way I can do it all.’ She caught Vera’s glance and realised she should never have said she’d finished. The others were all slowing down now and would only just finish when the bell went for the end of work.

  ‘That Mary’s terrible,’ Vera said on their way out. ‘She can’t cut it at all. I shouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t get the sack, except they rarely sack anyone from here. Probably move her onto the factory line. You know, shovelling the powder into shells.’

  ‘Oh heavens. Wouldn’t she turn yellow then?’

  ‘Possibly. But remember, you don’t volunteer to do any extra.’

  ‘Right. I’ll remember that.’

  ‘You’re obviously better at typing than lots of us.’

  ‘I did go on various courses at one time. Before I was married, of course.’

  ‘You’re married? You don’t look old enough.’

  ‘I’m twenty-two, well, nearly,’ she protested.

  ‘You look younger. So, where do you live?’

  ‘Wallbrook. I’m living with my parents. My husband was killed.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing. Mind you, how many of us haven’t got our husbands with us? I’m determined to make the best of it, though. My husband’s fighting abroad. I have no idea where he is.’

  They reached the main doors and Ruth looked around for her dad.

  ‘Oh, there he is. My dad, I mean. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a nice evening. Bye Vera.’

  ‘Bye Ruth. Same to you.’ She went off towards one of the buses and Ruth turned towards her dad.

  ‘How did it go, love?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine thanks. You had a good day?’

  ‘Not bad. Same as usual. Sorry I missed you at lunchtime. I was with our lot.’

  ‘I was with the typists so no worries.’

  ‘That’s okay then. I didn’t want you to be on your own in that massive place. Over here for our train. Come on, we don’t want to miss it.’

  *

  It felt companionable travelling home with her father. She had never spoken all that much to him – she was conscious of the age gap. She didn’t speak much about Charlie either, as she knew her dad didn’t share her views of him. She knew he missed his old friend, though in recent months they hadn’t seen all that much of each other. Since her parents had moved to Wallbrook, it was a bus journey away from their Potteries home.

  ‘Not much further now,’ he said after a while. Obviously he’d run out of conversation. There was a bus waiting to take them to Wallbrook. They turned into the estate and the bus dropped off the first lot of passengers. It then trundled on round a few corners and stopped at the end of their road. ‘Bye, Ted,’ her dad called out to one of his mates. He’d probably have preferred to sit with him, thought Ruth.

  ‘You don’t have to sit with me you know, Dad. I’d be fine for that journey.’

  ‘Dunno what you mean, love. I was very happy to sit by my daughter.’

  ‘Well, thanks. Wonder what Mum’s managed to find for our tea?’

  ‘I think she might have bought a beautiful big steak for us all. With chips and mushrooms and tomatoes. Okay. I’m dreaming. We’re lucky to get bread and dripping these bloody days.’

  Ruth grinned.

  ‘We’ll soon see.’

  ‘How did it go, love?’ asked Mabel as they walked into the house.

  ‘Fine thanks. No problems at all. I’m not sure what I was typing all day but the supervisor was pleased. I’ll go and take my shoes off now. My feet are killing me.’

  ‘Did you get a reasonable lunchtime meal?’ Mabel asked her husband.

  ‘Yer, not bad. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I queued all morning but by the time I got to the end, they had nowt left. Would you be happy with a sandwich? I’m sorry but I haven’t got anything else.’

  ‘Aye, make us a couple of sandwiches. I’m sure our Ruth won’t object. I might look at the paper, such as it is. Honest, they’ve made them so small these days, it’s hardly worth botherin’ about.’ He sat down near the fire and opened the paper. There was little in it to interest him and he closed his eyes. Soon he was fast asleep and sat there snoring away happily.

  This was to be the routine over the next few weeks. They came home from work, had some tea and then sat around for much of the evening. Sometimes Dan went to the local club and occasionally, very occasionally, Mabel accompanied him. They even tried to persuade Ruth to go to
o but she always said no. She was happy to stay in by herself and read or do crosswords but mostly to remember her beloved Paul. She only had one picture of him and would sit on her bed staring at it. She had none of the same thoughts about Charlie. She had found it difficult to stir herself to go to his funeral but had been persuaded that she really should go by her parents. But that was now all in the past. Over and done with. There was nothing left for her. If he was owed any money from his workplace, she didn’t know or even care. It was a period in her life she didn’t really want to think about.

  Ruth began to relax at work and got on well with several of the other typists. Vera seemed to be the life and soul of the department and one day invited Ruth to her home for tea.

  ‘Not that it’ll be owt special. We’ll be lucky to get bread and scrape. But it’ll be fun to spend some time together.’

  ‘Thanks a lot. I’d like that.’

  ‘Right. Tomorrow after work then. There is a service bus quite late so you won’t be stuck in our house.’

  ‘Okay then, thanks. I’ll tell Mum and Dad I won’t be home till late.’

  ‘You sound a bit cosy with them.’

  ‘Well, they’ve been good to me. We all get on fairly well I suppose. Don’t know where else I could stay.’

  ‘You could always move in with me. Till my husband comes back anyway.’

  ‘Well, thanks again. I think I’ll stay at home for now but watch out, I may take you up on that one of these days.’ She laughed as she spoke. They were good friends but somehow she didn’t think she could live in the same house with Vera. She wasn’t sure why she felt like that. Perhaps she was a bit too much like her sister, Veronica, in some ways.

  It was a fun evening at Vera’s home. She lived in a small terraced house in the next village to where they worked. She had invited a couple more of the girls to join them and had even managed to find a couple of bottles of beer to add to the festivities. Ruth wasn’t too keen on this but shared it anyway. She had also made a Woolton Pie to feed them on. Made of turnip, potatoes, carrots and various herbs, under a pastry crust, they all agreed it was quite delicious.

  ‘Well done, Vera. You could get a medal for cooking if that’s the sort of thing you can make.’

  ‘It’s easy when you know someone with an allotment. One of my neighbours grows loads of stuff. I just pop over and pick what I want.’

  ‘Really? That’s very generous of him, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, he doesn’t know. I usually wait till he’s tucked up in his bed. Poor old thing doesn’t even realise I’m doing it.’

  ‘That’s not very fair of you, is it?’ Ruth was horrified.

  ‘I usually make him summat as well. I don’t think he minds at all. He must be well over eighty. Well, seventy at least. Come on. Who’s for second helpings?’

  It was half past ten by the time Ruth arrived back at Wallbrook. Mabel was looking out for her and seemed annoyed.

  ‘Oh, you’re here at last,’ she said as Ruth came in. ‘Had a good time?’

  ‘Very good, thanks. Vera made a Woolton Pie. It was really nice. I’ll have to tell you how to make it. There were four of us there. All from the typing pool. A good evening.’

  ‘Good for you,’ said Mabel with heavy sarcasm. ‘I’ve sat here on my own all evening. Your father went off to the club and I stayed in, in case you came back early.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry. I did say I’d be quite late. You should have gone with him.’

  ‘Well I didn’t. Do you want anything to drink? It’ll only be the tea leaves saved from our supper. We’ve nearly run out of tea. I’ve taken to keeping the leaves in the pot and adding a few more when we want another cuppa.’

  ‘I think I’m ready for bed, actually. Thanks for waiting up for me. Night, night.’

  ‘Good night then. I’ll wait up for your dad. Don’t s’pose he’ll be much longer. So what was this Woolton Pie you talked about?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in the morning.’

  *

  The precedent was set in this way for the next couple of years. The war dragged on with all the problems of rationing, bad news from the Front and occasional victories. Ruth and her father worked at the ROF factory and the girl began to enjoy herself more and more. She liked having some money to spend; despite paying her board, she had some left over to go out with her friends or buy something new to wear. They went to pictures regularly and out for drinks on other nights. When soldiers came home on leave, they all had a good time together. When Vera’s husband came home, everything changed and Ruth didn’t see her at all, not even at work. Evidently, she managed to get time off when he was there. When his leave was over, she came back to work looking depressed and rather miserable.

  ‘It was wonderful having Fred home. Now he’s had to go back to his hell hole and I don’t even know if I’ll see him again. This bloody war. When will it end?’

  ‘At least you do know he’s still alive. My Paul was missing presumed dead for the past three years. I’ve had to cope without him for all that time.’

  ‘But you were married and lost your husband in the middle of all that,’ protested Vera.

  ‘You didn’t know Charlie. Sorry, but he was no real loss to me. Not like Paul.’

  ‘I know, love. But you have to get over him. You’re never going to see him again, you know. You’ve got to start living again.’

  ‘I know. But there aren’t that many blokes around to start with, are there?’ Vera laughed at her words.

  ‘No. I know there aren’t. But you must go out with some of them as are on leave. Go for it and enjoy thee sen.’

  ‘Aye, all reet,’ she said in the dialect.

  ‘Right, we’re goin’ out tomorrow. I’ve decided. We’ll go somewhere near you and see who’s around to give us a good time.’

  ‘But you’re still in love, after your husband’s only just gone back.’

  ‘He went yesterday. I’ve been on my own for a whole twenty-four hours. That’s plenty of time for me to be lonely isn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps it is. I’ll never keep up with you, though. You’re as bad as my sister.’

  ‘Is that the Veronica you talk about sometimes?’

  ‘Yes. She left home ages ago now. Just as well if you ask me. I shouldn’t even have a room if it was left to her.’

  ‘Right. We’d better get back to work or neither of us will have a job.’

  Ruth had been promoted to supervisor now, due to her excellent typing work. It meant more pay and, actually, less typing. She had to check what the other girls had done and pass or fail it. She was always very fair about it when she had to criticise and often re-typed the odd page herself. She enjoyed the work and had met the boss of the department. He was a man only a year or two older than her in what they called a reserved occupation. He surprised her one day by asking if she’d like to go out with him.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she had replied. She then asked around to see if anyone knew whether he was married or not. It seemed he was single and, encouraged by Vera, she finally agreed to go for a drink with him. Not sure if she was doing the right thing, she spoke to her mum.

  ‘You’ll be all right as long as you look after yourself and don’t drink too much. You’re a bit wiser than when you went out with your boss before.’

  ‘You’re right, Mum. I really don’t fancy him but it’ll be a night out, won’t it?’

  ‘Course it will, love. Enjoy yourself. God knows, we all deserve it don’t we?’

  ‘Of course we do. Thanks, Mum.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Call me Nigel. Can’t have you calling me Mr Williams all evening, now can we?’

  ‘And I’m Ruth,’ she replied shyly. She’d been wondering what to call him so felt pleased he’d made it easy.

  ‘So, tell me all about yourself,’ he asked. ‘I only know what your job application told me, which wasn’t exactly much.’

  ‘There’s not a lot to
tell. I live with my parents. Oh, I was married but a bomb fell on our house. Charlie was killed and, well, the house had gone.’

  ‘Your poor thing. I think I heard about the bomb falling. And Charlie?’

  ‘Long story. I didn’t love him but married him because my mother insisted.’ She stopped at this point, not wanting to go into any more details. ‘I’m reasonably happy now, I s’pose. I’ve got a good job and the pay is okay, I guess. For wartime, any road. I did have a sort of fiancé but he went missing, believed dead. But that’s enough about me. Tell me about you.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss. There’s not a lot to tell about me. My dad is one of the bosses here. He more or less pushed me into my job. At least I don’t have to go off and fight in some God-forsaken place.’

  ‘How much longer do you think it’ll go on?’

  ‘A few more months I reckon. It’s March now. I think it’ll all be over by the summer.’

  ‘Really? Goodness, I can’t really think about it ending. We’ll be able to listen to normal news instead of hearing about the war here or there. What’ll happen to the factory?’

  ‘I suppose it’ll gradually close down. Not for ages though as there are lots of things that will apply to peace time. You’ll still have a job. You’re a very good typist, you know.’

  The conversation went on easily through the evening. Neither of them drank much so she had no worries about letting him walk her home.

  ‘Thanks very much. You should have let me pay for one of the drinks at least,’ she told him.

  ‘I don’t take a lady out and expect her to pay,’ he said cheerfully. Where had she heard that line before? she thought with a shudder.

  ‘Well, thanks anyway. I enjoyed the evening.’

  ‘I’d better go now or I’ll miss the last bus.’

  ‘Night then. And thanks again.’