Victory for the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘Are you all right, Miss Crawford?’

  Helen nodded at the fresh-faced Dr Parker, whose first name she had never bothered to find out. She had always thought he looked far too young to be a doctor and had told him that one day when he had been in the middle of giving her an update on her father’s condition. He had laughed good-naturedly and said that was what most people told him, but that he was actually fully qualified and nearer thirty than he was twenty.

  Dr Parker made a movement towards her, as though he was going to either check her over or engage her in conversation. Helen quickly made a show of raising her chin as though she was desperate to hear what the speaker was about to say. As she did so, though, she caught Matthew’s wife giving him a kiss and whispering something into his ear. It took every bit of Helen’s reserve not to scream louder than the bawling baby and run out of the building.

  Somehow Helen managed to hold it together. The overweight, balding man standing at the front of the room suddenly stopped talking and turned to his left. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause for our main benefactor.’ Helen looked at her grandfather as he raised his hand in acknowledgement and slowly walked over to the compère.

  Great! That was all she needed. If she didn’t go now, he’d spot her and she’d end up spending most of the evening being introduced to all his old cronies.

  The bald dignitary started his introduction about what a great philanthropist Mr Havelock was, how he was an accomplished businessman and, of course, a veteran of the First War. And, most importantly, how he had yet again come to the hospital’s financial aid during one of the most important times in the nation’s history.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Helen said during a short break when the speaker stopped to take a drink of water. She tried to sound as normal and as sincere as possible. ‘But I’m afraid I’m going to have to go. I completely forgot I said I was going to meet an old friend for a drink at the Grand.’

  ‘Can I walk you there?’ Dr Parker asked. He didn’t look particularly keen to stay at the do himself.

  ‘No, no. But thanks, anyway,’ Helen said in her sweetest, most polite voice.

  ‘Lovely to see you again, Matthew.’ She turned, forcing herself to do what she knew she had to do for appearance’s sake before she made her escape.

  ‘And Rebecca.’ She extended her hand to the wife of the man she had just more or less propositioned and wished her an enjoyable evening.

  As Helen made her excuses and left, she was unaware that her departure was being watched by one of the surgeons Matthew had been telling her about who had been drafted in to operate on the wounded soldiers at the new military hospital.

  Mr Theodore Harvey-Smith, a specialist in burns and reconstructive surgery, had struggled to take his eyes off Helen as soon as he’d spotted her not long after arriving. He had seen how she had not left his colleague’s side for the entirety of her time at the museum. He had been too far away to eavesdrop, but their body language as well as their facial expressions were enough to give him a good idea as to what had passed between the two.

  If he’d had a chance to chat to Helen beforehand, he would have saved her the embarrassment she had clearly suffered before she’d suddenly decided to leave. He would have told her that Matthew was a damn near perfect husband and father and would never stray. And that he had seen Matthew become the focus of attention for a few very charming women, but he had not allowed himself so much as a quick kiss or cuddle.

  Theodore looked at his watch. Helen had left just a few minutes ago. He turned and apologised to the company he was with and weaved his way quickly and quietly through the throng of partygoers.

  Dr Parker watched as Theodore went to collect his coat from the little cloakroom next to the display of the town’s Garrison pottery and Hartleys glass. Ever the sharp eye, Dr Parker also noticed that as his fellow medic was shrugging on his overcoat, he was also easing his gold band off his wedding-ring finger, sliding it quickly and unobtrusively into his trouser pocket as he left the museum.

  Helen was out on the main road, gulping in air as though she had been underwater for too long.

  Why was her life turning into such a disaster? Before her father had gone off to America, her life had been almost perfect. Helen wrapped her full-length woollen winter coat around herself and pulled the belt tight, glancing across at the bomb site where Binns, the town’s main department store, had once stood.

  Damn this war! Helen cursed. She’d loved that shop.

  Damn! Damn! This war!

  If it hadn’t been for this wretched war her life would be very different. Women would not have ended up working at Thompson’s, which would have meant that little Miss Perfect Polly wouldn’t have stolen Tommy from her, and Gloria would not have taken her father. More than anything, though, it would have meant she would not now have a baby sister and her father would not have been ousted from the town – and, moreover, from her life.

  Her life, just like the whole of her home town, was being deconstructed bit by bit.

  As she turned right and marched along Borough Road, she slowed down. She had escaped her humiliation at the museum, and her heart rate was returning to normal.

  After crossing the Toward Road, she heard a door open and the sound of laughter drift out along with a shard of light. It was a public house, one she had not been in before, not that she had actually been inside many pubs at all. Her social life had been mainly charity dos, like the one she had just fled, or stuffy dinner parties.

  Stopping to look up at a sign that read THE BURTON HOUSE, in a moment of madness Helen considered going in, before swiftly turning away. As she did so, she bumped into a man whom she recognised as one of the guests at the museum.

  ‘Go on!’ he laughed, pushing a thick mop of auburn hair away from his face. ‘I dare you!’

  ‘Are you following me?’ Helen demanded in her most hoity-toity voice.

  ‘I might be,’ Theodore responded, raising his eyebrows slightly. ‘And if I was, would that be such a terrible thing to do?’ he asked, cocking his head to the side slightly, making no effort to hide the fact he was admiring her.

  It was on the tip of Helen’s tongue to demand who he thought he was, speaking to her so, daring to suggest she enter such a common pub. But something stopped her. The wine and the hit of cold air had made her feel a little giddy, and braver, or perhaps more foolhardy.

  Helen looked at the man. He was not what she would call drop dead gorgeous, but he was rather attractive in a slightly roguish way, with dancing eyes that glinted with more than a little mischief.

  Helen allowed herself a slight smile and threw him a look that said she was no coward. She walked towards the pub door and stood aside, waiting for him to do the gentlemanly thing and open it for her. He responded to her unspoken demand, stepped forward and pulled open the door.

  ‘After you, milady,’ he said, sweeping his arm theatrically before her, and returning Helen’s half-smile with one of his own.

  Feeling a shot of nerves, Helen took a deep breath and stepped into the packed pub. Once they were in, he leant over and whispered into her ear, ‘You find a seat, and I’ll get us a drink. What’s your poison?’

  Chapter Nine

  J.L. Thompson & Sons Shipyard, North Sands, Sunderland

  Tuesday 13 January

  ‘Eee, I thought the blower was never going to go off!’ Angie stretched out both her arms in front of her.

  ‘I think we’re all gonna have muscles like dumb-bells if this war doesn’t end soon,’ Gloria said, causing everyone to instinctively look at Martha.

  ‘We’re not gonna stop working here when the war ends, you know,’ Polly said, looking around at everyone.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll have a choice,’ Gloria said. ‘There was a big enough stink when us “fairer sex” started to work here. The only reason they gave it the thumbs up was on the condition that the jobs would be kept open for the men when they come back. When they do, we’ll be sent pa
cking quick as Jack Flash.’

  ‘Well, they’ll not get rid of us that easily,’ Polly said, outraged. Working at Thompson’s had been a dream come true for Polly. She came from a long line of shipbuilders, but because of her gender had never thought she too would be able to become part of the town’s revered shipbuilding heritage.

  ‘I’ll be staying put!’ she added, adamantly.

  Gloria let out a hoot of laughter.

  ‘We’ll see if that’s the case when Tommy’s back. He’ll be dragging you down that aisle even quicker than Peter did Rosie here, and then before you know it you’ll be bigger than one of those five-gallon barrels over there.’ Gloria pointed over to a row of metal drums to make her point.

  ‘I don’t mind being dragged down the aisle, as you put it,’ Polly laughed. ‘Although I think we’ll be pushed to do it quicker than Rosie and Peter. I reckon they set some kind of a record!’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘But as for starting a family, well, that can wait. I’m in no rush for all of that malarkey. I have no illusions about the joys of motherhood, living under the same roof as Lucille, and my ma having turned the house into a nursery. And much as I love Hope,’ Polly looked at Gloria, ‘she’s certainly got a good set of lungs on her!’

  ‘Yer right there!’ Gloria chuckled. ‘She used to save it all for me after work, but nowadays she seems to be allowing others to enjoy her vocals!’

  ‘I will be like Rosie here,’ Polly declared ostentatiously, ‘and, though I hate to even say her name, Helen as well. And I shall become a fixture in the yards – married or not!’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ Rosie encouraged. ‘And I hope you will all take a leaf out of Polly’s book when the time comes and not leave me here on my own.’

  ‘Never!’ Martha said in earnest.

  ‘Yeh, they’ll have to haul us out of here kicking and screaming.’ Dorothy laughed.

  ‘Talking about the old cow – ’ Angie never called Helen by her name ‘– she looked rough as a dog this morning. Did yer see her? I reckon she’d had more than a few jars last night. Looked like she was ganna chuck up on the spot.’

  ‘Honestly, Ange,’ Dorothy said. ‘She may have this awful winter bug that’s going around. You always think the worst. Not everyone’s living it up and drinking like fishes every night.’ They both looked at each other and burst into raucous laughter.

  ‘Like us two!’

  Gloria rolled her eyes at Rosie and said in a voice loud enough for the squad’s two comics to hear, ‘I swear them two are getting worse!’

  ‘Well, you know what they say,’ Dorothy trilled, nudging Angie.

  ‘You’re only young once!’ they sang out in unison as they swung their haversacks and boxed gas masks onto their backs.

  ‘Thank God!’ Gloria shot back.

  As the women welders all started to make their way over to the main gates, Rosie hung back to speak to Polly.

  ‘How’s Lucille? She any better?’

  ‘Yes, I think she’s over the worst now. She’s started to play up and demand even more attention than she normally does, so she must be. And no one else seems to have caught whatever it was she’s had. Touch wood.’

  ‘Well, just to be on the safe side, keep a handkerchief over your mouth when you’re around your niece. I don’t need you ill. I don’t need any of you off poorly.’ Rosie dropped her voice before adding, ‘Any more word from Tommy?’

  Polly shook her head. ‘No, I’m trying not to pester the poor postwoman every morning. I think she dreads coming to our house.’

  They both chuckled.

  ‘What’re you two in cahoots about?’ It was Gloria. She’d been chatting to Martha, who had just headed over to see Hannah in the drawing office.

  ‘Just asking Polly if she’s had any word from Tommy.’

  ‘It’s not been that long since his last letter, has it?’ Gloria said as the three of them stood in line to hand over their time boards to Alfie.

  ‘No. Not really,’ Polly admitted. ‘I’m terrible. I don’t think I’d be happy unless I got one every day.’

  ‘See you all tomorrow!’ It was Dorothy and Angie shouting over at them from the other side of the main gates.

  Rosie, Gloria and Polly waved back over a sea of flat caps.

  ‘So, I’m guessing you’re off to tell Lily and George your good news this evening?’ Gloria asked.

  Rosie grimaced. ‘I am, but I don’t know if Lily will see it as a reason to celebrate.’

  Polly looked puzzled. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, let’s just say she’s never been overly keen on Peter, and she can be incredibly pig-headed. When she’s decided something, she’s decided. And it’s nigh impossible to get her to change her mind.’

  Gloria didn’t say anything. She was the only one of Rosie’s squad who knew exactly why Lily was not particularly enamoured with Peter as she was the only one Rosie had confided in when there was a concern – before they’d become an item – that Peter might report the bordello to the authorities.

  As they all trooped down to the ferry landing, Gloria cast a look at her boss and couldn’t help but feel for her. Rosie had met the love of her life and they’d had a rather stormy courtship, during which she had fallen out with Peter more than the once, before finally kissing and making up.

  Then, just as it looked as though she was going to get her happy-ever-after ending, she’d had to wave it all goodbye.

  This bloody war. It had a lot to answer for.

  Chapter Ten

  An hour later Rosie was shutting the front door of her flat and heading along Borough Road. She had just been up to see her landlord, old Mr Brown, who lived on the ground floor, in the flat above her, and she was pleased with how their little chat had gone.

  Normally Rosie would have turned left up Toward Road, but she had somewhere to go before she went to Lily’s. Jumping on a single-decker bus that was headed for Tunstall, she sat by the window and looked out into the darkness. She could just make out the shops as the bus drove up Holmeside. Scrutinising the front of the Maison Nouvelle, she couldn’t tell if Kate was still there. Rosie hoped she wasn’t working late this evening as she wanted her to be at the bordello when she made her announcement. Out of everyone, she knew that Kate would be the most overjoyed.

  As the bus turned left and started making its way along Tunstall Road, the roads became quieter. The tree-lined residential streets and well-kempt Victorian terraces were evidence that they were crossing over into the more affluent part of town. A few minutes later, Rosie rang the bell and the driver pulled up at the bus stop. Stepping onto the pavement, Rosie didn’t bother getting out her little torch; she couldn’t see much, but she knew the way well enough now to find Peter’s even if she were blindfolded. She heard another bus coming in the opposite direction before she saw its dimmed, hooded front lights. She crossed the road as soon as it had passed and walked down the side street to the little wooden gate that heralded the start of a pretty stretch of houses called Brookside Gardens.

  It felt strange coming here, knowing that Peter was not going to be there. Her heart felt heavy as she clicked open the gate and walked down the wide gravel pathway. The last time she had come here she had not gone through the gate. Her stubbornness and anger had stopped her coming to see Peter. It was something she had berated herself for, hated herself for, but now she was glad she hadn’t, otherwise, like Peter had said, they wouldn’t have had the time they’d just spent together in Guildford.

  When Rosie reached number four she walked up the short path. She had the key ready in her hand and had just turned the lock when Mrs Jenkins, the next-door neighbour, suddenly appeared. Rosie silently cursed. If she had just been a bit quicker, she might have got in before being spotted. Peter was right. The woman didn’t miss a trick.

  ‘Ah, it’s Rosie, isn’t it? Peter’s told me all about you! Lovely to finally meet you!’ Mrs Jenkins wiped her hands on her pinny, then stuck one out.

  ‘You to
o, Mrs Jenkins.’ Rosie shook hands. ‘Peter’s told me all about his neighbours and how lucky he is.’

  ‘Oh, we’re the lucky ones, having Peter.’ She glanced down at Rosie’s hand to see the front-door key in it. ‘How’s Peter? He never really said where exactly he was going? Is he due back already?’

  Rosie wondered how many questions you could ask in one breath.

  ‘He’s fine,’ Rosie said, removing her gloves and taking a step into the house to show she didn’t want to hang about. ‘Hopefully, he’ll be back soon.’ Peter had primed Rosie on what to say to his inquisitive neighbour, which basically amounted to as little as possible.

  ‘Oh!’ Mrs Jenkins took a sharp intake of breath, causing Rosie to look round quickly, thinking her neighbour had seen something shocking.

  ‘Goodness gracious me!’ Mrs Jenkins’s slightly arthritic finger was pointing to Rosie’s bare hand.

  ‘Is that a wedding band I see?’ Mrs Jenkins’s mouth had dropped open in sheer astonishment.

  Rosie looked at her own hand as if she herself had just noticed the gold wedding ring, then back up at Mrs Jenkins. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is!’

  ‘Oh! This is wonderful news, my dear! Wonderful! Congratulations!’ Stepping over the little row of shrubs that divided the two pathways, she grabbed hold of Rosie and gave her a bear hug. Rosie didn’t think she had been hugged so much in her life as she had these past two days.

  ‘I’m so pleased.’ Mrs Jenkins held on to Rosie’s shoulders with both hands. ‘I never thought Peter would get married again. Not after what happened to his poor wife. Ah, I’m so pleased. You must tell him I’m over the moon! I guess you’ll be moving in here now? How wonderful. I’ll have a new neighbour!’

  Rosie looked at Mrs Jenkins’s animated face. Her goodwill and joy were infectious and Rosie smiled back.

  ‘Yes, I’m hoping to move in properly in a few weeks’ time. It’s all been rather a whirlwind,’ she confessed.