Victory for the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘Don’t forget she’s got her mother in her,’ Rosie chipped in.

  ‘I know …’ Gloria followed Rosie’s gaze and looked down at her daughter, who was now simply lying with the teat of the bottle in her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut. ‘There’s no getting away from the fact that Helen has learnt a lot from her mother, but I honestly feel deep down she’s not the hardened cow everyone thinks she is. None of you saw her that day she saved me from Vinnie. It took a brave woman to do what she did. Smacking Vinnie over the head with a shovel. Not knowing if he would turn on her. She saw someone in need and didn’t think twice about helping them – or about the danger to herself. She’s not so unlike the rest of us.’

  ‘Mm,’ Rosie said, with a lack of conviction.

  Gloria stood up and carried Hope into the nursery, where she carefully laid her in the cot.

  ‘Regardless,’ she said as she came back into the room, ‘Jack’s worried about her. He might be thanking his lucky stars that we found each other again, and that we’ve got Hope, but I know he’s distraught that it could be at the cost of losing Helen. I wish she would just send him a letter. It’s been months now and not a word.’

  ‘Which just proves my point,’ Rosie said, standing up and picking up her gas mask and haversack, ‘that Helen must be a hard and cold person to get all those letters from her dad and not reply. Not even once. I know you appreciate what she did for you, Gloria, but I still think the woman’s got more of Miriam in her than she has her dad.’

  Gloria hurried back into the kitchen and returned with a small brown envelope.

  ‘Your rent, Mrs Miller.’ She forced the money into Rosie’s hand.

  ‘Eee, honestly,’ Gloria laughed, seeing the look of mortification on Rosie’s face that she was taking money from her friend. ‘You’re going to have to harden up if you want to make it as a successful landlady.’

  ‘I just hate taking money off you,’ Rosie said.

  Gloria gave her a cheeky smile as she opened the front door. ‘Well, you’ll just have to take a leaf out of Helen’s book, otherwise you’ll end up like Hannah’s aunty Rina!’

  Rosie put the envelope into the top pocket of her overalls and started walking up the steps.

  ‘And,’ Gloria continued her comparison, ‘Vera won’t take you on because you can’t cook for toffee – never mind bake cakes!’

  Rosie laughed as she reached the top step and turned around. ‘You want to be careful, I might buy another flat from Mr Brown and rent it out to Dorothy and Angie! Fancy having them as your neighbours?’

  Rosie was still chuckling to herself at the thought as she crossed the street and started walking up Toward Road.

  After Rosie left, Gloria made herself a sandwich and switched on the wireless. She tried to concentrate on a news report from the well-known war correspondent Richard Dimbleby, followed by a discussion about the war in the Pacific, but it just made her worry all the more about her two boys.

  When she tried to think about something other than U-boats torpedoing British ships, her mind immediately swung back to Jack and Helen.

  Yesterday, before picking up Hope from Bel, she had nipped down Norfolk Street and into the GPO, where she had made a telephone call to Jack. It was only the second time they had been able to actually speak to each other since he had left at the start of the year. They’d tried phoning each other on other occasions, but it’d had to be organised with military precision. If one of them was just a few minutes early or late, they would miss the opportunity. Gloria had to call from a public phone while Jack had to wait by the one at work. It was wonderful hearing each other’s voices, but saying goodbye was so incredibly hard.

  If Miriam had hoped she might succeed in breaking up their relationship when she’d sent Jack away, she had thought wrong. If anything, they had grown closer, despite the distance between them. Their yearning for each other had only intensified, not diminished, and because they had to communicate more or less solely by letter, they had ended up telling each other their deepest thoughts and feelings. All of which could be read over and over again. Jack’s words proved his love for Gloria was as strong as ever – perhaps even stronger. His determination that Miriam would not win came across loud and clear.

  What had also been clear, though, were his worries about Helen. Yesterday when they had spoken, he had asked a lot about her. Had Gloria seen her? What did she look like? Was she still looking thin? Was she still smoking lots? How was she getting on at work? Gloria had been caught a little off guard, having become used to thinking about her replies. It was the one luxury writing gave you, thinking carefully before committing pen to paper. She hadn’t known what to say. She couldn’t tell the truth, that was for sure. She couldn’t tell him that Helen was actually starting to look a bit gaunt. Of course, she was still stunning, nothing would ever take that away, but she was looking thin. And as for her smoking, well, she couldn’t exactly tell Jack that she rarely saw her without a cigarette between her fingers, or surrounded by a halo of smoke. And Gloria knew she couldn’t say anything about the arrogant young man she had met that night outside of the flat, or how Helen had been spotted coming out of some working man’s pub half-cut. What would have been the point? She wouldn’t be able to tell Jack the name of his daughter’s new beau, or anything else about him. It would only worry Jack even more. If only Helen would write him a letter, it would put his mind at rest.

  Thinking about Helen, and about Jack, Gloria then started to worry about Hope, who seemed to be mirroring her own restlessness and kept waking up demanding attention. The poor little mite had probably forgotten she even had a da. As Gloria picked Hope up out of her cot and started to slowly sway her in her arms, lulling her back to sleep, Gloria came to a decision. She might not be able to do anything about getting Jack back here, but she could at least try to get it across to Helen that just because her mam and dad were no longer together, that did not, in any way, mean that she and Jack had to be estranged.

  By the time she had settled Hope back into her cot, Gloria was resolute. She was going to have a word with Helen and make her see sense. Make her realise that her father loved her dearly, that he thought the world of her, was incredibly proud of her, and it was breaking his heart that she was refusing to have any contact with him. She didn’t quite know how she was going to get Helen on her own, or how she was going to broach the subject of her father’s infidelity, but she knew she had to – somehow.

  Chapter Thirty

  One week later

  Tuesday 14 April

  ‘Mother, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Can’t I visit my daughter at her place of work?’ Miriam looked around and ran her finger along the top of a tall metal cabinet. Her face crinkled as she looked at the dirt and dust that had been transferred to her fingertip. Helen caught her look.

  ‘This is a shipyard, you know, Mother? Which means it can get dirty. Building ships does not take place in a sterile environment.’

  Miriam rolled her eyes as though she were an obstinate child.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Helen asked. Her patience was waning today.

  ‘I thought you might like to come to the Grand with me for a little light lunch?’

  Helen looked at her mother and realised she had no idea what she did day in, day out. Nor did she want to know.

  ‘Mother, I have barely a minute to turn around at the moment, never mind go to the Grand and sit around eyeing up the latest Admiralty that has just shored up in town.’

  Miriam jerked her head as though she had been slapped around the face. ‘Now listen here, madam, I will not be talked to in such a manner!’

  Just then Marie-Anne knocked on the office door and Helen waved her in. Knowing what she wanted, she took the order forms from her secretary’s outstretched hand and signed them before handing them back. Sensing the tense atmosphere, Marie-Anne hurried back out and shut the door quietly behind her.

  ‘Sorry, Mother,’ Helen apologised, knowing she had
overstepped the mark, something she was doing an awful lot of lately. ‘It just seems to be one problem after another at the moment … Just before you tipped up, Harold came to tell me there’s another frigate due in that needs patching up, and speed, as always, is of the essence – which wouldn’t be such a problem if the workforce wasn’t so depleted.’

  Helen stopped speaking, remembering that she had been looking for a list of the new batch of workers due to start next week. The news that they were getting more workers was a relief, although half were women and the rest men who should really be retired. When Harold had been in to tell her the news she couldn’t stop herself snapping: ‘Well, I guess beggars can’t be choosers!’ She had seen the look on Harold’s face and immediately wished she had kept her thoughts to herself.

  Having located the list, Helen focused her attention back on her mother, but seeing the blank expression on her face, knew she hadn’t listened to a word she had just said.

  ‘Mum, would you like a cup of tea?’ Helen took a deep breath. She knew that her mother only wanted to take her out when she needed something. ‘Have a seat. Tell me why you wanted me to go to the Grand?’

  Miriam looked at the seat in front of Helen’s desk with a stack of files on it and remained standing.

  ‘I’ll pass on the offer of tea, thank you. I just wanted to have a chat to you about your grandfather. You’re obviously flavour of the month at the moment and he rang me yesterday asking to speak to you. Of course, you weren’t in, as seems to be the case these days. I told him that you were more than likely out with Theodore and could I pass on a message.’

  ‘So, what was the message?’ Helen could feel her irritation growing again.

  ‘He wants you to go round and see him when you have a moment.’

  ‘What? That was it? Is it important? Can’t he just ring me at work?’

  ‘I did suggest that,’ Miriam said a little defensively, ‘but he said he needed to talk to you face to face. He’s never been one to speak on the telephone at the best of times. And now I think he’s getting paranoid in his old age and he keeps saying anyone can listen in to your private conversations.’

  ‘Fine.’ Helen sighed. ‘When I have a spare minute I’ll go round and see him.’

  She looked at Miriam.

  ‘Sorry, Mum, but is that all? I’ve really got to get on.’

  Miriam straightened her back.

  ‘Yes, I’m going! I know when I’m not wanted!’

  And with that she turned, opened the office door and finally left Helen in peace.

  As soon as her mother had left, Helen lit up a cigarette and walked over to the window. She blew out smoke and looked down at the yard.

  Since her father had been exiled to the Clyde, her grandfather had started to involve her much more in the family business. Or rather the family finances. Her grandfather had sold or offloaded a good percentage of his business interests over the past few years. He’d had the sense to realise he was too old to keep up with the modern world, but he had been astute enough to safeguard his money. Helen also realised that her grandfather had relied heavily on her father, and that now he had been cut out of all of their lives, it had fallen on Helen to take over the reins. She wasn’t stupid, though, and knew the only reason for that was because there wasn’t anyone else to do it. Like she’d said to Harold – beggars can’t be choosers.

  As Helen stared out the window, she saw her mother hurrying past a squad of platers, their eyes to the sky, watching the huge arm of a crane slowly lowering a consignment of sheet metal to its designated area. Helen thought that her mother’s need to get away from the dirt and grime of the yard might just surpass her eagerness to get to the Grand. After her father’s infidelity had come to light, Helen had initially thought her mother would feel hurt. Rejected. But as time had gone on she’d realised her mother didn’t seem to have been particularly affected by her husband’s betrayal. If anything she seemed happier. She certainly seemed to be enjoying life.

  Helen envied her mother. These past few months her own feelings of guilt had been in constant battle with her anger and resentment. In the end, though, it seemed that her guilt had finally been dissolved by the vitriol of her growing hatred. She had never believed she could ever hate her father, but she did now.

  She was no longer the innocent young daughter who had sat by his bedside and willed him to get better. The one who had rejoiced when he had woken from his coma and had done what she could to drag his memory back from the depths of the North Atlantic. She was no longer that young girl. She had changed.

  And, more than anything, she was determined her life would change. It wouldn’t be long before she was engaged and then married, living nearly three hundred miles away in a city that could not be more dissimilar to this town.

  As Helen tossed her cigarette end out of the window, she knew that leaving this place would be her only regret. This shipyard in ‘The Biggest Shipbuilding Town in the World’. This chaotic mess of metal, this concrete expanse filled with hundreds of men – and women – all working together to build and repair these mammoth metal monsters that rode the waves. It made her heart lurch. For there would be no shipyards in her new life. No more deafening sounds of clashing machinery, no ear-splitting bursts of the riveter’s gun, no shouting or bellows of laughter or banter, no ceremonies to mark the laying of keels or the launching of ships. She knew all about Oxford’s architecture, its history, its treasure trove of culture, but it didn’t have the untamed beauty of the North Sea, nor did it have a twisting and turning River Wear that ran like an artery through the town, bringing life to everything it touched.

  Helen turned her back on the yard and walked into her office.

  This place, this love of hers for it, she knew, was the one sacrifice she had to make for her new love – for her new life.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Cedars, Sunderland

  ‘No, not today, thank you!’ The housekeeper was just about to close the heavy oak front door.

  ‘I’m not after selling you anything,’ Bel quickly said, putting on her best voice. She surprised even herself by how posh she sounded. It obviously did the trick, as the elderly housekeeper stopped the door from closing in Bel’s face.

  ‘Well, what do you want?’ the old woman demanded, folding her arms across her ample bosom, her eyes straying behind the young blonde on her doorstep to a battered-looking Silver Cross pram and a little girl standing next to it with a frown on her face.

  ‘I’m trying to locate a long-lost relative.’ Bel spoke quickly so as to keep the woman’s attention and to prove to her that she meant no harm. ‘And I believe she worked in one of these houses.’ Bel stretched her arm out and pointed to her right, to the long line of mansions along the road known as The Cedars.

  ‘It was a while ago – about twenty-eight years, to be exact.’ Bel forced a smile on her face.

  ‘Name?’ the housekeeper asked sharply.

  ‘Pearl Hardwick. She would have only been about fifteen at the time.’ Bel again took care to pronounce her words in her best King’s English.

  The old woman stood for a moment, thinking, before slowly shaking her head from left to right.

  ‘No. I’ve been here for well over thirty years and I can’t recall anyone with that name working here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Bel couldn’t stop the words slipping out. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just a long time ago.’

  ‘I might be knocking on, pet, but there’s nowt wrong with my memory and I can tell you for certain I’d remember if I’d had a young girl called Pearl in my charge.’

  The old woman started to close the door.

  ‘Of course, so sorry to bother you. Thank you for your time,’ Bel said politely as the door shut and she heard the bolt being slid across the other side. She turned back to Hope, sound asleep in the pram, and Lucille, who was still wearing a frown.

  ‘I want to go to park!’ she declared.

  Bel released t
he brake from the back wheel of the pram with her foot and started pushing the Silver Cross down the cobbled driveway.

  ‘I want doesn’t get, Lucille. You should know that by now.’ But as she spoke Bel felt a twinge of guilt that she had dragged her daughter all the way from Tatham Street under the guise of going to the park as it was such a nice day, but so far they had spent the past half-hour knocking on doors.

  When they reached the end of the driveway, Bel steered the pram left onto the wide pavement and started walking to the neighbouring house.

  ‘We’ll do two more houses, and then we’ll go to the park,’ Bel relented. She looked down at her daughter, who was holding on to the side of the pram as they walked. The frown was replaced by a big smile. Seeing the closed wooden gate of the next house, Lucille ran ahead to open it, now clearly in a hurry to get the next two houses done and dusted.

  Bel was also glad they were almost done. This had turned out to be a completely demoralising task. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. When Beryl had told her at the launch that her ma had worked in one of the big houses up by Backhouse Park, Bel had actually felt quite excited about the idea of turning super sleuth and going in search of her father. She had told Polly, full of bravado: ‘If my ma won’t tell me, then I’m jolly well going to find out myself!’ Polly hadn’t said much, which Bel knew meant her sister-in-law wasn’t in full support of her proposed actions. But Bel didn’t care. Polly knew who her da was. Bel didn’t. And she was determined that wouldn’t be the case for long. She had made up her mind. Nothing was going to change it. She was going to find out who her father was, by hook or by crook.

  ‘Sorry to bother you,’ Bel began her now well-rehearsed speech. ‘But I’m trying to find a long-lost relative.’