by Annie Murray
ANNIE MURRAY
Chocolate Girls
PAN BOOKS
Contents
Prologue
Part One
1939
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
1940
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
1941
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
1943-5
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Part Two
1954-6
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
1957-9
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Epilogue
Prologue
November 1940
It would be remembered as one of the worst nights of the Blitz on Birmingham. The city was already heavily scarred from more than two months of regular bombardments. Houses and factories had been smashed open, unexploded bombs, incendiaries and shrapnel littered the city and the Market Hall, a favourite shopping haunt in town, was now a smashed shell.
Exhausted city dwellers spent cold, terrifying nights in shelters and cellars or crowded into the cupboard under the stairs, wondering who would be next as the planes droned overhead. Explosions shook the houses, blasting the glass from windows, knocking plaster from ceilings. A few people, too worn out even to wake to the sirens, slept through the raids: others defied the dangers and also stayed in their beds.
The Luftwaffe were back tonight, in strength. By seven thirty they were dropping flares and incendiaries, igniting a path lit by tongues of flame for the bombers. And when the bombs did begin to fall it was one of the longest, most intense raids the city had yet seen. House after house was hit, major firms suffered serious damage, wave after wave of planes came over until it seemed the whole city was ablaze: too many fires for the Fire Brigades as they fought to save factories and warehouses.
In a residential street not two miles from the heart of the city, a bomb fell on a solid Victorian villa, just one in a row of such houses. It was a direct hit, plummeting through the roof, its explosion causing the floors of the house to collapse, the whole building caving in on itself. For a long time the smashing of glass, the crashing, groaning fall of timbers went on, the rattle of plaster, trickle of dust, clouds of it, thick and choking, billowing through the chill air before silently settling.
The wardens were not there. Not yet. No one was in the street to hear the faint, anguished voice of a dying woman calling out from the rubble.
‘Oh God help me! . . . Where are you my poor darling? . . . Mein Liebling! . . . Mein Herzensliebling . . .’
And then these last, desperate cries faded away, unheard by anyone but a petrified cat, hiding squeezed behind a shed in the garden next door.
PART ONE
1939
One
July 1939
‘There she goes!’
‘Time’s up, girls!’
The siren, known as the ‘bull’, blared out across the imposing brick buildings of the Cadbury Works, through the surrounding trees and wide swathes of lawn, signalling to the neighbourhood that the afternoon shift was over. The workers moved in chattering streams through the various factory blocks, down to the cloakrooms to retrieve their belongings.
Edie Marshall peeled off her cap and white overall. At last it was time to go home. There’d been an aching lump in her throat on and off all afternoon as she worked on the line in the wrapping department. Beside her moved an endless purple and gold river of wrapped chocolate bars to be counted and packed, but her eyes kept misting over, blurring her vision so she could scarcely see to count the six, then another six bars into a box. For Pete’s sakes pull yourself together! she kept telling herself. In the break she’d gone and had a sharp little weep in the lavatory. But even after that she still kept filling up.
‘Edie, over ’ere!’ Her friend Ruby, picking out Edie’s coppery red hair among the crowd, waved a plump arm. ‘Get a move on!’ She’d already got her bag and cardi and was ready to go.
The two girls walked out through the gates and past the Bournville swimming baths as they did every day. It was a bright, sultry afternoon, the gardens full of flowers, though the scent of roses and lavender was never as noticeable to an outsider as the tantalizing smell of liquid chocolate which wafted from the works and along the streets. Edie and Ruby worked with the smell so constantly that they hardly noticed it any longer.
As soon as they were out through the gates Ruby pulled out her little mirror and squinted into it to coat her full lips in bright scarlet lipstick. Once satisfied with the effect, she looked round at Edie.
‘What’s up with you?’ Ruby nudged her. ‘Got a face on yer like a wet week in Bognor.’
‘Ouch – Rube!’ Edie felt small and quite dainty next to buxom Ruby. The other girls had nicknamed them ‘Ginger’ and ‘Cocoa’ when they first started at Cad-bury’s, and Edie’s freckly features and head of long auburn locks and Ruby’s full-moon face and thick brown hair had drawn close together at every opportunity, whispering and giggling. Five years later they hadn’t changed. Except, Edie thought dismally, now nothing was ever going to be the same.
‘Come on – you’re the one getting married on Sat’dy. You’re s’posed to be happy!’
‘But I am happy!’ Edie wailed, at last bursting into tears. ‘I want to marry Jack and get away from home and Mom and everything – I can’t wait. Only I wish I didn’t have to give up my job. I don’t know how I’m going to stand it – no more swimming and the Art Club, and it’s been like family, being here, with you and all the others, and I’m going to miss you all so much . . .’
‘Oh Ede . . .’ Ruby put her arm round Edie’s shoulders and squeezed her tightly. ‘It ain’t going to be the same here at all without you—’
‘. . . and all afternoon I’ve been thinking – Oh Rube, I’m so worried Jack and me’ll end up like our mom and dad!’
Ruby’s face soured at the thought of Edie’s mom, Nellie Marshall, the vicious old witch!
‘Never, Edie – in a million years. Course you won’t!’ As encouragement she gave Edie another playful poke in the ribs. ‘You and Jack’ll get on all right. And I’ll be round to keep you up on the gossip. But I’m fed up with yer for going and finding a husband before me! You could’ve flippin’ waited!’
Edie ended up laughing through her tears. Ruby had always been able to cheer her up. They reached the corner of Kitty Road.
‘I’ve got to go into town for Mom,’ Ruby said. ‘’Er wants me to go down Jamaica Row – get a few bits of meat and that. We ain’t got nothing in for tea.’
Edie felt so sorry for Ruby these days. Until close on a year ago the Bonners’ h
ouse and Ruby’s family had been the happiest place Edie knew and she’d spent all the time she could round there. The Bonners had begun to make her believe that family life didn’t have to be the hard, bitter thing it had always been for her. But Ruby’s dad dying had changed everything. Ethel, who’d been a jolly, plump woman with peroxide hair, forever singing and laughing, was a sad, grieving widow now. She’d sunk into herself and didn’t seem to be able to snap out of it. She was finding it hard to cope with anything and Ruby, the oldest and the only girl, had had to take up the slack. Most Saturday nights now she was in town, late night shopping in the Bull Ring, the stalls lit up with flares as she sought out the last of the chickens and knock-down meat and fruit, the bags of broken biscuits. Poor Ruby was having to be the mom to her five brothers as well as the main wage-earner at the moment. Ruby always looked tired out these days. Mostly she made the best of it, but just occasionally she’d say, ‘I wish she’d be a proper mom to us again,’ in a way which wrung Edie’s heart.
‘I’ll walk yer to the bus stop,’ Edie said. ‘Shall I take your bag home, save you carrying it?’
Ruby handed it over. ‘Ta.’
As they waited to cross the Bristol Road she reached in her pocket and pulled out a couple of squashed-looking chocolates. Even after all this time at Cadbury’s she still couldn’t resist eating chocolate. Most people soon tired of it when surrounded by the smell and sight of it day after day.
‘Here y’are.’
Edie’s blue eyes narrowed with reproach. ‘You’ll get it in the neck you will, one day. No wonder you’ve got spots.’ She took one of the marzipan diamonds, knocked a few fluffy bits off from Ruby’s pocket and popped it in her mouth. Cadbury employees were allowed to eat chocolate so long as they remained within the factory, but taking it home was strictly forbidden.
Ruby gave a shrug which made her large bosom rise and fall. ‘Who’s going to know? They never notice.’
‘Oh, you’re awful,’ Edie said, chewing guiltily as they crossed the road.
The two of them stood side by side as a queue of people built up for the bus to town. Edie enjoyed the feel of the sun, bringing out the freckles on her bare forearms. She kept her cardigan on though, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. It came as second nature, never uncovering her left arm above the elbow unless she had to. Arms folded, her right hand fingered the triangle of pale, scorched flesh which looked so ugly to her. Such a terrible accident, Nellie used to tell people. Edie’s so clumsy – walked straight into me when I was bringing the iron from the fire. Such a shame. That was her mom: Mrs Marshall, prim stalwart of the Band of Hope temperance society, never a pin out of place in her home, clothes starched and ironed into hard lines. That same correct, upright woman who’d come at her across the back room that day when she was seven years old. She was ironing on a blanket on the table, elbows sticking out, thin body taut with fury. Edie never understood what she’d done to provoke Nellie that day, except that she was late home from school, had stopped to play on the way home. A few minutes after she got home Nellie snatched up the iron from the fire, teeth bared, eyes burning with loathing.
‘That’ll teach yer!’ she spat at Edie as the iron hissed on her flesh. ‘Hurts, don’t it, see?’ No accident. And afterwards, missing school in a blur of pain and fever. Making excuses. The shame of it. She uncovered the arm only when she went swimming. Nothing was going to stop her doing that, especially not her mom.
She started to feel better. What did she have to cry about – she was getting married! Getting out of home at last! She and Jack loved each other, and love always won over, she told herself. Like in the pictures. For a moment she saw herself up there on the big screen in Jack’s arms, their lips moving closer and everything else fading except the two of them kissing, the violins playing louder and louder . . .
She was jerked out of her reverie by the sound of a stifled sob coming from the woman who was standing in front of Ruby. Edie felt she recognized her. It was hard to tell her age, but she’d be a bit older than herself and Ruby, with curling chestnut hair fastened in a bun, but from which uncontrollable corkscrews of hair had escaped and curled round her forehead and ears. The woman had a curvaceous, motherly figure, rather busty, and was dressed in a neat tweed skirt, a black cardigan buttoned over her white blouse and low-heeled, though stylish brown shoes. She was weeping quietly and intensely into her handkerchief. Edie watched her shaking shoulders, pitying her. She could tell the woman was mortified at having broken down in the street. She wore round, tortoiseshell spectacles and every so often pushed them up to wipe her eyes, but even as she did so the tears were replaced by more. Edie nudged Ruby.
‘She’s at Cadbury’s, ain’t she? Clerical, or accounts or summat?’
Ruby shrugged. The bus had just pulled into view and she was sorting out her pennies.
The weeping woman fumbled to find her purse and her handkerchief dropped to the ground at Edie’s feet. As she didn’t appear to notice, Edie picked up the sodden little square of cotton and cautiously touched the woman’s arm.
‘’Scuse me – you dropped this.’
‘Oh!’ Startled, she turned round, obviously embarrassed, trying to keep her head down. ‘So sorry. Thank you.’ She had a nice face, Edie thought. Not a looker, just kind and friendly, even though her eyes and nose were red and blotchy.
‘If I had a clean one I’d give it yer,’ Edie said.
The woman glanced up and tried to produce a smile on her distraught features.
‘Oh – not at all. But you’re very kind.’ The bus growled to a halt beside them and she turned away and climbed inside.
Ruby, one foot on the step said, ‘T’ra then.’ As the bus moved off, Edie saw Ruby’s plump features, thick hair scraped back from her face as she leaned towards the window to wave.
Janet Hatton climbed down from the bus in Navigation Street, her damp handkerchief still clutched in one hand. Heading for New Street in the soft evening light, she fumbled in her bag for the packet of Players with shaking fingers. The packet had long been crushed deep in the bag with a box of Swan matches, under her little makeup bag, hanky and purse.
‘Oh no, I never smoke,’ she would tell people when cigarettes were offered round on social occasions. And she didn’t smoke, at least not in her real life. She lit up, praying there was no one about who would recognize her.
She was early. Six o’clock sharp, he’d said. It was a quarter to. She lingered near the Council House, trying to make the cigarette last. She always tried not to inhale much of the smoke as it burned her throat, but she had come to find comfort in the habit of smoking, the smell of the unlit tobacco, and in what she felt was its vulgarity. It would appall Mummy, and that was all part of the attraction. It made her feel seductive, a woman of the world suddenly, which even at twenty-five she had never succeeded in feeling before. Alec’s kisses, the admiration in his eyes, the way he laughed at things she said, the way she laughed now, more than ever before, the helpless, shameful excitement of it all – all these things had become tied into the smoking of a cigarette, which she had also never done before she met him, and until . . . Oh Lord, but tonight she despised herself bitterly for it. For all of it. Tonight all the tobacco tasted of was fear and dread.
The spindly arm of the museum clock said five to six. The cigarette had made her feel sick. Throwing away the butt, she took out her powder compact, dabbed her nose and put on some lipstick, peering into the little mirror, holding it close as her spectacles were not quite strong enough. At least they hid her red eyes. She smoothed her cardigan over her hips, patted her hair, turning to look at her reflection in one of the shop windows. Her shadowy face looked back, bespectacled, topped by her foolish mop of curls, the picture completed by her dismal, glamourless clothes. And she saw what no one else could yet see: a silly, cheap little secretary, duped into carrying a bastard child.
‘That’s what they’ll all say.’ Her lips actually moved. ‘You stupid, ridiculous little fool!’
The despair which had brought on her tears after work rose up and swamped her again. Janet was so appalled at herself. Here she was, a respectable young woman, a Quaker who was supposed to have high ideals, throwing everything away to run helplessly after this man. This man whose eyes and words and hands shocked her into an excitement she had never known before, aroused such desire in her, and whom she had to creep about to meet, to lie and pretend because she was not part of Alec’s real life with his wife and small son.
In the shop window, another reflection came and stood beside her own and she jumped.
‘Alec!’
‘Kitten!’ He smiled, handsome as ever, and there was no doubting the warmth in his smile, but at the same time his blue eyes were flickering beyond her nervously, to see if there was anyone who might see them, who might reveal his secret to Jean, his wife.
‘How’s tricks?’ Alec steered Janet gently but firmly back along the street. ‘Come on – got a surprise for you.’
‘Oh,’ she said helplessly, while her mind screamed, ‘No! You’ve got to tell him now!’
‘Just round the corner. Come on!’
She followed, looking up at the profile of this man who in his need had picked her out, had made her feel desired and honoured. He had a sturdy build, clipped black hair and moustache and a ruddy, cheerful complexion.
Round in Margaret Street he stopped suddenly. ‘There!’
Janet looked, trying to get her breath. ‘Where? What is it?’ There was nothing extraordinary, a couple of cars parked at the kerb, a scattering of passers-by.
He pointed at one of the cars. ‘John Spiller’s lent me his Austin. I told him I had a few errands to run this evening. Hop in quickly, will you?’ In case anyone saw, of course.
‘But Alec, no! Look, there are things I need to say to you. And I said to Mummy I shouldn’t be back very late.’
‘And you won’t be.’ He slipped off his jacket and smiled reassuringly at her across the roof of the car, fingers tapping, wanting to be off and away. ‘Come on, kitten – we can talk on the way.’
