The Bells of Bow

by Gilda O'Neill

  ‘You don’t half go on, Babs.’ Evie sighed and rubbed the backs of her shapely calves. ‘The roads was so busy out there, what with all them blokes painting white lines on all the kerbs and everything, I had to get off the bus at Vallance Road and walk all the way up here to bloody Aldgate.’

  ‘Cor, you had to walk a couple of hundred yards! Mind yer don’t wear yerself out.’

  Evie scowled at Babs and unenthusiastically picked up the front panel and the facing of a blouse. She stuck one on top of the other then wearily plonked them under the foot of her machine. ‘I dunno what’s the matter with you, Babs. I got in late and overslept, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s all?’ Babs whispered fiercely. She felt like hollering, but wouldn’t give Ginny the satisfaction of hearing that she and Evie were rowing. ‘That’s every single night yer’ve been in late – if yer’ve bothered to come home at all. Every single night since Sunday.’

  ‘Since Saturday, don’t yer mean?’ Evie corrected her with a saucy grin.

  ‘Watch it, you two.’ Lou tapped Babs urgently on the arm. ‘Get yer machines going. It’s Silver.’

  Babs and Evie immediately stopped their row and became pictures of industry, furiously working away at their machines. But young Joan wasn’t quite so quick on the uptake. ‘Silver? So what’s he want then?’ she called along to Lou. ‘Here, you sure? He hardly ever comes up here to the workshop.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ hissed Lou through clenched teeth. ‘Now pipe down.’

  ‘Well, what’s his game then? Why’s the four eyed old …’ Joan’s words faded away and she sat there, open-mouthed as though she was at the dentist’s. The bespectacled object of her abuse was standing listening to her from the doorway.

  Mr Silver removed his glasses and slowly polished them on his pocket handkerchief. ‘My “game”, Joan, for your information,’ he said as he walked into the workshop and replaced his spectacles on the end of his nose, ‘is to keep you lot in employment, so perhaps you could manage a bit of courtesy’. He was addressing Joan but his eyes were fixed on the astonishing sight of the Bell twins with their contrasting hair colours. With an approving nod in their direction, he strolled up and down the line of workers, peering over their shoulders at the piles of work by their chairs.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Silver,’ mumbled the red-faced Joan. ‘I didn’t mean nothing.’

  Ginny gave Joan a crafty nudge and whispered hurriedly in her ear. Innocent as ever, Joan did as she was told. ‘So what are yer doing up here in the workshop then?’ she asked, looking puzzled when the girls – all except Ginny – started laughing.

  Ginny merely looked out of the corner of her eye, along the row to where Maria sat at the far end of the bench surrounded by a heap of blouses ready for finishing.

  ‘If you could possibly do me the honour of waiting a moment, Joan,’ Mr Silver said with an exaggerated politeness that had all the girls laughing again, ‘until the chaps from the warehouse join us, then your curiosity will be satisfied.’

  The thought of the warehouse workers coming upstairs had the girls giggling and whispering to one another; even Ginny patted her hair to make sure it was tidy.

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Silver wearily. ‘They’re coming up to listen to what I’ve got to say, not to ask you lot to a dance.’

  ‘Here they are, Mr Silver.’ Joan pointed excitedly at the door. ‘Look, they’re here.’

  Silver turned to acknowledge the warehouse staff who had just arrived. ‘Right, in you come, chaps,’ he said, beckoning them in with a tilt of his head.

  There were five of them who variously sloped, strutted or walked slightly warily into the workshop and stood along the far wall from the workbench: one gangling, fair-haired youth who looked as if he’d just left school that morning and, from his bright red cheeks, wished he was still there; two good-looking young men – the very obvious objects of the workshop’s adulation; one much older man, Dick, who looked fit enough for work but also old enough to have retired to an armchair by the fire many years ago; and finally Tiddler, a handsome-faced man in his late thirties, who because of a diseased and sickly childhood reached barely four feet ten in height.

  Turning back to face the whispering young women at the workbench, Silver raised his hand for silence. ‘Do us all a favour and shut up, ladies. I’ve got an important announcement to make. One you all should hear.’

  Ginny muttered something to Joan who, without a second’s thought, piped up, ‘Here, no one’s getting the push, are they, Mr Silver? You ain’t sacking no one?’

  Silver looked exasperated. ‘Let me get a word in edgeways, eh?’

  Joan tutted and put her hands primly in her lap. ‘I only wondered,’ she said to herself.

  ‘Right, now if I’ve got your attention. I don’t think any of you would disagree that I’ve been easy on you lot for too long. I know you all reckon I’m a soft touch as a governor. But all that’s going to finish.’

  Hurried, concerned glances passed between the workers.

  ‘Men out there are joining the army, they’re ready to fight for what’s right. And what do you lot do? You slope off early, you get in late.’ He stared at Evie, who didn’t even have the grace to blush. ‘And you nick gear out of the warehouse.’ He turned to the two good-looking men and nodded at them. ‘I’m not stupid, I know about the odd rolls that get “damaged”.’

  The two men shuffled uncomfortably.

  Mr Silver turned back to the machinists. ‘And yes, I know all about the cabbage. Sometimes I think there’s more of my garments on sale off bent stalls down the Lane than I’ve got in the whole of my showroom.’ He paused, letting them all squirm. ‘Well, that’s always been part of the rag trade, I suppose, but, like I said, things round here are going to change.’ He held up his hand. ‘Please, just listen, Joan.’ Silver clasped his hands behind his back and rocked backwards and forwards on his heels. ‘Now it’s going to be your turn. I’m giving you lot the chance to do your bit in fighting that, that …’ Silver ran his hand through his sparse grey hair. ‘That bastard Hitler,’ he finally managed to say.

  Looks of surprise flashed round the workroom at the shock of the usually gentlemanly Mr Silver using bad language.

  ‘Because,’ he continued, ‘from now on we’re making uniforms.’ He paused again, listening to the workers’ discontented mutterings about the war not even having started yet, and what was he on about, and how were they meant to be able to handle all that heavy cloth. ‘Oh, and I should mention that it’s all piecework, and I’m personally going to see that there are some very attractive bonuses.’

  All Mr Silver’s workers cheered, whether from patriotism, relief that nobody was getting sacked, or delight at the prospect of all that piecework wasn’t clear, but cheer they did. That is, all except Ginny. She raised her hand. ‘Mr Silver,’ she said in a low, wheedling voice.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What’s Italy gonna do in this war, Mr Silver?’ Ginny flicked her eyes along the row towards the olive-skinned Maria. ‘Not on our side, are they? More like friends of the Jerries, me dad says. Something about what they did in Spain, or something. Is he right?’

  Silver shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Isn’t there enough hatred in this world?’

  Ginny sucked in her cheeks and looked pained. ‘I only said what me dad reckons.’

  ‘Just get on with your work.’ Silver walked towards the doorway then stopped. ‘We’ll have to get this blouse order finished quick as we can,’ he said to them. ‘Then we can sort out converting to the heavy-duty machines.’

  With the knowledge that their jobs were safe, the warehouse workers readily followed their boss back down the iron stairs to get on with their duties and the machinists set about polishing off the blouse order with renewed enthusiasm. But even with all the machines going full pelt, they could all still hear Ginny’s moaning voice above the noise.

  ‘I don’t understand that Silver,’ she said sharply. ‘He’s such a mean old bastard. He’s
never give us nothing, yet he give all that gear away to the refugees last month and now he’s doing uniforms and giving out bonuses when he don’t even have to.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think he’s mean. He’s always seemed very fair to me,’ Evie said, raising her eyebrows at Babs.

  ‘More than fair,’ Babs agreed.

  ‘Aw, yeah,’ sneered Ginny. ‘I’m sure you two do think he’s fair. And I’m sure fellers always are fair to the likes of you and yer sister, Blondie.’

  Evie laughed disdainfully. ‘I’ll ignore that, Trappy.’

  Ginny’s machine stopped. ‘Who you calling “Trappy”?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Evie answered airily, and tossed another almost completed blouse onto her pile. ‘They don’t label rubbish.’ She leant forward and called along to the far end of the row. ‘Here y’are, Maria. Another bundle for yer.’

  Maria pushed back her chair and stood up.

  Babs looked at Ginny then at Evie – they were both glaring as though daring each other to say something else.

  ‘Why shouldn’t Mr Silver give stuff to the refugees if he feels like it?’ Babs said as she watched Maria move along the row towards them. ‘They’re his own people, ain’t they? It’s only right to help yer own.’

  ‘Tell that to the Italians,’ jeered Ginny.

  Evie slammed her hand down on the bench. ‘Can’t you just shut up for five minutes?’

  ‘Yeah, shut yer row and get on with yer work, Ginny.’ Babs winked at Maria who had stopped between her and Evie to collect the pile of blouses. ‘Yer giving me a headache.’

  ‘Take no notice of her.’ Evie touched Maria gently on the arm. ‘She’s jealous ’cos yer so pretty and ’cos of that lovely figure of your’n.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Babs. ‘She’s just a jealous, hatchet-faced old bag.’

  Maria picked up the blouses and smiled wanly at the sisters and walked slowly, head down, back to her place.

  Ginny snorted with disgust and got back to her machining.

  Evie nudged Babs to get her attention and then she rocked her chair onto its back legs, poked her tongue out and stuck her fingers up behind Ginny’s back. Not caring if Ginny had seen what she had done, Evie turned back to Babs. ‘Here, look what I’ve brought in.’ She held up a tightly rolled parcel of black material that she produced from her bag.

  ‘What yer doing with them?’ Babs sounded flabbergasted. ‘They’re the bloody blackout curtains.’

  Evie rolled her eyes. ‘Aw, ain’t they pork chops? And I was gonna do ’em for dinner and all. What we gonna have now?’

  ‘So what yer brought ’em in here for?’ Babs frowned. ‘Oi, Eve, you ain’t gonna make a dress or nothing out of ’em, are yer?’

  ‘No.’ Evie sounded indignant. ‘The way you talk to me sometimes. If yer must know, I’m gonna line ’em with a bit of that flowery stuff we’ve been using for the blouses. Might as well have the house looking pretty inside, eh?’

  ‘Don’t you let Silver catch yer.’ Babs looked warily over Evie’s shoulder. ‘Not after what he said.’

  ‘Shame, I was gonna ask him to help me do the hems and all,’ Evie said as she expertly pinned pieces of the floral material to the inside of the curtains. ‘I told yer, Babs. I ain’t stupid.’

  ‘I dunno sometimes.’

  Evie ignored her sister’s concern and got on with machining the brightly coloured backing to the dull blackout cloth, accompanying herself as she did so with a tunefully boisterous rendition of ‘Roll Out The Barrel’.

  Lou nodded towards Evie, her ginger curls bobbing. ‘She’s happy.’

  ‘Still with her new bloke, ain’t she.’

  ‘Yer don’t sound very happy about it.’ Lou frowned in surprise at Babs. It wasn’t like the Bell sisters not to support one another, no matter what either of them had got up to. They could have a tiff over something, and they often did, but it never lasted and was never, ever serious. And there had, up until now, been an unspoken rule that the twins would never speak ill of one another, even in a joke, to any outsider, no matter how well they knew them.

  ‘Can’t say I am very happy about it.’ Babs spoke so that Evie could hear what she was saying. ‘But I don’t suppose it’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Yer right, Babs.’ Evie smiled sweetly as she guided the curtain material forward. ‘It ain’t. And nor has the fact that I’m going out with him again tonight either. And tomorrow night. And probably the night after that and all. Yer wanna get yerself out more, Babs, yer must be bored silly sitting in every night by yerself. Yer getting a right little stay-at-home.’

  Babs’s cheeks reddened; she had missed going out with Evie and they both knew it, but it hurt her to hear Evie say it so bluntly, and in front of Lou.

  Lou bent her head towards Babs so that Ginny couldn’t hear. ‘I know, Babs,’ she said quietly. ‘Let’s me and you find ourselves a couple of chaps to take us to the pictures tomorrow night. What d’yer think? I ain’t got nothing to do and I don’t fancy sitting in on a Saturday night. Specially not with me dad going on about war all the time and me mum moaning about all the money I owe her. What d’yer say?’

  ‘I’m not sure if I feel like it,’ Babs said noncommittally. She didn’t want to prove Evie right quite so easily.

  ‘Go on, that good-looking Freddy from down in the warehouse right fancies you, Babs, yer can see it all over his face. Tell yer what, we’ll go down and see him after work and tell him to bring that mate of his for me.’ Lou, increasingly warming to the idea, beamed at Babs then closed her eyes and, with a sigh, slowly shook her head. ‘Cor! What a pair of lookers them two geezers are.’

  Babs looked at Evie who was feigning ignorance of the conversation between Lou and her sister. ‘Go on then. Yer on.’ Babs said it reluctantly but she, too, was smiling now. ‘I’d like that, and yer right, that Freddy is a bit tasty. But you’re gonna have to go down there and sort it all out, Lou. I’ve gotta get off home sharpish tonight to sort out this stupid blackout stuff.’

  ‘Can’t you help her get it done, Evie?’

  Babs looked at Lou as if she was mad and Evie just carried on singing as though she had heard nothing.

  Lou got the sisters’ message loud and clear. ‘Sorry. Daft question.’

  Evie folded up the finished blackout curtains and slipped them back in her bag. She ended her song as she started working on making up a sleeve. ‘Lou,’ she said casually.

  ‘Yes, Eve?’

  ‘When yer go down the warehouse to see Freddy later on, don’t let Tiddler hear yer making no plans to go out, will yer?’

  ‘Eh?’ she said, winking at Babs. ‘I didn’t think you’d heard me and Babs having our little chat.’

  ‘Leave off, Lou. I mean it. Yer know how the poor sod gets himself all upset ’cos he ain’t got no one. And he’s a decent bloke.’

  ‘All right, Eve.’ Lou chuckled and said to Babs, ‘That twin o’ yours is a right softy underneath, ain’t she, Babs?’

  ‘She ain’t a bad old cow really,’ Babs said affectionately.

  ‘What, me?’ Evie put her hands to her chest and pulled a face of mock horror. ‘Yer both wrong there, girls. Right hard case, I am.’

  ‘Yeah,’ smiled Babs. ‘Course you are.’ She nudged her sister playfully. ‘Come on, Evie, how about another song? Tell yer what, I’ll do all the girls a favour and join in with yer. My voice’ll cover up your rotten squawking and give their ear’oles a rest.’

  Babs stood on the pavement outside number six, her hands on her hips and her head tilted to one side, staring at the front window. ‘I dunno,’ she said to herself. ‘It still don’t look right.’ She went back inside and called up the stairs: ‘Can’t yer come down and help us just a minute, Eve?’

  ‘I told yer once,’ Evie called back and stepped out from the bedroom onto the upstairs landing. She was wearing only her underslip, and had a hairbrush in one hand and a mirror in the other. ‘I did my bit when I lined the curtains this morning.’

  �
��And yer didn’t even do that right ’cos yer rushed ’em. Typical o’ you. Yer start something all nice then get bored with it and wind up mucking it all up. The upstairs ones are fine, they’re hanging just right, but them downstairs ones, the ones that really matter, they’re all rucked up in one corner. The light’s gonna come right through and Frankie Morgan’ll just love that.’

  ‘Does it really matter? You said yerself it was all a waste o’ time.’

  ‘I know that, and you know that. But Frankie Morgan knows he can fine us if we don’t do it right.’

  ‘Yer finished?’ Evie shook her head. ‘Gawd, Babs, ain’t yer got nothing better to worry about?’ She tutted loudly and went back into the bedroom. ‘Now just leave me alone,’ she shouted. ‘Albie’ll be here soon and I ain’t even got me frock on yet.’

  Babs fumed silently as she stomped into the front room and climbed onto the kitchen chair she’d been using as a stepladder. ‘Bloody things,’ she complained to herself and began unpicking the offending seam. She worked quickly and skilfully and, when she had finished resewing the cloth, she stuck the needle through the front of her apron for safekeeping and went back outside into the street to see if the curtains were now hanging properly.

  ‘Taped yer windows, I see.’ It was old Alice Clarke from over the road. She was sitting on a kitchen chair by her street door, her short skinny legs dangling, her narrow little shoulders hunched and her scrawny arms folded tight across her chest. She was in her customary ‘on duty’ position from where she could take note of all the comings and goings in Darnfield Street.

  ‘Yes, Alice, I’ve taped the windows,’ Babs answered her, but she didn’t turn round to face her. The last thing she wanted was to give Alice the opportunity to get started on the neighbours and their misdoings.

  ‘Looks like rain.’ Alice tried again to engage Babs in conversation. ‘Reckon this fine weather’s over.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Babs said, and went to go back indoors.

  ‘Yer’d do that a lot quicker if yer dad and sister helped yer.’ Alice shouted the words just as Babs put her foot on the street doorstep.