Shattered Dreams

by Vivienne Dockerty

  “I thought it was you, Irene.”

  She turned to see a pleasant faced young woman sitting on the seat behind her. It was Josie, a friend of her sister’s: newly married and living out in the country, or so Irene had heard. Josie came to sit beside her.

  “I haven’t seen you for ages, Josie. We used to have a lot of fun when you came over to ours.”

  “No fun now, Irene. I’ve been married to Lennie for three months. In fact this is my last week working. I’m picking my cards up on Friday. Lennie says I’ve not to work anymore.”

  “Oh, is that because of the rule that married women have to give up working?”

  “Not really. The manager said I could stay as long as I want to because they’re a bit short of typists where I work. But Lennie says I should be expecting by now and it must be because I’m rushing off to work every day that I’m not. Anyway, he’s put his foot down. Master in his own home and all that business. How’s life treating you, Irene, and how is Isabel, to change the subject? What are you doing so far from home?”

  Irene explained that she was keeping her Aunt Miriam company because her uncle had died recently. She went to work every day from Irby, where before she used to travel from Wallasey. That she had met a young man who lived locally and she hoped to marry him one day and Isabel had divorced her husband and was seeing another man.

  It appeared that Josie earned her living as a typist and Irene asked if typing was difficult to learn and were there better wages to be had? Better than a shop wage had been the reply, though boring as hell as Josie was a copy typist and you had to go to night school to learn the skill.

  Her half hour break at lunchtime found Irene in a long queue at the Employment office in Hamilton Square that day. Full of hope that she could be directed to a new job with better pay had spurred her to scurry along the high street, eating the sandwich that her aunty had made as she ran.

  “Do you have qualifications?”asked a superior young female clerk, glancing over her spectacles at Irene, as they faced each other through the glass panel later. “Did you pass your Matriculation? Speak a foreign language? Employers are being rather choosy at the moment. We are starting to have a worldwide depression as you probably know.”

  Irene didn’t know, although the signs were there to see if she looked around for them. There were more men hanging around on street corners, the bus that brought the workers to the flour mill opposite her house wasn’t as full as it had been and Saltbury’s, being a department store that sold a lot of luxury items, wasn’t very busy either.

  The clerk suggested that she looked for a different kind of shop work. It was said that the new Co-op was incorporating a food department and, if she still wanted to improve her future prospects, there was always night school, though it didn’t come cheap.

  Irene left the place feeling quite despondent. She blamed her mother for her lack of qualifications, not having the good education that her sister had had at the convent, when her father had been made redundant at the nearby shipyard called Cammell Lairds.

  Eddie’s mother, Gladys Dockerty, sat with her friend, Hilda, in the restaurant at Saltbury’s department store. They were drinking coffee from dainty china cups and chatting about mutual friends from the Rotary Circle. Both women wore expensive coats trimmed with fur tippets, over smart ankle-length dresses and T bar shoes. Their shingled hair was covered with neat cloche hats and both wore gloves on their manicured hands.

  “My dear Gladys,”said Hilda, elegantly dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a snowy white napkin.“How are the plans for the wedding progressing? You were telling me last time we met that it was to be held at St. Winefreds in Neston and afterwards at the Victoria Hotel.”

  “Yes, that’s right, Hilda. Of course it is too early to put the invitations in the post, but naturally you and Charles will be there.”

  “A wedding is so exciting. Have you decided on what you will be wearing? It is so important, isn’t it, when you are the mother of the bride? I can’t wait for Emily to find herself a beau. What about Eddie, your eldest? Is he walking out with a young lady yet?”

  “I have heard from one of my daughters that he is seeing one of the shop assistants that works here.”

  Gladys lowered her voice and looked around in case someone could hear.

  “Hardly marriage material. She’s not a Roman Catholic and Eddie is only nineteen, whilst she is twenty-one. Rather young I think to be settling down. I’m going to invite Marjorie Buckley around for Sunday tea as soon as I can get around to it. You know her father, Alfred Buckley, don’t you? One of the leading lights at the Amateur Dramatic Society and a member of the Rotary. She is a lovely girl, educated with my daughters at the convent and pronounces her words so beautifully, puts my Welsh inflection to shame.”

  “Oh, Gladys, I think your accent is enchanting and you’ve managed to hold on to it all these years. Now shall we order some little sandwiches? They’ll put us on until supper time.”

  The shop assistant to whom Eddie’s mother had been referring was on her way back to her post on the hosiery counter. She had been given the job of counting stockings, then neatly folding them back into the wooden trays. Sarah Petey, who had been promoted to assistant buyer, though she had started her apprenticeship after Irene, was nowhere to be seen. It had been arranged that the two girls would liaise at one’ clock to see if more stock was required.

  Irene stood behind the counter waiting patiently. There was only so many times one could count stockings; she had already tidied the new fangled brassieres and the glass shelves were gleaming from when she had dusted them before. She kept her eye out for the floor walker. He was known to tattle tale to management if he thought a girl was not doing her share.

  Boredom began to set in. There were no customers to be served and the girl from the millinery counter opposite was busy arranging her merchandise on the wooden hat stands. Irene stared glassy eyed towards the window. Was this what she was going to have to do for the rest of her life? Standing for ten hours a day, watching the minutes on the department clock tick by. Even if she did apply for a job at the new Co-op, would her day be any different? She could still be watching the clock in another store up the road!

  Oh, where had Sarah got to? At least counting stockings in the girl’s company would alleviate the boredom and they could have a laugh together as Sarah usually had a joke to tell. Finally Irene decided to go to the senior buyer’s office. Mr Fielding would know where Sarah had got to.

  Her mind in a whirl, Irene forgot to knock at the door of his office, but she soon discovered where Sarah was. Sitting on the senior buyer’s knee! She couldn’t say who was the most embarrassed, though Sarah managed to conceal her shame whilst doing up the buttons on her blouse and the man pretended he was about to sharpen a pencil.

  “So this is how you got your promotion,” Irene managed to splutter before leaving as an uncomfortable silence was beginning to fill the air.

  With her mind made up she put her hat and coat on and walked up the road to the Co-op and, with the knowledge that she was sure to get a glowing reference from the senior buyer, Irene was given a job.

  J.C. sat in the bank manager’s office, whilst Mr Martin, a thin studious looking man, was busy studying his client’s file.

  “I have to tell you the truth of the matter, Mr Dockerty, you’ll have to cut down on your expenditure or your workforce. There’s too much money going out and not enough coming in.”

  “But I don’t know what you mean by that,” J.C. answered, sounding puzzled. “I’ve the rents from Conway Street coming in and that brings a tidy income as you know.”

  “But, you are spending more than you should do. Do you need twenty wages going out each Friday, when you’ve only just started putting the foundations in? If I were you I would lay off your workforce until they’re needed. Then there’s your lifestyle also. Drawings for self of fifty pounds each week is a bit over the top, surely?”

  “I have the girls’ educat
ion, a servant, a gardener, my wife’s household expenses and the car. I’ll need a new lorry shortly and I’ve my elder daughter’s wedding. All got to be paid for somehow.”

  “Can I give you a word of advice, Johnny? And this is between you and me. That pair of semi’s you own on the corner of your avenue, sell one of them and put the other in your wife’s name. I have it on good authority that unless things improve in the economy, the bank will recall your initial loan. It’s not just your business, it will be all sorts of businesses that will be going to the wall. I think there could be another depression in a year or so and it would be wise to draw in your horns. Perhaps cut the size of the development down, or make your men work twice as hard.”

  J.C. walked back to his car in a daze. He lit a cigarette with trembling fingers as he took in the import of the manager’s words. It wasn’t possible. The man was scaremongering; he’d been reading the wrong sort of broadsheet. It was propaganda in the newspapers that had caused him to speak as he had. This was the 1930’s. Hadn’t they built a new world fit to live in, with the blood of his brothers shed in the Great War? Still, perhaps he should restrict his spending a little and maybe follow the advice on the semi’s he owned. Gladys would be delighted when he presented the house deeds to her and he’d get a decent lorry for Eddie to drive.

  Gladys. It would break her heart if they had to change their lifestyle. Last time there had been a recession, she had sold her little sweet shop to pay his builders merchant bills. It had been her bit of independence, something she could call her own. Though he could say this was her repayment, a house that would be in her name. She’d like that, something to tell those friends of hers, how generous her husband had been. What a loyal and supportive wife he had in Gladys, or Glad as he liked to call her. Bearing all his children without complaint, running the house like clockwork, always up at the crack of dawn. And they’d had a good marriage, J.C. thought to himself. He had been an adequate provider most of the time and a devoted husband to his admirable wife. But don’t forget that other matter, the voice of his conscience said, don’t forget that other matter that made you fall from grace!

  CHAPTER TWO

  Irene was thinking about the coming weekend. She usually met Eddie at the local dance that was held in the village hall on a Saturday night. She would have liked him to call for her at her Aunt’s bungalow, but he always gave some reason for why he couldn’t. She had asked him once why he didn’t come and collect her? His answer had been a jokey one. Why bother, when she knew the way to the dance hall without him herself! That was Eddie all over she had found. No commitment, no promises for the future, just took it for granted that she was his girl.

  She remembered back to when she had first met him. Aunty had worried that Irene had no social life, so had asked her neighbour’s son where the young people of the village went on a Saturday night. There had been various answers; the tennis club, or go to see a show at the Argylle Theatre, drinking in the local pub or visiting the houses of friends. Though he sometimes went to the village hall where there was a social evening. At the moment they danced to the music from a gramophone, but the committee there were thinking of inviting local bands. Would she like him to take her niece there?

  Irene had danced with the boy when they had got there, but unfortunately he had spotted a few of his friends and disappeared from her view. She had been left to watch, as others twirled on the dance floor, wondering if she should make a quick exit. It was embarrassing sitting on her own, not knowing another soul.

  Eddie had come to her rescue. He was the most handsome young man she had ever seen. Taller than her, slim but not scrawny, dark brown hair slicked back, cut short in army style. But what she noticed more than anything was his brown twinkly eyes, full of fun and good humour, as if the world could never get him down. He was dressed in the very latest men’s fashion: a double-breasted pinstriped suit that he wore with a white starched collared shirt. A tie of bright yellow completed his outfit and she couldn’t help noticing his patent leather dance shoes. What a dream boat. As he smiled and asked could he request a dance from her, she had felt very privileged to do so.

  Eddie was the best of dancers, taught by his mother who liked nothing better than waltzing with her son around their large kitchen with its highly polished wooden floor. Luckily Irene had attended her cousin’s dancing school when she had been younger, so they had made a very accomplished pair. She had been glad that she had worn her pink taffeta dress that had frills cascading from the waist to the hemline and still remembered the envious glances from the other girls as she and Eddie glided by.

  That had been over two long years ago and the pattern had hardly changed in their courtship, if that was what she could call it. Dancing at the village hall on a Saturday, sometimes meeting up again on Sunday and going for a walk.

  The area where Aunty lived was beautiful. The bungalow looked over farmland, which stretched for mile upon mile to the Irish Sea. It wasn’t far from Thurstaston Common, which had wonderful views to the mountains of Wales. Sometimes Eddie would hold Irene’s hand as they wandered along slowly, breathing in the fresh, iodine air, but he never wanted to find a sheltered spot in order to do a bit of canoodling. The best she got was a quick peck on the cheek before she walked down the lane to her home.

  He had told her a bit about his background, of his snooty snobbish sisters, with their clever know-all ways, of how hard he and his brothers had to work and that the business would be his one day. And he often spoke proudly of his marvellous mother, who seemed to be the best parent in the world.

  The following day was to be the last for Irene at Saltbury’s. She had given in her notice and was set to start work at the Co-op the following week. There hadn’t been a problem trying to avoid the eyes of her colleague Sarah while she had worked her week out. Sarah had been kept busy planning a new accessory counter on the ground floor. Seeing the senior buyer on a daily basis was not a problem either; he always walked around as if he had a smell under his nose.

  Irene had spent a lot of her time thinking, as she stood at the back of her counter willing for the days to pass quickly so that she could start the next phase of her life. Was this it then? Was she destined to spend her life as a shop girl? Have a career like Hilda Makin from millinery, a spinster in her fifties who lived alone with her cats. Or was this just time she had to spend before Eddie decided to propose to her? If that was so, he was being very cautious. It could be years before she became his wife!

  Perhaps she should force the issue? Start dating someone else. See how Eddie would feel about that. It wasn’t as if she was short on admirers, Graham Edge from Packing was always asking her out. Then of course there was Evan, her first ever boyfriend. Their courtship had started when she was only fourteen, but he had blotted his copy book by taking Emma Fuller out from Victoria Road. He had sworn there was nothing in it. It was Irene he loved and would do so until his dying day. He still sent cards to her mother’s house at Christmas time and birthdays, with little notes pleading that he be given another chance.

  Irene knew she was fairly pretty. Though her face was rather rounded, she had peachy skin and lovely curly chestnut hair. Her eyes were hazel and her full lips were certainly kissable, so what was the matter with Eddie, that he didn’t want her in a certain way? Well, now she had made her mind up. This weekend was Eddie’s last chance to do something that proved he had some commitment. She would invite him to tea at her Aunty’s house and if he declined her invitation she would pack him in there and then. With Aunt Jenny coming to live at the bungalow in the not too distant future, Aunt Miriam would have company, so she could move back to her old room at home. Isabel, her elder sister, now a mother to two children and one on the way, was going to move to Southport where her new husband had got a job in a pub. Irene was sure her mother would love to have her younger daughter back, if only to help with her poorly dad.

  Eddie’s thoughts were also on the weekend. He was hoping to borrow the Ford and take Irene som
ewhere special on Sunday. He planned to tell her all about the bungalow and how one day when they married it would be hers. With a bit of luck, the roof would be on in a month or so, then he and Irene could get engaged. Though he wasn’t looking forward to telling his parents: Eddie knew his mother had her heart set on him marrying a Catholic girl.

  J.C. was in a terrible rage. His lorry was laid up, Ellen had burnt the sausages and, to top it all, the dealer from where he had ordered the new lorry had rung to say there was some delay. That meant they would get behind with the bricklaying. The men would be idling around, but still wanting their wages, damn it. He spied Eddie munching on a sandwich in the kitchen. The lad turned to greet him as his father walked into the room.

  “Oh, Dad, I’m glad you’re here still. Can I borrow the car on Sunday? After you’ve come back from church of course. I want to take a young lady out for a spin in the countryside.”

  He should have noticed the warning signs. His father always limped when he was angry. For some reason, the wound he’d got when he was gored by a bull always flared up then in his leg.

  “No yer can’t, lad, and what are yer doin’ here anyway? You should be out there grafting. Not sitting around eating yer head off. How the hell I’m going to get them houses finished? Bloody lorry’s not coming ’til Tuesday, but that lot will still want paying. I bet they’re all up at the pub!”

  “Can I make a suggestion, Father?” Eddie tried to ignore the outburst, as J.C. swung himself onto a chair and mopped at his brow with a napkin. “What if the men spent their time at the bungalow? It would keep them busy for a while.”

  “Yes, and you would have more time to spend with yer lady love. Is that it? Can’t wait to get into her drawers?”

  “Father, that’s enough!”

  This came from Gladys, who had been listening nearby in the scullery.