by Annie Clarke
Annie Hall sighed, feeling the pain in her baby-bearing innards, aching at the very thought of the dadding, washing and ironing she’d have to do again. But not enough to stand in the way of Fran’s happiness. And they could wait longer for a headstone for Betty. Who knew, she might sell enough rugs to pay for one.
But did Mr Massingham even know his son was trying to spark a pitman’s daughter? Her thoughts drifted to the Factory and a different anxiety took hold now. Maisie’s babe had been born yellow, and Maisie had been right sickly before she was taken out of that section down south. Look at Franny – every day she seemed yellower, itchier and giddier. She had turned too quickly as she left the house for the bus and had almost fallen. By, she would have done if she hadn’t caught the table and righted herself. But it wasn’t just that. What else was it doing to her insides, especially if it was that blooming TNT? And this coming on top of that other stuff which gave them a really bad rash.
Annie poured cups of tea, setting them in the centre of the table. She took up her own rug. She preferred to make a proggy, but some liked to make a hooky, though they were both rag rugs, and Briddlestone’s liked either. For a proggy she used short lengths of material of about five inches in length, and, working from the wrong side she progged or poked one end of a single short strip through the hessian with an adapted dolly peg, and then progged the other end of the clipped material through the hessian a tiny bit further along, and so it went on. In the end she produced a fairly ragged pile. Some though liked working with a hook. This involved working with a long strip of material, hooking it in and out of the hessian, creating a rug with a looped pile.
She found that using single short strips gave her a more flexible colour scheme, and allowed her to merge the colours, and tilted the frame to check the right side and smiled. Yes, grand it was and would look fine hanging on a wall. She’d need to bind the edges good and neat. By, fancy having the money to hang a rug on the wall, not walk on it.
She said as much now, and they all laughed. It was grand to have company like this. Madge cocked her head to one side. ‘They can sling them on the ceiling for all I care, just as long as we get paid.’
Again there was laughter, and now Mrs Slater lifted her shoulders and said, ‘They could swing ’em from the lights an’ all, if they’re not at it already themselves, as some says the naughty ones do in London. Right racy the goings-on, so they say.’ By now they were helpless with laughter, and had to lay down their tools at the very thought.
Mrs Bedley leaned her frame against her chair leg and sipped her tea before wiping her eyes behind her spectacles with her handkerchief. ‘By, you’re a card, Mrs Slater, right enough, just like your Sylv.’ She patted her mouth, looking around at them all over the cup. ‘Let’s forget the whelp. He’ll move on to something, or someone, else. Let’s think about the schedule instead, because Briddlestone’s want to be able to distribute ready in time for Christmas. It seems that though the war is getting worse, there’s still Christmas, isn’t that right Mrs Hall?’
Annie smiled at her friend, the laughter wiping the worry from her. ‘Right enough.’
So that’s what they did, and it was Madge Field who said, ‘Aye, it would be a grand thing if we could find another buyer too. There’re others in the village that have war work in the fields, or ARP or WVS like us, who’d like to join us after their shifts. They’re happy to be paid according to what they make as well, so that’s not a problem.’
As one, they all looked at Annie, who nodded. ‘I’ll talk to Fran. She usually has good ideas.’
At the Factory, Miss Ellington called, ‘Two minutes to eleven, girls. Thanks to those of you who joined us on the pellets and gave us an extra hour of your time. I know it’s a pest when we have to switch some of you round to help out, but that’s the nature of the beast. Don’t hurry, finish what you are doing and then step back. Whilst I have you listening to my every word, I would just like to plead with you all to have your hair cut, or get your mothers to do it. It’s so much safer when you come near any machinery. We don’t want it getting caught up.’
No one took any notice, just worked on, including Fran, whose whole body itched, though her fingers were still nimble as she pasted and wrapped the fluted paper around what felt like the millionth fuse pellet and placed it in its stand, carefully, carefully, for she couldn’t quite believe it exploded only if it met the right ‘other’. After all, if it could boost the ignition of weapons, it could easily blow off her hands.
There was a certain symmetry to her life, she mused, as she wrapped another. If it wasn’t the yellow, it was detonators, and if not that, it was fuse pellets, otherwise known as detonator boosters. And each and every one of these would contribute to the war. So, detonator, booster, the yellow. The words kept resonating in her head and she pasted and wrapped a pellet along with each one, creating something of a rhythm until there were no more.
She stood back, feeling her head whirl. She breathed in for four, then out for the same count, and it steadied her. She wondered if there were women in Germany as yellow as canaries too? And in Russia? What did Amelia say canary was in German? She stared at the bench, trying to think as the sector’s foreman, Mr Hopkins, said, ‘The target for today has been reached. Excellent effort, ladies.’
Those words always gave Fran a real sense of achievement and it was such a relief to work with the nice, sensible Mr Hopkins. Beth and Sarah on either side of her were smiling too, along with Amelia, Maisie and Valerie, who had all been seconded as well. They filed out of the section, past those heading in for the night shift. In the changing rooms they were joined by others from the stemming shop who had been asked to do overtime too. They washed, dragged on their clothes and finally Fran wound the scarf around her neck. A lovely red, white and blue scarf, because her mam felt it was her duty to be patriotic whenever and however she could.
The girls collected the belongings they had left for safety reasons and walked to the gate. Behind them, Mr Swinton hurried to catch up because he was cadging a lift to Minton with Cecil, who would be in a foul mood because he’d had to wait for them.
They showed their passes at the gate, then Fran walked along the tatty piece of tarmac ground with the others, aching with tiredness like everyone else. It was dark and they were guided by the slit headlights of the bus, but nonetheless they heard Cecil hooting, and everyone sighed together. ‘Cecil must have a date with a beer.’
Sarah slowed down, gripping Fran’s arm. ‘Oh no,’ she hissed. ‘Look, Fran, it’s him.’
By the light of the bus’s headlights, Fran watched Ralph climb out of his roadster and stroll towards them. ‘I was passing, Fran,’ he called. ‘Thought you could do with a lift. Stan mentioned you weren’t so well.’
She shook her head as the women filed onto the bus, saying nothing, though several tutted. Cecil had left the engine running and Fran wanted to be on the bus too. She almost wept as she shouted, ‘How did you know where this is? How? No one should.’
Ralph froze for just a moment and then Swinton paused beside them calling, ‘I’m right glad to see yer, Mr Massingham.’ He had shoved ahead of the girls, his hand out. Ralph stared as Mr Swinton reached him. They shook hands and Swinton said, ‘Perhaps you can help, Mr Massingham? I want to know where me boy is. He wrote to say you’d been right kind and got him war work, but I’m wondering when he gets leave? We just got a postcard and—’
Fran grabbed the moment. ‘Take Mr Swinton in your great big car, Mr Massingham. Then you can have a chat, eh?’
The bus was rolling forwards and Mrs Oborne was on the step, calling them. Fran, Sarah and Beth ran and leapt on, not looking back, and for once Fran was grateful to Mr Swinton. The three girls hurried along the aisle, holding on to the backs of the seats as Cecil roared up through the gears, taking no prisoners as the wheels spun and he scorched onto the road. They found seats together and fell into them, with Beth sounding surprised as she said, ‘Well, I suppose we have to admit Ralphy boy has
a few good points, if he took the Swinton boy under his wing.’
Sarah settled back in her seat. ‘Just as long as he keeps his wings well away from us, eh.’
The girls grinned at one another. ‘We’ve got one another, we three girls, and we’ve got gumption too, so what else do we need?’ Beth said.
‘A bit of shut-eye would do nicely, thank you,’ called Amelia, sounding angry. ‘Right now, if you don’t mind.’
Sarah muttered, ‘Well, forgive me for breathing.’
They all smiled, and shook their heads.
Chapter Eleven
October 1941
Fran, Sarah and Beth led the sing-song as they all half danced from the bus to the Factory an hour early for their afternoon shift, as instructed when they’d left the previous evening. It was a fine Tuesday afternoon, with even the birds hiding amongst the red and yellow leaves joining in, or so it seemed. Maisie turned and bowed to the trees; the others raised their voices. Even the men on the gate hummed along with them as they checked their passes. ‘You must have been a beautiful baby …’
Once through, they headed for the changing room, where they would be directed to detonators, pellets, stemming or anywhere else they were needed. It had become the norm these days for Fran, Beth, Amelia and Sarah, and perhaps Maisie and Mrs Oborne, to be taken out of the stemming shop for the odd day or two to fill in for missing personnel.
Fran’s mam still wrapped her daughter’s hands in the sphagnum-moss mixture every evening, as Mrs Bedley did for Sarah. Annie had given some to Beth to apply herself and even Sarah had felt sorry for her, because how could Beth reach her own back? At least, she had muttered, she hadn’t moved back to Massingham yet, so hadn’t struck up with Stan. But was she going to? Neither she nor Fran knew.
They entered the changing room, pleased that for some reason they’d all begun to feel a bit more themselves. Was it the moss most of them were using, or were they just hardening themselves to the shifts, the work, the chemicals and the stress? Then Fran put two big bottles of water on the bench and Maisie said, ‘What on earth?’
Fran told them that her mam had decided she should try to flush the irritants out of her system, so she had to drink all this each shift, and then more at home.
‘Will you be allowed to take the bottles into the workshop?’ Mrs Oborne asked, impressed, saying that she would do it too. It made sense.
They had let Fran through the gate, but had they been too busy humming to really check? She wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t going to go back and ask. They were all taking off their ‘contraband’ when the draught from the opening door made the bare light bulb swing, throwing up dancing shadows.
‘Eh up,’ Mrs Oborne called. ‘The light likes a tune an’ all.’
Miss Ellington, Mrs Raydon and several other women they hadn’t seen before entered, all wearing black overalls. So, they were all security officers? The women were lining up, as though they were blocking the way to the works corridor. Fran clutched her bag. Had the guard said something? Were they going to take the water? Had she broken a rule? Would she be in trouble?
Miss Ellington stepped forward. ‘A few changes, ladies. It has been decided by those who make decisions that from now on—But no, first let me tell you the history. On yesterday’s fore shift, an unused match was found in someone’s liberty bodice pocket. I cannot reveal why it came to be found, but she is even now being interrogated, and no matter if she is exonerated of the crime of sabotage, she will be dismissed, because who really knows if it was to be thrown into a machine to create havoc? The answer from the young woman in question was, “I forgot.” I sincerely believe she did, but as I say, questions, questions.’
Now it was Mrs Raydon’s turn to step forward. ‘So, today everyone is to be stripped to their undergarments and searched—’
‘Well, I’m not having Mr Swinton anywhere near me, I’m telling you now,’ said Fran.
Miss Ellington hid a smile. ‘No need for you to tell us anything, thank you, Fran. He will not be in this room for the search. Let us begin. Time is a-wasting.’
Amelia spoke now. ‘I’m not used to communal undressing, Miss Ellington. Perhaps I could have a little cubbyhole, or something similar.’
‘Or perhaps you could not, Amelia.’ Miss Ellington shook her head. ‘This isn’t a polite tea party, it’s a factory, and for the moment you are a factory worker.’
Amelia looked shocked, then furious.
The girls put their valuables in the envelopes as usual, feeling awkward and embarrassed. For as Fran said to Amelia, ‘We aren’t used to it either, Amelia. Whatever made you think we would be?’
Amelia was dragging her clothes over her head. Her underwear was rather splendid, but the same couldn’t be said for the rest of them, so really they were the ones who should want cubbyholes, Fran thought. They were all avoiding each other’s eyes.
They and their pile of clothes were properly searched. Then Mrs Oborne’s bloomers and vest were patted down, then Valerie’s, and Fran found herself watching the bare light bulb, for this was worse than feeling sick. Each member of the security team apologised, but continued and Miss Ellington told them all that they would be querying the necessity for this later on today. As the woman whose tight curls smelled of perm lotion finished patting Fran down, she whispered, ‘Don’t worry, for us it’s like patting down a slab of meat.’
‘Well, I might be a slab of meat to you,’ Fran muttered, ‘but I’ll have you know I’m a Merle Oberon in me heart.’
The woman laughed and her face lit up. Others heard and they all vied with one another to be the most popular film star there in that room, in their shabby, well-worn underclothes. Suddenly the Factory women had taken back control and even Amelia said that she’d fight Fran for Merle Oberon, while Maisie sang, ‘You must have been a beautiful baby …’ At this point the security team joined in as they finished their task, finally stepping back, having found nothing. It was only then that the singing stopped.
‘You can now dress, and pop on the overalls as usual,’ Mrs Raydon announced. The girls and women looked at one another, and then smiled,
Once they were dressed, Miss Ellington held up one of Fran’s two bottles, after tucking the other under her handless arm. ‘Whoever these belong to, tell me you weren’t thinking of taking them in with you?’
Beth said, ‘Fran’s mam was told by an old Great War armaments worker she met at t’market that she’d seen Fran, knew what she was was doing from her colour, and that she should drink water to flush the chemicals through. I think it’s a bliddy good idea and I’m going to bring water tomorrow, so there.’
Amelia spoke over all the chatting and said, ‘I also think that’s a good idea. It makes sense, doesn’t it? You flush a drain.’ She paused. ‘Well, I don’t mean you’re a drain, Fran.’
‘I’d stop right there, lass,’ said Mrs Oborne.
Amelia nodded. ‘Perhaps I’d better.’ She pulled a face, and there was embarrassed laughter from the women.
Miss Ellington and the other security women huddled together, talking, until finally Miss Ellington addressed them all. ‘As long as your mother didn’t say more about your work, so be it. And yes, it seems a sensible idea, but the bottles can’t be taken into the workshops. They should be drunk here, and why not in the canteen on your break? In fact, I think the canteen should provide water for every shift.’
There was a loud rat-a-tat at the door. Mr Swinton called, ‘All clear?’
‘All clear,’ called Miss Ellington.
Mr Swinton entered and saw Miss Ellington still holding up a bottle while Mrs Raydon now held the other. He reddened. ‘Whose are those, may I ask? How did they get through the gates?’
‘They’re mine, Mr Swinton,’ Fran sighed, knowing the fuss there was going to be.
Mr Swinton thrust his fists into his pockets. ‘These were going into the pellet shop, which is where you will be working today? Glass, when broken, is a weapon. And anyway, what do these bottl
es really contain?’
Miss Ellington raised her eyebrows and Mrs Raydon said, ‘Water, to flush the system before, during and after the shift, as an antidote to the chemicals flying about the place. Or in other words, nasty things.’ Her tone seemed to indicate that she was looking at one of those this very minute.
Mr Swinton spun round, thrusting his chin out towards Miss Ellington. ‘You have, I presume, tested said water, since you are head of this security team?’
It was Miss Ellington’s turn to redden. Fran spoke up before the security officer could open her mouth. ‘She was about to, because no one can be trusted – we know that. That’s why she’s holding one.’
Sarah folded her arms. ‘Aye, that’s right, Mr Swinton. Security is security, you’ve gone on about it enough.’
Beth nodded. ‘But she gave us a talking-to first, to save you the bother.’
Mrs Oborne nodded too. ‘Fair stung the air, she did. Made the light bulb flicker, she did.’
Everyone was grinning, including Amelia, as Miss Ellington removed the stopper. ‘I’ll try it now.’ She did so, and Miss Raydon sipped the other. ‘Water,’ they both agreed.
Fran hoped against hope that Mr Swinton wouldn’t put his thin, dry lips round the top of the bottles and test them too. But he did. She thought that beneath the yellow, she must be blanching.
‘Had this gone into any of the workshops, it would have been a case for dismissal.’ Mr Swinton spun on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him. The other security officers left on his heels, all except for Mrs Raydon and Miss Ellington.
Miss Ellington poured a little of the water onto a clean cloth she drew from her pocket. She wiped the tops, handing one of the bottles to Fran. ‘Don’t picture what’s just happened; drink up and “think of England”.’
The women laughed, while Sylv called, ‘If she drinks the whole lot, she’ll need to wee all shift.’
