by Casey, Jan
‘We know everything there is to know about that,’ Gwen said.
‘I will proceed to cut the tape,’ Morrison said. ‘And declare the new Waterloo Bridge to be open.’ He placed his hat on his head, walked to the ticker-tape and cut it in half, the two ends fluttering for a moment and then drooping to the ground. A trumpet fanfare was sounded by the National Fire Service band, followed by a round of applause to which Mr Morrison nodded and shook a few hands. Then he and his wife started towards the south side followed by the public figures, reporters, the invited and the bystanders.
They’d seen this view from above the bend in the river every day for years, but Evelyn thought it remained fresh and stunning. All the more startling for being able to enjoy the sight without dread of bombing or attack. The air was crisp and clean around St Paul’s to the left; a vapour trail of cloud moving over Big Ben to the right.
‘Do you think it’s something for London to be proud of?’ Evelyn asked. ‘You know, like Morrison said?’
‘Depends whether it gets shaky or not,’ Gwen said.
‘Of course it won’t.’
‘Who knows? The first one did.’
‘And if it does,’ said Joan. ‘It’ll be a folly. Not the pride of London.’
‘Well, I thinks…’
‘What do you think, Alice?’
‘I thinks it don’t matter either way.’
‘Why not?’
‘All that matters is it needed to be done and we did it.’
Gwen lagged behind when they reached the spot above her special place. She stood next to the railing, stretching high on her toes and stared into the black, churning river.
‘Gwen. Come on,’ Evelyn called. ‘You won’t have time for a drink before you have to get home to the kids.’
‘One minute,’ Gwen shouted back.
The river lapped against the pier, churning up silt and mud, a length of rusty chain, a skeleton of umbrella spokes, a sheet of shredded tarpaulin. Something light floating on a watery undulation caught her eye. A triangle of flag perhaps, or a page of newspaper. She leaned over as far as she dared and peered down. No, it was a square of white cotton hanky. She watched as a flash of winter sunlight brought the material into stark relief. Then a white-topped swell wrapped it around the concrete where it waved her on towards her friends, her home, her family, her life. She blew a kiss towards it.
‘Gwen.’
Gwen turned and put her hand up to the others. When she looked again, the ragged piece of cloth had been released from its old precarious place of refuge and was floating on a swirling eddy before it disappeared from view.
Acknowledgements
From the bottom of my heart I am grateful to my daughter, Kelly Collinwood-Erdinc, and my son, Liam Collinwood, for their love, encouragement and support and for not allowing me to give up. And a big thank you – with much love – to my husband, Don Gilchrist, for his confidence in me and for being my research buddy, especially at the Metropolitan Archives.
To my grandchildren Toby, Kaan, Ayda, Alya and Aleksia I would like to say thank you for being everything and more.
I’m also grateful to Peter and Kathleen Casey, Arie Collinwood, Ozzie Erdinc, Danny and Sonia Gilchrist, Tom Gilchrist and Sue Ward for their love, support and enthusiasm.
I would like to say thank you to the first readers of this novel for their feedback and encouragement: Kelly Collinwood-Erdinc, Liam Collinwood, Johanna Emeney, Steve Farmer, and Jan Hurst.
A thank you, also, to Laura Deitz and Colette Paul, my tutors on the MA in Creative Writing course at Anglia Ruskin University, the Angles Writing Group and The National Centre for Writing, Norwich for awarding me highly-commended in the Escalator Prize for this novel which gave me so much confidence.
Thanks go to my fellow Book Club members Jo Bishop, Kelly Collinwood-Erdinc, Steve Farmer, Don Gilchrist, Maureen John, Nick John, Liz Peadon, Dave Pountney and Martin Shrosbree who have celebrated every step of the way with me.
I am so grateful to Rhea Kurien at Aria Fiction and my agent, Kiran Kataria at Keane Kataria Literary Agency for choosing me. Thank you also to Vicky Joss, at Aria Fiction, for her help with social media and digital marketing.
I would have been lost without Peter Cross-Rudkin of the Institute of Civil Engineers who gave up his time to sit with me, show me diagrams and photos and explain how bridges were built in the 1940s. Thank you very much.
Thank you to the Women’s Engineering Society for information and advice.
And a big thank you to Nick Abendroth, Libby Aitchison, Lizzie Alexander, Helen Chatten, Penny Clarke, Breda Doran, Natalie Farrell, Chris Holmes, Paula Horsfall and Liz Kochprapha for all their support, friendship and love.
About the Author
JAN CASEY has twice been highly commended in the National Centre for Writing Escalator Awards. She has had a short story published in Prima magazine, a short story published on the Norwich: City of Stories website and two flash fiction printed on bookmarks for the Norwich: City of Stories campaign. The Women of Waterloo Bridge is her first novel.
Jan enjoys reading, walking and cooking and lives with her husband in Norwich. You can follow her on Twitter @JanCaseyAuthor or find her on Facebook at facebook.com/JanCaseyAuthor.
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