Ruby's War

by Johanna Winard

  He’d bumped into the two old guys a couple of days before on his way back to camp and joined them for a drink and a game of darts. In the afternoon the pub was empty, and Con had been pleased at the thought that he was away from camp without permission. The old guys always told lots of stories, and he didn’t mind listening and going along with the tales.

  When Henry was ready, they left the cottage. Con followed his directions to a white farmhouse standing in the middle of low-lying fields and parked up on an old farm track under a clump of poplar trees. Inside the cab, the old man’s chest and the borrowed truck’s cooling engine murmured.

  ‘You okay, Henry?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye, lad, just gettin’ me breath. Johnny will be here in a minute. Told him to meet us here. He’ll have been out with his gun shooting rabbits, or trapping vermin for local farmers, or the odd bit of poaching. Can turn his hand to anything.’

  ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘Oh, good lad. That’ll help no end,’ he said taking the bottle of whisky. ‘Eee that’s good. Gets right down the tubes, that does.’

  A few days earlier, when he’d been sitting in the pub listening to their stories, Johnny had told him about the sugar smuggling. At first Con hadn’t taken much notice, but then they’d told him how one of the men behind the smuggling was this guy Prendergast, the same guy who’d wanted the old priest to ban the black GIs from the Christmas dances, the guy whose wife was planning how she and some of the other rich folk could turn local people against them. In the warm pub, the plan hadn’t sounded so crazy and he’d promised he’d help.

  In the moonlight, he could see the large black-and-white house across the field. It had been Johnny who’d discovered the smuggling on one of his shooting trips. The way he told it, he’d seen an unfamiliar van taking a corner too quickly, and when the van turned into the drive and speeded in the direction of the farm, it had whetted his interest. He’d followed and watched from behind a hedge, as the sacks were carried from the van to the old stables. Johnny knew it couldn’t be feed, because they didn’t have any horses. When the van drove away, he’d crept into the yard and found the stack of sugar under a tarpaulin in one of the old stalls.

  Con shivered and took the whisky bottle back from Henry. Clouds slipped over the moon, leaving only a hint of silver in the sky. The field and the white house had gone. Near the cab, just outside in the blackness, he heard an unearthly cry and thought of Johnny and the animal traps. Then Henry’s door was thrown open, and Johnny Fin climbed up beside him.

  ‘We could drive in closer,’ Johnny said. ‘They’re out at some big meeting. Him and his missus both go. Top dog round here, and he’s makin’ money hand over fist sellin’ black-market sugar.’

  Con drove the truck out on to the road and then down a pitted track that led to the house. As Johnny had said, it was in darkness.

  ‘How can you be sure there’s nobody home?’

  ‘No car, and there’s a meeting tonight. They’re both on the committee, him and her. There’s no help in the house. Only Derek Foley’s missus and she only does the odd morning.’

  ‘You got a spade?’ Johnny asked, as he jumped down from the truck. ‘They might have put the stuff under a pile of muck to hide it.’

  ‘You didn’t say about any muck,’ Con said.

  ‘Well, it was inside under a tarpaulin, but it’s been moved. There’s a pile of muck against the wall. It’s old stuff, but I reckon that’s where they’ve hidden it.’

  They followed Johnny along the track and into the stable yard. The moon had disappeared again. He couldn’t see clearly, but followed the sound of Henry’s wheezing and wondered how they would escape if anyone did arrive. The muck, partly protected from the weather by the stable’s wall and overhanging roof, was heavy but dry. It didn’t smell as bad as he’d feared, but he wasn’t used to using a spade, and their digging disturbed a lot of creatures that skittered over his boots in the darkness. Then the full moon came out from behind the clouds and with Johnny’s help, he got the hang of the digging.

  ‘Wait a minute lads, we’ve hit something,’ Johnny said, exploring the hole they’d cleared in the muck. ‘Here we are,’ he said, tugging out an old feed sack that had been used to cover the sugar. ‘Look at this lot. Didn’t I tell you? This lot will make us a pretty penny.’

  ‘You’re going to sell it?’ Con asked, his voice sounding louder than he intended in the quiet night. ‘But that’s just as bad …’

  ‘Not at all,’ Henry said between coughs. ‘He’s tellin’ folk what they should do. Makin’ out he’s somebody and all the time … Anyway, we’ll not charge as much, and them that can’t afford, will get it free.’

  Con sighed; he shouldn’t have come. When he’d heard what they were planning, Holt had warned him to stay out of it, but by then it was arranged, and he wasn’t going to let the old guys think he was a coward.

  Carrying the sugar to the truck was a problem. Henry had helped with the digging but he’d needed to stop every few minutes. By the time they’d loaded up the sacks with packets of sugar, the sound of his breathing filled up the still night. Con gazed around; there wasn’t a sign of anyone at the house, but every moment he expected the door of the white house to open and someone to come running out. Henry insisted on carrying his share and got Con to lift the sacks on to his back for him. Then, bent almost in two, he made his way to the truck. Con and Johnny did two or three to each of Henry’s one trip, but he refused to give in, and by the time they were finished, he was too breathless to climb into the truck without help.

  ‘I think we deserve a drink on tonight’s work, lads,’ Johnny Fin said, when they’d thrown the last sack into the back of the truck. ‘Yes, a couple of pints will go down nicely.’

  The pub was quiet, and Con sat with the two older men in front of the fire. Henry looked pale and his breathing was still uneven. When he’d tried to smoke, he coughed so much he had to sit forward with his hands on his knees, gulping in the fuggy, warm air.

  ‘I don’t know about unloading that sugar, Henry,’ Johnny said, winking at Con. ‘I think I’ll have to carry you home on me shoulders, like I did in France. Did he tell you about that, young Con? Five miles it must have been, over rough ground. Though it felt like bloody twenty. Infantry, you see. Right on the front line. You’re with a better lot, believe you me. Never mind Bo sayin’ you lads should be fighting. There’s not a soldier alive as would want his boy to be on the front line.’

  ‘Bo doesn’t want anyone to think us cowards. None of us do. We want to fight. Well, except … I don’t know if I could, for real.’

  ‘Ah, you’d be as good as the next man,’ Henry said, recovering and taking a long drink of beer. ‘It’s the training that kicks in. Everybody’s terrified. You’d be a madman not to be. When you look at it, war is always the same, working men killing each other. The leaders never get it in the guts, do they? Most of the time you’re killing people you can’t see. Not up close, anyway. Then it’s just a job you’ve been trained to do, but sometimes … There was this one bloke. I think he was lost in the smoke or looking for his mate. It was a reaction. Like I said, the training takes over. Then we was trapped with the counter-attack, and he was there next to me on the ground, as close as you are to me now. This Jerry, about the same age we were. He can’t have suffered. Must have gone instantly. He had segs on his hands and a picture in his pocket of his wife and kiddie. His gun … well you could tell he took pride in it; looked after it, like a workman should with his tools.’

  Johnny got up and went to the bar. Con was about to suggest that they had a game of darts, when he came hurrying back.

  ‘You’d best be makin’ your way to the camp, young Con. Bert’s just heard the MPs are goin’ in the pubs checkin’ passes. That truck outside will attract attention. There’s a rumour some of your lads and the white lads have been fighting. Big scrap’s been arranged, so he heard.’

  After Granddad and Con had left the cottage, Ruby was alone
until Jenny arrived home pale and exhausted from her shift at the factory. As she took off her headscarf and lit a cigarette, the hens began to squawk.

  ‘Where’s your granddad?’ she asked.

  ‘Con called for him earlier. I think … Well, he didn’t really say. I think they went fire-watching.’

  ‘Fire-watching?’ Jenny said, grabbing her torch and heading for the door. ‘Fire-watching, with his chest? I’ll give ’im fire-watching.’

  It was hard to make out the figures in the dark garden. Ruby stood next to Jenny and listened. Somewhere in the thick night, something moved. Ruby held her breath and wrapped her arms around her body. Jenny’s torch – a quivery, uncertain orange – swept the garden, picking up two figures that were half concealed by the Anderson shelter. For a moment there was silence. Then they heard the rattle of Henry’s familiar wheezing cough, followed by the clatter of the shelter door and Johnny and her granddad tittering together like schoolboys. The sound made her feel safe, and when Jenny walked back in the house and slammed the door, she decided to wait for them, planning to slip away upstairs once Jenny had begun her scolding. She was pulling her jumper over her fingers to keep them warm when she heard the sound of breaking glass. Ruby thought for a second that the two dafties had stepped on the cold frame, but Johnny’s frightened yell sent her running up the garden. He put on his torch, guiding her along the path to where a body, rigid and cruciform, lay groaning pitifully. Ruby scrambled over her granddad, pulling out his pockets until she found the small pill bottle.

  Gradually, as the pain gave way, they got Henry into the cottage. Once they were inside, they helped him out of his coat and into his armchair. Jenny, who was sitting at the table, didn’t move, but went on eating her stew. Ruby poured brandy and warm water into a glass and held it to the old man’s lips, as Johnny looked on anxiously, twisting his cap in his hands.

  ‘We got wind of old Prendergast storing black-market sugar,’ he said. ‘Young Con offered to help us.’

  ‘That’s what you brought here, is it?’ Jenny asked. ‘Black-market sugar you’ve stolen from Prendergast?’

  ‘Nowhere else to hide it. It’s in the shelter. I’ll move it on. I’ll get someone tomorrow. But n-not tonight. Don’t worry I’ll k-keep it moving, until we’ve got customers. Leave it to me.’

  ‘He was much better, almost ready to go back to work. All three of them – this one as well,’ Jenny said, nodding towards Ruby, ‘haven’t been earning, but eating and under my feet all the time. I’ve had to work extra shifts. No other money coming in. Then, I come home tonight, and now look at him.’

  ‘I don’t think it was Con’s fault,’ Ruby said.

  ‘Oh, you don’t, miss? And how do you know? You can keep your nose out. You’ve caused enough trouble as it is.’

  Jenny got up from the table and Granddad, whose colour was returning, waved Johnny to a seat.

  ‘Now, I’ll thank you to be on your way, Johnny Fin,’ Jenny said, replacing the brandy bottle. ‘You’ll clear that sugar out by tomorrow. I don’t care how. And don’t call round for a while, and you can tell Con the same thing. We’ve more than enough problems, without inviting more.’

  The next day Ruby put on her cream jumper and tartan skirt and went to the factory. She was shown into a small, dusty office. The manager, a plump man in shirtsleeves, studied her over some rolls of cloth.

  ‘You’d normally come with a parent,’ he said. ‘I’d want to see that your parents have given you permission.’

  Ruby explained that her mother was dead and that she lived with her granddad who was too ill to come with her.

  ‘Irene, give her a form, will you?’ he said.

  When the middle-aged woman got up from behind a typewriter to hand her the form, Ruby noticed that, in addition to the usual desks and cupboards, the office also had two camp beds.

  ‘You get him to sign that form, and then you can start,’ he said. ‘I’m going up to the spinning room now, so you can come and look round. You’ll be working nine hours. That’s the regulations for a girl your age, but there’s overtime, but not fire-watching,’ he said, nodding towards the camp beds. ‘You’re too young.’

  He put the light on and led the way up a flight of wooden stairs. All the mill’s windows were blacked out and no hint of the outside light came through. At the top of the steps, he pulled open a brown door. The noise, the incessant pounding, filled her body. She gasped with the shock of it, and her mouth filled with a sticky heat. The man beckoned to a woman who edged towards them between the long rows of pumping machines, trundling a huge box on wheels behind her. She wore a short-sleeved blouse under a sleeveless wrap-around overall. Tendrils of hair escaped from under her turban and stuck to her damp face.

  ‘This is Elsie – Mrs Rostron. She’ll show you what to do. She’s thinking of starting here, Elsie,’ he said. ‘I thought doffing. I know they’re short-handed.’

  Mrs Rostron took a rag out of her pocket and wiped her neck. ‘She ever done this sort of work?’

  ‘No. She’ll want showing.’

  Mrs Rostron wrinkled her forehead and walked out of the door, pulling the box full of bobbins behind her.

  The next day, Granddad stayed in bed. For weeks now, the sky had been grey and sullen, each day moving drowsily through the half-light, and it was hard to remember a time when it hadn’t been so dreary. Ruby waited until mid morning before she took up a tray with two cups of tea. Granddad was sitting up in bed, choosing seeds for the spring. Once he was sipping cheerfully at his tea, she told him about the factory and gave him the form.

  ‘It’s a nasty, rough place for a little lass,’ he said. ‘Jenny has a sharp tongue sometimes, I know. It was me that she should have taken it out on. I’m an old fool. Why don’t you go back to work for Mrs Grey? You like it there, playing the piano, and it pays your way.’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘I’m grown-up now,’ she said, ‘and Doctor Grey said it would be more patriotic to work at the factory. Jenny’s having to pay for us all.’

  Henry sighed. ‘It should be me as is bringing in the money, not you. She’s right, all I’ve done is make me chest worse, and she’s takin’ it out on you and poor Johnny.’

  ‘And Con,’ Ruby said. ‘She told Johnny to tell him he’s not welcome.’

  ‘Well, if you’re determined to do it. You can do one thing for me, though. Call in on Maud. I’ll let Johnny know to leave some sugar for her, and you could pick her some veg, but don’t let on. Perhaps you could have your baggin’ there some days, for a bit of company. I’m not sure you’ll take to some of them women at the factory. Some’s all right, decent folk, but they tease the young ’uns.’

  ‘Would she let me take her dog out? What sort is it?’

  ‘Dog? Our Maud’s not got a dog.’

  ‘But she got bones for it at the butcher’s.’

  Granddad handed back the form and shook his head. ‘They’d be for a stew for her and Joe. She’s a proud woman, you see. She’d not want the rest of them to know she can’t afford meat. It’s fine tellin’ us what rations we can have. With the war coming, there’s more work about, but if you’re too old or ill to work, you can’t afford the prices anyway. No point tellin’ the likes of Maud and Joe they can have good cuts of meat. They can’t afford ’em, rations or not.’

  Ruby didn’t mind the women in the factory. The work – putting empty bobbins on the spinning machines and taking them off again when they were full – was hard, because there were so many machines in the room. She hated the noise and the thick, damp heat. At the end of each shift, she was glad to escape outside into the cold, smoky air. Then she wished the hours would slow down, until she had to go back to work again.

  There wasn’t anyone of her own age in the same room, and most days she and Elsie Rostron sat together to eat their food. Elsie had two sons, one in the army and one in the navy. Her daughter worked at the factory as well, but because she had young children, she didn’t do many hours. Like most of the peopl
e at the mill, Elsie Rostron knew her granddad, and she also knew Alice and Dick.

  ‘I saw Alice,’ she said, during one of their tea breaks. ‘She was asking after you. Asked if you was all right, after your accident. Said to tell you she felt terrible for letting you go that night. She wasn’t sure what had happened. Said Doctor Grey didn’t say much, except that you wasn’t coming back. Her niece is working there now. Said it was funny, because she’d found the tin of peaches and your basket in the garden, but she couldn’t understand, if you’d been hurt there, why you didn’t go back in the house and tell her.’

  Ruby couldn’t think clearly. It was only a couple of weeks after she’d begun working in the spinning room, and her head still throbbed from the constant noise.

  ‘I fell twice,’ she said. The lie made her mouth dry, and she sipped greedily at the cold tea from her billycan. ‘I slipped in the garden and … my torch … I couldn’t find it and I couldn’t find my basket,’ she said, feeling her face begin to burn as she struggled on. ‘I slipped in the garden and … Then I was walking, and this truck came really close … and I fell.’

  ‘You was lucky. Though, couldn’t you have gone in and borrowed a torch? I wouldn’t have liked to walk all that way without one.’

  The first week she’d begun working at the mill, Ruby had taken Maud and Joe some vegetables from Granddad’s garden. She’d knocked at the door, and when Auntie Maud answered it, she’d asked her in. They’d sat in the little living room and talked about the factory. Maud told her how she and the other weavers used signals and lip-reading to talk to each other and how, when the mills had closed for the men to check the boilers, they’d all gone away for a holiday by the sea. Ruby remembered people from different mill towns coming to the seaside and walking in big laughing crowds along the prom. Maud told her stories about the days out, and she found a photo of herself standing in front of one of the looms on the day some dignitaries came to inspect the factory. The photo showed Maud as a young woman, staring back unsmilingly at the camera with the looms pounding around her.