by Nancy Revell
‘Anyway …’ Dorothy asked, directing her gaze at Hannah, ‘what brings our “little bird” back to the flock? We’re not normally graced with your presence this early on in the day. And without young Olly hanging on to your coat tails.’
Hannah looked a little guilty and shot Martha a quick look. ‘Perhaps it is because I wanted to see my friends,’ she said, enunciating each word clearly. Martha looked down at her beloved mate and smiled, showing the big gap between her two front teeth.
Angie looked at Dorothy and raised her eyebrows. Someone, probably Rosie, must have had a quiet word in Hannah’s ear about Martha, and how their workmate had been mooching about lately and was obviously missing her friend.
‘So,’ Angie piped up, ‘when is it?’
‘The eighth of November,’ Dorothy declared.
‘Blimey,’ Angie said, ‘that’s in four weeks’ time.’ She chuckled. ‘Hey, Pol, you sure there’s not a bun in the oven?’
Polly frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but was beaten to it by Dorothy.
‘Bel’s not like that, Ange! They’re in love. You’ve seen the pair of them. Anyway, what’s the point in waiting when you know you want to be with someone for the rest of your life?’
Dorothy looked over a little guiltily at Gloria, suddenly aware that all this chatter about romance and marriage and being together for ever was probably the last thing she wanted to hear, but when she saw her friend, standing, sipping her tea by the fire, a glazed look on her face, she realised she was miles away.
‘So, bet you it’s a madhouse at yours?’ Rosie said to Polly as she cleared the workbench of bits of scrap metal and used rods.
Polly laughed. ‘You could say that. Ma and Bel are like two queen bees working nineteen to the dozen to get everything ready – but what’s a real turn-up for the books is that even Pearl seems to be getting into the spirit of it all. The plan is to have the reception in the Tatham, so, Pearl’s chuffed to pieces because that’s her domain.’
‘I suppose she is “the mother of the bride”,’ Rosie said, thinking of her own mum for a fleeting moment. She had been dead now for ten years but she still missed her.
‘Well, I know Bel would much prefer Agnes. Ma’s been more of a mam to Bel than Pearl ever has,’ Polly said truthfully, ‘but, you know, blood’s thicker than water and all that.’
‘And,’ Hannah started speaking and paused for a moment before asking, a little uncertainly, ‘who is going to, how do you say it, hand the bride over?’
‘Give the bride away,’ Dorothy corrected.
‘I don’t think they’re going to have anyone as such,’ Polly said, not wanting to elaborate. It didn’t feel right talking about Bel’s father – or rather her lack of one – in front of everyone.
‘And what about the dress?’ Angie asked. She and Dorothy had been intrigued to hear that it was Rosie’s old schoolfriend who was making it, and that she actually lived at Lily’s. The pair of them would have given anything to have a good neb around the bordello.
‘Oh, the dress,’ Polly said, looking over to Rosie, ‘is going to be fantastic, although to be honest I have no idea what it looks like. Bel’s tried to explain, but I haven’t got a clue, other than it’s a pastel pink colour.’
Rosie laughed. ‘It’s got to be amazing, the amount of time Kate’s spending on it. I’ve hardly seen her lately. She’s totally obsessed.’
‘Oh goodness,’ Polly suddenly perked up, ‘I almost forgot––’
Everyone looked at Polly as she hurried over to her bag and pulled out a dozen small envelopes.
‘Ta-da!’ she said dramatically. ‘The wedding invites.’
Dorothy gave a little jump of excitement and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, this is sooo exciting,’ she said, putting her hand out as Polly handed them all their individual cards.
‘Bel’s got lovely handwriting, hasn’t she?’ Hannah said, admiring the swirling lettering on the front of the card.
‘Cor, we get to bring someone with us ’n all,’ Angie said, astounded.
Dorothy shot her best friend a mischievous look. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Ange?’
Angie nodded with a big grin on her face.
Martha was looking at them both, the card still unopened in her hand. ‘Not another “double date!”’ she said with a slightly disapproving look on her face.
There was a joint howl of laughter just as the klaxon sounded for the start of their shift.
‘Eee, I remember the day when Martha didn’t know of such things,’ Gloria said, casting a reproving look at Dorothy and Angie. ‘You two are a bad influence.’
‘See you all in the canteen at lunch,’ Hannah said. ‘And, Polly,’ she added, ‘can you tell Bel “thank you”. It will be my first British wedding. And I am very excited.’
Dorothy chuckled as she watched Hannah, trotting back across the yard.
‘No guessing who Hannah’ll be inviting,’ she said. ‘… And it won’t be her aunty Rina, that’s for sure.’
Rosie slipped her invite into her top pocket and wished more than anything that she too could get excited about who she would bring to the wedding.
‘Come on then, you lot,’ she said, waving her hand for them to follow her. ‘Get your gear. I need you over with the platers this morning.’
When they arrived at the platers’ shed, the men were just starting up the huge metal rolling machine. When the women were trainees, they had all said the same thing – it reminded them of a mammoth-sized mangle – only instead of laundry coming out of its rollers, there were huge sheets of metal.
‘I’ll see you all in a little while,’ Rosie told the women as she branched off and headed towards the main office buildings.
Harold had asked to have a quick word when he’d spotted her coming through the main gates this morning. She just hoped Miriam wasn’t going to be there. She was not in the mood today. Hopefully, it was some good news about Jack. He had looked well when he’d visited with Miriam.
When she reached the main offices, she took the stairs up two at a time, knocking before she went into Jack’s office. When she heard Harold’s ‘Come in!’ and stepped into the small office, she was glad to see that he was on his own.
‘Morning, Rosie,’ Harold said. He was sitting behind Jack’s desk with his elbows resting on the steel top, where, Rosie noticed, a photograph of Jack and Miriam had been put on show.
‘Have a seat –’ He indicated the wooden chair in front of the desk.
‘I’m all right standing, Harold. What’s up?’ Rosie asked.
‘I just wanted to let you know …’ Harold got out a cigarette and lit it. ‘Jack’s not coming back to the yard,’ he told her as he blew smoke out. ‘He’s been moved to Crown’s.’
Rosie was shocked. ‘Why’s that?’ she replied, her voice not hiding her disbelief.
Harold coughed nervously. He hated dealing with women when it came to work or business – he was never quite sure how hard or soft to be with them. Thankfully, it was something he didn’t have to deal with very often.
‘It’s what Mrs Crawford wants,’ he explained, trying hard to keep his face deadpan.
‘I don’t understand,’ Rosie said, trying to rein in her annoyance, ‘I don’t see the point of moving Jack to another yard. I don’t see why or what good that will do. Surely he needs to be in a familiar place. Somewhere full of memories. Somewhere he has spent most of his life?’
Secretly Harold couldn’t have agreed with Rosie more. Thompson’s had been Jack’s home for his entire life. It made more sense to keep him here.
‘It’s out of my hands,’ he said with a defeated shrug of his shoulders.
Rosie let out a deep huff. ‘Well, I think it’s a terrible idea and I don’t care whether that gets back to Mrs Crawford or not.’ She pushed a straggle of blonde hair back from her face. She wasn’t about to give up – for Gloria’s sake, above all else.
‘Is there no way you can change Miriam’s – I mean Mrs
Crawford’s mind? No offence, but she doesn’t even work here.’ Rosie knew she was pushing the boundaries that someone of her position – and gender – was supposed to keep within.
‘Yes, Rosie, but she is his wife,’ Harold said, ‘and more importantly she is the daughter of Mr Havelock. And it is Mr Havelock who is sanctioning the move to Crown’s.’
‘But,’ Rosie persisted, desperate to keep Jack at the yard, ‘Crown’s is a smaller yard, and no one there really knows him.’
‘The argument is that Mr Thompson may well be looking at buying out Crown’s – if we win this bloody war, that is – so if that is the case it might make sense for us to have Jack there to help with the transition.’
Rosie listened and knew she was beat. She also knew Jack’s move to another shipyard had nothing whatsoever to do with any kind of amalgamation.
Miriam was far from stupid.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Maison Nouvelle, Holmeside, Sunderland
Two weeks later
‘Eee Bel, you look stunning. Our Joe’s not going to know what’s hit him when he sees you.’ Polly was still in her overalls, having come straight from work, and she was seated on top of one of the cutting tables that had been pushed against the wall to make more room in the middle of the small shop, her legs dangling just inches from the wooden floor.
Bel was in the middle of the Maison Nouvelle with her arms slightly elevated, like a small bird just about to try to flap its wings to take off. She looked embarrassed at Polly’s words and was standing stock-still in order to prevent herself from disturbing Kate, who was busying around her, taking pins out and putting more in.
‘Oh, Polly …’ Kate said, tugging her measuring tape from around her neck and checking the distance from underneath Bel’s armpit to her waist, ‘… this is nothing. It’s nowhere near ready. If you think Bel looks stunning now, just you wait until I’ve finished.’
Just then the little bell above the door to the shop tinkled and Agnes stepped in from the rain and fog outside.
Bel’s face lit up with a big smile. ‘You made it!’ she said. But when Agnes held the door open and Pearl came traipsing in behind her, her enthusiasm ebbed. ‘Oh,’ Bel’s voice dropped a notch, ‘Ma, you’ve come too. I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘Well,’ Pearl said, her eyes widening as she looked about the shop, ‘you could sound a little more pleased to see me, Isabelle. I’m only your mother, after all.’ But Pearl didn’t sound at all upset by Bel’s tepid greeting. Like the rain she was shaking from her overcoat, for Pearl, it was water off a duck’s back.
‘You’ve got yourself a great place here, haven’t yer, pet,’ she said to Kate, her eyes scanning the shop. ‘Makes a change from shop doorways, I’ll bet?’
‘Ma!’ Bel’s mouth had dropped open in shock.
Polly looked at Kate, but other than a slight flush to her cheeks, she looked unperturbed by Pearl’s comments.
‘I’m only joshing, hinny,’ Pearl said with a chuckle. ‘Looks like you’ve done well for yerself. Good on ya!’ She looked at Kate. ‘I don’t suppose you could sort me out with something for the big day – me being the mother of the bride ’n all?’
‘I think Kate’s got her hands full as it is, Ma,’ Bel sniped.
Agnes and Polly exchanged weary looks. It was always the same when Pearl and Bel were in the same room. It was as if they had accepted each other’s presence in their lives, but they were still not entirely happy about it, and were not too concerned about whether it showed.
‘Mrs …?’ Kate started to say to Pearl.
‘Just Pearl, pet. I have had the good fortune never to have been married.’ Pearl straightened her shoulders a little defensively.
‘Pearl,’ Kate said, ‘I would be more than happy to help you with your dress for your daughter’s wedding. Like you say, you are the bride’s mother. It’s very important.’
Bel marvelled at this young woman who was creating for her a dress worthy of the fashion pages of Vogue and was amazed she could be so courteous to someone who had just been so down-and-out rude.
‘Eee, that’s kind of you, pet,’ Pearl couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘I’ve actually got a dress that just needs a little stitch, and a nip and a tuck here and there.’
‘You have to pay her, Ma,’ Bel butted in. ‘Kate doesn’t do this for the love of it, you know?’
Kate, who had been pinning the back of Bel’s coral-coloured silk dress, popped her head around so that her narrow, slightly peaky face was looking through Bel’s arm.
‘Oh, but I do,’ she said, taking a pin from her mouth, ‘I do just do it for the love of it. So please no mention of money. This is my gift.’
‘Thanks, petal,’ Pearl said, jumping at the offer and sounding more than a little taken aback. ‘I’ll come back with the dress tomorrow if that’s all right? Providing little Miss Muffet here doesn’t need your services?’
Kate smiled. ‘Yes, come tomorrow. We’re running out of time. Only a few weeks to go to the big day!’
Pearl looked uncannily chirpy as she turned to leave the shop. ‘Well, I’d better get off now. Can’t be late for work –’ she opened the door ‘– see you tomorrow, Katie!’
Kate waved a free hand and felt her heart miss a beat; her mother had been the only one to call her ‘Katie’. After she had died it had been too painful to hear anyone else call her that, and she had made a point of telling people it was ‘Kate’ and not ‘Katie’. But Pearl had gone by the time Kate had the chance to correct her.
Kate thought that Pearl looked like a right character, and she had a feeling that Bel’s ma had probably slept in a few doorways herself in her time. Perhaps, Kate thought, she would make an exception for her.
Within minutes of Pearl leaving there was another jingle of the doorbell.
‘Kate, darling …’ It was Maisie.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you had clients,’ she apologised.
Kate, who had been bending down pinning Bel’s hem, stood up and straightened her back. ‘No worries, Maisie. They’re not really clients as such … This is Polly who works with Rosie at the yard …’
Polly jumped off the table so that she was standing with her back against the side, and smiled over to Maisie.
‘… and her mum Agnes,’ she added, ‘… and, of course, the bride-to-be – Bel.’
Kate stood back so everyone could say their hellos.
‘Oh, how wonderful to meet you all,’ Maisie said, stepping forward and putting her hand out to Bel.
Bel laughed as she arched her arm so as not to prick herself.
‘You too, Maisie. Gosh, I feel like a pincushion here.’
‘We haven’t met before, have we?’ Bel asked, but when the words were out of her mouth she immediately regretted them. If she had met Maisie before, she would have remembered. She couldn’t recall ever even speaking to anyone who was ‘coloured’, even during her time on the buses, let alone someone who looked like Maisie.
But still there was something strangely familiar about her.
‘I don’t believe so,’ Maisie said with a curious smile. ‘I’ve only just moved up here from London … Anyway, this was just a quick call,’ she went on, looking at Kate.
‘Lily’s asked if you could bring a few diamanté beads back. She has an idea for the hat she might wear to the wedding.’
Polly raised her eyebrows at Bel. Now, this was news to them all. Rosie hadn’t told them she’d invited Lily as her guest. This was going to cause great excitement amongst the women.
‘Nice to meet you all,’ Maisie said. ‘And have a wonderful wedding!’
Bel, Polly and Agnes watched a little bewitched as Maisie gave them the most dazzling of smiles, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth, before she glided out of the shop door.
None of them said anything after Maisie had left, but each of them knew what the others were thinking.
It wasn’t just Maisie’s outstanding beauty
that had taken them all aback, but the colour of her skin.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ivy House, London
June 1913
The moment Pearl walked through the doors of Ivy House, she felt she had stepped into another world. A better, cleaner, more caring world than the harsh, dirty and poverty-stricken one she had inhabited up until now.
She had learnt that this new world had been created by an organisation called ‘The Salvation Army’, and that the woman in black who had given her the magazine called The Deliverer was a member of this strange ‘army’ – which was not an army, but a charity.
The woman who had greeted her that first day was one of their ‘soldiers’ – only she wasn’t a real soldier, but a midwife called Evelina.
On that first day Pearl had felt well and truly disorientated as she had tried to take in everything that Evelina told her. She had struggled to concentrate. She had been starving, having not eaten all day. Her attention kept wandering to the large oil portrait hanging on the office wall that Evelina had explained was of a man called William Booth, who was some kind of preacher, and it was he who had founded this charitable army.
Pearl had felt as though she was dreaming when Evelina walked her along the corridor, down some steps and into a small canteen, where she’d asked the cook, who’d been busy preparing the nurses’ supper, to make a sandwich for Pearl. Then Evelina had showed her to a bed in a dormitory and Pearl had slept solidly until six o’clock the next morning when the other women started to stir and get ready for the day ahead.
After a heavenly bowl of hot porridge – made with milk – Pearl had again found herself in the same office as the previous day, where Evelina told her that the building was rented by the charity for use as a refuge and hospital for unmarried mothers.
‘It is also,’ Evelina explained, ‘a training school for midwives. There are six wards here and a total of twenty-two beds and twelve cots. With two private wards for married women.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll give you the grand tour.’
