The rest of what Arthur Whitman had said had barely registered over the turmoil seething in her head.
Isaac Eldon would be works manager: he was thoroughly conversant with every aspect of the forging of steel; he would take responsibility for production but even with that load removed from this office he was loath to ask she replace Harriet Simpson.
‘Why?’
It might have seemed like anxiety at the prospect of being told she was no longer required, but its progenitor had been the demon she had long served, the demon of bitterness. But she had kept that hidden, merely asking quietly if her work had proved in any way inferior to that performed by the older woman?
Deep brown eyes had flashed quick apology. She had proved admirable in all she had done, but he paused, a hand flicking through hair that daily became more liberally sprinkled with grey, Harriet had years of experience.
‘But,’ she had answered swiftly, ‘you have said Miss Simpson will not be returning; as for experience that comes only from being allowed to try and that is what I ask, Mr Whitman, that I be allowed to try.’
She had the benefit of Harriet’s tutoring . . . she had managed exceptionally well on her own . . . had taken up the reins . . .
He had mused aloud, fingers pressing worriedly at his temples, then in a tone remorseful as that quick glance, ‘If you are sure, Miss Hawley, then you have my gratitude.’
Gratitude! Gratitude but not trust. Katrin Hawley was not to have quite all of the authority the blessed Harriet had enjoyed, rather she should refer to Eldon on those occasions Arthur Whitman was absent.
She paused at the kerb of the busy road, waiting to cross to where an imposing coyned building marked the corner of Hollies Drive. There was an assortment of vehicles: lorries with their loads concealed beneath tarpaulin sheets, vans with names and logos painted out, all were devoid of reference to street or town, nameless of origin or destination, they simply passed anonymous and unrecognised.
But she would not go unrecognised. No, the name of Katrin Hawley would become well known at Prodor. But for the time being she must accept the fact of Isaac Eldon becoming works manager. Oh yes, she would defer to Eldon, only not in the manner he or Arthur Whitman expected.
The thought brought a smile as she darted across the road, but on reaching the turning for Hollies Drive, she was flung backward, her shoulder hitting the wall of the graceful building as she collided with a figure emerging from its entrance.
Some sixth sense had prevented her posting that request to the Magisterial court, some desperate last-minute warning sounding in her brain as she had sealed the envelope.
‘It will be seen as one more refusal and you will be sent to prison.’
Leaving the bus at Darlaston Bull Stake, Violet Hawley breathed deeply, trying to still the trembling.
‘Prison! Prison!’
Why had he not listened? Why had he not understood a woman such as she, the wife of the manager of a large engineering factory, could not possibly be sent out to work? She had explained the social implication, but the man had merely shaken his head, saying everyone alike must play their part in fighting this war, even the wife of a factory manager.
How could she go there? Think of the humiliation not only for herself but for Jacob. What effect might it have on his position, having a wife working on the factory floor? But there was no alternative.
Caught in the maelstrom of her thoughts, only half aware of the constant noise of traffic following the road which ran on into Walsall, Violet rested her glance on a building opposite. Dark with soot, serene with age, the church of All Saints seemed to stand aloof from the happenings around it.
There! Violet almost cried her relief, she could go into that church, sit in its quiet peace, there she would be given the help she needed, there everything would sort itself into place.
It had been such an ordeal walking with that police constable through Wednesbury town, knowing every eye turned to her, every tongue spoke of her.
Her prayer finished, Violet huddled in the corner of a deeply shadowed pew, her mind treading again that shame-filled path.
Then had come the court appearance. She had been so terrified, so sure someone had revealed her dealings with Jim Slater, that she was being called to answer for buying black market goods, for illegally holding two extra ration books, even though she had destroyed them the moment she had returned from the police station.
It had lifted a weight from her heart when that had not been mentioned, but the weight which lay now on her shoulders was just as heavy.
There had to be a way!
At the end of a long aisle a white draped altar graced with a tall cross at its centre gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight.
Please God show her the way!
You should have told Jacob of the letters. Answer echoed back from the sunlit altar. He could have intervened; had he asked then maybe you would have been placed elsewhere, perhaps one of the Civil Restaurants.
Helping to serve meals, that would not have been so awful, at least it would not involve getting her hands and clothes smeared with dirt. Tears for what might have been spilled onto Violet’s cheeks.
‘But even that you thought beneath you.’
The voice was suddenly that of her sister. ‘You couldn’t bring yourself to do that, same as you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Jacob o’ them letters, o’ your thrusting them back o’ the fire, oh no not you, Violet Hawley knowed best . . . well look where that best brought you, you be standin’ outside o’ prison gates.’
Violet jerked upright as the bellow of air raid sirens sounded the alert.
She had to take shelter. When caught on the street you had to share the protection of the nearest house, that was the official directive. But that might be someone just returned from the engineering works, or even an iron smelting foundry, who hadn’t time enough to have washed and changed their clothing!
Repulsed by the prospect Violet shrank back against the wooden seat; she wouldn’t do it, she wouldn’t!
But then she didn’t have to.
Nobody knew she was here.
She could stay until the raid was over. It was safe here, this building was strong as any garden shelter.
And her appointment with TITAN?
That would keep. Violet smiled toward the glistening altar. There could be no qualms at lateness caused by an air raid.
‘Mr Eldon said I could come.’
Mr Eldon had given permission! Biting back the acrimony the explanation stirred in her, Katrin smiled at the young woman before her desk.
‘I wanted to see you on your own, I . . . I didn’t want Becky knowing . . .’
Katrin waited out the pause.
‘. . . it be this,’ Alice held out a paper. ‘Mother changed her mind, her said as I could join the WRENS, seeing as how I’d set my mind to it, though between you and me I think my saying her could take all of my pay ’cept for a shilling was what decided her.’
‘Well whatever spurred her decision I’m pleased for you Alice; you can leave those forms with me, I will see Mr Whitman gets them.’
‘I ain’t come to hand them in, not yet.’ Beneath the turban scarf tied about her head, Alice blushed an embarrassed pink. ‘There be some questions I don’t be too sure how to answer and I thought . . .’ she swallowed, obviously finding it hard to admit the rest, ‘. . . I thought you with your grammar school education . . . well I hoped you’d help.’
Katrin’s smile revealed none of her pleasure at having the girl who had called her a cheat ask for help. Would it feel even more pleasurable to refuse? No. She took the paper from the other girl’s hand. There was more enjoyment yet to be got.
‘Of course.’ She laid the document on the desk. ‘Glad to do anything I can. I don’t have time to go through it right now, is it all right for me to take it home?’
‘Thanks, Kate.’ Alice beamed. ‘I won’t forget, and if there be anything I can do for you then you need only ask.’
&
nbsp; Katrin’s smile deepened. There was nothing that girl could ever do for her, and as for this – she slipped the paper into her bag – Alice Butler would certainly not forget.
9
‘I thought they would have explained all of that when you collected the application form.’
Katrin glanced at the crestfallen Alice. She had anticipated this moment from reading the forms the other girl had asked her to check over, but anticipation had not matched the satisfaction coursing through her at this moment, the sheer gratification of watching disappointment register on the oil-smudged face.
‘You see,’ she went on, elation expertly submerged beneath the parody of sympathy, ‘to join the WRNS requires you hold certain qualifications and you do not have them. I’m sorry Alice, truly I am.’
Truly! Katrin disguised her glee with a rueful smile. Nothing could be further from the truth.
‘What qualifications might they be then? Oh don’t bother to tell me.’ Alice rejected her own question. ‘If I ain’t got them then I ain’t. I should have known it took more of an education than I had, thanks anyway Kate, but . . .’ she hesitated, ‘if I don’t have the necessary for to join the WRNS, then mebbe’s I should try for the WAAF.’
‘You can try, of course.’ Katrin nodded, ‘But it seems they also have certain requirements.’
Alice shrugged resignedly. ‘I suppose the ATS don’t be any different.’
She could leave it there, let Alice Butler walk back to the workshop; but that would be to curtail the pleasure, and why would she do that?
Katrin watched the figure turn to leave then said, ‘The ATS does have some exceptions, there are two branches of that Service which require no qualifications.’
‘What branches do they be?’
Delight transformed the other girl’s face, delight which Katrin Hawley could dampen at a stroke.
‘They may not be quite what you wanted, Alice, they call for volunteers for Orderly Duties.’
‘Orderly Duties!’ Alice’s features registered disillusion. ‘Does that mean what I take it to mean? They’re asking for folk to go cleaning up after others?’
‘I think it would incorporate that, possibly along with kitchen work.’
‘You mean skivvying! Cooking and bloody cleaning!’ Alice’s turbaned head swung side to side. ‘I get that at home, no need to go running off to find it, but there again Kate, at home I get my mother grumbling at everythin’ I do. At least Orderly Duties ain’t going to include looking after kids.’
‘Does that mean you wish to apply? I left the forms blank just in case.’
‘Too bloody true I wish. Thanks, Kate, you be a real friend.’
A real friend! Katrin’s glance dropped to the papers in her hand. Then it was to be hoped Alice Butler did not meet with a false one.
Venom hidden with that expertise years of custom had bestowed, she glanced again at the girl she could so easily deceive, her smile a continuation of duplicity.
‘Do I take it, then, I should go ahead and fill these in, or would you rather do that yourself?’
‘You do it Kate, please, you’re better at that sort of thing than I am.’
‘The ATS it is then, Miss Butler. I will have these done for you as soon as I can.’
Not that time would make the slightest difference. With her help Alice Butler would most definitely not be joining any of the Women’s Auxiliary Forces, in fact she would never get to the asking point.
Alice had regaled Becky and herself with complaints about her mother a dozen times over. Now she would discover parental consent was not all that was needed; Katrin had noted the relevant paragraph and it had brought a genuine smile.
‘. . . where the applicant could be released from present employ . . .’
The government had made it so easy. That one stipulation provided a way of retribution which could in no way reflect upon her.
Smiling down at the papers Katrin took up a pen.
This was the weapon with which she would strike.
She had trodden the path carefully. Her first act had been to make a count of male employees due for conscription within the month. Then she had looked up the number of youngsters having applied for employment with the end of the school year and discovered one in no way compensated for the other. She had rung the Labour Exchange Office asking did they have notice of men or boys needing employment? The answer being no had added beneficially to her plan yet she had continued those enquiries directing them at the various schools throughout the town and again fortune had smiled. There were no pupils of an age to leave education who were without firm promise of a situation within industry.
Looking at the figures she had recorded, Katrin’s inner glow was that of congratulation. Deficit between men being called to the forces and the availability to replace them was an ever widening gap, a gap which must be filled by women.
Sure now she had overlooked nothing, she tapped at the door of Arthur Whitman’s private office.
‘The new intake, pass them along to Isaac Eldon.’
Katrin felt a moment’s irritation.
‘Of course, Mr Whitman.’ She replied smoothly not allowing vexation to colour her answer. ‘But then he will need refer back, so I thought showing these to you beforehand might save time.’
‘Oh? Let’s see them then.’
He scanned the results then threw the papers down with a short breath of exasperation.
‘How the hell am I expected to keep up production when I continue to lose manpower? Do they think I can manufacture workers the way I manufacture armaments? Twelve men going,’ he dropped his head into his hands, ‘and eight to take on their jobs and no lad older than fourteen, they can’t possibly manage the heavier machinery! What do I do? Without folk to work then we will have machines lying idle.’
‘I realised that problem when getting the numbers ready for Mr Eldon, which is why I ventured to ask your decision on another issue before handing those papers on to him.’
‘Another issue, well why not?’ Arthur Whitman’s laugh was pure dejection. ‘The barrel will always take one more apple.’
‘One of the girls is applying to join the Auxiliary Services, she needs employer consent.’
‘One more leaving the sinking ship!’
‘Very probably more than one, Mr Whitman.’ Katrin launched the first of the reserve of lies she had drawn up. ‘There are several others of the same mind, I have heard them discussing it.’
‘These others, who are they?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Whitman, do not ask me to reveal names, it would be a breach of confidence, I would feel I was letting friends down. However, I can tell what Mister Eldon will corroborate: all the girls of an age to join the Forces are employed in the production of the heavier armaments.’
‘I appreciate your not wishing to name your friends Katrin, it is to your credit . . .’
He had taken to using her Christian name. One more step in the direction she determined to lead him!
‘. . . but the fact remains, the more labour drained from the factory the less equipment we can provide for use at the Front. Those women wanting to leave must surely see they are paying Peter by robbing Paul; no matter what they may be called upon to do, it cannot possibly compare in importance to what they do here: the Army can’t fire bullets they don’t have, Naval guns are useless without shells and the same applies to the Air Force, they can fly their planes but without ammunition how can they attack or defend? No!’ He slammed a hand onto the desk. ‘We have to get our priorities right and if that means refusing to release women from the factory then so be it!’
He had refused. So much for Alice Butler and her dreams.
Katrin took the papers to the general office, handing them to a junior clerk with the instruction they go to Isaac Eldon. He could be the one to pass on the disappointing news.
Freda Evans and Alice Butler. Two she had dealt with. But one yet remained.
It had been this way for over a week. Miri
am Carson threw on her coat, buttoning it as she ran.
There had been virtually no let up, no respite from the threat of planes throbbing overhead, of the thud of bombs which seemed to shake the very earth and through it all the constant harrowing fear for the safety of loved ones.
Reuben! She drew a ragged breath, tasting smoke from a burning building. He would have been at home when the alert sounded, alone in the house; a boy of scarcely twelve years old alone while hell broke loose around him. She fought back a sob. Why did it have to be like this? A mother should be with her child in time of danger.
She flinched as a distant thud echoed across the night. War was the reason, war was the culprit and people its victims; men who had no choice but to fight, mothers who had no option but to leave their children to the care of others, as she was forced to leave her son.
‘Get off the street, get into a shelter!’
Ignoring the ARP warden, Miriam sped on. She would take shelter when she had Reuben safe in her arms.
Would he have done as he was told when the sirens warned of a raid? Would he have joined next door in their garden shelter?
Yes, yes Reuben would be with neighbours. Forced to slow to a walk by the stitch snatching at her ribs, Miriam felt a moment’s comfort. Her son was a sensible boy.
But what if Reuben were not home? He had taken to visiting the library after school, spending hours there working on some project. She had questioned why he could not work at home the same way he had always done his homework.
‘Can’t mum.’ He had smiled his father’s smile, that gentle half grin. ‘Not for this. The books I have to look at can only be used for reference, they can’t be taken out. But that’s okay, I quite like working in the library.’
But that meant he would have been made to evacuate the building when the alarm was given. Had he decided to head for home? Was he somewhere out on the streets, was he maybe . . . ?
‘You oughtn’t to be on the street.’
The policeman turned away, the brittle clang of fire engines and crashing masonry calling his attention.
A Step Too Far Page 7
