The Buffer Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘No need, luv,’ Bess said. ‘I’ve already lit one. I knew you was coming today and I’ve the kettle on the hob. There’ll be a cuppa ready for you in two shakes.’

  Martha blinked and stared at the woman for a moment. Then, seeming to think quickly – and Emily knew exactly what she was thinking – Martha smiled at her new neighbour. ‘Now, that’s really kind of you, thank you. Sorry, if I was a bit sharp, but . . .’ She gestured towards her husband, who was leaning heavily against her and gasping for breath.

  ‘I can see, luv. Come on, let’s get him inside and settled near the fire.’ As the woman led the way, Emily whispered in her mother’s ear. ‘Mrs Dugdale and her daughter have cleaned the house for us, Mam. Evidently, it was left in a right state by the previous tenants.’

  Martha raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

  ‘Better a friend than an enemy, eh, Mam?’ Without waiting for an answer, Emily marched across the yard to help unload their belongings, knowing she was only voicing what had been in her mother’s mind.

  Five

  For the next half-hour, Mr Rivers, Josh and Emily carried everything from the van into the house, which had only three rooms. A young woman on the far side of the yard stood watching the proceedings in silence. Two little girls with runny noses, dirty pinafores and scuffed boots clung to her skirts.

  ‘Afternoon,’ Emily called out cheerfully, but the woman merely nodded, and, as one of the children began to whimper, she disappeared into her home.

  The communal lavatory was in the yard, though it seemed that each house had its own tin bath, which hung on a hook outside the door. Emily shuddered as she thought of her poor father trying to totter across the icy cobbles in the depths of winter. Thank goodness they had brought a commode with them. At least the poor man would have some privacy in his own bedroom.

  Shutters on the windows were open now as it was only September, but Emily guessed they could be used in winter to keep the house warmer. The door from the yard opened directly into the kitchen, where a fire burned welcomingly in the grate of the shining, black leaded range. On one side of the range were some built-in cupboards from floor to ceiling. On the other side was a cast-iron copper, set in brickwork over a fire grate. Next to that was a stone sink with cupboards beneath it.

  ‘There’s gas lighting in here and in the main bedroom,’ Bess told them, pointing upwards with her thumb. Then she smiled at Emily and Josh. ‘But there’s no gas lighting in the attic, where you’ll likely sleep. You’ll need candles.’

  So much for Mam’s belief that candles are a thing of the past, Emily thought, but she said nothing.

  ‘There’s a coal cellar down here, luv.’ Bess was still showing them round. ‘Yer can use the area at the top of the steps as a larder. It’s nice and cool. Cellar’s a good storage place, an’ all.’ Bess nodded towards Martha. ‘You’ll find Mrs Eyre’s left her washing tub, dolly peg and washboard and a clothes horse too. Though that’s seen better days, I ’ave to say.’

  Now she glanced around the kitchen. ‘She’s not left you much else, though. A rickety table and chairs and there’s some iron bedsteads upstairs and a couple of battered washstands. No mattresses though.’

  ‘No matter, Mrs Dugdale. I’ve brought our feather beds and bedding. And Walter’s rocking chair. We’ll do nicely, thank you.’

  It was not Emily’s idea of ‘doing nicely’. She thought longingly of the fresh, clean air at home as she helped her father to his chair, which Mr Rivers had set to one side of the range.

  ‘You and Josh will have to share the attic,’ Martha declared in a tone that brooked no argument from either of them. Emily pulled a face. Much as she loved her brother, she didn’t want to share a bedroom with him. A nineteen-year-old girl needed some privacy. And no doubt Josh would feel that he did too. But with only the one proper bedroom, there was nothing else for it; they’d have to share. Anyway, Emily reminded herself with an inward smile, it was only for three years.

  ‘I can sleep down here – over there in the corner,’ Josh offered.

  ‘Oh no, you won’t, m’lad.’

  ‘It’s not right that Emily has to share with a feller.’ Josh was not going to let it go. ‘And I’d tidy up after myself every morning. You’ll never know anyone’s sleeping here.’ Suddenly, with an impish smile that had been missing from his merry face ever since his mother had first suggested them moving to Sheffield, Josh put his arm around Martha’s shoulders. He was at least three inches taller than her and she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

  ‘No, you’d be better off in the attic with no one to disturb you. You can hang a curtain down the middle of the room. It’ll be quite private for each of you.’

  Even over such a simple matter, Emily thought ruefully, still they could not win an argument with their mother.

  Late in the afternoon, Emily waved Mr Rivers off when the last of their belongings had been unloaded. They hadn’t brought very much with them; the house their mother had rented for four shillings a week was supposed to be fully furnished, but they’d brought their own bedding, household pots, pans, crockery and cutlery. It wasn’t so bad, Emily supposed. At least the place was clean, thanks to Bess and her daughter. Once the beds had been made up and her hairbrush and comb had been set out on an upturned box, her few clothes hung on a rail at one end of the attic and her underwear stowed in a trunk they had brought with them, at least the bedroom they had to share felt a bit more like home. ‘Just you mind you keep to your side of the curtain, Josh Ryan, ’specially when I’m getting washed.’ The battered old washstand with a black marble top and blue and white willow-patterned ewer and bowl stood in one corner of Emily’s side of the room beneath the sloping ceiling.

  ‘Where shall I wash, then?’

  ‘Downstairs in the kitchen, unless we can pick up another washstand cheap.’

  ‘There’s hardly any room to put one,’ Josh said morosely. ‘Oh Emily, what are we doing here?’ He sat down suddenly on his bed, his shoulders hunched, his face a picture of abject misery.

  ‘Doing as we’re told – for the moment.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘Three years is an awful long time. Maybe Amy won’t wait for me.’

  ‘Of course she will. And you can write to each other every week.’ She grinned, teasing him. ‘That should keep the flame of true love burning brightly. And you can go back and see her at a weekend sometimes.’

  But Josh was not to be cheered. ‘Whatever job I get, I won’t earn much to start with, will I? And Mam will need every penny both of us can earn.’ He glanced up at her. ‘What are you going to do? For a job, I mean.’

  ‘I’m not sure yet, but something Mrs Dugdale said has given me an idea where I can start.’

  Downstairs, Martha had stowed all her kitchen equipment in the cupboards and scrubbed the surface of the table just one more time. Martha was fussy about cleanliness and no one but herself could clean her kitchen table well enough.

  As dusk came early into the enclosed yard, there was a knock on the door. ‘It’s only me, luv,’ Bess called and opened the door at the same time.

  Martha sniffed. She wasn’t sure she welcomed such familiarity so early in their acquaintance, but she held her tongue when she saw that Bess was carrying a large tureen.

  ‘It’s only stew and dumplings. I made extra knowing you’d be tired and hungry. There’s only me, my son, Mick, and my lass, Lizzie. She’ll be home from work soon. I’ll send her round to say hello. But as for my boy,’ she smiled indulgently, ‘I hardly ever see him. But I’ll get him to come and see you sometime.’

  Was this how it was to be? Martha thought. Folks running in and out of each other’s houses without so much as a ‘by-your-leave’? For a brief moment, she felt a pang of uncertainty but then her resolve hardened. This was all for Josh. As long as Josh got a good job with the prospects she hoped for, then it would all be worthwhile. Martha forced a smile onto her face and said ingratiatingly, ‘How very kind of you, Mrs Dugdale.’
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  ‘Bess, please. And you’re . . . ?’

  Martha hesitated. She wasn’t used to such informality. Even with Bob Clark it had always been ‘Mr Clark’ and ‘Mrs Ryan’. And Mr Osborne at the corner shop wouldn’t dream of calling any of his customers by anything other than their surname. The menfolk, who’d known each other for years, called each other by their Christian names, but this had never extended to the women. Now Martha swallowed hard and with a thin smile, said, ‘Martha.’

  ‘Well, then, Martha luv, here you are. Pop it in the oven for a few minutes while you set the table. See you later, then.’

  ‘Mm,’ Martha said, very much afraid that she would.

  But ten minutes later, she was obliged to be thankful to her new neighbour as her family sat down to the unexpected hot meal.

  ‘This is good, Mam,’ Josh said, eating with surprising relish after being so recently heartbroken.

  Emily, helping Walter to eat, exchanged a look with her father. There was a surprising twinkle in his eyes and she knew he was thinking the same as she was; the fickleness of a young man where his belly was concerned! Despite this, Emily was encouraged; her father understood what was going on and whilst he had not been able to voice any opinion – had not even been asked – perhaps, after all, he would be all right here. As long as he was kept warm and fed, maybe . . . ? But even as the thoughts entered her head, he choked a little on the food and began to wheeze and she realized that before long the sooty, smoky atmosphere of the city would be a serious threat to him.

  Whatever had her mother been thinking of, she thought yet again, to drag them all from everything they loved to this strange, disturbing environment?

  But of course she knew the answer only too well: Josh!

  Six

  A little before nine o’clock, there was another tap at the door.

  ‘That’ll be the girl, I expect,’ Martha muttered sourly. ‘Come to say hello. Don’t we ever get any peace here? It’s high time we were getting your father to bed.’

  ‘Shush, Mam, she’ll hear you.’

  Martha sniffed but said no more as Emily went to open the door. In the light from the lamp, Emily could see a tall, slim girl standing there, a shawl pulled closely around her shoulders.

  ‘You must be Lizzie,’ Emily said, holding the door open and moving to one side. ‘Come in, do.’

  As the girl stepped into the kitchen, Emily could see that her long black hair fell in glossy waves to her shoulders. Her dark blue eyes were bold and she glanced around the room, swiftly assessing everyone. Her skin was smooth but pale, her mouth and nose well-shaped and her chin firm and determined. When she met Emily’s gaze the two girls recognized the strength of character in each other. Without a word being spoken, they both realized that they would become either the best of friends or the worst of enemies. But Lizzie’s glance was flitting around the room once more. She nodded to Martha and then her stare rested briefly, and with sympathy, on the huddled figure near the fire. But it was on Josh’s face that her gaze finally came to rest. She smiled at him, her cheeks dimpling prettily, her head tilting coquettishly to one side. ‘My, my,’ she said in a low, husky voice. ‘Mam didn’t say that a handsome young man had come to live next door.’

  Josh’s face reddened and he stuttered a little as he said, ‘P-please, sit down, Miss Dugdale.’

  ‘Oh, Lizzie, please. And, ta, I will, though I won’t stay long.’

  ‘Thank goodness for small mercies,’ Martha muttered and Emily glared at her, hoping the girl hadn’t heard.

  ‘You must all be so tired.’

  Emily sat down on the opposite side of the table. ‘We are,’ she said, ‘but not so tired that we can’t make a neighbour welcome. Your mother has been wonderfully kind.’

  The girl laughed. ‘Oh, that’s Mam. Never too busy to lend a helping hand despite the fact that she does all the cooking and washing and cleaning for the three of us and works across the yard part-time as well.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Martha asked, her ears pricking up. ‘What does she do?’

  ‘She works alongside Mr Farrell and they make files for Waterfall’s in Division Street. That’s where I work. I’m a buffer girl there under Mrs Nicholson. Her that lives in the corner house opposite.’ Lizzie gestured with her head. ‘She’s the missus over us buffer girls. Poor missus.’ Lizzie lowered her voice in sympathy with the heart-breaking losses the woman had suffered. She glanced across at Walter, then added, ‘There’s only Billy, her youngest son, left at home now. He was too young to go to the war. He’s only nineteen now – same age as me. He works at Waterfall’s too, though not with his mam, of course.’

  After a moment’s pause, Emily asked, ‘What exactly is a buffer girl?’

  ‘We polish the cutlery – well, some of it. Fellers do the difficult stuff.’ She pulled a face. ‘They reckon women can’t do it, but we’ve proved in the war that we could when there was a shortage of men, so we’re fighting now to be treated equally. In the war, some of the firms turned to war production, you know, shells and such, but Waterfall’s kept on with the cutlery.’ She laughed. ‘There was plenty of cheap cutlery required by the army. At least, that’s what we made. But now we’re back to making the better stuff and we want equality with the men if we’re doing the same jobs.’

  Emily heard her mother’s derisory sniff. In Martha’s eyes no girl would ever be able to do the same work as a man and especially not a man like her Josh.

  ‘Would there be work for me, d’you think?’ Emily asked swiftly, cutting off any remark her mother might have been about to make.

  ‘More than likely. I’ll ask tomorrow, if you like.’

  ‘Would you? That’d be very –’

  ‘Kind,’ the two girls finished in unison and then burst into fits of laughter.

  ‘Are there any jobs going for young men?’ Martha asked. ‘Josh is looking for work, but he wants to serve some sort of apprenticeship with the view to advancement in time.’

  Lizzie’s eyes sparkled as her intense gaze rested once more on him. ‘I’m sure they’d be happy to take on someone like Josh.’ Huskily, she added, ‘I’ll see what I can do for you.’

  The words were innocent enough, but Emily had the uncomfortable feeling that there was a wealth of meaning behind them.

  As the door closed behind their visitor, Martha said, ‘We must be friendly to all our neighbours. They could be useful.’

  Emily hid her smile. She had no intention of being anything else and not because of what they could do for her.

  ‘Now, both of you, help me get your dad up them stairs. It’s not going to be easy. They’re narrower than the ones we had at home.’

  It was a slip of the tongue, of course. Martha didn’t mean to refer to Ashford as home, but Emily and Josh exchanged a glance. It was most certainly what they still felt.

  The following morning, Martha tried to catch Mrs Nicholson before she left for work, but by the time she’d seen to Walter’s early morning needs, both the woman and her son had gone and Bess and her daughter were nowhere to be seen either, though there was a steady tap-tapping and the noise of a grinding wheel coming from the tall building on the other side of the court. They had yet to meet Bess’s son, Mick Dugdale.

  ‘I expect she’s at her work already,’ Martha muttered, put out because she couldn’t make a start on finding Josh a suitable job. ‘They’re early starters here but I’d best not interrupt her, especially if she’s on piece work.’

  ‘I’ll go shopping, Mam. What do you need?’ Emily was eager to get out into the city streets to find her bearings and, if she could, to learn where Trippets’ factory was. She meant to find Trip as soon as possible. It was weeks since he’d last been home to Ashford.

  ‘Go careful with the money, Emily. We’ve got to make it last. Even if Josh finds a job straightaway, he won’t get any pay for a week or two. And you’d better start looking, an’ all,’ Martha added, almost as an afterthought.

  Armed with a shopping
basket, Emily left the court and stepped into the street beyond. The September sun struggled to penetrate the blanket of smoke that hung over the city but at least it was fine. Emily straightened her shoulders and set off down the street, swinging her basket and humming a tune beneath her breath.

  ‘Good morning,’ she greeted one or two women, who were donkey-stoning their steps or washing their windowsills. One or two spoke and others merely smiled and nodded. They seem friendly enough, Emily thought. Garden Street was a mixture of houses and small businesses. There were several shops; a tripe dealer, a grocer and a coal merchant – even a second-hand clothes shop. That might be useful, Emily thought wryly, if times get really tough. There was probably everything the family needed here in their own street and the neighbouring roads, but Emily was keen to see more of the city. She walked on, intrigued by the premises that she guessed were little mesters’ workshops. The men were sitting at their workbenches in front of the windows – to make the most of the natural light, Emily supposed. She paused now and again to watch one man making a penknife and another producing a delicate medical instrument.

  The largest building in the street was called Croft Settlement Hall, some sort of men’s club, Emily guessed, and she thought how sad it was that her father was not now well enough to join. He would miss the camaraderie of male company that he’d had in Ashford. There had always been someone calling in to see him when he’d been the village chandler and even more so after he’d returned from the war. No one had shied away from seeing him in his pitiful state and they all showed their true friendship by continuing to visit. Bob Clark had been a faithful visitor almost every night after he’d finished his work. He’d sit and chat to Walter, just as if they were having a proper conversation. It didn’t bother Bob – though it saddened him – that the poor man could no longer answer him. He’d come with all the village news and tell Walter funny little anecdotes he’d heard or that had happened to him.