‘Oh stop, stop.’ Josh put his head in his hands. The previous night he’d got involved in a game of cards in the pub with Mick and his mates. He hadn’t known how to play the game and that was how he’d lost his money. Emily had been right about one thing – he had been over-generous buying drinks – but the rest of his pay had been lost in gambling. Something that, according to Eddie Crossland, was illegal.
As he walked home, there was only one thing on his mind. However was he going to extricate himself from a growing friendship – if you could call it that – with Mick Dugdale? Oh, Mick’d seen him coming all right. I’ve been a fool. And this is one thing I daren’t even confide in Emily about; she mustn’t find out, Josh thought, she’d half kill me. Sometimes, his sister could be as fearsome as their mother. If only Mam had never brought us here, he moaned inwardly, I’d be safely back with Amy now and planning our wedding. At the thought of the pretty girl back in Ashford, his heart turned over.
Oh Amy, Amy why haven’t you written? If only you’d answered my letters, none of this would have happened.
‘That’s it, lass, push. Now pant, now push again, just a little one. That’s it. Good lass. You’re doing so well,’ Grace Partridge encouraged Amy. The girl lay in the front bedroom of the smithy, her face red and sweating from the efforts of giving birth. Her father had insisted she should have his bedroom. ‘You were born in that room. Your mam would have wanted our grandchild to be born there too, God rest her soul.’
And now the time was here and Grace was at Amy’s side, helping and encouraging her, and Mary Needham was there too, whilst Bob paced the room downstairs, like any expectant father, even though he was only the grandfather.
‘It’s coming too early,’ Bob fretted. ‘It’s only the beginning of March and Amy thought it wasn’t due until April.’ He couldn’t settle to his work; he needed to be close to Amy. ‘He should be here. Josh should be here.’ But there was nothing he could do about it; Amy had made her father promise faithfully that he would not contact Josh and, whilst he believed that she was wrong, he would not break his solemn promise to her.
From time to time, he glanced up at the ceiling, wondering what was happening up there. It was quiet; too quiet, he thought, as he remembered shuddering at the sound of Sarah’s cries as she had brought Amy into the world. There were footsteps on the stairs and Bob braced himself and held his breath. Grace opened the door and appeared around it, beaming from ear to ear and carrying a white bundle in her arms.
‘It’s a boy, Bob. A strong, healthy boy and he’ll do well, being a spring baby.’
‘Amy,’ Bob dared not look inside the shawl until he knew. ‘Is she – all right?’
‘As ninepence, Bob. Tired, of course, but very happy. Mary’s just seeing to her.’
‘But – but I didn’t hear anything.’
Grace chuckled. ‘It was a surprisingly easy birth, considering that Amy is such a little thing, and she was so brave; determined not to cry out and alarm you. Come on, now, Bob. Amy’s fine and this is your grandson. You nurse him whilst I go back and help Mary.’
‘Is he . . . all right, Grace? I mean, he’s premature, isn’t he?’
Grace shook her head. ‘No, he’s full-term and a good weight, seven pounds two ounces. Amy must have got her dates wrong, love.’
With the baby, still needing to be washed, in his arms, Bob sat in his rocking chair and allowed a few tears to fall. How his beloved Sarah would have cherished this moment, even though the boy had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, as one said; Sarah would have welcomed the infant and loved him. And Bob vowed to do the same.
‘You’re a fool, Josh Ryan. “A fool and his money are soon parted.” Haven’t you heard that saying? And you’ve been parted from yours even before you got home.’ Martha was in full flow. ‘Now what are we supposed to do? Live on fresh air for a week?’
She was still ranting at him, whilst Josh stood meekly before her, his head bent, his shoulders slumped. There was no use in trying to make excuses; there were none. He should have stayed well clear of Mick and his friends. They were trouble. Emily had tried to warn him and, in all fairness, so had Mick’s own sister. Now he had let his family down and come close to losing yet another job. He shuddered as he thought what else he might get dragged into if he spent too much time in Mick’s company.
‘Mam, he only had a night out. He—’ Emily began. Though she was angry with Josh herself, she could see that Martha’s tirade was upsetting Walter.
Martha whirled round. ‘And you can keep out of this, miss, if you know what’s good for you.’
The sound of knocking on their door was the only thing to interrupt Martha’s ravings. ‘See who that is, and if it’s the rent man, I’ve no money this week.’ She glared at her son as he turned away to open the door to Mick Ryan.
‘Look, mate, I’m right sorry about what happened last night. Me mam’s sent an apple pie and –’ Mick fished in his pocket and pulled out a pound note – ‘we’re neighbours and I don’t take from neighbours.’
But Josh put up his hand, palm outwards. ‘No, no, Mick. It was my fault. I got carried away with the excitement of it all. I should never—’
Martha stepped forward and, in one swift movement, pushed Josh aside and tweaked the money out of Mick’s fingers. ‘Thank you, Mick. I’ll not say no, seeing as you’re the one who led my fool of a son into the wrong company. But he won’t be coming out with you again, that’s for sure.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Ryan.’ Mick sounded contrite but Emily, watching from the background, saw the look in his eyes and the smirk on his mouth. Mick Dugdale was enjoying this, she thought, even when he added, ‘You let me know if you need anything else, Mrs Ryan.’
Mollified by what she took to be the young man’s genuine apology, Martha said, ‘We’ll be all right now. Thank you for your generosity and your honesty.’
As the door closed on their visitor, Emily sighed. If there was anyone in this courtyard who was honest, then it wasn’t Mick Dugdale, but she said nothing. She was thankful that the matter had been settled – for the moment.
But Martha had one last parting shot at her son that disturbed Emily even more. ‘You’d do better to keep company with his sister.’
Twenty-Two
As 1921 wore on, it became apparent that the aftermath of the war was having a serious effect on the economic state of the country. The post-war boom didn’t last long and the women who’d undertaken men’s jobs during the conflict had – reluctantly, in many cases – returned to being housewives. Their jobs were now needed by those who had come back from the trenches still able to work; sadly, the streets were full of wounded men. But there were still not enough jobs and the unemployment figure throughout the nation rose sharply, causing hardship and real destitution. And for the wounded, there were even fewer prospects.
‘Emily, stay behind, will you?’ Ruth Nicholson said one hot August day as the girls stopped their machines when the hooter sounded. The missus turned away but not before Emily had seen the anxious look on the woman’s face.
When the other girls had left, Ruth said, ‘I’ve either got to reduce the piece-work rates or lay girls off. It’s not fair to reduce wages, so, I’m right sorry, Emily, but I’ve to lay off three of you and you’ll have to be one of them. We work on a “last in, first out” policy here.’
There was nothing Emily could say. She understood the fairness of the system and she was the most recent buffer girl. And there were to be two others too. ‘Who else is going?’
‘Lizzie and – and Nell.’
Emily’s eyes widened. ‘Nell? But she’s your best worker.’
‘I know, but she’s only been here two years and only you and Lizzie have been set on since her.’ Ruth sighed heavily. ‘There’s nothing I can do. She’s got to go an’ all. It’s the rule we have to abide by, though I’m loath to let any of you go.’
Emily turned away, sick at heart.
‘Mam, I’ve got some bad ne
ws,’ she said as soon as she arrived home. There was no point in prolonging the moment. ‘I’m to be laid off. Mrs Nicholson’s laying three of us off. Lizzie’s got to go, too.’
Martha straightened up from where she was bending over a pan of stew. ‘Why?’
‘They haven’t got enough work to keep us all on.’
Martha was thoughtful for a moment. ‘What about Josh? Is his job safe?’
Emily stared at her. Not a word of sympathy or comfort for her, just Martha’s concern about her precious son. Emily swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips and said tightly, ‘As far as I know, it’s just the buffer girls they’re laying off at the moment.’
‘Aye, well, they’ll want to keep men on, I expect. Men who’ve got a family to keep.’
I’ve got to help keep a family too, Emily wanted to shout, but she bit her lip and said nothing. Her glance went beyond her mother to where Walter was sitting in his chair. He was looking straight at her, his mouth moving, but no words were coming out. But his eyes told her what he wanted to say: Don’t worry, love. It’s not your fault. She smiled and nodded at him, her love for him overflowing. Silently she promised him that she would tramp the streets looking for work if it meant he would be kept warm and fed.
Martha dished out the inevitable stew and potatoes. ‘Here, sit down and get your tea and then you’d best get out there looking for another job,’ was all she said.
The following morning, Lizzie drew both Nell and Emily to one side. ‘You’ve heard, then? The three of us are to go.’
Nell nodded, her eyes dark with anxiety. ‘What are we going to do? I’ve me mam and— I’ve me widowed mother to keep. I can’t afford to be without a job.’
‘I’ve had a word with our Mick,’ Lizzie said. She seemed to be the only one of them who didn’t seem half out of her mind with worry. ‘And he reckons we should set ourselves up as little missuses.’
Emily blinked and glanced from one to the other. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Our own buffing workshop taking in work from the little mesters or from the bigger factories,’ Nell explained. ‘But I couldn’t run a business, Lizzie. I can work and work hard, but I was never much good at school, at the book learning, you know.’ She lowered her voice as she turned to Emily. ‘To tell you the truth – Lizzie knows, but please don’t tell the others – I can’t read or write very well.’
Emily smiled gently, trying to think what to say, but Lizzie saved her the embarrassment.
‘Emily and her brother ran a little business together before they came to Sheffield. Making candles.’
Nell stared at Emily, wide-eyed. ‘You did?’
Emily blushed, but nodded.
‘Then why on earth did you leave that to come here? To this?’ She waved her arm to encompass the drab surroundings, the filthy working conditions.
‘It was my mother who—’ Emily had been about to say, ‘who dragged us here’, but it would have sounded insulting to the girls who had lived and worked in this city their whole lives, so instead she said, ‘brought us here. She thought my brother could better himself.’
‘I can’t think of anything nicer than to live in the countryside with all that fresh air and to have a little business of your own too,’ Nell said and her voice took on a dreamy tone. ‘It’d be so good for children.’ Then she shook herself out of her reverie and became the practical Nell again. ‘Tell me more about the business you had. Candle making, did Lizzie say?’
‘It was Dad’s, really, handed down through the family for several generations, but when he went to war – and then came back too badly injured ever to work again – we took it on. Josh and me. But it wasn’t what Mam wanted for Josh, so she insisted we come to the big city for him to make his fortune.’
‘And has he?’
Emily laughed wryly. ‘Hardly! I expect his job will be on the line next. He’ll be one of the last in, too.’ Then her thoughts turned back to their own predicament. ‘What about premises and the machinery we’d need? And could we be sure to get enough work?’ It sounded like a good idea, but the difficulties were endless, Emily thought.
Nell had worries of her own. ‘We’d need to be sure that between us we could cover all the processes. I can do most things, even knives. I learned a lot in the war when the menfolk were away and women had to step in and do the work they normally did. You’re pretty experienced, Lizzie, but, though Emily’s coming along nicely, she’s not learned everything yet. Spoons and forks are all she’s done so far.’
‘We’ll manage. Mick’ll help us,’ Lizzie said confidently. ‘He knows a lot of the little mesters. He’ll talk to them. The work’ll just flood in, you’ll see.’
Emily saw Nell glance at Lizzie and then look away. She didn’t look too happy about that arrangement and yet it promised work for all of them. Emily tucked her arm through Nell’s. ‘Don’t worry, Nell. I can do all the bookkeeping, I promise, and you’re the best buffer girl Mrs Nicholson’s got. She’s foolish to let you go.’
‘All the better for us,’ Lizzie said promptly. ‘When word gets around that we’ve got Nell Geddis with us, the little mesters’ll be falling over themselves to send work to us. Mebbe some of the big firms, too, can put a bit of work our way. Mrs Nicholson has promised to do that if she can. We’ll start with just the three of us and see how it goes, eh?’
Nell gave a huge sigh, but then she nodded. ‘All right, then,’ she said flatly. ‘We’ll give it a go.’
When they’d parted from Nell at the end of the street, Emily and Lizzie walked the rest of the way to Garden Street. Emily was thoughtful, still concerned as to why Nell didn’t seem enthusiastic about the proposition, but Lizzie’s excited chatter made up for Nell’s lack of eagerness.
‘Our Mick’ll see to it all. I’ll ask him tonight and by the time we have to leave at the end of next week, I bet he’ll have found us a workshop, machines and even our first customers. You’ll see.’
But why, Emily worried, was Nell so reluctant?
‘Why do you think Nell doesn’t want Mick to be involved?’ Emily asked Trip the following Sunday.
Trip wrinkled his forehead. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t met him yet, but, from what you say, he sounds a generous sort of a bloke. He’s being helpful, isn’t he?’
‘Very, though I expect it’s mostly to help his sister.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Trip murmured.
‘I just wondered if . . .’ She stopped, unsure how to continue.
‘What?’
Emily sighed. ‘If everything he gets for us is come by quite honestly. He won’t let us pay for anything.’
‘Do you want me to ask around? See if I can find anything out about Master Dugdale?’
Emily shook her head and said swiftly, ‘No, word might get back to him and I wouldn’t want to offend either him or Lizzie. Besides,’ she added impishly, ‘your workmates won’t tell you anything. You’re the boss’s son.’
Trip laughed wryly. ‘That’s true. I’m never included in their conversations. I expect they think I’d go running to Daddy to tell tales. Little do they know,’ he added softly.
‘Anyway,’ Emily slipped her arm through his, ‘let’s not worry about Nell or Mick or anyone else today. This is our day.’
Trip put his hand over hers and smiled down at her. ‘So it is. Now, where do you want to go?’
‘Not the park today. Let’s go to the cathedral.’
Belle’s mission was not as easy to accomplish as Arthur had thought. For several months, since he had first asked her, she had gone to one of the city’s parks on alternate Sundays. She was determined not to give up every Sunday afternoon to what she now viewed as a wild goose chase. And as the cold weather had given way to spring and then to summer, there were a great many courting couples walking in the park and most were dressed in their finery. Today she recognized a group of girls walking arm in arm as buffer girls. They laughed and joked and called out boldly to the young men who hung about the park.
One or two paired off and walked away arm in arm.
Belle sat on a bench to watch the youths and girls. A wave of longing for what might have been swept over her. But, as she always admonished herself when these moments of desolation engulfed her, Belle told herself that she was a fortunate woman. She had a wealthy man as her lover, who provided for her and, to her surprise, showed no sign of moving on from her to a younger woman now that the bloom of her own youth was gone. And, in a strange way, she was proud of herself that she had never resorted to standing on street corners touting for ‘business’. Oh, she was a prostitute of sorts, she knew that, but she could live with being the mistress of a man of standing, even if it had to be kept secret. She wondered, sometimes, just what her neighbours did think when the Rolls-Royce was parked outside her little house, but since they always greeted her agreeably, she had ceased to bother about it.
The Buffer Girls Page 16
