by Nancy Carson
They lay down and made love.
Henzey took the train from Dudley, following the Great Western line to Snow Hill station in Birmingham, by way of Dudley Port and Hockley. She did not heed the drab, industrial landscape that slid past the carriage window. Instead, she pondered the circumstances that had forced her to leave her job at George Mason’s. She should have given a week’s notice, but so adamant was she that she would not return to work again with Wally Bibb after that Friday, that he gave her a week’s money in lieu and hoped there were no hard feelings. The other girls were sorry to see her go, but understood her reluctance to continue working there. It was a wrench for her, too. She had been close friends with them all, especially with Clara Maitland, but she could no longer tolerate the situation. Wally was making it impossible. All the time she had to be on her guard lest he stalk up behind her when she was working alone in the stockroom or in the office. It was an atmosphere she resented. Clara Maitland had even tried to talk to him about it, but he was contemptuous of her voicing any opinion and told her to mind her own business.
The train steamed into Snow Hill station and Henzey alighted, looking fresh in a printed cotton, sleeveless dress. The locomotive hissed deafeningly as she walked past it and she was glad to be up the wide steps from the platform and onto Colmore Row in the warm sunshine. In Corporation Street, she took a tram to Aston Cross, conscious of the bustle of the city.
She had imagined that a factory making sauce would not be a very grand affair, but the one she was headed for seemed enormous. Around it were shops and scores of other factories, large and small. Beyond them, she could see rows and rows of red brick terraced houses, street after street, branching off from Aston Cross in all directions. It was like Kates Hill, but on an infinitely larger scale. Not only that, she could smell the rich, pungent smell of vinegar and spices, and it made her feel hungry.
This outing had resulted from an advertisement in the Evening Mail stating that there were a few vacancies for hard working girls to operate new machinery at HP Sauce Limited, at Aston. It promised above average rates of pay. Applicants were to apply in person to the Personnel department. Henzey had no job, and nothing to lose. She was shown to a waiting room where she sat with another girl of similar age, who was called in for interview before they’d had chance to get acquainted.
Ten minutes later Henzey herself was called, interviewed, and told she could have a job on a bottle capping machine at twenty-two shillings a week if she could start on Monday. She could, and was instructed to report to a Mr Harman in Personnel at eight o’ clock on Monday morning. Henzey could scarcely believe the pay. At Mason’s she was earning thirteen shillings a week. Even taking into account train and tram fares she would still be lots better off, and she would have her Saturdays free. This had to be better than working in a shop with the manager trying to grope you at every turn.
On her way home, Henzey stopped for a cup of coffee at Lyon’s café in Corporation Street, then called in Lewis’s store to treat herself to some alluring new underwear and new shoes. She felt she could afford it. Never had she been in a store like it. The choice and quality of goods was astounding and she could have happily spent a week in there, just browsing. As it was, she spent more than she intended. But, as the afternoon wore on, she became anxious to get back home to tell everybody about her new job and the unbelievable wages.
Henzey started her new job on Monday 19th August, 1929. By coincidence she found herself travelling on the same train as her best friend from school, Florrie Shuker, who used this train every day. Since Billy had been courting Henzey, the girls hadn’t seen much of each other and there was plenty of gossip to catch up on. Yes, Florrie had heard she was courting serious, but so was she now, to a chap called Oliver Priest, who was a toolsetter. They were planning to get engaged on Christmas Eve, Florrie’s eighteenth birthday. Henzey could claim no such good fortune, however. The girls chatted incessantly till the train stopped at Hockley, where Florrie had to get off to go to Lucas’s where she worked. They looked forward to travelling to Brum together every morning.
And then, the day they had all awaited with such a mixture of feelings came to pass. Henzey arrived home from her bottle capping on the evening of the 2nd of October to find the house in turmoil. Jesse greeted her at the door, beaming. Her mother had given birth to a boy, seven pounds nine ounces, at ten past four that afternoon, and both were fine and beautiful. Henzey rushed upstairs eagerly to see the baby, to hold it for a little while and to give her mother a hug. They had decided to call him Richard.
Jesse was without doubt the proudest father that had ever lived. Until he and Lizzie had fallen in love he had given up all hope of ever being wed, let alone fathering a son. He would have been perfectly content simply as the step-father of Lizzie’s four children by Ben Kite. But this was another red letter day in his life; a bonus more valuable than anything. For days, he went around euphorically, a smile fixed on his face. He told each and every customer, proudly, that his new wife had presented him with a son, and he gave them all an extra measure of milk in celebration. On the Friday night he went to find his friends in the local pubs and bought them all drinks before he stumbled home, contentedly drunk, plaiting his legs like a sailor on shore leave.
Getting up early and catching a train to work soon became a matter of course for Henzey and, before she knew it, autumn was upon them in all its red and gold glory. The mornings became progressively cooler and there were heavy dews. Most mornings she bought a newspaper from Wyman’s at Snow Hill station, to read in her dinner break, but one morning, the 25th, a Friday, all the newspapers screamed a similar headline. Each and every one carried news about something they called The Wall Street Crash. When she saw Billy that night she asked him the significance of it and he said that nobody would know how it might affect Britain till the London Stock Exchange opened on Monday. He seemed very depressed about it, though.
Monday came, and feeling the first shock waves from the New York Stock Exchange, London share values plummeted. The papers were already calling it the Depression. On Tuesday, Billy informed Henzey that he had lost almost every penny he’d ever made.
‘I’m ruined,’ he said, as they sat in his car in the yard at the dairy house. ‘Unless I can pick up some commission soon I shall even have to sell the car. The prospects are bleak. Some of the deals I’ve already negotiated are in danger of being cancelled outright.’
‘Oh, Billy, I’m so sorry,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve got a bit saved. You can have that if you need it.’
He smiled at her. Of course, she would give him everything she had and more. He knew that. But what she possessed, compared to what he had lost, was nothing. He was a worried man. Money was all. Money was the means to the finer things in life. He might have had a lowly upbringing, but money had given him a taste for refinement. Money had given him self-respect and the admiration of others. Money had elevated his social status, so that he now moved in higher circles. Money had brought him to the attention of some beautiful, wealthy women, the company of whom he had enjoyed, and was still enjoying. Eventually it might have brought him power, for he was ambitious to do well. There were those, of course, who envied him his new wealth and who denigrated him saying that he must have trodden others underfoot in acquiring it. He dismissed their allegations with scorn, however.
‘You’re a kind soul, Henzey,’ he said, and stroked her cheek, ‘but what you’ve got ain’t about to pay off my debts, nor restore what I’ve lost. I’m talking about thousands of pounds, my angel. Thousands. That five thousand I invested in Tennant Electrics was money I borrowed on the strength of my stocks and shares. Now those stocks and shares are worthless, but that five thousand still has to be paid back. If we can find no work for the factory, it’ll go bankrupt. And so shall I.’
‘So how much have you lost in stocks and shares?’
‘Enough for us to get married in quite some style.’
‘Married?’
‘Enough to buy a b
ig house…no, two big houses, and go on honeymoon for six months on one of those world cruises. Oh, and plenty more besides. Now it’s bloody well gone. The bleedin’ lot, bar about five hundred quid. God, a paltry five hundred quid. It means starting all over again. But the way things are, there’s a fat chance of that – I don’t think.’
He had never mentioned marriage before and perhaps he should not have done so now, since it was merely a convenient way of illustrating how much he had lost. But it set Henzey’s heart fluttering.
‘I didn’t know you were thinking of marriage, Billy,’ she said quietly. ‘You never said.’
‘I know I never said, Henzey, because you’re too young. Oh, in a couple of years, maybe, but not now. Not the way things are. I couldn’t support you now.’
‘But things’ll pick up, Billy. Anyway, if we did get married I could support you. I work. I’ve got a good job. Other girls my age get married and still work.’
‘Usually because they have to, Henzey. I wouldn’t want that for you. I wouldn’t want you to work if we ever got married. I’d want to be able to keep you comfortable, like a lady.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘I wouldn’t mind roughing it, Billy. I had to rough it before when my father was alive and so ill. We all did. We had nothing, but we managed. I could do it again. At least we’d have each other.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re a treasure, Henzey. If I couldn’t manage the best for you, then I’d subject you to nothing less.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look, I’d better go. When shall I see you?’
‘Tomorrow, if you like.’
‘No, not tomorrow, my angel. There’s some business I need to attend to. I’ll see you on Saturday, eh?’
‘Not till Saturday? I shall feel like a nun if I don’t see you till Saturday. Shall you play golf on Saturday morning?’
‘I doubt it. Not this week.’
‘Come for your tea, then?’
‘No, let’s say half past seven.’
‘Have I got to dress up to go dancing?’
‘Yes. Bugger the expense. We’ll go dancin’.’
For weeks Henzey secretly pined for what she thought was a missed opportunity to become Mrs Billy Witts. It started her thinking how he might be enticed into it after all. She considered asking him outright to marry her, so confident was she that she could afford to keep him if his business did not pick up. But she knew what he was like. He would run a mile. If there were to be any proposals Billy would be the one to make them, and only when it suited him. He was certainly not above being kept, that she also perceived, but there was no way she could hope to keep him in anything like the manner he wanted. He liked to smoke, cigars usually, to drink spirits; he could hardly give up his car, since he needed it to visit firms and find work. So his car had to be run. Then they would need a house to live in, so they would have to rent one. It would need to be furnished nicely and, that, too, cost money. They must eat and Billy would never be happy with bread and dripping. He would still want to hobnob with his wealthy business friends and that would mean keeping up appearances. In short, he liked to spend freely.
What she failed to understand was that Billy was still drawing some commission for contracts previously negotiated. The motor industry was not closed down altogether because of the Depression. Merely it had slowed down. He was still earning some money, though at nowhere near the same level as before. That, however, was not enough.
Something else Henzey did not know was that after the stockmarket crash, Billy had formulated a plan, and a contingency plan besides, to ensure his personal financial survival. Both were already well in hand and paying some early dividends on the nights he did not now see her.
Jesse had been right about how the girls would feel with a baby in the house. Each wanted to be the child’s mother. While Lizzie fed him they would sit at her side mesmerised, watching the infant sucking gently at her breast. They took it in turns to change his napkins and to bath him, and debated at length whose likeness he had inherited. Herbert, Alice and Maxine all thought he resembled Lizzie. Henzey saucily said, while the child was lying naked on the table, exposing all, that right now he must look a bit like Jesse, then darted out of the way laughing before her mother could catch her.
If Richard awoke in the night, which he did every night for the first few weeks, the whole household would get up and rush around in disarray. Alice and Maxine even suggested that the crib be placed in their room so that they could tend to the baby in the night, and so give their mother a rest. Lizzie reminded them though, that they might have some difficulty feeding him if he was hungry. It was certain that this child was not going to be hard work with all the help that was available; Richard’s brother and sisters were going to spoil him terribly, but Lizzie was happy. If anything, she felt guilty at having been so selfish early on in her pregnancy when she had regarded the prospect of another baby with horror.
Henzey adored her little half brother. She took a delight in holding him over her shoulder to help get his wind up after he had been fed, and more than once had a shoulder flecked with vomit. She rocked him in her arms and sang softly to get him to sleep and, when he was asleep, was reluctant to put him in his crib. There was something wonderful about the smell of a new baby, and she could not define exactly what it was. All she knew was that it was appealing. She was also entranced by his tiny fingers, his tiny toes and the smooth, soft flesh of his little fat legs. And it seemed that there was something mysterious, if not sensual, about the way his lips suckled his mother’s nipple. Secretly, while she watched, she wondered just what it was like to suckle a child, since it did not look unpleasant in the least. If she and Billy were to get married, when times were better, that would be her priority – a baby. She would love to have a baby in the security of marriage, in the contentment and comfort of their own love nest.
Chapter 8
Billy called at the dairy house to collect Henzey one Saturday evening in January. He tapped on the verandah door before opening it and, having already heard his car, she rushed out with her usual admiring smile to greet him. He, however, could scarcely look her in the eye. Lizzie was still at the sink washing crockery and his greeting for her was but a token raising of his hand. As soon as Henzey saw his expression she knew something was not right. She detected in him impatience and, worse, indifference. His attire was incongruous with what she believed was their destination, for he was wearing a formal dinner suit with cummerbund and bow-tie, when she expected to be going dancing. As usual she looked striking, this time in a blue, velvet, strapless dress, the same colour as her eyes; a dress that she had bought herself the previous day.
He looked her up and down. ‘You look very nice.’ His tone seemed to suggest that he found it unusual.
‘Thanks. So do you.’ She smiled again, but with uncertainty, trying to read what was on his mind. Things had been strained since the stock market crash and his moods had been mercurial. ‘Are you taking me out to a restaurant, since you’re wearing a dinner jacket?’
He shrugged, noncommittally.
‘I wish I’d known. I wouldn’t have had any tea if I’d known.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Come on if you’re ready. There’s not much time.’
‘I’ll just grab my coat.’
‘Have you got your key, madam?’ Lizzie asked. ‘I doubt if we’ll still be up by the time you get back.’
Henzey kissed her mother goodbye. ‘It’s all right, I’ve got it.’
Out in the yard, in the bitter, winter wind, Henzey and Billy climbed aboard the car. She held her collar tight to her neck and shivered at the miserable, damp cold as he turned the Vauxhall around and drove out onto Cromwell Street. She looked at him earnestly, trying to read the grim expression on the handsome face she loved so much. He sensed her gaze but drove on coolly without acknowledging it; without saying a word.
By the time they arrived at the crossroads, where The Station Hotel overlooked the railway station, he still had not spoken.
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br /> ‘What’s the matter, Billy?’ Her plea was from the heart. She could stand neither the silence nor the indifference any longer. ‘What’s wrong? Please tell me what’s wrong.’
He looked one way, then the other and, as the road was clear, instead of turning right as he would normally have done for Birmingham, he drove straight on, down the station drive.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked. ‘Why are we stopping here?’
Above the rattle of the engine they heard a whistle blow in the station and a locomotive rasping asthmatically, its dense column of surging steam scattering in the wind as it strained to pull away from the platform and enter the long tunnel that exited at Blowers Green station a mile away. The carriages clanked together as the slack between the couplings was taken up.
Henzey reckoned it was time Billy answered her. ‘Billy! Why don’t you say something to me?’
He pulled on the handbrake and switched off the motor. ‘All right…I’ve got something to tell you, Henzey.’ He looked straight ahead through the car’s windscreen and lit a cigarette. With increasing apprehension she watched him. Smoke from his cigarette drifted up, silhouetted against the light from the station. Some, appearing to escape his first inhalation, was sucked back into his tight-lipped mouth. Her heart was beating fast. Something monumental was about to unfold. He exhaled a great fog and drew on his cigarette again, intensely, as if buying time to choose his words extra carefully. She waited, her eyes watching his face, and shivered again with cold. ‘I didn’t want to say anything while we were at your house,’ he said, his breath a mixture of steam and smoke that punctuated his words. ‘But I have to tell you it’s all over between us.’ He glanced briefly at her to note her reaction.
