The Factory Girl

by Nancy Carson

  And now she had him back again. Him, whose name she could not even bring herself to think about any more, let alone say, so acutely did it distress her. To crown it all, he told her that after this last ten wonderful months, when he professed his love countless times, it was Nellie he was really in love with after all.

  Last night she had been too shocked, too dazed to cry. It was not till she had walked back home and immediately gone to her room, that she shed the first tear. But God alone knew how long it would be before she would cease crying.

  She could have been happy with him for ever. He satisfied every emotion, every itch, every craving. No other man could ever take his place. Even now, after what he had done, she still loved him hopelessly and would gladly take him back if he renounced Nellie. The child he would still have to maintain, but she could even countenance that if she could only have him back. Perhaps she should have let him know that. But last night she could not think. It had all been too sudden. It had all been totally unexpected.

  Lizzie said, ‘Well, he’s really shown himself up for what he is, our Henzey. Perhaps you don’t see it right now, and perhaps you won’t see it for a month or two, but take it from me, you’ll get over it and you’ll thank God above for sparing you a life of misery with him.’

  ‘Instead, I’m due for a life of misery without him.’

  ‘But he’s no good for you and you’re best off without him. You’re sensitive, our Henzey, and he’s a fly-by-night. He didn’t deserve you. Let him have his rich fancy piece. But one thing’s for sure – he’ll get his comeuppance one day. You know what they say – marry the miskin for the muck and be poisoned by the stink of it. Money won’t make him happy, our Henzey. You’ll see – before long you’ll meet a nice young chap who’ll look after you. Somebody decent, somebody more your own age.’

  ‘I don’t want anybody else, Mom,’ she wept. ‘Specially my own age.’

  ‘Come on. Dry your tears and come and have some breakfast. The others all had theirs an hour ago.’

  ‘All right. But please don’t tell anybody yet what’s happened. I’ll tell them myself in my own good time.’

  ‘My flower, they’ll only have to look at you to know there’s something amiss.’

  Chapter 9

  Three months after Henzey’s break up with him the heartache was still acute, but she had grown used to the depression as her tolerance of it increased. She thought about him endlessly and had lost weight, fretting and pining. But she was at last coming to terms with it. She reached her nadir when she saw his wedding photograph and a report of the event in the Dudley Herald. She cried buckets over that. It should have been herself in the photograph.

  Many men at the HP sauce factory had asked her out, including one or two of the married ones, but she politely turned them all down. She was not interested in other men; she still wanted was him who was now wed to her rival. It even occurred to her that maybe Nellie might miscarry, and that could trigger a return to her arms and all would be as it was. It even crossed her mind that she could have an extra-marital affair with him. That would serve to spite Nellie as well. But, as time wore on, Henzey dismissed any such notion; it had to be all or nothing, and gradually she was resigning herself to the certainty that it must be the latter.

  She avoided going to the Palais in Dudley, to the roller skating rink, or anywhere that she might see him with his new bride, though friends had offered to take her. But the last thing she wanted was to see him under those circumstances. If she could see him alone, that would be different, but to see him out with her on his arm would only bring back all the heartache. It just wasn’t worth it. So most nights she stayed at home and drew, and listened to the wireless.

  ‘Have you seen anythin’ o’ Billy lately?’ Florrie Shuker asked Henzey.

  They were waiting among a host of other people at Dudley Port station for the train to take them into work. It was a bright but nippy morning in early May, with white clouds easing themselves across a pale sky. A chill breeze blew through the station like it would through a corridor.

  ‘Nothing at all.’ Henzey turned her back to the breeze. ‘I wouldn’t want to see him now, either. I’ve got used to being without him. If I were to see him again it would upset me.’

  ‘You still love him, then?’

  ‘I suppose I do. Even after what he did across me. But at least I can see clearly enough what a rotter he really was. I’d have been a bit more wary if I’d known what he was really like. I’ll never get caught like that again, I can promise you.’

  ‘What about other chaps, Henzey? Ain’t there nobody else as yer fancy?’

  Henzey pulled the collar of her coat up to shield herself from the funnelling wind. ‘Oh, I can look at a man now and think how nice he is. For the first couple of months I couldn’t even do that. Every time I looked at somebody I’d compare them with him, and then turn away, moping. So I’m making some progress.’

  ‘What about goin’ out with other chaps? Has anybody asked yer?’

  She shrugged. ‘One or two. But I’m not interested. If I went out with anybody I don’t think I’d be very good company. It wouldn’t be fair. I’m still a bit raw, Florrie.’

  In the distance they heard the harsh, rasping breath of the approaching locomotive, which was hauling the train that would take them to Birmingham. Those nearest the edge of the platform instinctively moved back a step, while those standing at the rear shuffled forward. Henzey turned and saw the white plume of steam from the engine’s funnel and heard its hoarse gasps slowing as it decelerated. As it drew closer and grew louder she braced herself, putting her fingers to her ears to shut out the deafening hiss and roar. This hideous noise as it rumbled past her was the only part of the routine of working in Birmingham that she dreaded. The buffers clanged randomly as the coaches nudged each other before coming to rest. The doors opened, and a few passengers alighted with their pleasant ‘Good mornings’, followed by an orderly boarding by those waiting.

  Every morning brought Florrie and Henzey into a compartment with somebody fresh, and this morning was no different. When they had first started travelling, the sight of complete strangers sitting with them usually inhibited their conversation, but now, seasoned commuters as they were, it made no difference to them and conversation flowed as if there were no other people about. Florrie, sitting directly opposite Henzey, took off her gloves and put them in her bag. Unconsciously, she stretched her left hand out on her lap and gazed fondly at her engagement ring while they waited for the train to start, till she realised it was a tactless thing to do in front of Henzey. But Henzey had not noticed. She had caught the eye of a smartly dressed man of about forty-five who wore a bowler hat, a dark grey overcoat over pin-stripe trousers and an immaculate, white collar with a sombre, maroon tie. He smiled at her from the facing seat, though he was at the opposite end to Florrie. Henzey was used to men smiling at her. She smiled back politely as a whistle blew outside and the train steadily pulled away.

  ‘Oliver’s got a mate he works with, who ain’t courtin’,’ Florrie commented, continuing the conversation they’d begun outside. ‘Why don’t yer let us fix y’up with ’im for Saturday night. The four of us could go out together, dancin’ or somethin’. He’s ever so nice. He’ll do anythin’ for a lark. You’d like ’im, Henzey.’

  ‘Oh, I’d rather not, Florrie. You might think he’s nice, but I might not.’

  ‘Oh, go on. It can’t do no ’arm. It’d be a change for yer. It’d do yer good to get out, wun’t it? An’ anyway, you might like ’im after all. Even if yer don’t, there’s nothin’ lost.’

  Henzey shook her head. ‘Thanks for the offer, Florrie, but I don’t feel like meeting anybody. Not yet. Ask me in another month or two. Perhaps I’ll feel a bit more like it then.’

  ‘I tell you what,’ Florrie went on, undaunted. ‘Say you’ll come out with us an’ I’ll tell yer somethin’ as might be to your advantage.’

  Henzey laughed and glanced self-consciously at t
he well-dressed man. He was still looking at her, fascinated. ‘Oh, Florrie, you’re not going to give up, are you? What could you know that might be to my advantage?’

  ‘Say you’ll come out with Fred an’ Oliver an’ me, an’ I’ll tell yer. You’ll kill me if I don’t tell yer, but I don’t care. You’ve got to promise to go out with us first.’

  Henzey was intrigued. But she had to earn the knowledge she was being offered, and earn it in a way she was not altogether prepared for.

  ‘And if I do promise, then you’ll tell me?’

  ‘I’ll tell yer straight away. It’s somethin’ you’ll be really interested in, honest.’

  ‘To do with what?’

  ‘Never mind what it’s to do with. Just say as you’ll go out with Fred.’

  It was turning into a game and she was enjoying it, like they used to when they were at school.

  ‘Fred who? What’s his surname?’

  ‘Parker. Fred Parker. Honest, Henzey, he’s ever so nice. I know you’ll like ’im.’

  Henzey’s curiosity got the better of her. ‘All right, then. Saturday night, but no strings, no promises. Just don’t expect me to fall in love with this Fred Parker. Now what is it that I should know that’s going to change my life, eh?’

  Florrie leaned forward as if to impart a great secret. ‘I ’appen to know as Lucas’s am gunna tek on a few workers in a new bit o’ the factory at Great King Street where I work. You said to let yer know when there was any jobs goin’, didn’t yer?’

  The man opposite seemed to take a great interest in what they were saying. He said nothing, of course, but Henzey sensed his curiosity; and he had ceased smiling.

  ‘Honest? What’s the work?’

  ‘I ’eard as we’ve got a new order from Ford’s to make dynamos and starters, so they’m settin’ up a new shop.’

  ‘Yes, I am interested, Florrie. What’s the wages?’

  ‘On piecework you could earn over thirty bob a week, I reckon. An’ they’m a good firm to work for, an’ all. They don’t ’alf look after yer.’

  ‘What do I have to do to be considered?’

  ‘I’d just go along to the Personnel department if I were you. They’ll ask you to fill an application form in, I expect. Then it’s up to you.’

  ‘But I’ve never done work like that – assembling. Is it hard?’

  ‘I’d never done it when I started, but it’s easy. You get really quick in no time.’

  ‘Will you be working in that department, Florrie? It’d be nice if we could work together.’

  ‘I work in a different department makin’ headlamps. Trouble is, there’s talk of short time. Anybody who gets laid off in other departments ought to get jobs makin’ these dynamos. That’s only fair, in’t it? So I should look sharp, Henzey.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do. There’s still full time working at the Sauce. It’d be daft to leave and find myself on short time in a new job. I like my job really.’

  ‘I bet most o’ the folks on this train am goin’ to Lucas’s,’ Florrie said. ‘It’s a massive place. I bet there’s ten thousand or more work there.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can finish work at dinnertime. I’ll call at Lucas’s this afternoon. I can at least find out what’s on offer.’

  Henzey turned to look out of the carriage window to her left. Again, the man in the dark grey overcoat caught her eye. He wore a smile but was looking straight ahead at a photograph, in a frame below the luggage rack, of the promenade at New Brighton.

  ‘Now we’ve got that out the way we’d better arrange about Saturday night, hadn’t we?’ Florrie said.

  As dinnertime drew closer, Henzey feigned sickness and told her supervisor that she felt unwell. The supervisor agreed that she did not look too good, which brought a wry smile to Henzey’s face. If she didn’t feel any better by the time the hooter went, she was to go home. So she found herself in the bustle of jostling people, all leaving work at the same time to go to their dinners or do some shopping, or even taking advantage of the break to do a spot of courting. There was a queue for the tram. When it arrived she managed to get on it and stood on the rear platform the whole way, holding tightly onto the rail. In the city centre she wandered up and down Corporation Street looking in shop windows to kill time, entering the occasional store and ended up buying a new skirt and blouse.

  Just before two o’ clock she took another tram to Hockley and walked to Great King Street, lined on either side with houses and little shops with canvas awnings pulled out over the windows. Henzey was torn between her present job and the prospect of a new job at Lucas’s. Both had advantages. The Lucas factory was easier and cheaper to get to, being just a short walk from Hockley station. To get to HP she had to travel on to Snow Hill, then take the tram to Aston. But at HP she was more certain of full time work, when many were being laid off due to the Depression.

  The Lucas factory was an imposing pair of five storey buildings, split symmetrically down the middle by Great King Street, yet linked by a footbridge. Henzey approached the twin facades with increasing curiosity. She looked at it all in awe, and thought it might be rather nice to be a part of all this; to be just a small fish in a very big pond. Many times she had heard from Florrie of all the social activities that went on, and decided it might be an appropriate time to join in one or two. So the possibility of working there began to appeal.

  As she reached the factory she stopped, looking around her, wondering where to go. A commissionaire with a friendly smile appeared and asked if she was lost. She told him she was seeking the Personnel department and he pointed to the main entrance. After thanking him she set off again. Inside, a smartly dressed girl, somewhat older than herself, asked if she could help.

  Henzey smiled. ‘I’ve called about a job. I think I’m supposed to go to the Personnel department.’

  The girl looked her up and down. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘Oh, no. If I can’t see anybody today I thought I might be able to get an application form.’

  The girl looked her up and down and smiled mysteriously. ‘Just a moment, please.’ She picked up the telephone at her right hand, dialled a number, and after a few seconds said, ‘Mr Cherrington, I think the young lady you were expecting has arrived…Yes, she’s here in reception.’ Then, to Henzey: ‘What’s your name, please?’ She told her. ‘Henzey Kite, Mr. Cherrington…Very well.’ She put the telephone receiver back in its cradle and asked Henzey to take a seat. Mr. Cherrington would be along in a few minutes.

  ‘But nobody’s expecting me,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve made a mistake.’

  ‘Well, if I have, make the most of it, Miss Kite,’ the girl said with a wink.

  She did as she was bid and sat on one of the fine leather upholstered chairs in the corner of the large reception area, and looked about her. The walls were clad in dark panelled oak, and a portrait, an old photograph, of the bearded Joseph Lucas, the founder of the company, hung almost facing her, looking very severe. In glass cases many of the company’s past and present products were exhibited. People came and went, dashing between offices, from one side of the road to the other, and she wondered if there really were ten thousand people employed here. It seemed an awful lot.

  As she looked about her, contemplating the irony of working in a firm making car accessories when it was also his line of business, Henzey didn’t see a tall man of about forty-five walk towards her wearing pin-striped trousers and black jacket, immaculate white shirt and collar and sombre, maroon tie.

  ‘Miss Kite?’

  He startled her a little.

  ‘Oh…Yes?…Sorry, I was looking at all those things in the glass cabinets.’

  He smiled, and she returned the smile. She had seen that smile before. It was the same benign smile she’d seen in the train that morning. Its owner offered his hand, genteelly.

  ‘Very glad you came, Miss Kite. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you all day.’

  ‘You heard my friend and me
talking in the train this morning.’ She put her hands to her face. ‘Oh, I’m so embarrassed.’

  He laughed kindly. ‘I couldn’t help but overhear. So you thought you’d come and see if Lucas Electrical is all it’s cracked up to be, eh? Well, I’m in charge of recruitment. Come to my office, eh? We can have a chat and you can tell me all about yourself. Bring your shopping bag with you…You’ve bought something nice?’

  ‘Just a new skirt and blouse,’ she said, following him.

  He led her outside, across the street and along one side of the building, into his tidy, well laid out office. He invited her to sit in the chair facing his desk and, when she was seated, he sat down himself. He took a form from a drawer, a fountain pen from his inside pocket, and looked at her while he unscrewed the cap.

  ‘I was so sure you’d come after I heard your conversation in the train that I described you to the ladies in reception,’ he confessed. ‘I must have given them a fairly accurate description, eh?’ He smiled again. ‘Anyway, we had a little bet between ourselves as to whether or not you’d turn up. Happily, I won, didn’t I? I shall be two shillings better off as a result. Now, Miss Kite. You’re obviously interested in working here. Tell me a bit about yourself. First, your address.’

  She told him, and he began writing it all down. She answered all his questions candidly about her previous employment; why she had left; her schooling; her hobbies; about her family.

  ‘Let me tell you a little bit about the job,’ he said when he’d finished writing. ‘Your friend was right when she said we’re due to open a new department to manufacture dynamos and starters for Ford. Incidentally, I don’t know your friend. You can’t possibly hope to know everyone in a factory this size, of course.’