The Factory Girl

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Yes, I see that.’

  ‘This new department will be a self-contained factory in its own right, but I’m not certain that handling dynamos and starter motors will quite suit a girl like you. They’re heavy, you know, and whilst winding the armatures is not such heavy work, it requires some experience. I take it you’ve not had to wind any armatures before?’

  She shook her head and smiled, and he smiled too.

  ‘What about your friend? What department does she work in, do you know?’

  ‘She assembles headlamps, if that’s anything to go on.’

  ‘P100s, Morris, Standard Motors, Wolseley, Hillman, Rover, Humber, Riley?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What’s her name and we’ll look her up?’

  ‘Florence May Shuker.’

  Mr Cherrington picked up the telephone on his desk, dialled a number, and requested Florrie’s file. To Henzey, he said, ‘If I can find you a job working with her, would you like that?’

  ‘Oh, I would. But I’ve not done that sort of work before. I don’t know if I could do it.’

  ‘It’s easy enough. It’s the sort of work that suits girls – naturally more adept at it than men, although there are some men working on the headlamp lines, and very good they are, too. It’s clean work and you can earn good money. Lucas are proud to pay some of the best rates in Birmingham, you know, but in return we expect loyalty and dedication to the job.’

  ‘Oh, I’m very conscientious, Mr Cherrington. But Florrie – Miss Shuker – says the factory might go on short time. How much money could I expect to make then?’

  ‘It depends how nimble you are at your work, but working a full five day week you could earn up to thirty shillings. On four days, which seems likely in the present economic climate, about twenty-four shillings if you’re good. Unfortunately we’ve shed a few people in that department already but, on top of that, others have left to get married, have babies and so on, which quite honestly you can’t account for. Consequently, we’re actually short of girls there. We’ve cut too near the bone, in other words. Strictly speaking I shouldn’t be recruiting anybody, but I can make out a perfectly good case for it. As far as I’m concerned, Miss Kite, you’re exactly the sort of girl we like to recruit here: neat and tidy, obviously loyal, conscientious, as you say, and a very pleasant and unassuming personality, if I may say so.’

  Henzey smiled demurely. ‘Thank you, Mr Cherrington. It’s kind of you to say so. I think I’d like to give it a try. I’m sure I could fit in. Florrie – Miss Shuker – says there are a lot of Black Country girls here. You must be from the Black Country yourself, as you were on the train this morning.’

  ‘Oh, I live in Sedgley. You know it?’

  ‘Yes, we go through it on the way to Wolverhampton.’

  Somebody knocked at the door and entered. A woman of about thirty-five handed him a folder. ‘Florence May Shuker, Mr Cherrington.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Smart.’ Miss Smart departed and Mr Cherrington studied the file. ‘Your friend works on the Morris line. That is actually rather under-staffed. When could you start, Miss Kite?’

  ‘A week on Monday, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Perfect. Come in with Miss Shuker a week on Monday. She can take you to your department manager. He’ll be expecting you. In the meantime I’ll write confirming your appointment.’

  She thanked him, stood up to go, and he came quickly from behind his desk and opened the door for her.

  ‘Goodbye, Miss Kite, and the best of luck. I shall certainly keep an eye on your progress. Oh…and the best of luck with Fred on Saturday night!’

  ‘Oh, that won’t amount to much,’ she said, blushing.

  Indeed, Saturday night was not a great success as far as Fred Parker was concerned. He turned out to be an affable sort of chap, and was considerate. He had been sufficiently primed about the traumas in Henzey’s recent life to expect no great success with her, but he liked her all the same. When he asked if he could take her out another time, just the two of them, she politely excused herself. He did not appeal greatly to Henzey, although she enjoyed the evening at the Palais in Dudley. There, she saw many of the friends she hadn’t seen for a while, some of whom were principally his friends. It was little comfort to know they all considered he’d made a big mistake in forsaking her for the unmentionable Nellie. Marjorie Lycett, one of the girls she’d got to know well, told her she was best off without him, and even congratulated her in finding out about him before it was much too late. That made her feel a bit better, and she began to believe at last that not everybody could be wrong.

  Lucas’s was the start of a new way of life for Henzey, and a new way of approaching work. The work force was extremely loyal and everybody worked hard. She found it stimulating to be a part of such a well organised establishment, especially so in view of the thousands of people who worked there. In no time she got used to assembling headlamps for Morris cars, earning as much as Florrie who had been doing the job for considerably longer, and she was quickly accepted by the other women on the line.

  The works canteen was not the only place they spent their dinner breaks, since Henzey would enthral her new workmates by drawing pencil sketches of them in the works itself. It became a feature of dinnertime and people would book up, sometimes a week in advance, to have their portrait done. As a subject sat facing her, a group of ten or even twenty would gather behind her, watching the likeness develop, greatly admiring her talent.

  Gradually, Henzey’s fame spread throughout the factory and she was asked if the joint managing directors, Peter Bennett and Oliver Lucas, known affectionately as ‘The Bing Boys’, could sit for her. Henzey said of course she would be privileged to draw them and arrangements were made accordingly. The portraits were to be done in the Board Room and each could only allow an hour at most, due to their busy schedules. It transpired that she needed only about forty-five minutes to complete each of the two astonishingly accurate drawings, and the two chiefs were so thrilled that they promised to arrange an exhibition of her work in the canteen.

  Thereafter, some of the lesser management, in their turn, requested the same for themselves. So when time permitted, Henzey obliged, and she got to know many of the departmental managers and foremen because of it. Her artistic talent was turning her into quite a celebrity.

  Then, one dinnertime in early September, she received a more unusual request. A deputation of girls from the Product Development department asked if she would draw a portrait of their manager, Will Parish. It was soon to be the sixth anniversary of his appointment to the position. The only problem was that the portrait was to be a surprise, so there was no question of him being able to sit for her. All the girls could offer were a couple of photographs, one of him alone, just head and shoulders; the other, not so new, showed him smiling happily with a pretty young woman on his arm. Henzey accepted the challenge but asked if there was some way she could get a look at him in the flesh, to assess the structure of his face and detect any mannerisms that might help to represent him more accurately on paper.

  ‘Why not come with us now to our workshop?’ one of the girls suggested. ‘He’s eatin’ his sandwiches in his office. If yer pretend you’m payin’ a social call on us he won’t twig it, an’ you can get a good look at him.’

  So they set off briskly through the factory, Henzey having slipped the photos into the pocket of her overall. When they reached the department they all gathered round a copy of Woman and Home, which one of the girls took from her basket and pretended to discuss some new fashion idea that was illustrated. Henzey carefully placed herself so that she could look directly into the office to get a good view of Will Parish who, by now, had finished his sandwiches and was reading a newspaper. She was concerned that she could not get a proper look at his eyes while they were cast downwards, but the girls’ persistent giggling drew his attention. He looked up at them, smiling with curiosity. Henzey detected a soulfulness in his eyes that seemed vaguely fami
liar.

  ‘What are you lot up to?’ he asked good-naturedly.

  ‘Nothin’, Will,’ one of them, Sarah Ball, answered. ‘We was just lookin’ at a picture of a girl in a bathing costume. Want to ’ave a look?’ She raised the magazine up to him so he could see it.

  ‘Oh, very tasty,’ he said. ‘Fancy you lot looking at pictures of girls. I’d have thought Jack Buchanan would’ve been more up your street.’

  ‘We don’t need photos of the likes of ’im when we’ve got you to look at all day, Will,’ Sarah laughed. ‘You’m a lot more ’andsomer than that Jack Buchanan.’

  There was an instant chorus of agreement that turned into laughter.

  ‘I’ve never heard such flannel. You all after a rise?’ He smiled again and returned to his newspaper.

  ‘Seen enough?’ Sarah whispered to Henzey.

  Henzey nodded. ‘He seems nice.’

  ‘Oh, he’s real nice, is Will,’ Sarah replied as they all trooped out. ‘He’s a smashin’ gaffer. We think the world of ’im. D’ya think you can do ’im all right now?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  When the girls had left her and she was sitting on the line next to Florrie she thought about Will Parish. There was something about his eyes that was hauntingly familiar and it was bothering her. There was such a look of sorrow in them; or was she just imagining it? Oh, superficially he seemed happy enough but, deep down, she perceived something more. She took out the photographs from her pocket and looked at them again. Yes, there was a sort of sadness in his eyes shadowing the warmth of his expression, even when he smiled, which she must try to capture in her drawing. She slid the photos back into her overall pocket and continued with her work, her thoughts still with him.

  ‘You’m quiet, Henzey,’ Florrie commented after an hour.

  ‘I was just thinking.’

  ‘Not about that Billy Witts again?’

  ‘No, not this time, Florrie.’

  Chapter 10

  Henzey was not entirely satisfied with her first effort of the drawing she’d been commissioned to do of Will Parish. Somehow the expression she had captured lacked the openness she perceived when she saw him in the flesh. She had rendered the eyes too deep set, the expression too cold, soulless. It bore a resemblance, but it was not right. So she turned to a clean sheet in her sketch pad to begin again.

  Alice drifted downstairs and into the room where the family was assembled. She looked a picture in a sleeveless dress of green cotton. Over her arm was a matching green jacket. Her hair nowadays was fashionably cut in the shingle, with little flat curls at the nape of her neck. She was sixteen and a fine-looking girl. Jesse, who had just re-entered the room after settling the horses in the stable for the night, glanced at her and thought that, apart from the hairstyle, she was the image of her mother at the same age; even her eyes had the same look of vitality and devilment. She seemed to have quickly grown up into a young woman; a canny, wily young woman at that, seemingly wise to the world and its ways.

  ‘Jack Harper tonight again, is it?’ Henzey taunted, looking up from her work.

  Alice blushed. ‘So?’ There was defiance in her voice.

  ‘Twice last week, once the week before, and last Saturday night.’

  ‘Oh! You been keepin’ a tally, then?’

  ‘Well, we can’t help but notice, can we, Mom? Serious is it? You’ll have me jealous, our Alice.’

  ‘You had your chance,’ Alice retorted petulantly. Jack Harper was hers now. She felt like telling Henzey to keep her distance, not to encroach.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so touchy. I was only pulling your leg. I was never that taken with him, but I’m first to admit he’s decent company – even if he is a bit old for you.’

  ‘Oh, hark who’s talkin’. Billy Witts was nearly old enough to be your father.’

  Alice was convinced that ever since Henzey had broken up with Billy she would be glad to get back with Jack Harper. It was a misapprehension, distorted by her own heightened emotions. Just because she was besotted with Jack herself she believed Henzey couldn’t fail to be also. Thus, she was possessive, resentful, feeling the sort of mistrust you would expect from an earnest rival, not a devoted sister.

  Henzey chuckled, unable to take Alice’s fervour seriously. ‘It seems we all like older men, Alice. Even mother. Look how content she is since she married Jesse.’

  Lizzie, rocking Richard in her arms, tutted at her daughters. ‘Try arguing a bit quieter,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘The baby’s nearly asleep now. For God’s sake don’t disturb him.’

  Henzey moved round, trying to position herself so that more light fell on her drawing. She sighed, got up from the table and turned up the gaslight. ‘That’s better. I can see what I’m doing now.’

  ‘Who’s that you’m drawin’?’ Alice enquired, relieved that perhaps it was a new boyfriend she had mentioned nothing about yet. She peered inquisitively at the photographs from which Henzey was working.

  ‘He’s from work. The girls who work for him want to surprise him with it.’

  ‘That his wife?’

  Henzey was shading the area under the bridge of the nose. ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Shame,’ Alice exclaimed cynically. ‘He looks just the right age for you.’

  ‘Hadn’t you better hurry if you’re meeting Jack Harper? You know how he frets if you’re late.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Henzey,’ Alice snapped. ‘You’m only jealous.’

  Alice was all too aware that her older sister knew all about Jack’s quirks. Alice wanted to find them out for herself, however. Part of the joy of being in love with somebody was watching how all their ways unfolded, like reading a novel and seeing the story develop. It was irritating being told beforehand how he would behave, like somebody telling you how the story ended when you were just getting into it.

  Alice had suffered her young girl’s infatuation for Jack ever since Henzey first brought him home to meet her mother. Now, at last, he was paying attention to her. Since she had been working at George Mason’s they had stopped to talk a few times while she walked past the shoe shop where he worked. An observer would have beheld more than a spark of interest between them. Three weeks ago they had arranged to meet and Alice had been thrilled. But she was so sensitive to Jack’s past association with Henzey, that she turned him into a stumbling-block between herself and her sister, hampering their usual accord. But it was only in Alice’s mind. Henzey was as yet unaware of Alice’s increasing fear and resentment. Certainly she would not wish to fuel it, even if she had known about it. If she had not been so concerned with other things she might easily have spotted it.

  ‘I’m off now, then,’ Alice said. ‘Ta-ra.’

  ‘Mind your time in, madam,’ Lizzie remarked. ‘Half past ten and no later…And mind what you’re up to.’

  Henzey smiled to herself and recommenced her work. She placed a faint cross on the page as a guide for this new attempt at capturing Will Parish’s likeness, inclining it a little more this time; a trick she’d learnt that would help to give it more vitality. The slanting line from left to right was the axis for the eyes, the most important features – get them right and everything else would fall into place. The right eye: yes, draw the top eyelid just a little heavier and not quite so arched; now faint creases at the outer corner…Better. Some delicate shading below that top eyelid…Oh, yes, much better. Nice eyes for a man; eloquent; expressive. And so familiar. So strangely familiar. Now the left eye; build it up in the same way. Another look at the photograph. A few pencil strokes…Yes, it’s coming. She smiled to herself.

  Now the nose; another look at the photograph. Got it right. This is a fine nose, which somehow gives him the look of someone highborn…Yes, this is going well. Now the mouth…masculine, sensuous curves; lips, neither thick nor thin, but right for the rest of the face. These lips she could have enjoyed kissing. God, had it been so long since she’d been kissed?…He was almost smiling; but a melancholy smile, as if hiding s
ome inner, deep-rooted emotions.

  It was all coming together nicely. The forehead; dignified, patrician, straight almost to the hairline…The cheeks; cheekbones high; highlights here, hollowed slightly below that, which made him look lean and athletic…The chin; proud, noble, strong.

  Henzey had learned, through all her years of drawing, that real beauty emanated from features that were of moderate size. Each element of the face had to be without extremes. And yet, that in itself was not enough, for all those separate elements had to combine together well to provide beauty. None of us could choose our own face, nor its arrangement, save for accentuating this or enhancing that with make-up – so long as you were a woman, of course. You had to accept what God gave you and make the best of it.

  But, as she looked at this portrait she was finishing, she suddenly realised that it was as handsome a face, by those rules, as any she had ever seen. It had not struck her thus when first she saw him, but now, having studied it intensely, it did. In her eyes it was an astonishingly beautiful, manly face.

  She looked up at her mother. Richard was now fast asleep in Lizzie’s arms, settled at last.

  ‘Shall I take him up for you, Mom?’

  ‘You’d best not for fear of waking him. I’ll take him up myself in a minute or two. How’s your picture coming on?’

  She held it up for Lizzie to see. ‘I think it’s one of the best I’ve ever done. I’m ever so pleased with it.’

  Sarah Ball and the other girls from Product Development were delighted with the portrait of Will Parish and they wanted to know how much they owed Henzey. She declined any money, but they pressed five shillings on her that they’d collected. Her brother, Sarah said, made picture frames and he was going to frame this one for them. Henzey said she would like to see it when it was done, so they invited her along to the presentation.