The Factory Girl

by Nancy Carson

  Two days before her exhibition was due to be shown in the works canteen, Henzey received a message from her supervisor that Mr Cherrington in Personnel wanted to see her. She duly left her post and made her way to the offices. When she knocked on his door he called her in, and they exchanged pleasantries.

  He said, ‘About your exhibition in the canteen, Miss Kite – do you have all the work available that you want to show?’

  ‘All but one,’ she answered. ‘Mr Parish said he would let me borrow the one I did of him, but so far I’ve heard nothing.’

  ‘Should I remind him for you?’

  ‘Oh, no, thank you. I don’t want to press him. He knows the exhibition’s on. If he wants me to have it he’ll send it, I’m sure.’

  ‘Fair enough. Now – the only time available to set it up is Saturday morning. It’ll be quieter then. Is that convenient?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I can get here at my usual time.’

  ‘I’ll arrange for a couple of lads from the Maintenance department to help you. They will have all the materials and tools.’

  And so Saturday morning arrived and, true to his word, Mr Cherrington had arranged for two lads from the Maintenance department to be there. They looked after the mechanics of hanging the pictures while Henzey chose where and how they should be positioned. Her drawing of Will Parish had still not arrived, and she was bitterly disappointed.

  ‘Yo’ int bin t’our shop to draw any o’ we,’ the taller and more confident lad, called Matthew, remarked. He then clouted his thumb with his hammer and uttered a string of expletives that were largely unintelligible to Henzey. The thumb evidently began to throb, and he sucked it for a few seconds, a frown on his face. His pained expression was incongruous with the image he was evidently trying to cultivate, with his hair well greased with Brylcreem and his Ronald Colman moustache. Henzey smiled to herself. ‘Y’oughta come, ya know,’ he continued, smiling cockily again, trying to ignore his thumb. ‘We got some roight charicters in Minetenance, oi can tell ya.’

  ‘I bet,’ Henzey said. ‘But I only do these drawings in my spare time. I don’t think I’d have time to do everybody in the Maintenance department.’

  Matthew glanced knowingly at Arthur Warrender, his younger colleague, and winked. ‘Well ya can do me any toime ya loike, gal. Even better out o’ wairkin’ hours, eh? Tell yer what – I’ll tek yer owver the Lickeys tomorra if ya loike, an’ ya could do me then, eh? The Lickeys’d mek a smashin’ backdrop for a pikcha.’

  ‘A nice idea,’ she replied, hiding her true thoughts. ‘I bet you’d be a good subject.’

  Slowly the pictures went up on the walls, liberally interspersed with innuendo from Matthew, aided and abetted by Arthur. It all quietly amused Henzey.

  The canteen was open to serve those who were working on Saturday morning and, when their break time arrived, she bought Matthew and Arthur a cup of tea each to wash down their bacon and egg sandwiches. They sat together, and Henzey was subjected to a further barrage of suggestive comments and not a few over-blown compliments, especially when more of their workmates arrived.

  The door opened on the other side of the canteen and she turned to see who it was. At once she stood up.

  ‘Mr Parish! I thought you’d forgotten. I didn’t expect to see you this morning.’

  He smiled as he approached, carrying a flat parcel. ‘No, I hadn’t forgotten, Henzey.’

  ‘As you can see, we’ve made some progress.’

  ‘Well, I thought if I waited till you were putting the exhibition up I might be able to help. I don’t come in here to eat very often, so it’s likely I would’ve missed the whole thing…So here I am, come for a private showing. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind.’

  ‘Here’s the drawing. I’m not too late with it, am I? Can you still find space?’

  He handed her the package while the two lads looked at each other, indignant that their attempts to impress this jewel were being threatened. Matthew thought he was entitled to Henzey’s full attention during his break and his face bore a look of resentment that someone else was now encroaching.

  Henzey opened up the parcel and laid it on the table. The two lads peered at it bumptiously.

  ‘That ’im?’ Arthur enquired of Matthew with a nudge. He nodded at the drawing, then at Will.

  ‘No, don’ be darft. It’s too good lookin’ for ’im.’

  Henzey seethed at their insensitivity and appalling manners. ‘I’ll fetch you a cup of tea, Mr Parish. Why don’t you all introduce yourselves while I’m gone?’

  While she went to the counter, Will indeed introduced himself as the manager of Product Development and told them how well he got on with their boss. Matthew picked up his mug, told Arthur they were to get on with their job straight away, and downed his tea quickly.

  Will Parish stayed, and his presence seemed to temper the brashness of the two younger helpmates. He stood, admiring Henzey’s work, and remarked how much like the subject this or that drawing was, and asked how long it took to do this or that watercolour? It was mid-day when they finished hanging the pictures. Henzey thanked them all, took her coat from the back of one of the chairs and declared that she was going home.

  ‘Wharrabout Sund’y, then?’ Matthew reminded Henzey as he picked up his toolbag to go.

  ‘Oh, I shan’t be able to, after all,’ Henzey replied with a plausible smile, donning her coat. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Will smiled as the two young men left. ‘A conquest, eh?’

  She laughed. ‘I might call it that if I were interested. I can’t say he’s really my type, though.’

  ‘It wouldn’t do for us all to like the same type, I suppose…Which way are you going, Henzey?’

  ‘Hockley station.’

  ‘D’you mind if I walk with you? Hockley station’s on my way home. Perhaps you’d let me take you for a cup of tea first? Away from here, I mean…if you’ve got a minute or two to spare.’

  She looked at the clock. ‘Well, my next train isn’t due for a while.’

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘Yes, all right. Thank you.’

  ‘Good. I know a smashing little place in Great Hampton Street, not far from the station. The Copper Kettle. We could get a bite to eat there, too, if you’re hungry.’

  ‘I’m sure that would be very nice,’ she answered affably. ‘As long as you won’t get into trouble with your wife.’ She turned to take one last look at her work, expecting him to reply to this comment, but no reply came. So to disguise what she imagined must have sounded like prying, she quickly said, ‘My first exhibition. A moment to be proud of, I suppose. Doesn’t look too bad, does it, Mr Parish?’

  ‘No, I’m really impressed. I recognise most of these people. It speaks volumes for your ability. And by the way, please call me Will. Everybody else does.’

  As they walked along Great King Street they made small talk, about the weather, about the worsening economy in general and the effect it would have on Lucas’s in particular. He mentioned some of the new products they were developing in his department.

  ‘Sorry, Henzey. I’m talking shop,’ he said, realising that he might be boring her.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind. You make it all sound very interesting. It must be an interesting department to work in. All these new-fangled things.’

  ‘Oh, there’s always something new coming up.’

  They entered The Copper Kettle on Great Hampton Street, a bustling road that led directly into the city, and took the only vacant table. The place was clean and inviting. The walls were decorated with a pale blue, patterned wallpaper, clean blue table-cloths adorned the tables and net curtains, tied in the middle, embellished the large window like a row of white sheaves. Henzey declined anything to eat, so Will ordered just a pot of tea for two. She said he was not to go without something to eat just because she didn’t want anything, but he claimed he could wait till he got home.

  ‘Where is home, Will?’ she enquired. />
  ‘Ladywood. Ten or fifteen minutes walk from here.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to Ladywood. Is it nice?’

  He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t call it especially picturesque, although it has its interesting bits. There are some nice churches. St. John’s is a lovely church. I got married there. I sing in the choir there, as well. Then there’s the Monument in Waterworks Road – that great tall tower. Have you seen it? Built as a folly, it was. There’s the reservoir as well – it’s quite pretty round there in summer.’

  ‘The reservoir? That rings a bell. And the tall tower. Is that where The Tower Ballroom is?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Oh, I have been to Ladywood, then. I’ve been to The Tower Ballroom lots of times. But I thought that was in Edgbaston.’

  ‘Part of the reservoir is, I think. I expect they say the ballroom’s in Edgbaston to make it sound more posh.’

  An elderly waitress delivered their tea and Will thanked her.

  ‘So where do you live, Henzey?’

  ‘Dudley.’

  His eyes lit up. ‘Fancy that. I was born in Dudley.’

  Henzey lifted the lid off the pot and stirred the tea. ‘But you don’t have a Dudley accent,’ she said.

  ‘Well, neither do you.’

  ‘Oh, I do.’ She laughed, comfortable with this Will Parish. ‘When I say something like, “I don’t think I’ve ever been to Ladywood,” for instance, my voice goes up at the end of the sentence. See?’

  ‘But it’s not prominent.’

  ‘I suppose you can’t help the way you speak, but I became self-conscious of my accent, especially when I was among the sort of people I was mixing with. So I made a real effort to try and change it. Occasionally I lapse, though – especially if I fly into a temper or something.’

  ‘So what sort of people were you mixing with? If I’m not prying, of course.’

  ‘Well, I used to go out with this chap called Billy Witts. He worked for himself selling to the motor industry, and did quite well till the stock market crashed…But that’s another story…Anyway, he knew some wealthy and influential people and he used to take me along to meet them. Dinners and garden parties and things. Some were really posh, really classy, and I felt so out of my depth that at first I’d hardly speak because of my accent. Then I decided I was as good as them and I realised I could speak nicely too, if I really tried.’

  ‘So this Billy is in the past?’

  ‘Yes. We split up…’ She smiled self-consciously. ‘I’ll pour the tea now, shall I? Why are you smiling?’

  ‘The tea. Don’t you think it’ll still be a bit on the weak side? She’s only just brought it.’

  ‘Well, let’s try it anyhow.’ She lifted the pot and poured a few spots into Will’s cup to assess the colour. ‘Does that look all right?’

  ‘Perfect.’ He was aware she was embarrassed, that she did not want to speak about this Billy Witts. ‘No doubt you have another young man now – a lovely looking girl like you.’

  She filled his cup, feeling her colour rise. ‘No, nor do I really want anybody. I don’t want to get hurt again. But you won’t want to hear about that.’

  ‘No, not if you don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not that. I mean I don’t want to bore you.’ She filled her own cup, then added the milk.

  ‘I doubt if I’ll be bored, Henzey. I’d love to know about this Billy. You must have loved him dearly.’

  ‘Yes…I loved him dearly.’

  She opened up her heart about Billy Witts, about his ways, his foibles, how she felt about him, how he had lost his money and how she came to regard him as a rat. Will Parish listened intently, his eyes fixed on hers, hypnotised.

  ‘So, you see,’ she explained, ‘to get back into the money, he made this Nellie Dewsbury pregnant. Now they’re married and have a little daughter. It hurt me a lot at the time, I can tell you.’

  ‘Good God, I can well imagine. But do you reckon he’s happy now?’

  She shrugged with indifference. ‘It’s not my concern. He wasn’t happy with her before.’

  ‘He’s a fool, Henzey.’ Will sipped his tea, than added: ‘As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly…Proverbs.’

  She met his eyes and smiled. ‘Oh, he had his reasons which were valid enough as far as he was concerned. It just seemed very callous to me.’

  ‘You’re still very loyal.’

  ‘Not really. Not anymore. Anyway, enough of Billy Witts and me. What about you? I don’t know anything about you, except that you live in Ladywood…and I imagine you have a wife there. And here I am, baring my soul as if I’ve known you all my life.’

  ‘Well, may I put you straight on one thing, Henzey? Unfortunately, I don’t have a wife any longer. She died five years ago…In childbirth.’

  Henzey felt greatly embarrassed. ‘Oh, Will, I’m so sorry. Me and my big mouth. I wouldn’t have mentioned it…’

  ‘You weren’t to know. Don’t worry. I’m over it now. But like you, at first I was devastated.’

  ‘How old were you then?’

  ‘Twenty-five. I’m thirty now.’

  As Henzey held her teacup in front of her with both hands she studied Will’s face again. There was that pleasant but melancholy smile. No wonder there was an innate sadness in his soft brown eyes. He must have suffered dreadfully. Who knew what heartache he must have endured? Who knew to what extent he’d been scarred inside? And she had been bemoaning her own insignificant suffering at the hands of Billy Witts. She felt such a fraud. Her troubles were nothing compared to his. Her heart went out to him. He seemed such a genteel person; so pleasant, so affable, so inoffensive. Why did the most awful things seem to happen to the nicest people? What had he done to deserve such grief?

  ‘What about the baby?’

  ‘It was a boy. Still-born.’

  ‘Will, I shouldn’t have asked such questions. I had no right.’ She put down her cup and shuffled uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t realise, Will. I’m ever so sorry.’

  He reached out and touched her hand, briefly, as a reassurance that it was all right. ‘Please, Henzey, don’t apologise. I’m quite happy to talk about it. Everybody believes it’s a taboo subject, so I never get the chance. At first that was understandable, but nobody ever mentions Dorothy now. I welcome the opportunity to talk about her.’

  ‘I’d love to hear about her.’

  ‘Well…Dorothy was the sun and the moon and the stars to me. I adored her. Still do. She was a teacher, two years younger than me. We met at a wedding and I think we both fell in love straight away.’ He laughed a little as he recalled it, that laugh expressing more than a thousand words. ‘She was the sister of a friend of the bridegroom. We were introduced and we spent the rest of the time there in each other’s company. Afterwards, I walked her home and we arranged to meet again. I was afraid of losing her so, just to make certain she would turn up, I gave her the fob watch I was wearing on my waistcoat, which actually belonged to my father. I wanted it back of course. It was just my way of ensuring that I saw her again. The watch was gold and I remember thinking, “If she doesn’t turn up, I’ll be in such a pickle with the old man”.’

  ‘But she did.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, she did. And from then on we began to see each other regularly. She was at Dudley Training College in the beginning. She left shortly after and found a job teaching infants at the Osler Street School, just round the corner from your Tower Ballroom. We married in January 1923. I was already working at Lucas’s then, so it seemed logical to find a house in the Ladywood area, which we did. Two and a half years later, she was dead.’

  Will sighed and that sad, soulful look returned.

  ‘I won’t ask if you were happy,’ Henzey said quietly. ‘You obviously were.’

  He nodded, looking into his teacup. ‘We were very happy in the short time we had together.’ Then he paused and looked into her eyes. ‘But who knows whether we would always h
ave been happy? People change. You can marry and be very happy but, if you both change, and in different directions, then things start to fall apart. I’ve seen it happen a good many times. It could have happened to Dorothy and me. Who knows?’

  ‘But when a couple get married, isn’t it for better or worse? Isn’t that a wedding vow? So isn’t it a wife’s duty, more even than a man’s, to honour him, to support him, morally – to go in the same direction as him – and so avoid such difficulties?’

  ‘Perhaps…in principle. But in practice it sometimes requires the virtues of a saint for one person to put up with another, however much in love they might have been in the beginning.’

  ‘Losing the child must have been a double blow.’

  ‘Dorothy suspected the child had died, because she hadn’t felt it move for a couple of weeks. Then the doctor confirmed it. It was that that caused the problem, really. The actual birth was traumatic for her…just too much.’ He shook his head as the memory of it all overwhelmed him. ‘I don’t understand all the technicalities of what went wrong…We wanted that child…She suffered too much…She died the next day.’

  Henzey watched his eyes glisten with tears for a second, then she looked away, feeling it was a private moment for him and she should not encroach. So she refilled their cups again to divert herself. Will smiled and thanked her.

  She said, ‘But it must have been dreadful for you, Will. I can’t imagine that much suffering – that much heartbreak.’

  ‘It was fairly trying.’

  ‘And what about now? Do you have a lady friend now?’

  ‘No romantic attachments…To be honest, Henzey, I haven’t found the need. If something happens to change it, then so be it – I keep an open mind. But the fear of it all happening again has been a restraining influence. It’s tempered any thoughts I’ve had of women. I couldn’t stand to lose anybody else. I could never go through that again. Never…I tend to blame myself for Dorothy’s death.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t, Will. Childbirth is the most natural thing on earth, even if it does go wrong occasionally.’

  ‘But, you see, it was at my insistence that we decided to start a family. Look at it this way – if we’d never met, if we’d never married, she’d be alive today.’