by Anne Bennett
‘You’d have to be real hard-hearted not to feel sorry for them,’ Angela said. ‘But one thing I do miss is having the flower girls around Nelson’s Column.’
‘And they used to have some round St Martins too,’ Maggie said pointing to the attractive church built of honey-coloured bricks at the bottom of the hill. It was a lovely church, all the windows were of stained glass, but the frames themselves were ornate too and the main window had an elaborate pattern of weaved stonework across the top of it. Added to that the main church had a series of small towers surrounding it and a magnificent steeple in the middle. Then in front of the church a line of trees and a fence where the flower sellers used to stand if the area around Nelson’s Column was full as it often was.
‘Precious few of them about now,’ Maggie said with a sigh. ‘I asked my dad why not and his answer was that we can’t eat flowers.’
‘Well he had a point,’ Angela said. ‘Things are bound to be different when we are at war.’
They were through the Bull Ring now and out the other end hurrying along narrow dark streets as Maggie said, ‘Oh I’ll say. Would we be going out at the crack of dawn to make weapons if we weren’t at war?’
‘I’d say not,’ Angela said. ‘If I ever thought of my future I would never have envisaged that one day I would be working in a factory making things for our chaps to kill others.’
‘You nervous?’
‘A bit,’ Angela said, ‘but more than nervous I’m sad.’
‘Why?’
‘Well because when you said the hours were long you were right. I mean six till six is bad enough, but Saturday morning was supposed to be voluntary, but then I read in the paper that there is a crisis, a shortage of shells, and that’s what we will be making, artillery shells, so I think Saturday morning will be semi-compulsory, like they’ll make life difficult for you if you don’t do it.’
Maggie nodded. ‘You may well be right and not just to be awkward, but because they really are worried about this lack of shells. Mr Potter intimated as much to me when he interviewed me and said that most girls don’t moan about it because they see it as a sort of duty to help their loved ones at the Front.’
‘I do see that,’ Angela said. ‘Of course I do, only I feel sad for the hours I will be away from Connie. Mr Potter asked me about the care I have organized for her and that isn’t an issue. What is an issue though is that I’d like to see something of her too.’
‘Poor Angela,’ Maggie said. ‘I do see what you’re saying and just at the moment I can see no way round it.’
‘Nor me,’ Angela said. ‘But these long hours are going to be a strain on Mary too. I mean I know Connie is lovely, but they are a handful at this age. The point is though even when it’s all over no one knows how hard life is going to be and if there will be enough jobs for all those returning soldiers, and that’s why I thought it best to get a well-paying job and build a little nest egg for that rainy day that Barry was always so concerned about.’
‘If it helps at all,’ Maggie said, ‘I think you are doing absolutely the right thing and Connie I’m sure will understand that when she is older.’ There was no chance to say any more for they had reached the factory and as they went in through the gates, Maggie said, ‘Remember we have to get that card and clock in straight away. I’m sure the other girls will put us right in what to do.’
And the girls might well have done, but their supervisor, who introduced herself as Mrs Paget, was waiting for them, and Angela looked at her slightly pinched features and her sharp eyes and knew that she would miss nothing and also stand no nonsense. She was welcoming enough to Angela and Maggie though and showed them how to get their card from the rack on the wall, which was in alphabetical order, and put it in the slot beneath the large clock and pull the handle, and the time recorded was seven minutes to six.
Then Mrs Paget took them to the changing rooms where they changed into boiler suits, rubber shoes and hats. Neither girl had ever worn any form of trousers in their lives for it would have been considered fast and Angela thought it felt very odd to have her legs enclosed but she was to find that they were the most practical and comfortable article of clothing she had ever worn.
The other girls, all togged up, had left now and Mrs Paget said to Angela and Maggie, ‘Every bit of metal has to be removed and put in that steel box on the table.’
‘Everything?’ Angela questioned. ‘Even my wedding ring?’
‘Even that,’ Mrs Paget said and went on in explanation, ‘We can’t risk anything generating a spark.’
Angela saw the sense of Mrs Paget’s words but she still hated taking off the wedding ring that had never been off her finger since Barry had put it there and taking the locket from round her neck and even the take-out kirby grips that helped keep her bun in place. With a barely perceptible sigh she dropped the items in the metal box with all the others followed by a number of grips from Maggie which she used to try and tame her curly locks. ‘Good girls,’ Mrs Paget said, but she’d been watching their faces and added to Angela, ‘I know that was hard for you, but we have to insist because we can’t take any chances with explosives.’
‘I do understand,’ Angela said. ‘It’s just that those things … Well you know they’re special to me. What happens to them now?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Mrs Paget said. ‘They will be quite safe. This box will be locked away in the safe till the end of the shift. Now,’ she said to both of them, ‘will you be all right for tomorrow? I mean you know what to do and everything?’
Both girls nodded and Mrs Paget said again, ‘Good. Now all you need are masks and gloves which must be fitted before you go onto the shop floor.’
Angela thought the gloves weren’t bad but it seemed very strange to have a mask around her face, but she told herself they probably know what they are doing and everyone would presumably be dressed the same. Even Mrs Paget had her mask and gloves on as she led the way out of the room and along a metal meshed floor to a padded door. Despite the padding they could hear the thump of machinery before Mrs Paget opened it.
But oh, when she did open it, the noise was such that it caused Angela to recoil from it. She had never heard noise like it for it was all-consuming, the roars and clanks and screeches and thumps filled her brain and hurt her ears, but a nudge from Maggie caused her to take a step forward. There was no way she wanted to go into that factory, but her feet seemed to move of their own volition until she stood beside Mrs Paget at the top of the steps looking down on the workforce.
As she descended the stairs behind Mrs Paget, she marvelled that the women didn’t appear bothered by the noise, nor the acrid, sour smell that had lodged in Angela’s nose, nor the yellowy-grey swirling dust that was everywhere.
Her eyes felt gritty and dribbles of water started running from them down her cheeks. Then it was as if something caught in her throat and she began to cough and cough and cough till it was difficult for her to draw breath. She couldn’t work in that place she decided. She’d never even been inside a factory before and she didn’t particularly want to do so now either. She would get some other form of war work. Maggie would understand and, catching sight of her panicky eyes above her mask, Angela thought there was a good chance she was feeling the same way, and if she did it would be even better and they could go together to some other place.
And then, she thought of Barry choosing to enlist as she chose to work in a munitions factory. How would it be for him if war wasn’t quite what he expected so, when the order came to go over the top, he would ignore it and set off for home to choose something more suitable? The Army would take a very dim view of that and shoot him as a traitor.
Now she could walk away and do something else, but it was shells and more shells that were needed and someone had to make them, or the soldiers would be left unprotected. Was she the sort of person to do something else that suited her better although she knew what she was doing was not as vitally needed as making shells? The answer was obvious,
of course she could not just walk away. She was no fragile flower and for better or worse she was sticking to making shells for the duration.
That evening Angela was so tired it was hard to put one foot in front of the other as they left the factory and crossed the almost empty Bull Ring, and Maggie admitted she was just as done in. ‘I can’t understand it,’ Angela said. ‘I used to work long hours in George’s shop standing on my feet all day and I was often up and down the steps to fetch things down from the upper shelves so it’s not that I’m unused to work.’
‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘But Maitland’s was a pleasant place to work, I’d say, and not a noisy one?’
‘Well, no,’ Angela said. ‘But what’s noise to do with it?’
‘I think constant noise like that is hard to cope with,’ Maggie said. ‘It sort of drains you of energy. I mean did you still hear it through your dinner hour even though we were in the canteen?’
Angela nodded, but added, ‘You might have a point and I think the heat doesn’t help the tiredness either.’
She’d never felt heat like it when she had occasion to go near the furnaces. Not that you could go too close because they were heated white hot to soften the carbon sheets so that they could be made into a basic shell shape. They sizzled like mad when they were then placed in vast sinks of cold water and billows of steam rose in the air. And when the rudimentary shapes cooled they had be made smooth on the grinding machine before being filled with explosives and the detonators. But the heat from those furnaces permeated the whole factory, so by mid-morning, Angela could feel sweat running down her back.
‘I suppose we’ll get used to it,’ Maggie said.
‘Well all the others seem to,’ Angela said.
‘Yeah,’ Maggie said. ‘One of the women who’s worked here since the beginning of the war asked me how I was doing in the dinner queue today. She said it’s a culture shock to everyone at first because few women had worked in any sort of heavy industry before the war began. She assured me that we would get used to it and that we have to stick at it because our lads couldn’t fight a war with no shells. Mind you, she said when she saw this place first she nearly turned tail and ran.’
Angela smiled ruefully. ‘I nearly did just that,’ she admitted. ‘I couldn’t believe I was going down those steps into my idea of Hell.’
‘I thought there was something wrong,’ Maggie said. ‘I was pretty unnerved myself to tell you the truth, but you were like a coiled spring. What stopped you taking off?’
‘What the lads are going through, to be honest,’ Angela said. ‘I got to thinking that however bad it is in France, Barry will have to deal with it. Anyway, I didn’t know how you felt about any of it and I could hardly ask you anything over the noise of the factory and in front of Mrs Paget. Anyway, come on, our tram’s in and will I be glad to get the weight off my feet, even for the relatively short journey home.’
Angela thought it hard being away from Connie all day and she told herself she would make it up to her when she got home in the evening, but she found she was weary enough to be thankful that Mary had a meal ready, and she only had to sit up to the table and eat it, and that Mary had washed Connie and she was all ready for bed in her pyjamas, and firebricks wrapped in flannel were warming the cot. All she had to do after they had eaten was carry Connie up to bed and read her a fairy tale from the book her Uncle Colm had sent from America before tucking her in.
Downstairs Mary was anxious to know how her first day at the factory had gone, for Angela had said nothing in front of Connie and even to Mary she played it down a little, though she mentioned the noise.
‘Well that’s no surprise for all factories are noisy places,’ Mary said.
Angela nodded, ‘I know, I just wasn’t ready for the level of it. But almost as bad as the noise is the acrid stench. One of the women said when we stopped for lunch that the really awful smell was from the sulphur. She said it smells like rotten eggs and she was not wrong either and the yellow dust swirls in the air and gets everywhere. You should have seen my boiler suit before I changed to come home, it was covered and even stained my underclothes.’
‘You wear boiler suits?’ Mary said in amazement.
‘It’s the most practical thing,’ Angela said with a slight shrug. ‘And we have rubber boots and hats that all our hair has to be covered with.’
‘Goodness!’
‘And that’s not all,’ Angela said. ‘Every bit of metal has to be taken off, so from tomorrow I’m going to be leaving my wedding ring and locket at home.’
‘Surely to God they don’t expect you to take off your wedding ring?’
Angela nodded, ‘Everything, even grips in your hair.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s safer that way, Mammy,’ Angela said. ‘Remember we’re working with explosives and anything metal could potentially raise a spark. They can’t take the risk. Today I had to leave them in a metal box they put in the safe until we’re ready for home so tomorrow and every day I’m at work I may as well leave them here.’
‘I suppose so,’ Mary said. ‘I’ll take good care of them, never you fear.’
‘We have to wear a mask too,’ Angela said. ‘It’s supposed to protect our mouths and noses, but the dust particles still get in and there’s nothing to protect our eyes. Mine were streaming most of the day and the dust made me cough. Something else no doubt I will get used to. Oh and we wear gloves. I am glad of those because some of the carbon is quite rough when we get it first and also covering our hands means that we have fairly clean ones to eat our dinner.’
‘Angela, it doesn’t sound a safe or even healthy place to work,’ Mary said. ‘Could you not find something else? I’m sure that if you were to ask at Barry’s works they would find a place for you. Maggie too most likely. I know the money won’t be as good but …’
‘It isn’t the money alone, Mammy,’ Angela said, ‘though I admit it was the money attracted me first, but there is a shell shortage. Our soldiers are running out of shells. Making them isn’t pleasant and I can’t pretend it is, but fighting a war I shouldn’t think is any picnic either. This way I feel I am really doing my bit for Barry and Stan and all the other chaps. It is important and essential work and we can’t run away from it.’
‘Do the other girls all feel the same way?’
‘I would say the majority at least feel that way,’ Angela said. ‘I doubt the money alone would keep them there if they didn’t feel they were making a difference.’
However it was tiring work because it was relentless and they were constantly under pressure to make more and more shells. Because of this she didn’t keep late hours and Mary was never long after her seeking her bed either for she said Connie was the best early morning call in the world.
Angela had been at the munitions factory for five weeks when a letter arrived from Barry that chased all thoughts of tiredness and lethargy away, for he was coming home. The news was tinged with a little sadness for Angela knew it would be embarkation leave and yet she longed to see her beloved husband and hold him tight and feel his strong arms envelop her.
Barry was due to arrive on Thursday morning 25th March and he was returning the following Monday morning early and so as soon as Angela arrived at work that day she sought out Mrs Paget and asked for time off. She thought there would be no problem and so was stunned when Mrs Paget said she was very sorry but there was no time off allowed. Angela stared at her as if she couldn’t believe her ears. ‘It’s my husband’s embarkation leave,’ she said.
‘I understand that,’ Mrs Paget said and added, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It changes nothing that you are sorry,’ Angela said angrily. ‘This is about the husband I love, the father of my child that we haven’t seen for weeks and when he returns to his regiment and they sail for France I might never see him again and you know that as well as I.’
‘Of course I know,’ Mrs Paget said. ‘And you’re not the only person who has asked this and the answe
r has been the same. It’s company policy recommended by the government. None of the women working here has had a holiday of any sort. If the crisis about the lack of shells eases, some time in the future, then we may be able to be more flexible, but at the moment they are the rules I’m afraid.’
Well it might be company policy but Angela didn’t think much of it and she said, ‘I’d like to see Mr Potter please.’
She could see Mrs Paget was annoyed for Angela heard her sharp intake of breath and her nostrils pinched together as she said tight lipped, ‘Mr Potter is a very busy man, but I’m sure he will agree to see you if you need further clarification. You will find however that he will say the same as me and you must go in the lunch hour as we have wasted enough time on this already this morning.’
Angela had no option but to follow Mrs Paget to the factory floor. Maggie looked up when she spotted her on the steps. She’d been as excited as Angela who had showed her Barry’s letter on the way to work that morning. She had known too that she was going to ask for the time off. The noise prevented speech but above the mask her eyes lifted in a query and she was surprised at Angela’s unhappy eyes and the shake of the head.
Standing in the dinner queue she was able to tell Maggie only the bare bones of what had happened between her and Mrs Paget so she hadn’t really discussed it with anyone when she was summoned to the office to see Mr Potter and she went with a growling stomach and hoped they hadn’t stopped serving by the time she returned.
And it did no good, for just as Mrs Paget had said, Mr Potter reiterated exactly what she had said and Angela used the same arguments to no avail. ‘Look how many women we have in the workforce at any one time. What if many people wanted to spend time with loved ones bound for overseas? How would we go on if we allowed that and not fall badly down in the quota of shells we have to produce each week? We would be in trouble then, but that wouldn’t worry me as much as the Army being short. You say your husband will probably be setting sail for France soon. Well it will be a short visit and an abortive one if he has no shells, because he cannot fight the enemy if he has nothing to fight with.’
