by Carol Rivers
‘It’s our break soon,’ Iris Fellows shouted, removing the goggles from her forehead. Kay did the same, slipping the clumsy protective gear onto her forehead, squinting at her colleague through the dust that was kicked up from the forging bench and the woman working there, dressed as she was in overalls, steel toe-capped boots and heavy duty gloves. Sizing the metal of the empty bomb cases with a blowtorch was a filthy and smelly job.
Kay nodded her agreement and, with practised dexterity, made a minor adjustment to the shell case in front of her on the bench. She was glad to be positioned here today – she had time to think. The work was not as demanding as the next stage of forming the shell. The machine she operated was easy to use, a noisy but efficient smoother to the rough metal. Then she would place the article back on the conveyor belt for the last stages of hand polishing and coating; it was a task that she performed almost automatically now.
Kay glanced across to the older man on the other side of the busy factory who would replace her for ten minutes while she sat outside in the fresh air with Iris. When she caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up, he nodded and finished screwing the end of the shell he was working on, ready to be loaded into their metal containers.
Two minutes later, after the break bell had rung, Kay was gasping in the air she so desperately craved and the noise of the docks outside was heaven in comparison to the ear-deafening chorus of the armaments factory. Plonking herself down on the wall beside Iris, who was already pouring their tea from a thermos, she lifted her face to the sunshine.
Inside her overalls Kay was sweating profusely, and her feet stuck to the inside of her heavy boots. If someone had told her, before starting at Drovers, that she would actually be enjoying this kind of work, she would have laughed in their face. But somehow it was fulfilling. The factory which had once been an engineering business now had a more important purpose; the production of ammunition for Britain was imperative and everyone under Drovers’ roof put their backs into it.
‘Here you are, gel, get that down you,’ Iris chuckled as she passed a battered enamel mug full of steaming tea to Kay.
‘Thanks, Iris, my mouth is as dry as a bone.’ Kay took a tentative sip. The hot liquid was refreshing as it tingled on her tongue. She lifted her fingers to wipe the moisture from her lips, forgetting how dirty they would be.
‘You should see your face,’ said Iris with a laugh. At forty-five, Iris was a fiery redhead with sandy eyebrows and twinkling brown eyes. Kay laughed too. For Iris’s face was also marked by the goggles, streaked with dirt and dust and, like Kay’s dark hair, Iris’s mop of waves was hidden by a camouflage green turban.
‘You should see yours,’ giggled Kay. ‘I wouldn’t like to bump into you on a dark night, come to that, in the day either.’
‘Cheeky mare!’ Iris threw back her tea and licked her lips, driving the dirt around her mouth into little clumps. They both laughed again and Kay took another gulp of the weak but welcome tea.
‘Have you heard from the council yet? Do you know where you’re going?’ Kay asked, knowing her unmarried friend who supported her elderly parents had put in for evacuation. Iris had told Kay she’d had enough of the bombing and the munitions work. She couldn’t wait to move to the seaside.
‘Yes, we got a letter yesterday. Said they have possible billets in Oxfordshire and Somerset. I went down to the council immediately and said we wanted Somerset as it’s by the sea. Well, some of it is, I think.’ Iris grinned. ‘I can get meself a bathing suit at last. I even threatened me old mum with taking her to the beach and making her swim.’ Iris laughed loudly. ‘But course, you can’t get on a bloody beach these days for the barbed wire dumped over it.’
‘You just wanted to scare your poor old mum,’ Kay said disapprovingly but with a smile. ‘Little things please little minds, so they say.’
‘You’ve got to have a laugh somehow,’ agreed Iris, a woman who Kay liked a lot and would miss when she went. Iris was the only worker at Drovers she’d really connected with since she started work there after Alfie was evacuated. Most of the other women were younger than Kay, all single and fancy free. But Iris was the breadwinner in her family and a home bird. ‘What about you, love?’ asked Iris suddenly. ‘You gonna stay here on the island? Wasn’t you tempted to move when you went to your brother’s in the nice, peaceful country a while ago?’
Kay sipped the last of her tea and thought again about Doris and Len’s cottage. She couldn’t deny she’d been impressed, and she’d found herself unsettled afterwards. But in all honesty, now Babs was close, she had no hankering to move. ‘Not likely,’ Kay said. ‘The island is home to us, come hell or high water.’
‘I hope we ain’t facing either of those,’ answered Iris dryly. ‘We had enough hell in the Blitz and the last thing the island can do with is a flood! Now, I suppose we’d better get back or old Marshy will have our guts for garters.’
‘He’s been very good to me,’ Kay said as they stood up and shook their baggy overalls free of the grime. ‘He let me cut down my hours and change them around – providing I could find someone else to step in for me. Like you!’ Kay glanced at her friend gratefully.
‘Don’t mention it, cocker. With our move coming up I need the overtime.’ Iris grinned showing a front row of teeth that were minus two. Kay always thought the gaps added to her colourful character.
Ten minutes later they were hard at work again. But Kay’s mind was busy turning over behind her goggles as she worked with the heavy metal casings of the bombs. Talking to Doris on the telephone was not going to be easy. Doris might even not answer. She could have friends with her, which would make it hard for her to speak. But Kay was undaunted. She needed to resolve what had happened between them.
Kay stood in the public telephone box close to the factory, her freshly scrubbed fingers shaking slightly as she slipped the pennies into the metal box. She wasn’t certain if it was the rushed wash and brush-up and change into her outdoor clothing before leaving the factory that had made her anxious or simply making the decision to phone Doris. It was early afternoon and Doris might be in the garden or out. Her brother would be at work, no doubt. The cottage might be entirely empty . . .
Kay had almost convinced herself this was the case when a voice spoke. Kay pressed button A in front of her. As she rarely used a public telephone, she held the handset tightly against her ear, afraid she might miss something. But when the button had been depressed, a voice came clearly down the line.
‘It’s me, Doris – it’s Kay.’
There was a pause before the reply came. Doris’s first sharp words were, ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, it is, Doris. But I wanted to speak to you.’
‘It’s not Alfie, is it?’ Doris’s voice held a tone that said how much she must still care about Alfie.
‘He’s fine, Doris – but – well, he’s missed you. And I – I wanted you to know that. He asked for Nanty quite a bit at first.’
Again there was a pause. Doris’s voice was softer this time. ‘Did he? Well, I missed him, Kay.’
‘That’s why I’m phoning, Doris. Alan’s tried to get hold of Len but hasn’t managed it. So I thought I’d just say . . .’ Suddenly there was the annoying sound of the clicking pips, meaning that Kay’s time was running out. Luckily she had brought along a handful of pennies and hurriedly pushed them in the slot.
‘Have you got enough money, Kay?’ Doris seemed concerned.
‘Yes, enough for me to say what I need to. It’s been on my mind, the way we parted. We didn’t give you enough time to adjust – you were quite right. It was a rotten thing to do and bothered me and Alan a lot.’
A little sound came from the telephone and Kay thought it might just be a smothered sob. But soon Doris was speaking again. ‘It wasn’t just you and Alan, Kay. It was us, as well. We got too fond of Alfie. He’s such a lovely little boy. You must be very proud of him.’
‘Doris, you did so much for him. He still wears the cl
othes and shoes you bought.’
‘I’m glad it’s . . .’ Doris paused. ‘I’m relieved too that we’re speaking, Kay. There’s something I must tell you. Len and me have talked about adopting a child. I wasn’t for it until we had Alfie, but now I’ve had that experience—’
Again the pipping sound went in her ear and Kay thrust the last of her pennies into the metal slot. ‘Doris?’
‘I’m here.’
‘That’s wonderful news!’ Kay exclaimed.
‘As I said, at the moment Len and me are just talking it over. We’ve made no final decision.’
‘Doris, me and Alan would love you to come and see us.’
‘I’m not ready for that,’ Doris said after a short pause. ‘Perhaps one day in the future, when . . . when our plans are firmer, and seeing Alfie again won’t be so . . . so much of a wrench to the system.’
Kay swallowed hard. ‘Yes, I do understand. Doris, thank you again for looking after our boy and I do hope one day Alfie will have a cousin.’
‘Your money will run out soon.’
‘I’ll write,’ promised Kay.
‘Don’t hold out hope for a letter back,’ said Doris lightly. ‘You know what I’m like.’
They both laughed and the pips began to sound. Abruptly they were cut off and Kay stood with the phone in her hand. Replacing it carefully, she expelled a long breath. She had finally spoken to Doris and they had parted in a friendly fashion.
Kay felt lighter as she walked home. The rift had been partly mended – perhaps not entirely. But then, after all this time she felt that she’d come to know Doris a lot better and at least Alfie’s stay in Little Gadelsby had achieved something wonderful. She couldn’t wait to tell Alan the news.
That night, when Alfie had gone to bed, Kay told Alan and Vi all that had transpired during the telephone call.
‘I’m glad things are patched up,’ Alan said quietly as the three of them sat in the front room enjoying a cup of cocoa.
‘Perhaps not completely,’ Kay replied, ‘but it’s a step in the right direction.’
‘When this war is over, we should try to see more of them,’ said Alan.
‘The best news of all was that Doris said she and Len are talking about adopting,’ said Kay eagerly.
‘Do you think Doris is ready for it?’ asked Alan.
‘She said it was having Alfie that made the difference.’
‘Adopting ain’t easy,’ Vi put in, pulling her cardigan around her shoulders. ‘At least, before the war it wasn’t. I knew a woman once in Poplar who waited five years for the little girl she wanted.’
‘I’m sure it will be different now. The war has changed a lot of things,’ remarked Alan. ‘More orphans now than there’s ever been.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Vi, ‘but most people want babies, not kids that have had rotten lives and are unruly when they get them.’
Kay smiled. ‘I’m sure Doris and Len wouldn’t mind what child they had. She did mention babies of course, but if there was a child like Alfie—’ Kay stopped, glancing at her husband. ‘I just mean, a little boy perhaps, about the same age.’
Alan smiled at her. ‘Our Alfie is one in a million.’
‘I know.’
Later that night when Kay was snuggled up to Alan in bed, she thought about their earlier conversation. What if she couldn’t have another baby and Alfie was their only child – would she consider adopting another little boy or girl? The thought had never crossed her mind before. Her first reaction was to think that relating intimately to someone else’s child would be very difficult, perhaps impossible. Love wasn’t manufactured. It came up from inside you without being bidden. The love she and Alan had for Alfie was immense – unending. It was difficult to imagine giving that same degree of affection to any other child.
Kay sighed lightly as she drifted into sleep. She admired Doris and Len very much. Although adopting wasn’t for someone like herself, she was certain that it was the perfect solution for her brother and sister-in-law.
It was a mild September morning when Kay and Babs made their way to the temporary primary school in Quarry Street. Kay watched Alfie walking proudly in his new shoes as he tried to keep up with Gill and Tim who were wearing their navy-blue school raincoats and satchels.
‘Thanks, love, for walking with us this morning,’ Babs said to Kay as the children ran ahead. ‘It’s nice to have company on the kids’ first day at school.’
‘Alfie was up at the crack of dawn,’ Kay said with a smile. ‘He don’t much care for the coat I’ve dressed him in – the one that Doris gave him. But as it fits nicely now, I persuaded him to wear it and told him this was from his Aunty Nanty.’
‘Does he remember her?’
‘Yes, I think so. He smiled when I said her name.’
‘I’m glad you feel better now you’ve phoned her.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Kay chuckled. ‘Just look at Alfie, trying to keep in step with Tim! He don’t know what school is, but remembered that Gill and Tim told him they were going. I only hope he don’t kick up a stink when he has to come home again.’
Babs laughed too. ‘To be honest, I’m a bit nervous for the kids. Eddie and me spoke to the teachers last week. We were told the school is going to practise air-raid precautions and the use of the children’s gas masks before settling down to lessons. I hope it don’t upset them.’
‘I think it’s a sensible idea.’
‘Eddie don’t! He thinks it’s a waste of time. Gas attacks never happened in thirty-nine and he don’t think they ever will. Still, the teachers, who are mostly retired and have been called in to staff the temporary schools, are very nice. Mr Barnet, the head teacher, told us that when the warning goes, not to rush up to the school to get the kids. Instead, they’ve prepared the underground cellar as a shelter. There’s so many false alarms these days we’d be up and down like yo-yos. Still, everyone remembers what happened to Cubitt Town School in September 1940.’
Kay recalled the day vividly. She had passed the pile of still-steaming masonry, iron girders and wooden timbers melted together in the dust after the school had been bombed. Cubitt Town School had been used as an ARP station in 1940. The night it was hit there were a good many volunteers having a rest before being called out again. ‘Thank goodness the children had been evacuated,’ said Kay, ‘but it was a tragedy nonetheless.’
Just then Tim, who was walking just in front, turned round. ‘The Germans ain’t gonna bomb our new school, are they?’ he asked.
‘Course not,’ replied Babs quickly. ‘And you shouldn’t be earwigging grown-ups’ conversations.’
‘Wasn’t.’
‘Mr Barnet is taking air-raid drill with you this morning,’ said Babs, pushing him on. ‘He’ll tell you everything you need to know.’
‘Is ’e gonna give us guns?’
Babs reached forward and tugged Tim’s ear. ‘You cheeky little devil!’
Laughing, Tim ran off to join Gill and Alfie.
‘Ignorance is bliss where kids are concerned,’ said Babs pensively as they followed. ‘As for us adults – well, we’ve seen and heard too much to have any peace of mind.’
‘Not having doubts about staying on the island, are you, Babs?’
‘No. Course not.’
Kay glanced at her friend. Babs had been through so much; it was only natural for her to be anxious even though she put on a brave face.
When they arrived at the old cinema, the set of imposing art deco front doors that had once welcomed an audience were now thrown open to schoolchildren and their parents.
‘There ain’t much of a playground,’ complained Tim, wrinkling his nose at the few yards of concrete in front of the cinema. Workmen had long ago removed the metal railings and it looked very bare.
‘No, but there’s a big hall inside where they used to show all the films,’ Babs told him.
‘Can we watch ’em?’
‘If you’re a good boy, perhaps you can,’ Babs said. ‘Now say g
oodbye to Aunty Kay and Alfie. We’ve got to go in and find out what classrooms you’ve got. Bye, Kay, see you later.’
‘Bye Babs, bye kids.’
‘Is Tim goin’ to school?’ Alfie asked when they’d gone.
‘Yes, love. But he’ll be home later.’
Alfie watched until the school doors closed. Kay bent down and looked into his sad face. ‘You can go too when you’re four and a bit.’
Alfie frowned. ‘I’m f’ree.’
‘Three in November, yes.’ She took his hand. ‘Shall we go to the market?’
Alfie smiled and nodded. Kay knew the market was fast becoming his favourite place; although there were no longer any toffee apples to purchase at Lenny’s tea-stall, there were always a few sweets.
The costermongers shouted the loudest as they arranged their vegetables carefully to attract the customers’ attention. As always, the second-hand clothes stall was surrounded by women, pulling hems and tugging collars; there were still plenty of bargains to be found requiring no coupons that were issued by the government in wartime when clothing was scarce.
Kay was tempted to join the throng; Alfie needed new dungarees. His old ones were almost worn out and too short in the legs. He’d grown a lot since coming back from Doris’s. All the clothes she’d bought him were too small now. The brown coat with its chocolate-coloured corduroy collar that Alfie was still wearing might with luck see the winter out. But Alfie pulled her over to Lenny’s tea-stall.
‘Sorry, folks, we’ve run out of sweets,’ said Lenny when he recognized them. ‘Tell you what though, what about these?’
Lenny searched in his apron pocket. ‘Me missis makes ’em,’ he said, handing something that looked like fudge to Kay. He lowered his voice. ‘Don’t let on to the kiddy but they’re made of veg. Here you are, take these. The nipper can have ’em for free.’
