by Mary Gibson
Matty carefully began folding the dress back into the tissue paper. Closing the lid of the box, she said, ‘She wanted me to change into it straight away, but I said no thank you, that I preferred to wear this one home.’
And again she smoothed down her print dress, the one Nellie had bought for her the day Sam marched away to war.
Nellie didn’t question Matty further that night, but she did find out from her that Eliza would be staying in London for a couple of days and giving a talk at the Labour Institute the following evening. Matty seemed so miserable and confused by the day that Nellie began to suspect Eliza had told her secret. She had to find out. The following evening, saying she had to go to Lily’s, she made her way to the institute, arriving just as Eliza finished her speech. She spotted Nellie hovering at the back of the room and came over to her.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see you yesterday,’ she explained, ‘but it was a long day and I still had to prepare my speech.’
Eliza was smiling but her voice seemed forced.
‘I told Matty off for not asking you in, she usually has better manners. I hope she at least said thank you for the day out?’ Nellie asked.
‘Yes, yes, she was very polite.’ Eliza emphasized the word; at least Matty hadn’t disgraced herself.
Eliza looked drained, Nellie thought. ‘I hope you don’t mind me turning up here, but I wanted to ask you—’
‘If I told her?’ Eliza interrupted.
Nellie flushed in spite of herself.
‘No, it was just an outing, that’s all. I wanted to give her something. So I took her to the West End, to buy her a new dress.’
They had sat down at the back of the room, which was now largely empty but for a few stragglers still chatting and saying goodnight. Nellie realized with alarm that Eliza’s face had crumpled at the mention of the dress. The woman quickly turned her back to the room and began to sob quietly. ‘It’s too late, Nellie, she hates me.’
Nellie would have put her arm round the woman, but she obviously wanted to hide her distress from prying eyes. Instead Nellie said, as gently as possible, ‘She doesn’t hate you, Eliza, she just doesn’t know you. And you don’t really know her. Matty’s clever, she can sniff out what people are up to and she knows you wanted something from her; please God she’ll never know what.’
‘She’ll never hear it from me, not after yesterday. Do you know she never stopped talking about “her mum”, almost as if she knew.’
Nellie shook her head. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t. It’s just she’s got an instinct, like I said.’
‘Well, you know her better than I ever will.’ Eliza’s expression was so mournful Nellie felt compelled to say something.
‘Well, even if it’s too late to be her mother, there’s still time to be her sister,’ she said. And though it might not have been the wisest thing to say, she knew it was the kindest.
Eliza reached out and took Nellie’s hand. ‘Bless you for that, Nellie, I’d like to try.’
So in the end it had been Matty who’d won the war with Eliza. Nellie never learned all that had happened during her visit. All she knew was that she never had to recommence battle with Eliza; or resort to Lizzie’s will. Looking back, she should have known that Matty, being after all Eliza’s daughter, had a fearsome talent for getting her own way. Nellie was just thankful that in this case the young girl’s wishes coincided with her own, not for her own sake but for Matty’s.
The change in Eliza’s attitude had eased Nellie’s mind and her cuckoo’s nest felt safe for now. But towards the end of 1915 both Freddie and Matty were due to leave school. Old Wicks had offered Freddie a full-time job, but he had other ideas. He insisted he would be better off staying a part-time stable lad so he could concentrate on what he grandly called his other ‘operations’.
‘It’s me patriotic duty, Nell,’ Freddie explained. ‘The country’s got to be fed and you can’t do that without muck. Look at the poor little bleeders walking around with badges hanging round their necks sayin’ I eat less bread. I’m just helping feed hungry children!’
His appeal to her human kindness was bolstered by the list of figures he’d prepared to illustrate the clear economic advantages of his plan. She gave in, but drew a line at his idea of using the penny-farthing and trailer to transport large quantities of manure all over London.
‘You must be joking!’ she said. ‘The Co-op groceries would end up smelling very sweet, wouldn’t they? And don’t think you’re storing any of that stuff in our back yard!’
‘I’m not talking about your cart, that’s too small! Me and Charlie are making a much bigger one!’
Nellie shooed him out of the kitchen. ‘Just make sure I’ve got the bike back for Saturday afternoons, I’m not letting the Co-op down. And don’t you dare put horse shit in my cart!’
Custard tarts were in short supply. The factory was now run almost entirely by women and Nellie had got used to the sight of girls in greasy overalls doing jobs previously reserved for men. Only this morning, when all the filling machines had come to a grinding halt, a young girl not much older than Matty was sent up from maintenance and in minutes had them all working. They were even accepting the more literate girls in the office as order clerks. But even with so many women willing to try the new jobs, there still weren’t enough. Nellie had noticed, this morning, even more empty spaces in the teams, for the women were being spirited away from their regular jobs into war work. Filling shells with gunpowder was seen by the government as a better use of female labour than filling custard packets. The packing room, which had once been crammed to bursting with hundreds of women, was now beginning to have a deserted feel – so many women had migrated from Duff’s to the dangerous and far more lucrative munitions factories. At break time Nellie sought out Ethel Brown. She was struggling with her ledgers, the one part of the job that she stumbled over. Nellie let her finish the calculation.
‘If I could keep it all in me head I’d be fine!’ she said. ‘But it’s the writing gets me, never got that far at school!’
Nellie looked down at the blotched ledger. Albert would have a fit, but the bosses weren’t complaining. Somehow, in spite of having fewer workers, the new forelady kept the quotas up.
‘Ethel, I was wondering if you could put in a word for our Matty, she’ll be leaving school soon.’
‘’Course I will, love, she won’t have no trouble getting took on and if she wants triple shifts she’s welcome !’
And so, when Matty came home from her last day at school, Nellie sat her down to talk about her future. ‘How do you think you’d like to work at Duff’s, with me and Alice?’ she asked, smiling.
Matty’s face fell. ‘What me? A custard tart?’
Nellie nodded, feeling a little hurt at her lack of enthusiasm. ‘At least you’ll know people there and Ethel says you’re guaranteed a job.’
‘But don’t I get any choice?’
Nellie had been sure Matty would want to work with her, but now she considered the options. ‘Choice? Well, you could always try Lipton’s, but peeling oranges all day? Those lady’s hands of yours’ll soon be cut to ribbons.’ She lifted one of Matty’s pale hands, recovered now from the matchbox paste.
Matty looked stricken.
‘What’s the matter, love?’ Nellie asked gently.
Matty lifted her beautiful oval face, her lower lip trembling. ‘I thought I’d be a singer.’
It felt a long, long time since Nellie had been young enough to dream so impossibly. She reflected now that perhaps once, before her parents’ deaths, she’d had her own fanciful ideas of a different life. But now she blamed herself for not talking to Matty earlier; she’d just assumed the young girl knew what the facts of their lives were. Nellie felt she was holding a little bird in her hand. Trying very hard not to close her fingers around those fragile bones, she went on gently.‘Well, love, I’m not saying you ain’t got a beautiful singing voice, it’s just I don’t think you’d get enough work to
make a living.’
Matty’s large unblinking eyes flashed. Nellie always forgot the little bird had bones of steel.
‘I’ve been up the Star in Abbey Street already! Bernie, the manager, remembered me from singing competitions… he says they’ll give me a trial, a couple of nights a week.’
God help me, Lizzie Gilbie, didn’t you teach this child anything about real life? Nellie thought in exasperation.
Nellie proceeded to give Matty a lesson in home economics, going over the costs of keeping their combined families on their pooled wages. ‘So you see, love, we’ll lose Sam’s separation allowance once you start work and unless you’re bringing in a good weekly wage, we’ll have to start doing the home work again.’
‘No, no,’ Matty said, suddenly deflated, ‘I don’t want to make us do that again.’ She thought for a moment and then declared, ‘All right, then, I’ll be a custard tart, but I don’t want no night shifts!’
Nellie had to laugh; the little canary was not one to give up on her dreams easily!
At first Matty seemed happy to fall into the routine of powder packing by day and singing by night, and when she was happy, Matty could brighten everything she touched. She surprised Nellie with her toughness again and again, seeming to take the physical strain of factory work much more easily than Alice ever had. Most days she boosted her own and the other women’s spirits with her beautiful voice. Ethel, unlike Albert, allowed as much chatter as they liked on the factory floor, and certainly didn’t ban singing. In fact, she was often the one to shout over the rows of women, ‘Start us a song, Matty, love, it’s dull as ditchwater in here today!’ Matty would dip into her repertoire, now full of the latest music-hall songs, and soon have the factory floor joining in.
Matty got her regular two nights at the Star Music Hall and the manager soon saw how best to use her innocent charm and sweet good looks. After the interval, they would regularly run a reel of film, showing Tommies embarking for France or marching up to the line. Afterwards Matty would come on and sing a suitably sentimental song, which left most of the audience in tears. Those who had family in the forces felt comforted to know that ‘their boys’ were not being forgotten.
One night, Matty got the family concession tickets for the performance. Nellie and Alice rushed home to make a quick tea, and while they put on their finery they sent the boys ahead to save a good place in the queue outside the Star. When the doors opened, all five of them dashed for the best seats in the front row, ready to cheer Matty on. The first half was taken up with a comedian, who specialized in dressing as an old woman, followed by a novelty juggling act from a pair of twins, long past their prime, and a comedienne tap dancer. After the big act, a popular lady soprano, came what they were all waiting for, Matty’s big moment. The lights dimmed, the screen flickered into life, and suddenly Nellie realized she was looking at film of an artillery regiment. She leaned forward in her seat, scanning the teams of horses pulling heavy gun carriages along foreign roads lined with ruined buildings. As each team of drivers spotted the camera, they lifted their crops and smiled. Searching each face, she hoped, ridiculously, that one would be Sam’s, and once or twice convinced herself, but the soldiers moved too quickly, trotting down the muddy road and on to who knew what battle or what fate. That some of them might even now be lying dead on a battlefield was too horrible to think about, and she was glad when the lights went up and Matty walked on, wearing the oyster satin dress Eliza had bought for her. The boys set up a loud cheer, and they all stood clapping, till the piano struck up ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’. Nellie didn’t know how Matty could keep her own tears at bay as she sang the verse.
‘Let no tears add to their hardships
As the soldiers pass along,
And although your heart is breaking
Make it sing this cheery song.’
She must surely be thinking, as they all were, of Sam, and yet the girl sang with a steady, pure voice, never faltering. By the end of it, Matty had the audience in the palm of her hand. Nellie cast a quick look behind her, to see hundreds of faces lifted to their little canary standing in the middle of that huge stage. Some cried unashamedly, as they joined in with the chorus.
‘Keep the Home Fires burning,
While your hearts are a yearning,
Though your lads are far away
They dream of home.’
Afterwards, Nellie had to pass her handkerchief to Alice, and she noticed Bobby take it from her, surreptitiously dabbing at his own eyes. Nellie prayed the war would be long over before her soft-hearted brother need be called up – she knew he wouldn’t last a week. After the show was over, Matty took them backstage, introducing them to Bernie the manager, a flamboyant man with a flashing smile, who told Nellie that Matty was a ‘real trouper’. And with that she could not disagree.
But as the year dragged on and they neared their second Christmas at war, a cloud seemed to descend over Matty. Her smile was less ready and she seemed listless. Nellie worried that she had taken on too much. One afternoon, as the three girls were walking home from the factory, she broached the subject. ‘You don’t seem yourself, Matty. Is it a bit much for you, working all day and then singing at nights?’
Matty, who’d been walking listlessly between Alice and Nellie, suddenly came alive. Her face flushed. ‘No! It’s no hardship for me, singing ain’t!’ Matty said.
Nellie knew it wouldn’t be the singing she was fed up with, so she pressed her. ‘Why don’t you move to jellies?’ Nellie asked, thinking she’d hit upon the solution.
Matty had sometimes complained that breathing in custard powder made her so hoarse it affected her singing. But packing jelly crystals was ‘clean work’, powder free. Still Matty shook her head.
‘Well, ain’t you happy at Duff’s no more?’
‘It’s not that I’m unhappy there,’ Matty said finally. ‘It’s just… oh, I’m so worried about our Sam!’
Nellie knew the girl pored over newspaper war reports and often talked to Charlie about their brother’s whereabouts, trying to guess what battle he might be involved in.
‘I’m worried too, love, but he wouldn’t want us to be gloomy, not when he tries so hard to keep our spirits up.’
Matty’s head drooped and she said softly, ‘You know as well as I do that’s all for show.’
‘If Sam’s putting on a show, it’s only the same as you’re doing at the Star!’ Nellie replied heatedly. ‘It’s just a way of keeping people’s spirits up, and that’s not a bad thing. I’m not so stupid I believe he’s got no more to complain about than the vermin, but he don’t dwell on it, so neither should we!’
Matty took her hand. ‘Sorry, Nell, you’re right, but I feel so useless making custard powder and singing. I want to do my bit too and get Sam home.’
Nellie put her arm round Matty’s shoulders and drew her in. ‘He’ll come home, love, he promised! His last letter said he was being relieved, so at least we know he’s not on the front line now. Anyway, he’s due some leave soon, that’s a blessing, ain’t it?’ She knew she was speaking with just the forced cheerfulness Matty seemed to disdain.
‘But he’s in the artillery,’ Matty persisted, ‘and I read they’re running out of shells. Soon he’ll have nothing to shoot back at the Jerries with! Here, look at this.’
She produced from her coat pocket a folded-up newspaper article, which Nellie read aloud for Alice as they skirted the queue outside the Salvation Army hostel. The nature of the queue had changed since the war began. It now contained very few young men; three square meals and army pay seemed better than a life on the streets, even with the dangers. The newspaper reported that Mrs Pankhurst had changed tack. Now campaigning for ‘A Woman’s Right to Serve’, she was appealing for more women munitions workers. The bold slogan at the top of the article read: Shells made by a wife will save a husband’s life!
Nellie looked with alarm at Alice and then back to Matty. ‘Matty, don’t tell me you’re thinking of doing tha
t? You’re too young!’
‘I’m fourteen now! Anyway, what if I make a shell and it saves Sam’s life, don’t you think that would be worth it?’
‘Yes… No… What I mean is…’ Nellie shook her head vehemently and appealed to her sister. ‘Sam wouldn’t want it, would he, Al?’
Alice shook her head just as vehemently and said, ‘No, it’s too dangerous, Matty. Anyway, you’d have to go all the way to Woolwich, you’d never get back in time for the Star.’
Matty had already thought of that. ‘I can get a tram all the way, forty minutes. Besides, it’ll make life a lot easier for us all – I can earn thirty shillings a week! Plenty for me housekeeping and a new costume!’
Nellie begged Matty to wait, at least until the following year. If she could delay her until Sam’s leave she believed he could talk her out of it. Nellie insisted on writing to both Sam and Eliza and it wasn’t long before their objections came flooding back. But it was like holding back a racehorse after the off; Matty ignored any attempt to rein her in. She gave her notice in at Pearce Duff’s and the very next week started work at the Woolwich Arsenal munitions factory.
Eliza even made the trip down from Hull and this time Nellie was grateful for her interference. Over the course of the year Eliza had made several visits to London to see Matty. At first she would just collect the girl, take her out for the day and drop her at Vauban Street in the evening, but on her third visit Nellie had asked Matty to invite Eliza in after their day out. When Eliza arrived one bright December Sunday morning shortly after Matty’s announcement, Nellie was ready to invite her in again. She wasn’t prepared to see her standing at the door, hand in hand with a sturdy, dark-haired three-year-old. Nellie could see this new charm offensive was likely to succeed – Matty fell in love with every baby or toddler she met.
