The Teashop Girls

by Elaine Everest

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Butterworth,’ Rose said as she stood in front of the manageress’s desk. She spotted Mr Grant, the area manager, pushing the last remnants of a toasted teacake into his mouth before brushing a scattering of crumbs from his expansive chest.

  ‘Yes, Neville, what is it?’ Miss Butterworth snapped, looking up at a large clock on the wall. ‘Spit it out. I have appointments to deal with.’

  ‘I wanted to let you know that a Mrs Gibbons is here for her interview. I’ve left her in the staffroom having a cup of tea, as she was frozen stiff,’ Rose answered, thinking it would be a good idea not to mention she’d also given Grace a bun.

  ‘Hurry up and show her in,’ Miss Butterworth said, looking away to continue her conversation with Mr Grant.

  ‘Before you go, Miss Neville . . .’ Mr Grant said as Rose reached for the door handle. ‘May I ask if it was your idea to check the Nippies’ gas masks each morning?’

  Rose took a deep breath. Was she in for a telling off? ‘Yes, sir. I noticed some of the Nippies were having problems attaching their gas masks to the back of their belts, so I suggested that they paired up with others on the same shift to help each other. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,’ she said, giving her manageress an apologetic look. Miss Butterworth looked askance.

  ‘You did very well, Miss Neville, very well indeed,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘Had you thought about furthering your career with Lyons?’

  ‘No, sir – I mean . . . I do like my job here in Ramsgate. I’d never thought of doing anything else,’ she replied, pushing her dreams of singing to the back of her mind. It wouldn’t do to mention them or she’d not have a job at all, as Miss Butterworth would soon show her the door. She always made it clear that she was the boss, and the Nippies could easily be replaced.

  ‘Keep it in mind, Neville,’ Mr Grant said, giving her a dismissive smile.

  Rose hurried to the staffroom, wondering what Mr Grant was going on about. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she could be a manageress – or perhaps work in another part of the Lyons empire? Yes, if the opportunity were to arise to further her career, she’d grab it with both hands.

  Flora took a sharp intake of breath before raising her fist skywards at young Charlie Stubbs. The scruffy lad was perfecting his aim, armed with a large round stone, egged on by a gang of identical-looking lads. ‘You throw that and you’ll feel the back of my hand so quick, you’ll not know what hit you.’

  Charlie cuffed his dripping nose with his sleeve and glared sullenly at Flora, allowing the stone to gently fall from his hand. ‘Well, she’s a spy. I heard me dad say all foreigners are.’

  Flora shook her head in disbelief. The Stubbs family were notorious in that part of Ramsgate, and it wasn’t for the eloquence of their speech or the generosity of their nature. ‘Don’t talk so daft, boy.’

  ‘If they speaks funny like her, then they must be spies,’ he answered back, raising his chin defiantly, pointing to what looked like a bundle of rags on the ground nearby. ‘We don’t trust the likes of them,’ he added proudly.

  She tutted and gave him a stern look. ‘Your father wouldn’t know a spy if he found one in the bottom of his pint pot. Now, you and your mates help me get this poor woman onto her feet, then you can run off home to your beds. It’s far too late for a child your age to be out alone. Why, there might just be a proper spy around the corner waiting to kidnap a boy and take him off to Germany to fight for that Hitler.’ She tried not to smile as young Charlie looked fearfully around before tearing off as fast as his legs would carry him with his gang close on his heels.

  It was time Sean Stubbs took his children in hand, Flora thought as she moved closer to see what poor soul Charlie had been stoning. Charlie and his many siblings had turned feral since their mother, Eileen, had run off with a sailor when his ship had anchored off the Kent coast and he’d come ashore looking for entertainment. The last Flora heard, Eileen was plying her trade in the East End and the sailor had copped it on some foreign sea. By rights Eileen should be home caring for her kids, but no doubt Sean Stubbs would kill her if she ever came anywhere near the town again. He’d been heard saying so on many occasions – as if he’d didn’t approve of women whose virtue had ended up in the gutter, even though he was acquainted with more than a few of them himself.

  Flora leant closer to the ragged figure. She could see it was a thin-faced woman, huddled close against the wall, trembling with fear as blood ran from a cut on her high cheekbones. Her first thought was that the poor wretch needed feeding up, put in some clean clothes and with the luxury of a bath, she would be most striking. Her hair was pulled back tightly under a scarf, but it looked thick and dark. Yes, in the right circumstances this lady would be most handsome. At the moment, though, she already had a bruise forming around one eye. ‘You’re going to have a right old shiner there come the morning.’

  The woman shied away from Flora, pulling a blanket up to her chin.

  ‘Come on, my love, no one’s going to hurt you. My house is just up the road a bit. Let’s get you cleaned up and sort out that nasty cut, shall we? No doubt you’d like a hot drink too, eh?’

  The woman muttered a few words of thanks, but they were lost on the wind that whipped in from the sea. Flora detected a foreign accent, but she had no idea of where the young woman came from. That would have to be a question for another time. Lifting a small suitcase she’d kept close to her side throughout her ordeal, Flora helped her to her feet. ‘Don’t you worry about speaking, my love. Just you hang on to me, and we’ll have you home and safe in no time.’

  The woman leant heavily on Flora’s arm as they slowly covered the few yards along the harbour front before turning the corner towards the steep slope up Madeira Walk that led to the Sea View guesthouse in Albion Place. Flora felt a harsh wind on her back from the sea as the tide came in at an angry pace, and flurries of harsh snow made it hard to see ahead. Everything and everyone seemed angry these days, she thought as she fought to keep the woman on her feet. Those boys were just the tip of the iceberg. There again, who wouldn’t be angry, what with this bloody war and what Adolf was up to? she thought, as she placed the suitcase at the top of the three steps leading to her front door before fishing around in her pocket for the key. ‘Let’s get you inside and put the kettle on shall we? Everything will feel better once we’ve had a cuppa.’

  ‘That’s your answer to everything, Mum.’

  Flora turned to see her daughter, Rose, reach for the suitcase and follow them into the warm hallway of the guesthouse. ‘You’re home early, love.’

  ‘Only a little,’ she said. ‘Who is this, then? Have you picked up another waif and stray?’ she grinned.

  ‘I . . . I am Anya,’ the woman said slowly as she looked around the large hallway with three oak doors on the right and a wide carpeted staircase on the left that swept upwards, curving to the right before disappearing out of sight. ‘You have . . . you have a good home. I feel the warmth . . . the love.’

  Flora beamed in delight. ‘Thank you, Anya, I agree with you. There has been much love in this house.’ She gave her daughter a hard glare as she spotted a fleeting grin appear on the girl’s face, knowing from experience that Rose was likely to pull her leg at any time. ‘Let’s get you through to the kitchen, and then you can tell me why those boys were throwing stones at you.’ Flora took Anya’s arm and steered her to the door at the end of the hall.

  ‘Not the Stubbs kids?’ Rose asked as she helped her mum guide the frail woman.

  Flora nodded, her lips set in a thin, angry line. ‘I’m going to have a word with their dad. It’s happening far too often. Look at the nasty cut on this lady’s face. I may even have a word with PC Denning so he can keep an eye out for the children. They’re little blighters in the blackout. As for getting them down an air-raid shelter when the sirens go off with these false alarms – I’ve all but given up blowing my whistle to get their attention.’

  ‘Mum�
�s an ARP warden,’ Rose explained as she saw their visitor’s confused frown. ‘She will make sure everyone is safe if we ever have an air raid.’

  Anya thought before nodding her head. ‘She is very good at caring for people, I feel. She helped me very much.’

  ‘Call me Flora. “She” sounds like something the cat dragged in,’ Flora said before leading Anya to a comfortable chair by the stove that Flora kept burning all day long, using scraps of driftwood collected on her walks along the beach; not that she was able to do much of that anymore, due to the shoreline being off limits to the locals since the army arrived to protect the coastline. ‘Here; sit yourself down while I put the kettle on the hob. Then I’ll take a look at that cut on your face.’

  ‘Mum’s a dab hand at first aid, too,’ Rose said, taking off her hat and coat and throwing them onto a spare seat. ‘She took a course as part of her ARP training.’

  Anya followed Rose’s movements with wide eyes. ‘You are a maid?’ she asked, taking in the formal black dress with its row of buttons down the front and neat collar and cuffs.

  Rose hooted with laughter. ‘God, no, although it feels like it sometimes; I’m a Nippy at the Lyons teashop up the road. A waitress,’ she added, seeing the foreign woman’s frown. ‘You’re not from round here, are you?’

  ‘That’s enough of that,’ Flora scolded. ‘There’ll be enough time for questions once I’ve cleaned up this pretty face and we’ve had a cuppa.’

  Anya blushed. ‘I thank you. No one has ever said I am pretty before. Not even my husband. He says I am handsome woman,’ she added quickly, seeing the smile fall from Flora’s face. ‘He is a good man, and that is why I am here.’

  ‘Well, as far as I’m concerned you are a beauty, and I’ll not have anyone say otherwise. Now, let’s help you off with your coat and make you comfortable. The kettle’s about to boil, so if you can warm the teapot, Rose, I’ll get Anya seen to, then she can tell us all about herself and how she came to be in such a pickle.’ Flora went to a cabinet and pulled out an enamel bowl and a clean piece of rag, not seeing the shadow that swept across Anya’s face. She added the water Rose had left in the kettle and checked it with her finger. ‘That seems to be about right,’ she said, dipping the cloth in the liquid before gently dabbing at the cut on Anya’s face. The woman looked straight ahead, biting her lip just a little. ‘Sorry, love. It will sting just a little, but we’ll soon have you as right as rain. I’ll put a dab of Acriflavine cream on the cut once it’s clean. Now, why were those nasty kids picking on you?’ she asked.

  ‘I asked if they knew of any . . . what you say . . . lodges?’

  ‘Lodgings, do you mean?’ Rose asked, putting down a cup of hot steaming tea where Anya could reach it before perching on the arm of her chair to listen to what the stranger had to say.

  ‘Yes, that would be it . . . lodgings. The taller boy, he said rude words to me and then picked up a stone to throw at me. He called me a Nazi and a spy. I am not either of these things. I have papers to show who I am, if you would like to see them?’ She looked to where her small battered suitcase had been left near the kitchen door.

  ‘I’m sure you’re not,’ Flora fussed as she pulled back Anya’s hair that had fallen loose to check if there were any cuts she’d missed. ‘I must say you have the most beautiful hair. It is so thick and dark.’

  ‘I thank you. My husband he say it is as dark as the night.’

  ‘He seems to have a way with words.’

  ‘He does.’ She smiled gently and nodded to Rose as she passed her tea. ‘He writes many words in books. I have his journal in my bag. I couldn’t leave it behind,’ she said, her eyes taking on a faraway look once more as she sipped from the cup. ‘This is very good tea. Not so, how you say . . . the wet and warm kind.’

  Flora laughed. She knew exactly what Anya meant. ‘I pride myself in always having a decent cup of tea for my guests. Now drink up, there’s another in the teapot. I’ll get you something to eat in a minute.’ She’d noticed how thin the woman was under her threadbare navy-blue cardigan.

  ‘I cannot eat your food,’ Anya said, looking alarmed. ‘You must keep it for yourself. When I have finished my tea I will be going. You have been more than kind in helping me and cleaning my wound. I must be going to find a lodge . . . lodgings,’ she added as Rose attempted to correct her.

  Flora crossed her arms and stood in front of Anya. ‘I’ll not hear of any such thing. We have a room going begging here. It’s no more than a box room, but you are welcome to it.’

  ‘You would take me into your home without you know who I am? The nasty boy may be right. I may be a spy, but I can assure you I am no Nazi,’ she added with a shudder. ‘You are generous woman, but I cannot take your charity.’

  Rose hooted with laughter. ‘It’s not charity. Mum runs a boarding house. Lodgings,’ she added, seeing Anya frown. ‘She takes in paying guests.’

  ‘I prefer to call Sea View a guest house,’ Flora said, giving her daughter a prim look.

  Rose chuckled before draining her cup and getting to her feet. ‘I must have a wash and change my clothes. There’s a dance at the Margate Winter Gardens this evening, and I’ve been asked to sing with the orchestra.’

  ‘I wondered why you were home so early,’ Flora sniffed, appearing not to approve. ‘You’ll get the sack before too long if you keep coming home in your work uniform, my girl.’

  Rose shook her head, causing her shoulder-length blonde curls to ripple across her shoulders. ‘The teashop is too understaffed for Miss Butterworth to give me the sack. Besides, she also let Lily and Katie leave early, as it was quiet. Would you like me to show Anya up to the room?’ she asked, knowing how to keep her mum sweet.

  Flora nodded. ‘You’ll find clean bed linen in the airing cupboard. Can you make up the bed, as I have the evening meals to finish?’

  Anya noticed Rose’s downturned expression. ‘Please, I can make a bed. I have no wish to make you late for your dancing and singing.’

  Flora sighed. Her daughter could charm the birds from the trees. ‘That’s very kind of you, Anya. When you’ve unpacked your things, please come back down to the kitchen and I’ll have a meal ready for you.’

  I’d also like to know a little more about you, she thought to herself as she turned to the task of peeling potatoes for their evening meal. There was food enough for Anya, regardless of whether she had a penny to her name. Flora would not see someone go hungry if she could help it.

  Anya ran her hand over the freshly washed sheets. It had been a long journey, but she was now here and soon, with much luck, she would have answers. Her few items of clothing hung in the small wardrobe, and a hairbrush and bible lay on top of the chest of drawers. She could be happy here, and Flora and Rose Neville seemed very pleasant people. If only she had more money. Her next priority would be to find work. Yes, she needed to work to be able to stay and complete her mission. There was so much she needed to do, and after all this time her goal was almost within sight. She sighed as she thought of her past life and how different it was to be here in England. Poland was her home, and always would be; but for now she would concentrate on what she had to do and make the most of her circumstances.

  A polite knock on the door brought her back to the present. ‘Yes, who is it please?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s only me,’ Rose said as she entered the room and looked about her. ‘I hope you will be comfortable. This was my room when I was a child. You can see the harbour from here,’ she said, going over to the window.

  Anya joined her and they stood silently shoulder to shoulder, watching out over the dark sea lit by a pale moon. ‘It is beautiful,’ she whispered.

  Rose glowed with pride. She loved her hometown, with its tall Georgian houses and the busy fishing port. It retained its charm even as locals prepared for the possibility of invasion, covering their windows with heavy curtains to cut out the smallest chinks of light – sometimes actually painting over the glass panes, so that if enemy a
ircraft should fly overhead they’d have little chance of seeing anything below. Rose’s mum had been out day after day, carrying out her ARP warden duties with diligence, advising residents on how to prepare for any form of enemy attack. If Adolf should come, they would be ready. Why, even the boy scouts, who hadn’t been evacuated, had been roped in to fill sandbags and distribute them to homes and businesses.

  Giving Anya a sideways look, taking in the white skin and large grey eyes, Rose wanted to ask what had brought the woman here, but she knew it would appear rude. Perhaps in time Anya would share her story. ‘You look tired,’ Rose smiled in sympathy. ‘Don’t forget Mum said she’d have a meal for you; then perhaps you could put your head down and have a sleep?’

  ‘Head down?’ Anya frowned.

  ‘It’s something we say here in England. It means put your head down on your pillow and go to sleep.’

  Anya thought for a moment before giving Rose a warm smile. ‘I like that very much. Yes, I will be putting down of my head very soon. The day has been a long one. I think your language will be hard to understand.’

  Rose sat down on the bed and laughed. ‘It certainly is, but you put us to shame – we don’t know one word of your language. Polish, is it?’

  ‘Yes, I am Polish.’

  ‘Poland is such a long way away. Whatever bought you to England?’ Rose asked, completely forgetting that she had decided not to ask questions just yet.

  ‘Yes, it is a very long way away . . .’ Anya said, gazing back out over the sea.