by Nancy Revell
Nancy Revell
* * *
Triumph of the Shipyard Girls
Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
About the Author
Nancy Revell is the author of the Shipyard Girls series, which is set in the north-east of England during World War Two.
She is a former journalist who worked for all the national newspapers, providing them with hard-hitting news stories and in-depth features. Nancy also wrote amazing and inspirational true life stories for just about every woman’s magazine in the country.
When she first started writing the Shipyard Girls series, Nancy relocated back to her hometown of Sunderland, Tyne and Wear, along with her husband, Paul, and their English bull mastiff, Rosie. They now live just a short walk away from the beautiful award-winning beaches of Roker and Seaburn, within a mile of where the books are set.
The subject is particularly close to Nancy’s heart as she comes from a long line of shipbuilders, who were well known in the area.
Also available by Nancy Revell
The Shipyard Girls
Shipyard Girls at War
Secrets of the Shipyard Girls
Shipyard Girls in Love
Victory for the Shipyard Girls
Courage of the Shipyard Girls
Christmas with the Shipyard Girls
To the Hendon Community Library in Sunderland, which exists thanks to the Back on the Map charity, community support worker Pat Johnston, and the volunteer library workers.
Why YOU love Nancy Revell
‘How wonderful to read about everyday women, young, middle-aged, married or single all coming to work in a man’s world. The pride and courage they all showed in taking over from the men who had gone to war. A debt of gratitude is very much owed’
‘It’s a gripping, heart breaking and poignant storyline. I couldn’t put it down and yet didn’t want it to end’
‘I felt I was there in those streets I know so well. This series of books just get better and better; a fantastic group of girls who could be any one of us if we were alive in the war. Could only give 5 STARS but worth many more’
‘What a brilliant read – the story is so good it keeps you wanting more … I fell in love with the girls; their stories, laughter, tears and so much more’
‘I absolutely loved this book. I come from Sunderland and knew every street, cafe, road and dock’
‘This is a book that lets the reader know the way our ancestors behaved during the two world wars. With strength, honour and downright bravery … I for one salute them all and give thanks to the author Nancy Revell, for letting us as readers know mostly as it was’
‘Marvellous read, couldn’t put down. Exciting, heart rending, hope it will not be long before another one. Nancy Revell is an excellent author’
‘Oh my word, the Shipyard Girls series is truly amazing. Each book grips you and you come to the end immediately looking for the next in the series’
‘I have now read all of the Shipyard Girls books – I was absolutely enthralled. I laughed, cried and rejoiced with each and every character’
‘Each book, at some point, has had me lying wide-eyed in my bed wondering, and caring, questioning what’s going to happen next? Thank you Nancy, as if I could be any more proud of my hometown’
‘I love these books. The courage of all the girls at such a horrendous time is unbelievable. Bring on the next instalment!’
What the reviewers are saying…
‘Well-drawn, believable characters combined with a storyline to keep you turning the page’
Woman
‘The author is one to watch’
Sun
‘A riveting read is just what this is in more ways than one’
Northern Echo
‘Researched within an inch of its life; the novel is enjoyably entertaining. A perfect way to spend hours, wrapped up in the characters’ lives’
Frost
‘We’re huge fans of Nancy’s Shipyard Girls saga, and this is as emotional and gripping as the rest’
Take a Break
‘Stirring and heartfelt storytelling’
Peterborough Evening Telegraph
‘Emotional and gripping’
My Weekly
‘My series of the year! I have read all the books within the series this year and they just keep getting better and better. A superb saga series 5*’
Anne Bonny Book Blog
‘Nancy Revell has created a fantastic saga that could literally have fallen from the TV. As a reader you feel like you are right there watching all the action take place’
Chellsandbooks
‘One hell of an emotional roller coaster ride. One of those series that goes from strength to strength, with each new book better than the last’
Gingerbookgeek
Acknowledgements
A huge thank-you to: artist Rosanne Robertson, Suzanne Brown, Kathleen Tuddenham, Megan Blacklock, Hilary Clavering, the Soroptimist International Sunderland, Kevin Johnson, Principal Landscape Architect at Sunderland City Council, and Louise Bradford, owner and director of Creo Communications, for all your determination and enthusiasm to make the commemoration to the real shipyard women a reality.
To the Sunderland Antiquarian Society, especially Linda King, Norm Kirtlan and Philip Curtis, for their help with research and for the use of the wonderful photograph on the cover of Triumph of the Shipyard Girls.
To Ian Mole for bringing the series to life with his Shipyard Girls Walking Tour.
Thank you also to all the lovely staff at Fulwell Post Office, postmas
ter John Wilson, Liz Skelton, Richard Jewitt and Olivia Blyth, who have supported the Shipyard Girls from the off, to the wonderful booksellers at Waterstones in Sunderland, researcher Meg Hartford, Jackie Caffrey, of Nostalgic Memories of Sunderland in Writing, Beverley Ann Hopper, of The Book Lovers, journalist Katy Wheeler at the Sunderland Echo, Simon Grundy and all the team at Sun FM, and Lisa Shaw and her fantastic producer Jane Downs at BBC Newcastle.
A heartfelt thank you to deputy publisher Emily Griffin, editor Cassandra Di Bello, and the whole of ‘Team Nancy’ at Arrow who have worked so hard to make the Shipyard Girls series a Sunday Times bestseller.
To my wonderful literary agent Diana Beaumont, and TV agent Leah Middleton, for all your hard work, experience and expertise.
And, of course, to my mum Audrey, dad Syd, hubby Paul, and my ‘little’ girl, Rosie.
Thank you all.
We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;
2 Corinthians 4 v8-9
Prologue
The Fishermen’s Cottages, Whitburn, Sunderland
1936
‘If yer make one sound … If yer make one move,’ Raymond hissed into Rosie’s ear.
His left hand was over her mouth.
Suffocating her.
His right hand gripped her neck.
‘If yer try ’n get away, or shout fer help – ’
Rosie could feel the full weight of his body pressing down on her. He wasn’t big, but he was strong.
‘ – I swear t’God, I’ll get straight off yer ’n go ’n do what I’m about to do to you to that little sister of yers next door.’
Raymond saw the fear in Rosie’s eyes and his excitement increased.
‘And dinnit think you’ll be able to stop me, ’cos …’ he breathed heavily and deliberately into her ear ‘ … I’ll punch yer so hard in the head, you’ll be out fer the count fer as long as it takes me to have my fill with young Charlotte there.’ He cocked his head towards the wall.
Rosie could feel his growing fervour and gagged involuntarily.
‘Understand?’
She inhaled his rancid breath laced with whisky.
‘Understand?’ His grip around her neck tightened.
Rosie nodded.
For the next twenty minutes Rosie lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling of her bedroom, not daring to move. Hardly daring to breathe.
The only way to keep the screams at bay and the bile from rising up was to cut off her mind from what was happening to her body.
To make herself numb.
Totally numb.
When Raymond had finally satisfied his perversions, he lifted himself off Rosie.
A single bead of sweat dropped from his forehead onto Rosie’s face and she flinched, instinctively trying to shake it off but failing. Instead, it merged with the tears that were rolling silently down her cheeks.
Rosie watched, her body trembling though still immobile, as her uncle pulled up his trousers and fastened his belt.
She took short, shallow breaths, her eyes following him as he turned to leave.
He reached the bedroom door, then turned his head sharply. His dark eyes fixed on her as he slowly raised his hand to the corner of his mouth and pulled an imaginary zip across his thin, dry lips.
And then he was gone.
Rosie sat up, her senses on high alert, straining to hear the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs – and not to her sister’s room.
Clambering out of bed, she grabbed a jagged piece of rock she’d found on the beach and had kept because she liked the way the crystals embedded in it glinted in the sunlight. Every sinew of her body wanted to run after him and smash him on the back of the head – pummel him to death.
But she dare not take the risk. If she didn’t succeed, she knew he would kill her.
But worse still, she knew he would carry out his threat and do to Charlotte what he had just done to her.
And that was something Rosie was never going to let happen.
Ever.
Chapter One
J.L. Thompson & Sons, North Sands, Sunderland
Boxing Day 1942
‘Thank goodness you’ve come!’
Helen heaved a dramatic sigh of relief.
Manoeuvring herself around her desk, she strode across the office and gave Dr Parker a hug.
‘I was worried you might be called into theatre on some kind of emergency at the last moment, leaving me to deal with my dear mama and all her old cronies on my lonesome.’
Dr Parker wrapped his arms around Helen, returning her embrace. She smelled of expensive perfume. As always, he had to force himself to let her go.
‘I wouldn’t have missed one of your mother’s infamous soirées for all the tea in China,’ he said, a smile playing on his lips.
‘Come in and take your coat off.’ Helen walked over to the tray that had been left on top of one of the filing cabinets.
‘Talking of tea?’ She took hold of the ceramic pot.
Dr Parker hung his jacket up on the coat stand by the door and rubbed his hands.
‘Yes, please, I’m parched.’
He watched as Helen poured carefully, adding a touch of milk, the way he liked it.
‘How are you feeling after yesterday?’ He scrutinised Helen’s face as she turned and handed him his cup.
‘Still in shock,’ she admitted, exhaling. ‘The thing is, John, I’m at a loss as to what to do. I can’t forget it, and I’m not the type of person who can just shove it under the carpet.’
‘That’s true,’ he agreed, eyeing her.
‘I have to know,’ she said, picking up a pile of papers, shuffling them together and tapping them on the desk. ‘Otherwise, I’ll always be wondering.’
She paused, papers still in hand.
‘Either way. Even if it is simply a fluke that my mother and Bel look alike … God, if it wasn’t for the age gap, I’d say they were twins.’
She put the papers in the top drawer and slammed it shut.
‘Either way, I need to know.’
She walked over to the large windows that divided her office from the open-plan work area that made up the rest of the administration department and yanked the wooden venetian blinds free, lowering them ready for Monday morning when everyone would be back from their three-day Christmas break. As she did so, her gaze was naturally drawn to Bel’s desk, which had, as always, been left neat and tidy.
‘I mean, it’s not as if I can ask Bel, can I?’ She turned back to look at Dr Parker drinking his tea. ‘I can’t just casually ask her when she gets in tomorrow, “Lovely wedding, Bel, wasn’t it? Oh, and by the way, I couldn’t help but notice that you are the absolute spit of my mother. You wouldn’t know if you’re related by any chance, would you?”’
Dr Parker allowed himself the slightest of smiles. Helen’s dry sense of humour always amused him.
He looked across at her; her sparkling emerald eyes never failed to captivate him. ‘The thing is, Bel’s probably totally unaware of the fact that she has a doppelgänger. She didn’t seem particularly shocked when she was introduced to your mother at the wedding yesterday.’
‘Mmm.’ Helen took a sip of her tea and put the cup and saucer back on the tray. ‘That’s true. But then again, that could be because she is well aware.’
Helen was quiet for a moment.
‘Really, John, when Bel was introduced to my mum at the Grand, it must have been like looking into a mirror – a mirror that shows you an image of your future self.’
Still feeling the need to play devil’s advocate, Dr Parker argued, ‘Bel was run ragged yesterday organising Polly and Tommy’s wedding. She probably barely even registered Miriam.’
‘Possibly,’ Helen said.
She put her hands on her hips and stared down at her desk, lost in thought.
‘It could also be that she didn’t react to seeing my mother because …
’ she looked up at Dr Parker with wide eyes ‘… she knows that they are kin.’
Dr Parker took a final slurp of his tea and stood up.
‘I think you had one too many gin and tonics yesterday and your imagination has gone into overdrive. This is simply a case of two women who look alike.’
He went over to the stand and slipped his coat back on.
‘Now, come on, get yourself ready. I feel like you’re procrastinating because you don’t want to go to your mother’s Boxing Day extravaganza.’
Helen let out an exasperated sigh.
‘Oh, John, don’t. It’s going to be hideous. And even more of an “extravaganza” as Mother has made it quite plain that she feels she was deprived of a proper Christmas Day celebration because I deserted her to go to “some welder’s wedding”.’
As John helped Helen into her winter coat, he had to force himself not to wrap his arms around her, hold her tightly, then turn her around and kiss her.
God! Perhaps he was the one with the overactive imagination.
As they walked out into the stillness of the shipyard, Helen looked around and took in the metal and concrete landscape she loved so much. It was a love that had grown greater since the start of the war, as the importance of what they did had increased tenfold. For the ships they built and repaired were crucial to the war effort. Without the cargo vessels and warships that this yard produced, along with dozens of other shipyards across the length and breadth of the country, the war would quite simply be lost.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been here when it’s so quiet,’ Dr Parker said as he buttoned up his overcoat against the icy-cold air.
As if in defiance of the peace, the clanking of steel suddenly sounded out from the platers’ shed.
