Triumph of the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘But why do you want to be posh?’ Martha asked.

  ‘Because I do,’ Angie said simply.

  ‘I think it’s more a case that she wants to better herself,’ Dorothy explained.

  ‘When did you decide that?’ Martha was still confused.

  ‘It started when we moved into the flat,’ Dorothy answered for her friend. ‘She fell in love with the towels George left for us in the bathroom.’

  ‘The indoor bathroom,’ Angie butted in. She had never had the luxury of using an indoor bathroom before, never mind living in a flat with one.

  ‘Then I think she fell in love with George,’ said Dorothy.

  Angie opened her mouth to object.

  ‘Not in love with George himself,’ Dorothy explained, ‘but in love with everything he stands for. You know, good manners, class … He’s very much the old-school gentleman. Very kind … courteous.’

  This time Rosie allowed herself a smile. George was certainly all those things.

  Martha looked at Angie. She was not objecting.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Martha said, although she still seemed a little perplexed.

  ‘Look!’ Dorothy pointed over at two women dressed in blue denim overalls, their hair wrapped up in turbans, their gas masks and haversacks slung across their chests.

  It was Polly and Gloria.

  ‘Here comes the bride!’ Dorothy’s voice sang out across the yard.

  She was about to carry on singing the Bridal Chorus when she saw the looks on both women’s faces.

  ‘It can’t be Tommy, he’s only just left,’ Angie said.

  ‘Could be one of Gloria’s boys,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Doubt it,’ Dorothy said. ‘Gordon sent a letter the other day saying they were both fine.’

  ‘Well, something’s happened,’ Martha said, scrutinising her workmates’ faces as they came nearer.

  The canteen was full to bursting. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of stewed meat and cabbage.

  Gloria got served first. On seeing that Hannah and Olly were already sitting at the women’s designated table, she hurried over so that Polly didn’t have to break the news for the third time that day.

  ‘Arthur’s passed away.’ She kept her voice low.

  ‘Oh, no … When?’ Hannah said.

  ‘Boxing Day.’ Gloria looked round to see the rest of the women coming over.

  Hannah stood up and went to give Polly a hug.

  ‘Oh, Polly, I’m so sorry. I know how close you were to Arthur.’

  ‘Thanks, Hannah.’ Polly forced back tears. They still seemed to spring from nowhere.

  The women took their places around the table.

  ‘It’s so strange,’ Polly said, sitting down, ‘him not being there. The house seems so empty without him. Even yesterday when everyone was about.’

  They were all quiet for a moment.

  ‘Tramp and Pup keep going to his room and lying by his bed. Ma’s giving them loads of titbits, but they’re not bothered. It’s like they’re keeping a vigil for him. Waiting for him to come back.’

  ‘Is he coming back home before you bury him?’ Angie asked.

  Polly nodded.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘When someone dies,’ Angie explained, ‘yer have the body back overnight. Before the funeral. Everyone does it round here.’

  ‘What about Tommy?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘I’ve sent him a letter. Told him Arthur died peacefully in his sleep. Which he did, thank goodness. Ma said he looked happy. Content. Holding a photo of Flo.’

  Tears were now pooling in Hannah’s eyes.

  ‘Oh, that’s so sad. Yet so beautiful.’

  ‘Do you think …’ Rosie hesitated ‘ … that Tommy’ll be all right?’

  They all knew that Tommy had suffered from ‘dark moods’ in the past. Like his mam. Only she’d succumbed to the darkness, taking her own life, unable to get over the loss of Tommy’s father in the First War.

  ‘Funnily enough,’ Polly said, ‘we chatted about it before he left.’ She stopped. ‘Gosh, that sounds awful.’

  Gloria took her hand and squeezed it. ‘That doesn’t sound awful. More like yer both had yer feet planted firmly on the ground. Arthur was an old man. Yer could see his health was failing him.’

  ‘That’s what Tommy said. I guess it was more obvious to him than it was to me. I think he was quite shocked to see how much he’d aged while he’d been gone. He said in a roundabout way that he knew Arthur mightn’t be here when he got back.’

  Polly took a deep breath. Tommy never said ‘if’ he came back – it was always ‘when’.

  ‘Before he left, he said I mustn’t worry about him if anything did happen to Arthur, that he’d be fine. That he’d been lucky to have his grandda in his life – and for so long.’

  Polly looked around the table at the women.

  ‘So now,’ she said, forcing a smile, ‘I just need to make sure Arthur’s given a good send-off.’

  Everyone murmured their agreement.

  ‘When’s the funeral?’ Dorothy said.

  ‘We’ve got him booked in at St Ignatius on Thursday.’

  ‘New Year’s Eve,’ Martha said.

  ‘I know. But I guess it’s sort of fitting.’ Polly gave a sad smile.

  ‘The end of a year. The end of a life,’ Olly said, pushing his heavy, black-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

  ‘And the start of a new one,’ Hannah said thoughtfully.

  Bel knocked tentatively on the office door.

  ‘Bel, come in, come in!’ Helen had to stop herself sounding overly enthusiastic. She had been looking forward to seeing Bel after the short Christmas break. Her obsession was getting out of hand.

  ‘I have to say well done for organising such a wonderful wedding. And at such short notice. Everything went off like a dream, didn’t it? Talk about juggling a load of balls and not letting any of them drop. I think we need to put your skills to use here.’ Helen flung out an arm towards the admin department, which was now empty. The last of the staff had gone to lunch.

  ‘Thank you,’ Bel said, taken aback.

  ‘Come in, sit down!’ Helen was waving a manicured hand at the seat in front of her desk. ‘Now I’m thinking about it, perhaps we can get you trained in shorthand. Your typing’s up to speed now, isn’t it?’

  Bel nodded. She felt a jolt of excitement. Adding shorthand to her skills meant she might get a promotion. She’d initially wanted this job so she’d get to know more about the Havelocks – her other family. Lately, though, she’d been keener to climb the administrative ladder.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll see what I can do about getting you on a course. It’ll mean you having to go to night classes, though. Do you think that’s something you’d be up for?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I would. Most definitely,’ Bel said.

  ‘I know you’ve got family. Would they object?’ Helen tried not to show how much she was scrutinising Bel’s face. Those eyes. That mouth. Nose. Even her cheekbones. There was no getting away from it. She was a younger version of her mother.

  ‘Oh, they’d be fine about me doing night classes,’ Bel lied. She knew Lucille would lament loudly about her ma not being there on an evening, and although Joe wouldn’t say anything, he’d miss her. They didn’t get to spend that much time with each other as it was – not with her working full-time and Joe out so much with his Home Guard unit.

  ‘Good! Leave it with me,’ Helen said, scribbling herself a memo. When she stopped writing she looked up at Bel. ‘Sorry, Bel, I’m guessing you came to see me for a reason?’

  Bel felt a fluttering of nerves. She’d been dreading telling Helen all morning. She’d got to know her a little during the preparations for the wedding as Helen had provided the floral arrangements for the church – and a Christmas tree. Even so, she still didn’t know her that well.

  ‘Actually, I’m afraid I’ve come to tell you some sad news.’


  ‘Oh, God,’ Helen said. ‘Someone’s died.’ A moment’s panic. ‘It’s not Tommy?’

  Bel shook her head.

  ‘No, no, Tommy’s fine. Well, as far as we know. Touch wood.’

  She looked at Helen in her dark, military-style green dress and wondered randomly if it was one of Kate’s.

  ‘No, I’m afraid it’s Arthur,’ she said. ‘He passed away in the early hours of Boxing Day.’

  Bel paused, trying to gauge Helen’s reaction.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I know you and Arthur were close.’

  Helen bent down and picked up her handbag from the floor, then took out her cigarettes and lighter.

  ‘We weren’t that close,’ she said. Her voice was clipped. Why did death make her angry? ‘But I have known Arthur all my life.’ She lit her cigarette.

  Bel noticed her hands were shaking.

  ‘Polly would have told you herself, but …’ Bel let her voice trail off.

  ‘I’m guessing she’s probably got a long list to get through. Arthur was a popular man.’ Helen blew out smoke. She looked a million miles away. ‘I’ll never forget my father taking me to see him doing a dive when I was little. I’d never seen anything like it. That huge helmet. The metal boots. If I’m honest, he scared me.’

  Helen stopped.

  A thought had just occurred to her. She’d have to tell her father. He’d be devastated. Now, he was close to Arthur. Loved the old man to bits.

  Helen looked at Bel.

  ‘When’s the funeral?’

  ‘Thursday. New Year’s Eve.’

  Helen laughed sadly. ‘Fitting.’ She crushed her cigarette out and stood up. Bel followed suit. She was being dismissed.

  ‘Tell Polly just to ask if she needs anything and to take off any time necessary to sort everything out. It’s not as if Tommy’s here to help. And Arthur’s got no other family.’

  Bel turned to leave.

  ‘Oh, and Bel … Tell Polly not to spare any expense. Arthur gave his life to the Wear. To the town. To the shipyards. Mr Havelock will foot the bill. There’s to be no argument.’

  The mention of the man who had fathered her gave Bel an involuntary jolt.

  She nodded.

  Forced a smile.

  And left.

  Chapter Six

  Park Avenue, Roker, Sunderland

  ‘Can I have a word, Mother?’ Helen shouted up the stairs. She knew her mum would be getting herself ready for an evening at the Grand; she didn’t know why she didn’t just move in there permanently.

  ‘Darling, I’m in a rush.’

  ‘It’s important, Mother!’

  Helen heard her mother sigh impatiently and loudly enough so that she knew her daughter would hear. There was a moment’s silence, followed by the jingle of ice against glass.

  ‘Coming, your Highness!’ Judging by Miriam’s sing-song voice, she was in the early stages of inebriation.

  A few minutes later she walked into the front reception room. Helen was standing by the fire, which had yet to be lit. There was no point, really, as there wouldn’t be anyone there to benefit from it this evening.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news.’ Helen watched her mother as she headed over to the drinks cabinet.

  ‘Nothing new there, then.’ Miriam sloshed gin into her glass. It was on the tip of her tongue to elaborate, but she forced herself to hold back any incendiary comments. She was in too good a mood to ruin it by having another argument with her daughter.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be devastated to hear that Arthur Watts has passed away.’ Helen observed her mother. Since the scales had fallen from her eyes and she now saw her mother for the person she was, there was a part of her that found her fascinating; it was like watching some rare animal in a zoo.

  ‘Oh,’ Miriam added a touch of tonic to her gin, ‘that’s a shame – but I’d hardly class it as “bad news”.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘You are one for exaggerating, aren’t you, my dear?’ She looked deep in thought for a moment before adding more gin to her glass. ‘I mean, it’s hardly unexpected, is it? How old was he? Seventy? Eighty?’

  Helen stared at her mother. She really was quite vile. ‘About the same age as Grandfather, I believe.’ Helen caught a look in her mother’s eyes. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was imagining the day he died. Calculating how much she would inherit. ‘Isabelle Elliot told me. You know, Polly’s sister-in-law? I introduced you to her at the wedding.’ Helen’s eyes remained fixed on her mother.

  ‘Oh, yes, vaguely,’ Miriam said, squinting. ‘It was rather late in the day, but yes, I remember her. Blonde hair. Pretty little thing. I didn’t realise she was the sister-in-law of that Polly woman. She must have married beneath herself.’

  Helen didn’t say anything. It was interesting that her mother thought that Bel came from a higher class. And even more interesting that she didn’t seem to recognise Bel. Or know anything about her, for that matter. If Bel was related to the family, her mother clearly had no idea.

  ‘So, when’s the funeral? I suppose they’ll be wanting us to pay for it?’

  ‘It’s on Thursday. And they’ve not asked us to pay. I’ve told them we’re covering all the expenses.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Miriam said, ‘we’ve not much choice, seeing as the old man worked for the Wear Commissioner. And, of course, everyone knows how close your father was to him. Wouldn’t look good if he had a pauper’s funeral, would it?’

  ‘Anyway,’ Helen said, walking over and taking a peek out of the blackout blinds. The snow was now a dirty sludge. ‘On the subject of Father, he’ll have to come back from the Clyde. He’ll want to go to the funeral.’

  Miriam spluttered on her drink. ‘He might want to go to the funeral, darling, but he most certainly won’t be attending.’

  Helen turned round sharply.

  ‘I think he will. Dad loved Arthur. They worked together for years. Decades. If anyone needs to be there, it’s Dad. You can’t stop him.’

  Miriam looked at her daughter. A smile slowly spread across her face. ‘Oh, but darling, I can stop him. And I will.’

  Helen stared at her mother. She had presumed he’d be ‘allowed’ back for the funeral. She’d felt terribly sad about Arthur’s passing, but had been cheered up no end by the thought of her father’s return. Even if it would only be a fleeting visit.

  ‘My dear girl,’ Miriam continued, ‘if your father so much as puts a foot across the Scottish border – never mind turns up at the old man’s funeral – the first thing I will do is spill the beans about all those wretched women welders your dear papa and his bit on the side think so much of.’

  Miriam took a drink of her gin.

  ‘As I’m sure you’ll recall that afternoon we were all having our private little tête-à-tête and you had your ear glued to that door listening in –’ Miriam cast a look at the large living-room door that was slightly ajar ‘ – if it ever came out about your father’s sordid affair, or his little bastard – ’ Helen felt herself stiffen at the mention of Hope ‘ – then I, in turn, would decimate the lives of those my husband and his hussy seem to care so much about.’

  Miriam inspected Helen for her reaction.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll remember that I made it quite clear I’d make it my sole mission to make sure every Tom, Dick and Harry got to know exactly who was the real mother of that giant man-woman, Martha.’ Miriam sipped her drink. ‘Manly Martha.’ Miriam smiled sweetly at her daughter. ‘I’ll make sure that everyone hears the gossip – that it spreads like wildfire – so that every person in this town knows Martha’s mother was not only a convicted murderer, but a child murderer.’

  Miriam walked over to Helen.

  The pair were standing just inches apart.

  ‘Then I will get the Chief Constable of Sunderland Borough Police round here and tell him that the town has a bigamist in its midst.’ Helen could smell the alcohol on her mother’s breath she was so close. ‘So that airhead girl who works in th
e yard – what’s her name? Makes me think of that terrible film everyone’s always raving on about. That’s it. Dorothy. So that, in future, if Dorothy wants to see her mother, she’ll be following the yellow brick road all the way to HMP Durham – which is where, I believe, they put all the women convicts.’

  Miriam’s face lit up as though she’d just had an idea.

  ‘Oh, she might even share a cell with Martha’s dear mama.’ She tutted. ‘No, silly me. Martha’s monster of a mother got the rope, didn’t she? How could anyone forget? She’s almost folklore in these parts.’

  Miriam turned and sat down on the sofa, then took another sip from her crystal tumbler. She was obviously enjoying herself.

  ‘And let’s not forget the common one. The coalminer’s daughter. Angela. Well, I would like to see the state of her “mam” after her father finds out she’s been enjoying a bit on the side. By the time he’s finished with her she’ll look as though she’s been down the mine herself.’

  Helen clenched her fists. The desire to smack the look of self-satisfaction off her mother’s face was all-consuming. Gloria had told her how relieved they all were when Angie had moved in with Dorothy as she’d be out of the firing line of her dad’s bad temper and frequent backhanders.

  ‘You finished?’ Helen said.

  Miriam smiled and nodded.

  ‘Old age must be kicking in, Mother dearest,’ Helen said. ‘I do believe, when I had my ear “glued” to the door that insightful day, you were actually in possession of six bartering chips with which to silence Father and Gloria.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Miriam said. The self-satisfied smile had vanished.

  ‘Meaning you’ve only mentioned three. You seem to have forgotten about Rosie, Polly and Hannah. Remember, you were going to “tell the world” Rosie was seeing a man “almost twice her age” and that the two had been practically “living in sin” …

  ‘And how unfortunate it would be if rumours about Polly playing away were to find their way over to Tommy in Gibraltar. How it might turn his mind. Never a good thing when he was playing around with explosives.’