Triumph of the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  These past few days Gloria had felt so resentful about not seeing Jack – about him not being allowed to come to the funeral to say his final goodbyes to a man he loved. But thinking about Arthur, and how he had helped to bring Jack back into her life, she realised she had much to be thankful for.

  For now, she just had to be patient.

  The vicar allowed a few moments’ silence after the hymn had been sung and the reverberation of the organ had diminished, before gesturing to show his congregation that they could sit down.

  ‘And now,’ Reverend Winsey said, ‘a short reading from Ecclesiastes, chapter three, verses one to four.’

  Rosie froze. It was the same Old Testament passage that had been read out at her mam and dad’s funeral.

  ‘To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die.’

  Rosie looked at Charlotte out of the corner of her eye. Would she remember?

  ‘A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.’

  It was hard to tell.

  ‘A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.’

  Rosie stewed over the words that had been engraved in her memory. But it hadn’t been time for her mam and dad to die, had it? Rosie felt bitterness rise up inside her. Anger. God had got the timing of their demise terribly wrong. What had happened had been unjust and what had happened to her afterwards, unholy.

  Rosie leant towards her sister and whispered, ‘You all right?’

  Charlotte nodded, but her eyes looked wet.

  Rosie put her arm around her and gave her a quick squeeze as the organ started up for the next hymn.

  They stood.

  As the sound of the choir rose above the voices of the congregation, Rosie mouthed the words of hymn 552.

  ‘Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us …’

  She didn’t feel like asking the Good Lord for guidance.

  She’d managed this far on her own, hadn’t she?

  A short sermon followed the hymn. The vicar said some kind words about Arthur, how he had worked hard his whole life and had been a loving family man who had recently seen his grandson married.

  ‘I have also been told – ’ he singled out Mr Havelock and smiled ‘ – that Arthur Watts was not only the town’s most revered deep-sea diver. What is not so well known, for Arthur was a humble man and not one for boasting, is that he also saved many a person from drowning – both in the murky waters of the Wear and in our unforgiving North Sea.’

  Rosie looked towards the front of the church and could just about see Polly. She appeared to be holding up. She’d been incredibly strong, despite having to say goodbye to the two men she loved so much within the space of a week.

  Following the Lord’s Prayer, the service came to an end with a blessing.

  Agnes, who had been seated at the end of the front pew on the left side of the church, nearest to the aisle, stood up. She looked along the row at her daughter, her daughter-in-law, her granddaughter and her son.

  She’d had a word with ‘Him upstairs’ during both sets of prayers and had told him in no uncertain terms that he had already laid claim to her husband, Harry, and son Teddy, and that was to be enough. No more. The rest of her family stayed intact. And that included Tommy.

  She did not want to see history repeating itself, as it seemed to have a habit of doing. Polly was not going to follow in her own footsteps and be left a widow for longer than she’d been a wife.

  Standing up, they all waited for the pallbearers to carefully manoeuvre the coffin onto their shoulders so that Arthur left the church, as was tradition, feet first.

  After the coffin had passed, Agnes, knowing her place, allowed Mr Havelock, Miriam and then Helen to leave their seats so as to be the first to follow the casket up the aisle. She was surprised when Helen let her mother and grandfather go ahead before putting out a gloved hand to politely show Agnes that she would like them to walk up the aisle together.

  Behind them, the rest of the mourners followed.

  ‘Your ma not want to come?’ Polly spoke out of the corner of her mouth as they made the slow walk up the aisle to a rather beautiful rendition of Ave Maria.

  ‘Too much to do at the pub,’ Bel said. It was a plausible excuse as the wake was to be held at the Tatham, but Bel knew that wasn’t the real reason for her ma’s no-show. She’d seen her face as soon as Polly had told them over tea the other night that the funeral was to be paid for by Mr Havelock. Her ma never looked particularly healthy at the best of times, but she’d turned as white as a sheet on hearing the ‘good news’. It was the same look Bel had seen on her ma’s face that fateful afternoon when they’d both turned to see Mr Havelock’s glossy black Jaguar pull into the driveway of the house where an act of violence had spawned a life – and ruined another.

  When Agnes had commented that the ‘man himself’ would no doubt be attending, Bel knew wild horses wouldn’t drag her ma to Arthur’s funeral.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Polly asked as they finally reached the top of the nave. She saw the doors open and was glad to see the rain had stopped.

  Bel nodded. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Dunno. She hasn’t seemed her usual self these past few days. A bit quiet. Not as argumentative as usual,’ Polly said.

  ‘I guess we should be counting our blessings.’ Bel felt uncomfortable lying to Polly. They had been inseparable since they were children and she couldn’t remember a time when they had ever kept secrets from each other. For some reason, when her ma had told her the truth about the man who had fathered her, a barrier had gone up and she had not told Polly. She had only told two people: Joe and Maisie.

  It had now been six months since that day and she still hadn’t confided in Polly.

  But what confused her the most was that she wasn’t sure why.

  Was it perhaps because she herself was still trying to come to terms with the horror of her conception? Or was it because she hadn’t quite decided what to do about it?

  As they walked out of the church and onto the pavement, Bel took a deep breath. The air was laced with the distinctive muggy smell that always seemed to linger after a rainstorm. They stood and watched as the coffin was carefully placed in the hearse.

  ‘Polly!’

  It was Helen.

  ‘Would you and your mum like to come with us in the funeral cortège?’

  Polly smiled. ‘Well, yes, that would be nice. If there’s room. Thank you.’

  Helen’s attention turned to Bel.

  ‘Actually, it can take six if you would like to come with us as well?’

  Bel’s heart suddenly started to pound. The thought of being within touching distance of Mr Havelock caused panic.

  ‘No, no!’ Bel was aware of the alarm in her voice; she forced herself to be calm. ‘Thank you anyway, Helen, but I’d best go with Joe and Lucille.’

  ‘Of course,’ Helen said, ‘you’ll want to go with your family.’ She turned to leave. ‘We’ll see you at the cemetery.’

  Bel watched as Polly and Agnes walked with Helen to the funeral car that was parked up behind the hearse. The chauffeur was holding the door open. She could just about make out Mr Havelock and Miriam sitting in the back seat.

  Chapter Nine

  Everyone was quiet as the coffin was lowered into the ground.

  It seemed fitting that it was Ralph and his diving team who were in charge of the task. Walter and Kenneth, the two linesmen, had probably lowered Arthur down into the Wear a fair few times over the years. This time, however, they wouldn’t be bringing him back up.

  ‘In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.’

  Reverend Winsey spoke the words of Genesis 3, verse 19. He then picked up a small handful of freshly dug soil and thr
ew it onto the coffin.

  Mr Havelock, who had clearly taken on the mantle of chief mourner, took his cue to do the same. He picked up a mound of dirt, walked over to the open grave and let the slightly damp earth filter through his fingers onto the solid oak casket.

  Helen watched, knowing her grandfather would be inspecting the craftsmanship, making sure it was up to scratch; he had paid for it, after all. She looked at her mother, who was next in line. For some reason, she had a handkerchief over her mouth.

  Helen watched as Miriam daintily picked up the smallest amount of dirt in her gloved hand. She threw it into the grave as if she was throwing a penny at a group of beggars she wanted shot of.

  Since she was next, Helen took the few steps necessary to reach the small pile of soil. Bending down, she purposely took a generous handful before dropping half of it onto the coffin. She paused, then let the rest fall.

  She turned and stared at her mother.

  She didn’t need to tell Miriam that she had just done her father’s bidding.

  As the rest of the mourners made their way over to the graveside, Mr Havelock and Miriam turned away and started back to the funeral car. They had fulfilled their obligation. As they walked carefully across the wet grass, Helen’s immediate boss, Harold, and a few other shipyard bigwigs hurried across to shake Mr Havelock’s hand. A few, she knew, would be asking him for favours. Or for money. Or both.

  A photographer from the Sunderland Echo seemed to appear out of nowhere. There was a flash of a light bulb as he took a photograph of her grandfather and her mother. Then another with the Wear Commissioner in the shot. Helen thought her mother would be cheered up no end. Seeing herself in the local paper would make the whole laborious day worthwhile.

  Helen moved back to allow the other mourners to say their final goodbyes. She recognised quite a few faces from Thompson’s – from the past and the present. A little further away from the grave were Joe and Major Black, as well as some of their Home Guard unit looking smart in their khaki uniforms.

  She watched as Polly, who had been chatting to Hannah’s aunty and the old woman she knew to be called Vera, stepped forward and added to the earth now building up on top of the coffin.

  Agnes came next.

  Then Bel.

  Helen subtly scrutinised the woman she was now convinced was a Havelock, squinting as the sun made a sudden appearance from behind pewter-grey clouds. Bel was holding Lucille’s hand as the little girl crouched down to take her offering of earth, the hem of her pretty yellow dress just touching the wet grass. She sprinkled soil onto the casket as though it were icing on a cake.

  Rosie followed, but her sister held back. As they walked away from the grave, Helen caught Charlotte taking hold of Rosie’s hand. The gesture gave her a lump in her throat, although she was unsure why.

  Last in the line of mourners were Gloria and Hope.

  Taking a scoop of soil, Gloria held her palm out so that Hope could copy what she had seen the adults do.

  Hope was still too young to grasp the meaning of death, but Helen knew she would be aware that the old man, whom she had seen almost every day of her short life, was no longer a part of it.

  As Gloria turned to leave the graveside, she jigged Hope up onto her hip.

  ‘Let me take her off you.’ Helen stepped forward and stretched out her arms to relieve Gloria.

  Gloria hesitated, her eyes flicking across to Miriam and then back to Helen.

  Helen clocked her reticence.

  ‘Come here, Hope, darling,’ Helen said, beckoning.

  ‘’Elen!’ Hope’s little face creased up into a joyful expression. She, too, stretched out her pudgy little arms, mirroring her big sister’s show of love.

  Helen saw her mother and grandfather turn and look as Hope’s voice sounded out over the muted chatter of those still milling around. It suddenly occurred to Helen that this was the first time they had been within spitting distance of Jack’s mistress – and the child they only ever referred to as ‘the bastard’.

  Helen hoisted Hope onto her hip, and she in turn wrapped her legs round her big sister’s waist.

  ‘Are you sure this is wise?’ Gloria spoke quietly so only Helen could hear.

  ‘I’m not doing anything wrong, am I?’ Helen turned her back on her mother and her grandfather but could still feel their steely glares. Providing she never let on that Hope was her sister, or Gloria her father’s mistress, she could do what she liked.

  ‘I’m simply being sociable with my workers – and their families.’ She brushed a thick strand of Hope’s black hair to the side. ‘I think this little girl needs a haircut.’

  Then Helen turned her attention back to Gloria, who was now looking very worried and very uncomfortable. ‘All right, I give up,’ she said, handing Hope over.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ Gloria said, her eyes darting to Miriam. To the woman who had changed the course of her life all those years ago when she had conned Jack into marriage. To the woman who was still controlling her life now, all these years later.

  Stop it! Gloria reprimanded herself. Stop being a bloody victim.

  Defiantly, Gloria looked Miriam straight in the eye for a brief moment, before turning and walking over to Dorothy and Angie, who were chatting away to Beryl and her daughters, Iris and Audrey.

  Helen watched the unspoken exchange. She looked over at her mother and grandfather. They were putting on a good show, but she knew that underneath their veneer of calm cordiality, they’d be spitting feathers.

  Looking at the women welders and then over to her mother and grandfather, Helen felt a sudden, overwhelming feeling of isolation. She didn’t belong in either camp.

  ‘Are you coming to the wake?’ Polly suddenly appeared at her side.

  Helen knew there was to be a bit of a knees-up at the Tatham. A celebration of Arthur’s life, which would inevitably turn into a party to see in the New Year.

  ‘Bill’s managed to get an extended licence,’ Polly explained. ‘Thanks to your grandfather.’ The two women looked over to Mr Havelock, now being helped into the back of the funeral car by the chauffeur. Miriam was already settled in the back and was glaring out of the window, her face as dark as the clouds gathering overhead.

  ‘And thanks to everyone chipping in with their rations, Ma’s made enough sandwiches and sausage rolls to feed the five thousand, so there’ll be plenty to eat,’ Polly said, bringing her attention back to Helen.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be there,’ Helen said. She saw that the chauffeur was standing by the car door, waiting for her. ‘I’m nipping back to work to make sure everything’s all right. While the cat’s away and all that. Plus, Crown’s launched Empire Demon today, so I just wanted to check that went off all right.’

  Polly nodded. They all knew the owners of Thompson’s were planning to buy Crown’s sometime in the not too distant future.

  Helen looked at Polly. ‘How are you feeling? I know how close you and Arthur were.’

  ‘Sad,’ Polly admitted. ‘I’m going to miss him terribly.’ She looked at the grave, which had been positioned right next to Flo’s. ‘I wish I’d had a chance to thank him for everything he did.’ She felt the tears welling up and swallowed them down. ‘It was really thanks to Arthur that Tommy and I got back together.’

  ‘How so?’ Helen said. She was curious.

  ‘Apparently, they were both here.’ Polly looked round at the cemetery. ‘Tommy was saying to Arthur that he didn’t know what to do – whether it was better to let me go and be free of him.’ Polly shook her head. ‘As if that’s what would have made me happy.’ She rolled her eyes, glistening with the beginnings of tears. ‘And Arthur suddenly said that he had this image of Flo standing, hands on her hips, telling Tommy that if he wanted something, he had to go and get it. That no one else was going to get it for him.’

  Helen thought that it was good advice.

  ‘And that’s when Tommy came to the yard and got me,’ Polly said.

  Helen reme
mbered the scene well. Had watched them kiss and make up from the office window, along with Bel and Marie-Anne and the rest of the admin staff. The women had all ahhed. Some had said how jealous they were of Polly and Tommy’s romance, and Helen had been surprised that she hadn’t felt even the faintest stirrings of the green-eyed monster. She’d seen it as proof that she had finally let go of Tommy. That she was no longer in love with him. She doubted whether she ever really had been.

  ‘I’m guessing Tommy knows about Arthur?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Yes, I wrote him a letter,’ Polly said.

  Helen saw the main bulk of mourners start to disperse. ‘Do you want a lift back?’

  Polly shook her head. ‘No, thanks anyway. I’ll go back with my lot.’

  Helen looked over to the funeral car.

  The engine was running.

  Time to face the music.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

  Miriam’s voice was a hissed whisper.

  She turned and checked that the glass partition dividing the driver from the passengers was properly closed.

  ‘What do you mean, Mother?’ Helen made a good show of looking genuinely puzzled.

  ‘Now, now, my dear.’ Mr Havelock kept his voice low. ‘I think you know what your mother is referring to. Do you think it’s wise to be seen to be so friendly with Gloria and your father’s bastard?’

  Helen looked at her grandfather. ‘That “bastard”, Grandfather, is called Hope. And Hope is my sister. She might not be a Havelock, but she is a Crawford. As am I, don’t forget.’

  ‘Yes, my dear.’ Mr Havelock’s voice was placatory. ‘That’s exactly the point. You clearly take after your father in looks. As does the bastard.’

  Helen looked at her grandfather. It was obvious by his tone that he wasn’t trying to be offensive by calling Hope a bastard. He simply saw her as just that – an illegitimate child, and therefore totally insignificant. If not a hindrance. And that was what Helen found most perturbing.