Triumph of the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘Where are we meeting everyone?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘At the far end of West Lawn, near the entrance to the cricket ground. I think we’re all going to watch the parade and then go to the clubhouse afterwards to see the actual service.’

  Rosie sighed. Charlotte was always so happy whenever she was going to meet up with Lily.

  ‘It’s going to be made up of hundreds of men from the DLI,’ Charlotte said. ‘That’s the Durham Light Infantry.’

  Rosie exhaled. ‘I do know what DLI stands for, Charlie … I do know a little about life outside Thompson’s.’

  ‘There they are!’ Charlotte waved her hand in the air.

  Rosie looked over a smattering of heads to spot Lily’s vibrant auburn hair, piled extravagantly high. Since Charlotte had blasted back into town, Rosie had never known Lily to leave the confines of the bordello as frequently as she did these days.

  Next to Lily was George, who looked uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as if Lily had got her own way and had made him put on his regimental attire.

  Standing next to Lily was Kate.

  Next to her was Alfie. Rosie thought he looked very smart and very serious.

  And, of course, there were Maisie and Vivian, pristine and incredibly glamorous, as always. She knew they wouldn’t watch the whole parade as Vivian was in sole charge of the bordello today, and Maisie the Gentlemen’s Club.

  ‘Mes chères!’ Lily’s voice sung out over the swarm of spectators, causing a few curious looks to be thrown her way.

  Rosie and Charlotte only just managed to squeeze through the crowd to what must have been the prime position, judging by how reluctant people were to budge even an inch.

  Lily had her hands outstretched in anticipation of a hug for Charlotte and a kiss on both cheeks for Rosie.

  ‘Hi everyone,’ Charlotte said, smiling down the line at George, Kate, Alfie, Maisie and Vivian.

  ‘Hi, doll.’ Vivian’s exaggerated American drawl caused a couple standing a few yards away to stare, which, in turn, caused Maisie to shoot her a warning look. Charlotte saw it. It added to her argument that there was more to the two of them than met the eye.

  Suddenly there was the sound of drums in the distance, like the faint beginnings of thunder.

  ‘Sounds like it’s started!’ Charlotte looked from Lily to Rosie.

  ‘Try and get a good look at the actual drums.’ George craned his neck to speak to Charlotte. ‘The paintings on them are quite something.’

  Charlotte nodded. She was going to do a project on the history of the Durham Light Infantry regiment, and George had agreed to help her.

  Within minutes the air was filled not only with the sound of drums, but also trumpets, tubas, trombones and the occasional clashing of cymbals.

  The crowds cheered.

  Charlotte spotted a few small children on their father’s shoulders and had a brief memory of her father doing the same as they had trooped along the beach, heading out to the best winkle-picking spots.

  She pushed the thought away.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Maisie and Vivian talking to two soldiers. She looked back at the parade, thinking about her school project and how she needed to remember the various uniforms, the instruments, how the men all marched perfectly in tune, arms swinging in synchronicity with the rest of their battalion.

  But there was something about the way Maisie and Vivian had been conversing with the two soldiers that compelled her to drag her attention away from the parade.

  Maisie looked friendly but also quite serious. As did Vivian, who was now pointing down the street, as though giving directions. Was she telling them where they lived? Or perhaps she was telling them where the Gentlemen’s Club was? Although, from what Charlotte gathered, the club was mainly for old fogeys, and didn’t open until later.

  Charlotte looked back at the parade. The soldiers from the anti-aircraft battery were now passing.

  She looked at Lily and George.

  Lily was leaning into George and whispering something into his ear. She saw him laugh.

  Alfie was also saying something to Kate, who smiled, but kept her eyes glued to the parade. Charlotte knew she would be getting ideas for new designs.

  Charlotte looked back again.

  Maisie and Vivian were leaving.

  With the two soldiers.

  Odd.

  They clearly didn’t know them. And yet they were walking off with the pair.

  Charlotte looked at Rosie, who seemed a million miles away.

  When she turned her attention back to Maisie and Vivian, she was surprised to see them heading right, rather than back down West Lawn.

  Seeing them turn left into Ashbrooke Crescent, Charlotte couldn’t contain her curiosity. Taking a step back, she turned round and started making her way through the crowd.

  She quickly looked to see if anyone had noticed her sudden absence, but they hadn’t. A young girl around her height had stepped forward to get a better view and was now standing next to Rosie.

  Charlotte argued to herself that she just wanted to see where Maisie and Vivian were going – then she’d get straight back. She’d only be a few minutes.

  Hurrying around the corner, she was just in time to see Maisie and Vivian and the two soldiers turn left again and start walking down the back lane. She’d been right. They were clearly taking them to the Gentlemen’s Club and were going the back way, presumably to avoid the crowds.

  Rosie’s right. You really are too nosy! Charlotte silently reprimanded herself.

  She was about to return to the parade when she saw them walk past the Gentlemen’s Club and stop at the rear entrance to Lily’s.

  Strange …

  Why were they going to Lily’s?

  Charlotte stepped back into the shadows so as not to be seen and watched as all four disappeared through the wooden gate.

  She continued down the lane, walking quickly and quietly.

  She could hear Vivian’s voice and laughter, followed by the jangle of keys.

  Then she heard Maisie call out a girl’s name she had not heard before.

  Was there someone else at Lily’s?

  Charlotte inched nearer along the brick wall.

  But why were they going in the back? It didn’t make sense.

  She heard the sound of boots being wiped on a wire mat.

  Charlotte heard a young woman’s voice that did not belong to either Vivian or Maisie.

  Then the door closed.

  Charlotte inched nearer to the gate and squinted through the wooden slats.

  She couldn’t see much, only the yard and the back of the house.

  She was about to turn away when she suddenly saw movement across one of the rear windows.

  The curtains, which had been drawn closed, opened slightly.

  She could just make out what looked like a lamp peeping out from the velvet drapes.

  Charlotte gave a start when it was suddenly switched on.

  And then she stared.

  The light now shining out of the little back window was red.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  1940

  Rosie had often wondered whether what happened on the first Saturday of November in 1940 had anything to do with her mam and dad.

  Had they managed to manipulate the strings of fate so that the women welders finally gave in to Dorothy’s pleas that they all have a night out?

  Had they guided Gloria’s vision to the inside of the timekeeper’s cabin, allowing her to see the intricately carved cane that belonged to a rather sinister old man she’d seen?

  Had they fanned the flames of the women’s unease at Rosie’s no-show at the pub, compelling them to go back to the yard to look for her?

  Rosie’s recall of that day was still vivid.

  She remembered how bitterly cold it was as she’d gathered up her belongings, how she’d jumped out of her skin when he had appeared through the curtain of fog and told her he had found out she’d be
en holding back her overtime earnings.

  She remembered how the weight of the bag on her shoulder had suddenly felt heavy and she’d let it drop to the ground.

  ‘Hours and hours of overtime. I’m surprised you’ve had the time to write to that pretty little sister of yours.’ Raymond’s voice had dripped with venom as he’d waved her wage slips along with a couple of Charlotte’s letters in front of her.

  Even now, Rosie could remember the tidal wave of despair that had washed over her. For the first time in her life she’d felt powerless to protect her sister as he’d ranted on about the money he had found stashed away in her bedsit.

  Was it, he’d asked, a stash for Charlotte in case something happened to her?

  ‘Like what happened to yer mam ’n dad? God rest their souls,’ he’d sneered.

  There’d been something in his tone, something he’d wanted her to know.

  And she was right.

  ‘They never did find the – what did the police call him? – the “hit-and-run driver” who killed yer mam ’n dad, did they?’

  The sinister smile that had cut across his face would be forever embedded in her memory.

  As would the moment the penny dropped.

  It was him.

  He had been the hit-and-run driver.

  It had not been an accident.

  Rosie had swung at him, but she was no fighter and Raymond had niftily sidestepped her, at the same time whacking his walking stick down on Rosie’s arm with all his might.

  She had crumpled over, clenching her arm in agony, before feeling another crack of the cane. This time, pain had seared through her skull and the fog around her was replaced by darkness.

  When she’d come to, her head was being forced over a live weld. The light had been blinding, the heat unbearable, her head throbbing, and she’d felt the bite of metal on her skin. But it was the fragmented recall of what happened next that always came back to haunt Rosie in the dark hours of the night. The feel of him as he pushed his body against her, his sinewy fingers pulling her hair, yanking her head back and forth over the fountain of sparks. Her feeling of powerlessness. His foul-smelling breath telling her she would never beat him. Her knowledge that she was drowning in a tidal wave of his anger and resentment. His words spewing forth, frustrated at having killed his sister and brother-in-law in the expectation of inheriting the money – and his fury in finding out that this too had been snatched from him.

  But there had also been the sound of victory in his voice. It had taken more than five years, but he had finally scraped back the money he believed was his.

  Rosie had known then that she was defeated.

  She could still hear him now, telling her, ‘I could take yer here. Now. Like I did before. But you’ve gotten too old, too used. Like a bit of tough old mutton, and yer know me, Rosie, don’t you? I like a nice bit of lamb. Much more tender. Much more tasty.’

  It was the memory of his final words, though, that always had Rosie breaking out into a sweat.

  ‘I want you to breathe yer last with the image in yer head of me havin’ my fill … feasting on some succulent tender meat. Just like I did with you all those years ago.’

  She had screamed, but, just like in her dreams, she could not hear her own voice. All she could see was a dazzling fountain. And all she could feel was the stinging of burning flesh.

  Her last desperate thought had been for Charlie.

  She had closed her eyes and prayed.

  Prayed for Charlotte to be saved …

  Then, as if in answer to her prayers, she had heard a woman’s voice booming out over the buzzing of the welding machine.

  ‘Ger off her!’

  It was Gloria.

  With her were Polly, Dorothy, Martha and Hannah.

  Raymond had tossed the rod holder aside and grabbed his walking stick, pulling Rosie in front of him as a human shield. She had felt like a rag doll. She heard Polly yelling, ‘Let her alone!’ And a sob that must have come from Hannah.

  She had managed to lift her head and had seen the look of shock on Dorothy’s face.

  It wasn’t until later, when she looked in the mirror, that she understood why.

  Her cheeks and forehead were blackened and spotted with small circular welts where she had been burned. Part of her blonde hair was frazzled and singed to the roots. She looked more dead than alive.

  ‘Give her here!’ Dorothy had demanded, but her words had been met with laughter as the bottom part of Raymond’s walking stick had fallen away, revealing a thick, glistening knife. He’d swiftly brought it up to Rosie’s face, the sharp point of the blade just piercing the skin enough to draw blood.

  ‘Are you really going to bother yourselves with this whore?’

  And that was how they’d got to know her secret.

  Rosie could hear him rant on, calling her a ‘prostitute, a slag, a slut’, then through her blurred vision she saw Martha charge forward.

  For someone so tall and stocky she had moved fast, pushing Raymond away with such force she’d catapulted him backwards.

  He’d staggered, still clutching his weapon.

  Dorothy and Hannah had grabbed Rosie as she had gone down on her knees, no longer able to support her own weight.

  She had heard Raymond snarling at them all, calling them ‘stupid bitches’, but he’d stepped back and onto a thick metal rod left lying on the ground, hidden by the low-lying mist. His footing had faltered, his arms flailing as he’d tried to stay upright, but he’d got too close to the edge of the quayside.

  It happened in slow motion: Raymond’s foot had lifted up into the air, and he’d desperately tried to catch hold of something to keep him upright.

  But there was nothing.

  Just wisps of fog.

  He had let out a strangled cry before disappearing over the side of the dock, and a second later they’d heard the sound of his body as it hit the water’s surface.

  Everything had been a blur after that.

  She had started retching.

  But she had to know.

  Leaning heavily into Polly, she’d pointed to the river.

  They’d gone and peered over the edge of the quayside.

  Dorothy had shone her torch down into the river’s choppy black water, but there had been no sign of Raymond.

  Martha had half carried, half dragged Rosie onto the ferry and then to Tatham Street.

  It had been Agnes’s face that she remembered throughout that entire night as she tended to her burns and the gash on the back of her head. She’d put Rosie’s badly swollen wrist into a splint and nursed her through the most agonising case of arc eye Rosie had ever experienced in all her years as a welder.

  Agnes had tried to comfort Rosie as she had thrashed about in agony. Tears silently spilled down Agnes’s face as she’d watched this wreck of a girl cry out, her eyes and nose streaming constantly, all the while clutching her banging head in agony.

  She had kept on calling out ‘Charlie’ and Agnes had kept reassuring her that ‘Charlie will be fine,’ even though she had no idea who Charlie was. Her gently spoken words seemed to do the trick, though, and in the early hours of the morning, Rosie’s body had finally relaxed into the comfort of the bed.

  Rosie knew she was alive because of the courage, love and care of her squad of women welders.

  She also liked to think that her mam and dad had played their part.

  A week later, while carrying out some underwater repairs to a damaged frigate, Tommy discovered Raymond’s bloated body tangled up at the bottom of the Wear.

  And, as fate would have it, on the same day, Rosie met the man who was to become her husband. DS Peter Miller had come knocking on the door of her bedsit to inform her, as next of kin, that her uncle had come a cropper and drowned accidentally in the Wear.

  The theory was that he – like many before him – had had one too many and that drink had literally been the death of him.

  Chapter Fifty

  Saturday 15 May
, 1943

  Oh Peter, I’d give anything to have you here now. Rosie couldn’t stop her wishful thinking.

  Watching the drumhead parade for what felt like an age, her mind had begun to wander. As usual, it had gone to Peter and was regurgitating the same questions: Was he all right? Was he in danger? Was he alive? Not knowing was purgatory.

  She had hoped that perhaps Toby might have brought another letter with him when he had come to visit Dorothy over Easter. But he hadn’t. She’d felt like weeping, but knew nothing positive would come from crying. It certainly wouldn’t help Peter. And the last thing her squad needed was to see her down and defeated. Especially Polly.

  The clash of cymbals signalling the last of the soldiers snapped Rosie out of her reverie.

  ‘Right, let’s go, Charlie, off to the clubhouse—’

  Looking to her right, Rosie suddenly realised that her sister had been replaced by another young girl who looked nothing like her, but who was roughly the same height.

  ‘Sorry, I thought you were someone else,’ Rosie apologised, looking round to see where her sister was.

  ‘Have you seen Charlie?’ Rosie turned to Lily and George. They looked at the place where Charlotte had been standing.

  ‘I thought she was right there,’ Lily said. Turning to her left, she saw Kate chatting to Alfie, but Vivian and Maisie were nowhere to be seen.

  And neither was Charlotte.

  She had a bad feeling.

  ‘There she is!’ George suddenly shouted out.

  ‘Charlie! Where have you been?’ Rosie looked at her sister. She had on her new blue skirt and a lovely short-sleeved blouse. She was looking so grown-up lately. She had to stop treating her like a child.

  ‘I thought I saw one of my classmates,’ Charlotte lied.

  ‘And did you?’ Lily asked.

  ‘No … I mean, yes … but I lost her in the crowd,’ Charlotte said, blushing slightly.

  ‘Come on then,’ Lily said. ‘Let’s get to the clubhouse before they run out of tea.’

  Ten minutes later they had managed to get themselves a table, and although they weren’t able to hear the open-air service from within the confines of the rather exclusive Ashbrooke members’ club, they were able to see the pageantry of the proceedings taking place on the cricket ground.