by AJ Pearce
We all replied with exclamations of Absolutely and I Should Say So, together with heartfelt promises of working as hard as we possibly could. Mr Newton nearly broke into applause but thankfully for Mr Collins’ blushes, Mrs Mahoney quietly put her hand on his arm, and he had second thoughts.
Inspired to the last man, everyone started speaking over each other with ideas on how everything could be done.
But I sat quietly. Mr Collins’ words had hit home.
Let’s show the Ministry what our readers can do, and let’s look after our readers while they’re doing it.
If this wasn’t inspiring enough on its own, it was a throwaway comment that had left me unable to speak.
It’s about time we had you out and about being a journalist.
Ever since school I had dreamed of this, and now it was happening. While it had been my idea to speak with Anne, I had not for a moment thought I would be running a feature series to be done with approval from the Ministry.
I was thrilled that Mr Collins thought I could manage. I hoped Anne would still be keen on the idea.
Just under a year ago, Mr Collins had been the person to give me a job at Woman’s Friend. Now he was giving me the chance to take my first steps to becoming a reporter.
I wouldn’t let him down, or the Ministry, of course. As I began to collect the readers’ letters and carefully put them back in my file, I thought of all the women who had written in wanting to help the war effort. So many of them had been waiting months for an official reply or been told they were too old or too young or were simply worried about doing the right thing.
This was our chance to help them.
And it was time for me to step up.
CHAPTER SIX
Stitched Up Like a Kipper
‘THERE’LL BE A bit of juggling on this one,’ said Mr Collins. ‘Just to keep everyone happy.’
I was sitting in his office after the meeting and he was thinking out loud. After the excitement of coming up with the new plans, there was a huge amount to sort out. We would have to make sure Anne was on board for the articles, persuade her employers it was worth their while, and above all, ensure we had all the official approvals in place that would give us access to a Government Supplier.
None of which had crossed my mind when I volunteered the idea.
Mr Collins, however, seemed quite happy with the scenario and didn’t appear to think there was anything insurmountable.
‘I’ll get onto the permissions, and Emmy, you contact your friend. If she’s still interested, find out who runs the place and draft a letter to them. Write it from me but say I have directed our Careers Editor to take charge of this very important Ministerial project.’ He smiled. ‘You’ll find people can be insufferable snobs about titles, so do you mind going along with that? It’s ridiculous, but all part of the game. We should get you some cards printed up.’
Careers Editor! Cards! I tried not to look as giddy as I felt. But I did wish Mr Collins might pause for breath. It was more than time that I told him about my disagreement in the ladies’.
‘Don’t look so concerned, Emmy, I’ve every faith in you,’ he said, misunderstanding my reticence. ‘Just be honest, don’t mess people about, and never make anything up, because despite what you may hear about being a reporter, the best ones don’t. Happy with everything?’
‘Ah,’ I said, wondering if the rule about Never Make Anything Up could start from today rather than including last Friday. ‘Yes. Very much so. Thank you. Careers Editor is quite a lot to take in, even if it is made up.’
‘Hmm,’ said Mr Collins. ‘I realise I’ve just broken one of my own rules.’ He rolled his eyes at himself. ‘Emmy, do try not to follow my terrible example.’
This was making my secret worse.
‘There was just one thing,’ I said, uneasily.
‘Fire away.’ Mr Collins leant back in his seat and reached for an empty packet of cigarettes on his perennially messy desk. A slightly uncertain knock heralded Hester, who poked a flushed face around the half-open door.
‘Mr Collins,’ she gasped. ‘I’m sorry but there’s a lady on the telephone. From an office. For you.’
‘Thank you, Hester,’ said Mr Collins, patiently. ‘Please take a message and I’ll call her back.’
Hester looked pained. ‘She says could you do that quite urgently, please? She says she’s already called once, and Mr Clough has to go into a meeting in a minute and he very much wishes to speak.’
‘The Under-Secretary?’ I said, now feeling warm, myself. ‘The man from the Ministry.’
It came out dramatically. Mr Collins looked unconcerned.
Hester nodded vigorously. ‘That’s right. From the Ministry.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Mr Collins, as if it was the butcher calling to say he’d saved him a chop. ‘Thank you, Hester. Is that the number in your hand? I will return her call after Emmy and I have finished.’
Hester offered to ring the secretary and put Mr Collins through.
‘No need,’ said Mr Collins. ‘I can manage myself. Now, Emmy, I believe you were about to say something?’
As Hester retreated into the corridor, Mr Collins looked expectantly at me and I attempted to pick up my line of thought. It was safe to say that Hester was not the only one who had been unnerved. The secretary of an actual Under-Secretary to a Government Minister had called our office. This was not an everyday thing, even if Mr Collins was taking it in his stride.
My mind darted about as I thought of possible reasons. Perhaps the Ministry men were calling all the Editors as a sort of follow-up to the meeting. Or perhaps Mr Collins knew Mr Clough personally. Then my mind wandered off track as minds do when you have behaved perfectly above board, other than just one small thing that perhaps hadn’t gone quite entirely to plan.
I found myself gripped by a sudden and particularly ferocious bout of paranoia.
What if someone had noticed me loitering outside the lavatories well after the Ministry briefing had finished? I had absolutely belted downstairs too, which must have looked shifty. Not to mention implying to the man by the lift that the two journalists in the lavatories were refusing to leave.
‘EMMY,’ said Mr Collins, loudly. ‘Are you still with me? I really should phone Clough back.’
He began to look under a pile of papers for a new packet of cigarettes.
‘About that,’ I said. ‘You know, when we were at Senate House?’
‘Ah ha,’ he said, now opening a drawer and rummaging around.
‘Well, there were these journalists – ladies – in the lavatories.’
‘Ah ha.’ He found a new packet and began to open it.
‘And they were being rather unkind.’
Mr Collins took out a cigarette.
‘About Woman’s Friend. In fact, rather rude. Very rude really.’
‘Ah,’ he said, with no Ha.
He put the unlit cigarette down, paused, and then rubbed his hand across his chin. ‘I thought you looked flushed when we met up. At this point, may I interrupt with a wild guess?’
I nodded.
‘Did you by any chance put them right on this point?’
In the last months, Mr Collins had come to know me well, and as he had previously bailed me out of a sticky situation when I had taken some matters into my own hands, it seemed likely he would presume I had gone off the straight and narrow again.
‘Yes,’ I confirmed.
Mr Collins now put the cigarette in his mouth, took a match out of a small silver box on his desk, struck it and lit up. He took a long drag and then, as he blew out the smoke, began to smile.
‘I knew I shouldn’t have left you on your own,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s be having you. This is bound to be good.’
*
It took me some time to give Mr Collins a blow-by-blow account of my argument with Freddie and Diane. I left out the really nasty personal things they said about him, but didn’t hold back on how low an opinion they had of our ma
gazine. I also told him how I had shown off about Woman’s Friend’s tremendous War Effort Recruitment Plan that didn’t actually exist.
‘I’m really, very sorry,’ I said. ‘Have I dropped a terrible brick? Also, I told someone they were loitering and refusing to leave. Do you think that’s why Mr Clough has called?’
I held my breath, wondering if my temporary title of Careers Editor was about to be withdrawn. Even if it was purely for show, it would have been ever so nice.
‘Well, Emmy,’ said Mr Collins. ‘Somehow I don’t think the Under-Secretary would be trying to track you down himself. He’d probably have just sent the Military Police. THAT WAS A JOKE. Oh God, you look as if you’re about to be ill. I do apologise. Here, have a cigarette. Damn, I forgot you don’t smoke.’
He looked at me with an expression of exasperation. I was still fighting off the possibility of actually being sick. The Military Police. The horror surged over me like a wave.
‘Emmy, it’s absolutely fine. Really. You should have told me straight away. I hope you haven’t been concerned. They sound ghastly. Well done for keeping your end up.’
I nodded weakly, feeling foolish. Mr Collins sighed. ‘You know, I’d like to think the publishing lot rub along with each other pretty well most of the time, but it’s like any industry, you get the good ones like Monica or Simons, and you get the idiots, like these two or Jarrett. Don’t give it another thought. And certainly not regarding the Ministry’s call. Speaking of which, I’d better see what he wanted.’
I thanked him, delighted not to have made a complete howler. I was about to take my leave when Mr Collins’ phone rang again. He gave me a grin and motioned me to stay where I was. ‘Could be him,’ he said and picked up the phone.
‘Collins . . . Ah, Hester. Yes, yes, of course.’ He paused as I assumed Hester put Mr Clough through. However, it was somebody else.
‘Miss Jackson,’ said Mr Collins. ‘Good morning. Yes, thank you.’ He paused again, cleared his throat and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Lord Overton. Good morning, sir.’
It wasn’t the Ministry at all, but the owner of Launceston Press himself.
I sat very straight in my chair. I had only met Lord Overton once, in a quite terrifying encounter I would never forget, but the portrait of him in the reception area downstairs greeted me every day when I arrived at work, and I always silently wished it a respectful Good Day. I had admired Lord Overton from a distance before I joined Woman’s Friend, and since meeting him respected him more than ever. His generosity, along with Mr Collins’, was the reason I had any sort of a career.
‘I see,’ Mr Collins was saying. ‘Very nice to hear and decent of him to call. Of course. Mr Clough. Excellent chap. Yes. I’m about to speak to him now. Ha. Yes indeed – perhaps a little premature. We’re still working on the details, but I think they should go down well. Of course, sir. As soon as we can. Yes, wasn’t it? Great pleasure. And to Lady Overton as well. Thank you, sir. Goodbye, now.’
Mr Collins put the phone down and looked at me, thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, you didn’t by any chance get the names of those women, did you?’
‘Not entirely,’ I said. ‘Just Freddie and Diane.’
Mr Collins raised his eyebrows for just a second. ‘Of course,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Freddie Baring. Ladies’ Week. I thought I saw her. Ah, the joy.’
‘Do you know Mrs Baring?’ I asked.
‘A little,’ said Mr Collins. ‘I imagine you may have gleaned that she and I are not tremendously good friends.’
I kept quiet and Mr Collins grinned. ‘I won’t ask if she said anything about me,’ he said. ‘I can hazard a pretty good guess if she did. We’ve clashed swords now and then over the years. Baring’s her pen name. She’s Freda Clough by birth.’
I gaped at him. It was the same name as the Under-Secretary to the Minister of Information.
‘And I’d wager she has very kindly told her brother all about the big plan he is now expecting from Woman’s Friend. Well, it’s certainly grabbed the Ministry’s attention. You could probably make out that he hasn’t only been on the telephone to me.’
Now I really did feel the blood run from my face.
‘Don’t worry. Lord Overton sounded quite happy. He’s a sporting man and enjoys the thrill of the chase. He won’t have missed a thing.’
For a moment, Mr Collins sat and thought, staring into mid-distance as he mulled it all over. Then, and to my complete surprise, he let out a huge laugh. ‘You know this is actually quite fine,’ he said. ‘Freddie B has tried to stitch us up like a kipper. No matter!’ he said, standing up and thumping both hands down on his desk. ‘We can handle it. Emmeline Lake, whether you meant to or not, you have put Woman’s Friend onto the Ministry’s map. Now we just have to make sure that’s where we stay.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘And is that all right?’
Mr Collins stared at me. ‘Of course,’ he said, becoming serious. ‘Emmy, don’t waste a moment thinking about what happened last week. I’m afraid Mrs Baring can be quite a piece of work, and I’m sorry she tried to bully you. But actually, she has done us a favour. This is a real opportunity for Woman’s Friend to make its mark with both the Ministry and Lord Overton. I have every faith we will rise to the challenge. Emmy, I have every faith in you.’ He leant forward over his desk. ‘You leave the Ministry to me and now, if you don’t mind, can I suggest you go and write that letter to your friend?’
*
With the knowledge that Mr Collins had faith in me, and no small amount of relief that he found Freddie Baring a silliness rather than a threat, I was eager to write to Anne and get things moving. To my delight, she was quick to agree to the idea.
Dear Emmy,
Thank you so much for your letter which arrived today. We thought Ruby had mumps but she was just over-tired. Of course, she thinks she has and is now telling everyone that she has Monks!
I can’t believe Woman’s Friend would really like to interview us about our work! Are you sure? As I’ve only just started, I don’t know how helpful I’ll be, but the other girls will have more to tell you. Betty can’t wait, but as you said, we’re keeping it a secret.
So far, I like it here. It’s a long day but the girls are friendly, and the canteen is good – three-course meals for a shilling, and more greens than you can fit on your plate.
Mum is enjoying looking after the children although Mrs Bagley next door told me Tony screams for the first hour after I’ve left the house in the morning. Mum says it’s not nearly that long, and I hope so, as I have to leave at a quarter past five. I’m a bit tired, but Betty says I’ll get used to it.
The factory’s director is called Mr Terry. I’ve not met him, but Betty thinks he would be the one to write to. She reckons he’ll jump at the chance because it will make him look good! Don’t say that though if you meet him. I hope it was all right to put his name in a letter. I haven’t put my address or anything in case this letter gets lost.
I’d better go as Ruby should have been asleep hours ago. She really is a one.
Hope you are all right. Do say hello to Bunty from us all.
Yours,
Anne
Dear Anne
Thank you so much for your letter. I am so pleased you’re settling in and things are going well. I’ve told Mr C who is very pleased. He’ll sort things here and then if all is well will write to the person at your end and agree details.
More from me later and hope to see you soon!
Yours,
Emmy
PS: Do Ruby and Baby Tony like Beatrix Potter?
Dear Emmy
Please excuse the postcard, I always seem to be in a rush. Thank you for your letter. Goodness, it’s really happening.
Ruby loves B.Potter but is scared of the frog!
Your friend,
Anne
Dear Ruby
Thank you for your lovely letter! We were thinking of you and thought you might like these books to read with Mummy o
r Granny. Don’t worry as Jeremy Fisher (the frog you don’t like) is not in any of these books.
Please tell Mummy that everything she talked about with Emmy on the phone is going to plan and definitely happening this Thursday!
Love from,
Mummy’s friends, Emmy and Bunty
Xxx
CHAPTER SEVEN
We Always Welcome Ladies
IT SEEMED AN absolute age before the Ministry finally gave the go-ahead for me to interview Anne and her friends, even if it was only just over three weeks. I was raring to go and began to grumble unpatriotically that everyone involved was just too slow to catch cold.
But that, as Mr Collins said, Was The Civil Service For You, and in his view, getting approval for interviewing workers at a munitions factory in such a short period of time was like watching Jesse Owens do the hundred-yard dash.
In the meantime, I had more than enough to be getting on with. I was working two half-days and three full days at Woman’s Friend and managing to fit my fire-station shifts around them as well. My friend Thelma at the station said I must be mad, but as she had two jobs and three children, she had to agree that I was hardly alone. As Thel said, everyone we knew was pushing themselves as far as they could.
In the office, all the ideas the team had come up with for our grandly named War Effort Recruitment Plan were put into a fancy presentation and sent to Mr Clough as well as the Ministry of Supply, the Ministry of Labour and National Service, and Lord Overton himself. The morning Hester took them down to the post room, Kath and I waved her off as if we were sending her across the Atlantic.
‘There’s no going back now,’ said Kath, cheerful in a fancy-neck knit.
‘You’ve just made my stomach go again,’ I said, feeling it flip. ‘Talk about people in high places. I’m surprised we’re not sending a copy to the King.’
‘His is in the next post,’ said Kath. She gave me a gentle nudge. ‘Don’t worry, Emmy. Think of how good it will feel when it’s all gone to plan.’
She had made a good point. As long as we delivered on what we had promised, our magazine would be able to hold her head up high. I had to admit to giving a thought to rotten Freddie Baring and her friend. So much for Woman’s Friend not being up to the mark. Already our plan felt far bigger than anything I could have imagined.