Yours Cheerfully

by AJ Pearce

  Sheila nodded shyly, and Enid didn’t seem to mind as she was now whispering, ‘Bunty Bunty,’ with Ruby and jumping up and down at the same time.

  I took off my hat and shooed the women out of the kitchen, hoping Anne didn’t mind me making myself so at home.

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ I said once again as Anne and Irene said goodbye to the children and made their way to their coats, which were hanging up in the hall. Irene wrapped a flowery scarf around her neck, but then hesitated again.

  ‘Good luck,’ I said firmly. ‘We’ll see you later.’

  I gave a small wave as the two women left, and once the front door was shut, let my smile drop.

  Irene Barker: two daughters, a missing husband and now without a job, and I was sure, with no reference.

  It just wasn’t fair. Something had to be done.

  *

  With their mums off to the Labour Exchange, I quickly announced buns all round in case anyone felt wobbly lipped about being left behind. The children, though, were good as gold. Ruby and Tony were happy with us, and Enid was keen to be best friends with Ruby, so they were no trouble at all. Sheila was quieter but joined in with the buns, and a shambolic version of Hide and Seek. The younger girls were happily awful at it, which was just as well as Bunty and I hadn’t a clue where anything was.

  I couldn’t help but notice that Sheila watched over Enid rather than enjoying things for herself, and when to the amazement of the other children Bunty revealed her ability to make chains of little animals out of sheets of newspaper, I asked Sheila if she would like to make a cardboard dress-up dolly with me instead.

  Baby Tony was happy to sit at Bunty’s feet and rip up the rest of the news, so Sheila and I retreated to the front room with an empty packet of Corn Flakes and some scissors. As we sat together on the sofa and thumbed through some magazines for ideas about clothes for the doll, Sheila became chattier.

  ‘Can we do frocks, Miss Lake?’ she said. ‘I’ve been learning to sew on Mum’s machine and I’m making a skirt on my own. Mum watches but I haven’t gone wrong,’ she added proudly.

  ‘Gosh, you’re very clever,’ I said. ‘Well done you. Shall we make a paper version of it so that you match?’

  Sheila was keen on the idea and began to tell me about all the clothes she planned to make one day when she was older and you didn’t need coupons.

  ‘I want to be a dressmaker when I grow up,’ she said, shyly.

  ‘What a great idea,’ I said. ‘You’ll be so good at it.’

  Sheila looked pleased, but then her face clouded over. ‘Mummy’s got to find a new job,’ she said. ‘Will she get one?’

  ‘I’m sure she will,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how long it will take to find one she likes, but I bet she’ll get something just right.’

  Sheila sat for a moment looking down at the magazine. Finally, she spoke, but didn’t look up. ‘Miss Lake?’ she said. ‘Was it my fault?’

  ‘About what, love?’ I asked.

  ‘Mum getting the sack. Was it because I couldn’t make Enid sit still? She did try, but she’s only young.’

  I put on what I hoped was a kind and encouraging smile, but my heart could have wept.

  ‘Oh, Sheila, of course not,’ I said, gently. ‘Nothing is your fault. You’ve been such a good girl and the very best big sister to Enid. Mrs Oliver told me you look after her ever so well.’

  ‘Mum said that,’ said Sheila. ‘But then she kept crying.’

  I put down the card I was holding and moved to sit closer to her. It was one of the saddest conversations I had ever had.

  ‘Shall I tell you a secret?’ I said. ‘Sometimes grown-ups cry. I do sometimes, if I’m a bit tired – and I’m twenty-three so absolutely ancient.’

  ‘Do you really?’ said Sheila, now looking up.

  ‘I do,’ I nodded. ‘And afterwards I feel a bit better about things. That’s why people talk about having A Good Cry. Does that make me sound a bit silly?’

  Sheila shook her head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘And do you know, I even feel better now I’ve told you. The main thing is, you mustn’t worry if you hear a grown-up having a cry. And never feel you have to fix things, because you don’t. That’s our job. The grown-ups.’

  ‘So it isn’t my fault?’ Sheila looked at me hopefully.

  ‘No, my lovely,’ I said, smoothing back a strand of her hair that had fallen across her eyes. Then I put my hand over my heart. ‘Sheila, I promise that absolutely none of this is your fault.’

  I didn’t know how far Sheila believed me, but it was the easiest thing I had ever sworn to. I thought of Mrs Mahoney saying that I couldn’t change the world overnight. All Irene was trying to do was keep Sheila and Enid’s world going. I wondered how many thousands of other mothers were doing the same thing across Britain.

  Woman’s Friend might have been doing our bit on the recruitment front, but we had to do so much more to offer these women support. There had to be more that “Yours Cheerfully” could do.

  As Sheila began to cut out pictures again, I made a promise to her that we would.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Comrade Baby Tony

  WHEN ANNE AND Irene returned from the Labour Exchange they had very little good news. As expected, it didn’t matter how much workers were needed, a woman who had just lost her job for bringing children into a factory was not at the top of the list. The Female Vacancies Supervisor had asked Irene how she planned to look after her children if she did get a new job. It was a fair question she could not answer.

  Irene was doing her best to put on a brave face, especially for Sheila, so Anne suggested that they all stay for the rest of the day. The children were having a lovely time and it would be a shame to break up the party. While Bunty ordered Irene to put her feet up, Anne and I headed off to Chandlers for what now felt an inappropriately cheery concert.

  I was beginning to feel like an old hand as we arrived at the canteen and I was met by Mr Adams, a tall, talkative and not unpleasant Public Relations Manager. He stuck to me like glue and kept up an impressive running commentary about how wonderful everything was.

  The ENSA concert had drawn a packed crowd, and as we watched a knock-about routine by a hardworking comic with very clicky false teeth, Mr Adams nudged me with his elbow and pointed out how much everyone was enjoying themselves.

  ‘We’re going all out to get Tommy Trinder next,’ said Mr Adams. ‘Only the best for the Chandlers staff.’

  His commitment to the factory’s propaganda effort was impressive but exhausting. I feigned a need for the lavatory to escape the enthusiastic prods and was just using the famous mirrors when Anne’s friend Betty sidled up.

  ‘Anne says to ask if you don’t mind staying up late tonight?’ she said in a whisper as if Mr Adams had infiltrated the ladies’ conveniences. ‘She said you want to help do something about Irene, so we thought we’d come round. It’ll be really late as our shift ends at ten.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  ‘But don’t bring your new boyfriend,’ added Betty.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Tragically, he only has eyes for his work,’ I said. ‘And he’s probably waiting outside as we speak.’

  I wasn’t wrong about that.

  Twelve hours later, with Baby Tony safely tucked up in his cot, and all three girls somehow top and tailing in Ruby’s small bed, Anne arrived home with Betty, Violet and Maeve. I stood back, waiting to introduce Bunty as they met Irene with an outpouring of sympathy and angry exclamations of how badly she had been treated.

  As Irene put on one of the bravest fronts I’d ever seen, I felt uncomfortable. Betty, Maeve and Vi still didn’t know that Irene’s husband was missing. Anne had said she probably shouldn’t have told me, and I knew I shouldn’t have told Bunts. It was easy to see how something confidential could suddenly become anything but.

  It certainly was late, and they all looked tired after an eight-hour shift. I’d written two
articles and drafted some replies for “Yours Cheerfully”, but had spent the evening playing with the children.

  With everyone now crammed into the front room, where they were tucking into savoury sandwiches, Betty was giving us her own news from Chandlers.

  ‘What exactly do they want you to do?’ asked Maeve as Betty declined a square of dark chocolate.

  ‘Well, this afternoon, Mr Rice told me that Mr Adams wants Chandlers to do a recruitment parade. I’ve been asked if I want to take part.’

  ‘A what parade?’ asked Maeve.

  ‘Like on the newsreels?’ said Anne. ‘We saw one the other day when I took Ruby to see Dumbo. There was this big procession in Birmingham with women sitting on the back of lorries pretending to work on bits of Spitfires, with big signs saying things like, “Help Us Help Our Boys”.’

  ‘That’s almost word for word what he said,’ nodded Betty. ‘Apart from the part about Dumbo, which must have been where he got the idea. I told them it would be a good start if they didn’t go around getting rid of the workers they already had.’ She looked at Irene. ‘I’m sorry, Irene. We came round to talk about you, not go on about me.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Irene. ‘It’s given me a boost just being here. And I’m interested in what they’ve come up with. Honestly, Betty, go on.’

  Maeve licked a bit of potted meat off her finger. ‘But why did they ask you? And are you going to do it?’

  ‘I don’t know why they picked me,’ said Betty. ‘Diane Philpott was asked. And Marjorie and Jane Watson.’

  Anne, Violet and Maeve looked at one another.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  Maeve pushed her spectacles up on the bridge of her nose. ‘They’re all young and really pretty,’ she said. ‘Even Betty.’

  Betty said, ‘Oi,’ at her, but looked quite pleased.

  ‘They’ll look lovely on a carnival float,’ said Anne. ‘You should have seen the girls in the newsreel.’

  ‘That’s guff,’ said Betty. ‘They could have picked any of us.’

  ‘Not me,’ said Maeve, cheerfully. ‘I’m a right old four-eyes.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ said Vi, loyally. ‘And you could always take your specs off once you were on the lorry. I’d get dizzy and fall off.’

  ‘Rot!’ said Anne and Betty at the same time, and the friends began to defend each other. It was exactly the sort of argument I would have with Bunty or Thelma and the girls at the fire station, with everyone refusing to let the other do themselves down.

  Finally, and when they had convinced each other they should all have been asked to take part, I turned to Betty. ‘Have you decided if you’ll do it?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Betty, sighing. ‘Everyone knows we need more workers. And I’ll look awful and unpatriotic if I don’t. It’s just . . .’ She puffed out her cheeks and looked unimpressed.

  ‘They’ve just sacked our friend,’ said Anne.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Betty. ‘Irene’s looking for work and I’ll be lording it around in a parade.’

  No one said anything. I could hear it raining outside.

  Finally, Irene spoke. ‘You mustn’t feel bad, Betty,’ she said. ‘We know they need the workers.’

  It was the most generous thing she could have said.

  ‘Well, they’d better give us all signs saying, “But not if you’ve got children,” then,’ said Betty, hotly. ‘It sticks in my craw.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Maeve. ‘We’re always expected to work harder or faster when they need us to, and do weekends as a matter of course, but they don’t give a fig about the fact we still have to run homes, look after children and all the rest. I notice they haven’t asked any of the women with kids to do the parade. No offence, Bet.’

  ‘None taken,’ said Betty. ‘You can’t go anywhere without being reminded the Government needs everyone to pitch in, and then look what’s happened to poor old Irene. I’m not going to just smile and wave and become a walking advert for factory work without telling the truth.’

  I winced. I knew Betty hadn’t aimed her comments at me, but they stung.

  While I had sympathised with the women workers, and worried about the articles I had written, I had still got on with it. Betty, on the other hand, had the courage of her convictions and wasn’t afraid to make her point known.

  I thought of the photographs we had run of them smiling at their machines. ‘After only four weeks, Betty is an old hand at the lathe! Nineteen-year-old Violet says, “I’m doing this for my husband and the boys.” ’

  If that wasn’t turning them into adverts, what was?

  I wondered if other women felt the same way as Betty? Did readers see articles like mine and think, She Doesn’t Know The Half of It?

  The others continued to talk as I stared at the fire, thinking furiously. I had been so thrilled to be there when the Ministry of Information asked us to help with a crucial campaign, and I still felt proud to be part of that. But where were the calls for women to get better facilities so that they could do what was asked? The women sitting with me weren’t asking for special favours. They all wanted or needed to work.

  How long would it be before the next person got into the same fix as Irene? Would it be Maeve or Anne or one of the other women on their shifts?

  I thought of my own job. Everyone was doing their best to make the magazine helpful, entertaining, and even inspiring. Despite all our hard work, currently it didn’t feel as if we really were ‘Woman’s Friend’.

  Betty saw the thoughtful look on my face.

  ‘Oh crikey, I’m sorry, Emmy,’ she said. ‘That came out wrong. I don’t mean the magazine. I loved having my picture in Woman’s Friend. My mum’s cut it out and put it in a frame, she’s that proud.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Betty,’ I said. ‘You’re right. I bowled in here, asking you all to put on a good front and be part of a campaign, but I haven’t been any help in return.’

  ‘You tried to speak with Mr Terry,’ said Anne.

  ‘I just made him cross,’ I said. ‘And anyway, one of you would have found a way to him in the end. Is there anything I can do to properly help?’

  ‘That’s very kind, Emmy, but I can’t see how,’ said Anne. She sounded exhausted. ‘What we really want is for them to give Irene her job back.’

  Irene gave her a brave smile. ‘There’s no point if I can’t find someone to look after the girls. That’s where I need the help.’

  ‘We can all keep asking round,’ said Vi. ‘See if anyone who can’t do factory work could help?’

  ‘That’s what the woman at the Employment Exchange said,’ replied Anne. ‘She said they wanted older women to step up.’

  I listened closely. I’d read a Ministry press release saying exactly the same thing.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Maeve. ‘But are they going to take them in at five in the morning, or have them until this time of the night?’

  ‘One of our neighbours already complains that I wake them up when I leave for work,’ said Anne. She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Not everyone wants a job looking after babies.’

  ‘Have you asked Mr Rice about any of this?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I did ask him about getting a nursery,’ said Irene. ‘But he said there weren’t any plans. And I asked about sharing shifts, not that that’s ideal, money-wise. But he said not to fix what wasn’t broken.’

  ‘I asked my National Service Officer, just to see what she thought,’ said Betty. ‘She said things were being done as fast as they could, and people would just have to wait.’

  ‘Mr Terry isn’t bothered about families,’ said Anne. ‘I expect they’re all used to having men working there who can leave everything to their wives.’

  ‘Surely,’ I said, concerned at the emptiness in her voice, ‘as Chandlers is an official Government supplier, there’s a strong case for getting a proper nursery set up.’

  ‘But if Mr Terry doesn’t think so,’ began Maeve.

/>   ‘Sucks to Mr Terry,’ I said, rudely. ‘Let’s find a way to do it without him. You aren’t alone in wanting help. There was an article in Picture Post last month about needing more Government Nurseries. I’ll try to find it when I get home. Irene, could you ask the Female Vacancies Supervisor if she knows who to speak to in your Local Authority?’

  Irene nodded, but I noticed she was beginning to look overwhelmed. The strain she was under must have been unbearable.

  ‘Well, I’ll happily write to anyone if it will help,’ said Anne. ‘Hold on, I can hear crying. Is that Enid?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Irene. ‘She’s probably woken up and doesn’t remember where she is.’

  ‘We could ask around at work,’ said Violet, as Irene hurried out of the room. ‘To see who else might be interested in getting a nursery. I heard that Evelyn Bryant in the assembly shop has resigned. She said when she heard about Irene, she decided she’d rather jump than be pushed. The more of us involved, the better.’

  Betty sat up straighter. ‘I might write to our MP,’ she said. ‘He’s about a hundred and ten, but you never know. At least I’d feel as if I was doing something.’

  ‘I can do that too,’ said Violet.

  ‘I’ll ask around at work to see if anyone knows people in the Labour or Health Ministries,’ said Bunty. ‘You never know. Emmy, can you get Mr Collins to ask some of the bigwigs he speaks to?’

  It was easy to say yes to that as I felt sure he would be happy to help, and I was keen for him to know about tonight’s meeting so that I was keeping everything above board. I wasn’t trying to start a revolution, but I wanted him to know what I was doing.

  As I looked around the room, I saw that the mood had changed. With us all together and everyone chipping in ideas, it was as if we were a team. I felt my spirits rise, even when Maeve brought up a reluctant point of practicality.

  ‘I hate to be a damp squib,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘but how is this going to help Irene? She’s still unemployed with no wages. I suppose she can’t even tell her husband. He’s at sea, isn’t he?’