by AJ Pearce
I held my breath, but Anne didn’t turn a hair. ‘He is,’ she said, firmly. ‘And that makes it even harder for her. The main thing is we show her she isn’t on her own. Emmy said Sheila thinks it’s her fault Irene got the sack.’
‘Oh, that’s awful,’ said Betty.
‘Poor love,’ said Maeve.
‘We’ll all pitch in,’ said Violet, hotly. ‘See if anyone knows of work. Ask around if there’s anything part-time.’
‘You’ll be lucky,’ said Maeve. ‘Thank goodness she’s got his pay.’
Anne gave a tighter smile to that. ‘So, you’re going to tell them no, about the parade, then, Betty?’ she said, changing the subject abruptly.
‘I don’t want to do it,’ said Betty. ‘But I don’t want to be unpatriotic either. They’re doing it in January as they want it to be a New Year thing.’
‘You could always hold that sign,’ said Maeve. ‘Ask them for one that says, “Help us help our boys” and get out your lipstick and write, “And help my friends get a blooming factory nursery, too,” on the back!’
It raised a laugh.
Maeve looked at the small silver clock on the mantelpiece.
‘I really should go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my niece with the children and she’ll think I’ve skipped the country if I don’t get back soon.’
But I had one more idea.
‘You could always have your own parade,’ I said.
They all looked at me.
‘If you had some sort of march, you could write your own “Help Us Help Our Boys” signs. Then Betty wouldn’t have to waste her best lipstick.’
I tried to sound jokey in case the others thought I was going too far. But they didn’t. Maeve sat back down.
‘Are you serious?’ said Anne.
‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ said Betty.
‘Is it legal?’ said Violet. ‘I don’t want to get arrested.’
‘I think so,’ I said.
‘Definitely,’ said Bunty. ‘As long as it’s not un-patriotic, which it wouldn’t be because you’re actually saying you want to do more. People are still allowed to say what they think. Em and I went to a rally in Trafalgar Square about equal injury compensation for women. Dr Summerskill, the MP, did a speech. It was ever so good.’ Bunty smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Anne, you haven’t left the children with A Radical.’
‘Although Ruby now calls Baby Tony, “Comrade”,’ I grinned.
‘Shush, you two,’ said Anne. She was perched on a kitchen stool and while she still looked awfully tired, now her eyes were bright as a button. ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea. We’ll try all the other ideas as well, but if we did a parade, we might get more people on our side. We could walk around the marketplace. What do you think?’
‘I think we’d all get the sack,’ said Maeve.
‘No, we won’t,’ said Betty, up for a challenge. ‘We’ll be ever so nice and not angry or anything. It’ll just be a group of women on a walk.’
‘You’d need to make sure that people see you’re trying to help, not be un-patriotic. That’s really important,’ I added, feeling responsible for the idea. ‘It needs to be clear that you are doing this for the right reasons.’
‘Can we ask other friends to come too?’ said Maeve. ‘My cousin has a baby and she’s finding it hard. She’s at a different factory though.’
‘The more the merrier, I reckon,’ said Betty.
‘Mr Terry or Mr Rice might see us,’ said Violet, not yet convinced. ‘We’d get in trouble.’
‘Not if we’re nice about it,’ said Anne. ‘And anyway, Emmy will get us into the papers saying we just want to work to help the war effort. It would make Mr Terry look awful. You could do that, couldn’t you, Emmy?’
Anne’s faith in me was lovely, if over-confident, but the last thing I wanted to do was to dampen the enthusiasm.
‘I’ll give it a good go,’ I said. ‘No one knows who I am, but I’ll try to get an article printed somewhere.’
The women all looked at me with interest. I wasn’t being modest. I really didn’t know if I would be able to. Certainly not in Woman’s Friend. But I could try one of the more political magazines, where they encouraged discussions like this.
‘Would you do that?’ asked Anne. ‘You wouldn’t get into trouble at work?’
‘Of course I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘I need to make sure my boss knows, but I think he’ll understand. He might even know who I could send it to.’
‘If you’re willing to do that for us,’ said Anne, lifting her chin up, ‘then if you need to put real people in it, you can use my full name.’
‘And mine,’ said Betty.
Violet and Maeve looked at each other, then nodded and agreed. It was a brave move.
No one had looked at Irene since she came back from checking on Enid. She had enough on her plate. But Irene thought differently. ‘Can I come?’ she said, quietly. ‘Even though I’m not at Chandlers now, I’d like to join in. I’d like to try to make people listen.’
Anne reached over and took her hand. ‘You don’t need to ask, Rene,’ she said, gently. ‘You do whatever you want to do. Whatever is best for you.’
Irene smiled. ‘I’ll come,’ she said.
‘Thank you, everyone,’ I said. ‘Now, the last thing I want is to get any of you into trouble, so perhaps before definitely having a parade, you should try Mr Terry one more time. Just to make sure he can’t be convinced.’
‘We could write him a letter,’ said Anne. ‘Put down all the arguments. We could copy in the Labour Exchange and the Council too, so they see we’re trying to do things properly.’
The others nodded in agreement.
‘Hang on,’ said Maeve. ‘We should be making notes on all this.’ She reached into her handbag and brought out a pencil and shopping list pad. ‘I was a flipping good secretary before I got married.’
‘Just one thing,’ said Anne. ‘Are you sure you’re all happy to make this about the children? There are lots of other things we could be asking about. Betty, you wanted to join the union. And then there was the point about us not getting paid as much as the men. And not all of you need nurseries.’
Maeve spoke first.
‘In my view,’ she said, ‘we can’t fight for everything at once. We’ve seen what happened to Irene and it could be you or me next.’
Anne went pale. ‘Oh, Maeve, don’t,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Maeve. ‘I’m sure it won’t be, but if we get somewhere on this, it would be a big step forward.’
‘I agree,’ said Violet. ‘It could be any of us. If my Cyril ever gets leave, I could be in the queue next.’
‘Show-off,’ said Maeve.
‘Get you, Mae West,’ said Betty, laughing.
Violet went red.
‘We know what you meant, Vi,’ said Anne. ‘And you’re absolutely right. If we could do this it will make life easier for lots of us.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘Now then, shall we call it a night? Comrade Tony will wake up in about four hours and I really must get some sleep.’
The others readily agreed, but it was a different group of friends who parted now. With Maeve’s shorthand notes in her knitted bag, it felt as if there was a plan of attack. As the girls put on their coats, turning up collars and wrapping brightly coloured scarves around their necks, Betty started whistling a socialist song and had to be told to stop before Anne opened the door because of the neighbours.
After whispered Goodbyes, Anne and Irene began gently arguing over who should sleep on the sofa as it was now far too late to go home. When Irene went to check on the children, and Anne showed Bunty and me to her mum’s room which we were going to share, she thanked us for the hundredth time.
‘Honestly, we haven’t done anything,’ I said. ‘I just feel horrible for Irene. I didn’t want to say it in front of the others, but Sheila rather shook me today.’
‘There but for the grace of God,’ said Anne, seriously. She shuddered.
&n
bsp; ‘If you’re ever in a fix, please do say,’ said Bunty. ‘I don’t want to be too forward, but if Irene gets into problems, there’s space with us at my granny’s house. Any of you can always come and stay. I know that doesn’t solve anything,’ she added, looking self-conscious. ‘And you might not want to bring children into town.’
Bunty hated sounding like she was trying to be grand or showy, but I knew it was from the heart. The big old house was half-empty.
‘Thank you,’ said Anne. ‘That’s the kindest thing ever. But we’ll be all right. You mustn’t worry about us. Everything is going to be fine.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Just Go Without Me
WITH BUNTY STAYING on to babysit for one more day, I raced back to London on the first available train the next morning and headed straight to work, nearly crashing into Clarence as I ran up the stairs to the Woman’s Friend offices.
‘Sorry, Clarence,’ I yelled, as I swerved past him, unbuttoning my coat as I went. ‘All well?’
‘A full post-bag today, Miss Lake,’ he called back. ‘“Yours Cheerfully” is getting popular.’
I thanked him and rushed on. Mr Collins was very understanding about the hours I worked and about me fitting things in around volunteering at the fire station, but I didn’t want to muck him about. Strolling in two and a half hours late after a night at a friend’s was rather pushing it.
‘Morning, Kath,’ I said as I finally arrived. Clarence had not exaggerated as Kath was half hidden behind a huge pile of letters stacked up on her desk.
‘Morning, Emmy,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d sort these as Mrs M has taken Hester to the printers. How was your trip?’
‘Very good, thanks,’ I said. I hung up my coat and hat and gas mask, and pulled a chair over to her desk so that I could give her a hand.
‘Is Mr Collins in?’ I asked. ‘I’ll take his post into him if you like. I need to see him about the factory.’
‘I think he’s about to go out,’ said Kath. ‘So I’ll get a move on. Those are his so far.’ She pointed to a small pile of letters that looked more official than most of the others. They were next to the biggest heap. ‘Those are for “Yours Cheerfully”, and this pile is for you.’
I took the letters with interest. Since starting to write the “Woman’s Friend at Work” articles, I had begun to receive letters asking for careers advice, and more often from readers writing to say they had put in to do munitions work or had just started their training. I always replied with whatever information I could find, or sent a letter wishing them the very best of luck with their new job. It was still new to me to receive letters by name and one of my favourite parts of the job.
‘I’d better tackle the problems first,’ I said. ‘They’re becoming a small mountain.’
Kath continued the sorting, and I began to open the letters to “Yours Cheerfully”, now organising them by subject. It was a far cry from when she and I had first worked together, when a tiny trickle of letters had been very much the norm.
‘Goodness, another one about marrying a cousin,’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t want to marry any of mine,’ said Kath, without malice.
‘Hmm. My father tells his patients it isn’t exactly ideal.’
I carried on, making a new pile from women whose husbands were having affairs. It was one of the topics we had the most letters about. Some of them were horribly sad and we could easily have put a letter in every issue on the same subject. I frowned as I read one from a lady in Lincolnshire who was being badly bullied by her husband. She hadn’t given an address as she couldn’t risk us writing to her. I put the letter into a file marked URGENT and made a note to recommend to Mrs Mahoney that we put it into the very next issue. It didn’t feel nearly enough, but it was the only thing we could do.
The next letter was more unusual, from a lady who had told her fiancé she didn’t want to give up work once they were married.
I wondered what Kath would think and began to read it out loud.
Dear Yours Cheerfully,
I am twenty-eight and engaged. However, my fiancé is unhappy that I want to continue with my work after we marry. He has said I may until the war is over and then I must stop.
He is a good man and I do love him very much, but I also love my job (I work in analytical chemistry) and don’t see why I should give it up. He is a travelling salesman and truth be told, I earn more than him and mine is the steadier job.
Do you think I am marrying the right man?
Yours
Frances Gage (Miss)
‘I’m not sure that she is,’ I said.
‘Perhaps he’ll come round,’ said Kath. ‘I don’t even know what Analytical Chemistry is, do you?’
‘No idea. But can you imagine how hard that must be to get into?’ I shook my head at the thought. Science had not been my best subject at school. ‘You could do it though, Kath. You’re tons cleverer than me.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Kath. ‘I say, is that the Affairs Pile? It seems to get bigger every week.’
I nodded. ‘It’s not just the men. We’re getting them from women who have got themselves involved with someone else too.’
‘Does it ever make you feel down?’ asked Kath. ‘Now that we get lots of letters? There are so many people having such a horrible time.’
I put down the letter opener. It was a good question. ‘Mrs Mahoney says you have to try to keep a distance or it will catch up on you,’ I said. ‘But some of them are horrible.’ I thought of the letter I had just read. ‘Sometimes I just want to hare round to their house and stick up for them.’
‘You’re doing your best,’ said Kath, a bit glumly. She twisted one of her curls around her finger.
‘Mrs Mahoney says that too. She says we have to try not to worry, because if we do, we’ll end up as miserable as the people we’re trying to help. It’s not all bad,’ I said, as Kath still looked rather down. ‘Some of them are quite fun. This reader wants to know if you can become a vegetarian if you don’t like vegetables.’
‘Why does she want to do that?’ asked Kath.
‘She doesn’t say. But my Aunt Pat tried it once. She came for lunch and refused to eat anything. Then Father asked about her fur stole, and she said it had already been murdered by the time she liberated it from the shop.’
‘Did she stick to it?’ asked Kath.
‘No. She had a beef Wellington the next week and admitted defeat. The next time we saw her she’d nearly been arrested for punching a Blackshirt in the face.’
‘Good for her,’ said Kathleen.
‘I know. We all said she should be given some sort of award. She was a rotten vegetarian but spot on when it comes to walloping Nazis.’
‘Your family’s quite um, exciting isn’t it?’ said Kath.
‘I hope you still say that after the wedding,’ I replied, laughing. ‘Do you think that’s all for Mr Collins? I’ll go in before he disappears.’
Kath handed me his post and I took it to his office, knocking softly, in case he was in the middle of writing a story.
‘Come in. Emmy, hello. Hold on, let me just get this down. Have a seat.’
He went back to writing rather wildly as I sat down on the chair opposite his desk. As ever, his room was a rubbish tip of disorder, with books and magazines stacked into haphazard piles. His Anglepoise lamp had its head bent right down as if it was about to snatch a piece of paper off the desk and eat it. The shelves on the walls were overloaded, as were the three in-trays which all of us tried to keep under control for him. No one was ever allowed to move anything.
For anyone who didn’t know Mr Collins, it was the room of an intellectual or an eccentric, the sort of person who worked all night, slept all day and had only the slightest grasp on reality. But I had learnt that he was nothing like this. Creative of course, and a little unpredictable at times, but behind the office wilderness, Mr Collins missed little and cared far more than he let on.
Finally, he came to the
end of his notes, looked at the paper with contempt and muttered, ‘Awful.’ Then he put it to one side and looked up. ‘Terrible piece of writing,’ he said. ‘I should retire immediately. Hello. How can I help?’
‘Just your post,’ I said. ‘And I wanted to update you about the factory.’
He looked at me vaguely.
‘But it can wait, if you’d rather?’
‘No, no, go ahead. Apologies. My head is elsewhere.’
I began to tell him about the previous day, saying that I’d written the next article, and then giving brief details about Irene and the concerns of Anne and her friends.
‘So I just wondered if I could ask someone at next week’s Ministry meeting if they have any contacts I could approach in the Labour or Health Ministries?’ I said. ‘To see if factory workers might petition them directly. I’d really like to help the women. I thought I might even do an article about them and try to get it placed somewhere?’
Mr Collins didn’t reply and seemed to just look through me. I wondered if he had been listening.
‘Would that be appropriate?’ I prompted.
‘Sorry. You just want to ask for a contact?’
‘From the Ministry, yes. And you can always stamp on my foot or something if I say the wrong thing.’ I waited for a droll reply, but it didn’t come.
‘Oh God, the meeting,’ he groaned. ‘When is it?’
‘Monday. Mr Collins, do you mind me asking, are you all right?’
He didn’t appear all right in the least. Usually, he was sharp as a knife.
‘I’m fine. Thank you. Yes. Ask your question. It sounds very appropriate, so, er, well done. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’
‘What?’
‘I’m taking a few days off.’
Mr Collins never took time off.
‘An old army friend isn’t doing too well, I’m afraid. A couple of us are trying to rally round.’
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I said, assuming it must be the same person he had been to see a few weeks ago. ‘I hope they’ll get better soon.’
‘Unfortunately, I think probably not. Here we are doing our bit to win this war, when too many people are still fighting the last.’ He looked contemptuous. ‘It never just ends when they say it does.’