Christmas with the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘You’re not jumping the gun a bit? At least wait until the New Year. That’s only a fortnight away. Give yourself more time to get back on your feet properly?’

  ‘Nah,’ Tommy said. ‘After I speak to him and he sanctions my return, it’ll take a good few weeks to organise getting me back over there. By that time, I’ll be as fit as a fiddle.’

  The Major looked at Tommy and pulled a cigar out of his top pocket.

  He took his time lighting it.

  Commander Bridgman was not known for his procrastination.

  He’d wager he’d have Tommy back as quick as a flash.

  Certainly quicker than Tommy anticipated.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Wednesday 16 December

  The first part of the women’s plan was put into action shortly after seven o’clock on Wednesday morning.

  Gloria had dropped Hope off a little earlier to ensure she and Polly left for work together.

  ‘How are you feeling today?’

  Polly and Gloria were standing shivering on the ferry as it see-sawed its way across the Wear. Today the waters looked a murky green. The skies above a mud-grey.

  ‘Awful,’ Polly admitted. ‘Just awful.’

  ‘Still angry?’

  Polly nodded.

  ‘Angry and all muddled up,’ Polly said, her face reflecting the veracity of her words.

  ‘Muddled in what way?’

  They both grabbed the railing as the paddle steamer hit wash.

  ‘I just don’t understand how I can love Tommy so much.’ Polly paused. ‘And yet feel so angry towards him.’ She looked at Gloria, unsure whether to be completely candid.

  Seeing her uncertainty, Gloria encouraged her. ‘Go on,’ she said, her voice gentle.

  ‘I know what everyone’s saying.’ Polly looked at Gloria for her reaction.

  Seeing that her face was neutral, she continued.

  ‘You all think that I should be proud of him. That he’s doing what he’s doing for his country.’

  Again, she looked at Gloria.

  ‘Carry on.’ Gloria gave Polly’s arm a gentle squeeze.

  ‘I understand that all up here.’ Polly tapped her head with a gloved hand. ‘But that doesn’t stop me feeling so angry.’

  She let out a short gasp of frustration.

  ‘It’s the opposite of what people say. “Don’t let the head rule the heart.” But there’s a big part of me that wants my head to rule my heart. For my head to tell my heart that I should love Tommy regardless. That I should cast aside this awful anger and deep resentment.’ Polly took in a scoop of sea air. The seagulls squawked as they soared above.

  ‘But my heart’s not listening. It’s like it’s gone stone deaf.’

  Gloria put her arm around Polly’s shoulder and gave her a hug.

  ‘You mightn’t be able to let go of the anger at the moment,’ Gloria said. ‘But you will. It’ll burn itself out. I promise you.’

  Polly looked at Gloria and knew she was speaking from experience.

  As they made their way off the ferry, Gloria decided to simply take the bull by the horns.

  ‘We’re all going to the Admiral on Thursday night. And yer coming. I’m not taking no for an answer.’

  She gave Polly a gentle nudge.

  Polly’s face was sad, but she attempted a smile.

  ‘Looks like I don’t have a choice.’

  At lunchtime, Gloria chinked the side of her teacup with a stainless-steel teaspoon as though she was about to make a toast.

  The women fell silent and looked at Gloria, who was sitting at the top of the table.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to know that Polly is accompanying us to the Admiral tomorrow after work.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Dorothy declared.

  Everyone else voiced their enthusiasm.

  Polly forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was a smile, nevertheless.

  Gloria looked down the table at everyone as they started chattering away to each other.

  The ice had been broken.

  If their plan didn’t come to fruition, then this, at least, would be the runners-up prize.

  After finishing her lunch, Rosie told her squad she needed to chat to Ralph and his team about a ship that might need bringing into the dry basin for some welding work to be done on her hull.

  Gloria herded everyone back to the ways. Brutus was just about ready to take centre stage. She just needed a bit of a manicure before her big day.

  When Rosie returned twenty minutes later, she gave Gloria a nod.

  The second part of their plan had been put into action.

  At the end of the shift, Rosie timed it so that she caught Bel and Marie-Anne coming out of the admin block.

  ‘Did you get the thumbs up?’ Bel asked as the three of them were jostled about in the usual end-of-shift bottleneck at the main gates.

  Rosie nodded. Ralph and his team had been in a particularly good mood as they’d just caught a news bulletin on their little wireless announcing that the Russians had beaten back the Italian Eighth Army along the Don River, north-west of Stalingrad. Rosie crossed her fingers that the Red Army would stay strong. They all knew so much hung on the outcome of the war on the Eastern Front.

  When Bel got home, she told Arthur that Ralph had asked if Tommy would meet him and the rest of his team for a drink in the Admiral after work tomorrow. They wanted to buy him a pint before he left, as well as to ‘wet the baby’s head’ – yard-speak for christening Brutus in anticipation of her launch the following day. If Arthur suspected something was afoot, he didn’t let on, but dutifully walked round to John Street and relayed the invitation.

  Bel kept herself busy until Arthur’s return. She tried to act nonchalant when Arthur told her that Tommy was chuffed he’d been asked and to tell Ralph he would see them all there. Arthur had thought Tommy’s keenness to be within spitting distance of Thompson’s at the end of the day shift might have more to do with catching a glimpse of Polly, or better still, bumping into her.

  It was now the fourth day since the falling-out. Arthur had hoped that Polly’s ire might have cooled down, but it would seem not. Whenever she was about, you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Not that she’d been about much. She’d come in late, force down whatever food her ma put in front of her, then go to her room, shut the door and not come out until the next morning.

  Whether or not she was sleeping was a different matter.

  The dark circles under her eyes suggested not.

  When Polly walked into the Maison Nouvelle, she was surprised to see Helen there.

  She had a clothes bag over her arm and was saying her thanks and farewell to Kate.

  Helen looked at Polly and then at her wedding dress, on show in the middle of the shop.

  It was quite simply beautiful.

  ‘If it was me,’ said Helen, ‘I’d get married just so I could wear that dress.’

  Polly looked at Helen and had to let out a short burst of laughter. She believed her.

  ‘Are you coming for a drink tomorrow night at the Admiral? After work?’ Polly asked.

  Helen shook her head.

  ‘I’ve got too much to do before the launch.’

  Polly caught the excitement in Helen’s voice and guessed that whatever was in the canvas clothes bag was her outfit for her long-awaited date with Brutus.

  Helen’s love, Polly realised, was her job.

  ‘You enjoy, though,’ Helen said, heading out the door. ‘I’ve got Harold to put some money behind the bar as a way of saying thank you for everyone’s hard work.’

  After Helen left, Kate made them both a cup of tea out the back.

  When Polly apologised to Kate for wasting her time, Kate dismissed her words with the wave of a delicate hand. Polly offered to pay for all the work that had gone into the dress, but Kate told her not to worry – the dress would be sold.

  ‘I’ve already had interest,’ she told Polly as they both supped their tea.r />
  Leaving the shop, Polly couldn’t help but turn to take a final look at her wedding dress.

  It hurt.

  But what pained her the most was that the hurt was, in part, self-inflicted.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Thursday 17 December

  On Thursday morning Rosie nipped up to the admin offices on some bogus errand and spoke briefly to an excited-looking Bel.

  Returning to her squad, who were scattered about Brutus’s deck, welding areas that had been marked out with large white chalk crosses, Rosie went to see Gloria, and then Dorothy and Angie, and finally Martha. Pretending to check their workmanship, she gave each of her squad a thumbs up. Their faces could not be seen due to their metal masks, but their eyes, visible behind their protective tinted glass, showed their glee.

  Polly was totally unaware of what was happening around her, so determined was she to lose herself in her world of spitting and glittering metal.

  During the lunch break, Dorothy had to work hard to keep her excitement under wraps, although they were able to pass off the buzz of anticipation as their joy at having finished Brutus ahead of schedule.

  At the end of the shift, they all packed up quickly and headed to the Admiral, determined to get a table. They did not want Polly and Tommy’s reconciliation to be conducted whilst squashed up at the bar.

  Dorothy and Angie made a point of dragging Polly off to the toilets to get her to give her face a quick wash.

  ‘This is meant to be a night out,’ Dorothy cajoled.

  ‘Even if we’re still in our dirty overalls – ’ Angie chipped in.

  ‘It doesn’t mean our faces have to look grubby as well,’ Dorothy finished off.

  Polly, however, drew the line at wearing lipstick.

  When Ralph and his diving squad came in, Rosie waved over to them and Bel smiled at them as they got a table near the women welders.

  ‘So, a toast to Brutus,’ Martha said, raising her half-pint of shandy.

  ‘To Brutus!’ the women all chimed in as they chinked glasses.

  ‘May she stay strong ’n help us beat bloody Jerry,’ Angie said.

  ‘Hear! Hear!’ Dorothy said, her eyes darting to the pub’s entrance.

  ‘And comes back in one piece,’ Gloria went on.

  ‘And sooner rather than later,’ Marie-Anne added.

  They all took a sip of their drinks.

  For the next half an hour they all chatted away.

  Polly tried not to think about Tommy or what he was doing now.

  After her second port and lemonade, she started to feel a little light-headed. Although she was listening to her friends’ banter, her mind kept slipping back to Tommy.

  The anger was still there, but she could feel something else. Another feeling that was starting to nudge its way past her defences.

  Was it doubt?

  Tommy looked at his watch and felt his heart sink.

  The Major had told him to expect a call from Commander Bridgman at around five o’clock. Tommy had reckoned he would be able to have the necessary conversation, which wouldn’t take long as neither he nor his commander were men of many words, and still make it across the river and down to North Sands by half five.

  In time to possibly see Polly leave Thompson’s at the end of the shift.

  He looked again at his watch and at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  It was now half-past five.

  The klaxon would be sounding out and Ralph and his team would be making their way to the Admiral.

  Polly and her pals would be making their way to the main gates.

  Tommy made himself a cup of tea, keeping the kitchen door wide open so he could hear the phone when it rang. Not that he could fail to hear it even if all the doors were shut. The ringer had been set to loud.

  Walking back into the lounge, Tommy set the cup and saucer down next to the black Bakelite phone.

  He waited.

  And waited.

  Six o’clock came and went.

  Half six.

  Seven.

  Ralph and his unit would have had their usual two pints by now.

  They might have pushed the boat out and had a third, just in case he’d got held up.

  Half seven.

  Even if the commander rang now, and even if they were only on the phone for a few minutes, he still wouldn’t make it to the Admiral until eight.

  Tommy sat back resignedly.

  The women kept up their cheery banter until seven.

  They managed to keep Polly there until half past, when she declared she was ‘shattered’.

  She left for home with Bel and Gloria.

  The brief respite brought by the alcohol had been replaced by tiredness.

  And now depression seemed to be nestling up alongside the anger.

  Bel struggled to hide her disappointment at Tommy’s no-show, and Gloria her sense of defeat.

  It was now Thursday evening. Neither of the women could see Polly and Tommy sorting out their differences in the next twenty-four hours, then making a mad dash down the aisle on Saturday morning.

  When Agnes answered the door and saw Polly, Bel and Gloria – minus Tommy – she knew the women’s well-meaning plan had failed. Bel had told her what they intended to do. She hadn’t said much. Her feeling being that whether her daughter got back with Tommy or not, the prognosis was still not good. Perhaps it would be marginally better if Polly and Tommy made up and even got married … She wasn’t sure.

  ‘What will be, will be,’ she said quietly to Gloria as she handed over a sleepy Hope.

  Gloria nodded her agreement, carefully putting her daughter into the pram before taking her leave.

  Pushing Hope up Tatham Street, Gloria speculated whether they had all really been wanting a happy-ever-after ending for themselves as much as for Polly, when there was actually no such thing. Other than in the movies Dorothy dragged them all to see.

  ‘Oh, Jack,’ she said to the open skies. ‘What I’d give to be coming back home to you this evening.’

  ‘My jaw’s actually aching from having to pretend I’m happy,’ Angie said as they all trudged up the embankment to catch the tram back over to the other side.

  ‘What can we do now?’ Martha said as they reached Dame Dorothy Street.

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything more we can do,’ Rosie said, looking at her watch. She had promised to bring some fish and chips in for supper seeing as she wasn’t working at Lily’s this evening.

  ‘I just hate to give up,’ Dorothy said, her voice oozing despondency.

  ‘But we can’t force them to make up,’ Marie-Anne rationalised as they reached the bus stop.

  ‘Perhaps it’s for the best,’ Rosie said, putting her hand out as the bus approached. ‘Sometimes things happen for a reason,’ she added as the bus’s brakes screeched to a halt.

  Dorothy, Angie, Anne-Marie and Martha all looked at Rosie.

  It was not a good look.

  It was a look that said that they were neither convinced nor comforted by their boss’s words.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Gibraltar

  ‘Watts!’ The commander’s brash voice was even more animated than usual.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t call earlier. Having some problems with a few “hogs”, if you get my meaning.’

  The commander knew that Tommy would understand. ‘Hogs’, or maiali as they were known in Italian, were slow-speed manned torpedoes, the rounded front a detachable warhead containing three hundred kilos of explosives and a time fuse. Having just been used in the raid on Algiers, they were a pain in the Allies’ backside. A deadly pain.

  ‘Thank God you’re alive.’ The commander spoke through a swirl of smoke. ‘Of course, I was one of the last to know. You know what communication’s like out here. Anyway, you all right?’

  He paused.

  ‘All in one piece? Sorry, hate to put it so bluntly, old chap.’

  Commander Bridgman listened.

  �
��Brilliant news. Brilliant news.’ He stood up before sitting down again and yanking open the top drawer of his desk.

  ‘What was that, lad? You want to come back?’

  A wide smile spread across the commander’s face. He pulled out a half-bottle of Scotch.

  ‘You’ve just made my day. No, make that my week!’ He poured a good measure of whisky into a cup on his desk.

  ‘Not to put any pressure on yer, lad, but when do yer think you’ll be wanting to come back to the Rock?’

  Commander Bridgman took a mouthful of Scotch.

  ‘What? Seriously? Yer right as rain?’

  He took a deep drag on his rollie. Spat out loose tobacco.

  ‘You’ve got medical clearance?’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘This just keeps on getting better. Hang on there.’ Commander Bridgman got up and shouted through the open doorway to Able Seaman Grantham, who was in the next room.

  ‘Grantham. Get me a list of all scheduled flights leaving our green and pleasant land!’

  Two minutes later, Able Seaman Grantham was placing the requested timetable in front of the commander.

  ‘Here we are. RAF Usworth … Next available flight out …’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Aye. Should be able to get you on this one … Saturday the twenty-sixth … Boxing Day.’ The commander sat back in his seat.

  ‘Do you think you’ll be right for that?’

  A smile appeared on his face.

  ‘Fantastic. See yer then, laddie. I can fill yer in on everything that’s been happening.’

  He was just about to hang up when he added, ‘Bloody glad to have you back on board. Bloody glad.’

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Friday 18 December

  ‘Cheer up! It might never happen!’ one of the platers’ apprentices shouted over to the women welders as they all trudged across to the ways to see Brutus baptised. He whooped with laughter when six dark, scowling faces turned on him.