Courage of the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘Well, I don’t see Bel as my half-sister,’ Maisie said, a little defensively. ‘To me she’s my sister.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s different,’ Vivian said in all seriousness. ‘You two share the same mother.’

  Maisie looked at Vivian and decided not to argue the point. She had learnt that her best friend’s logic could often be more than a little questionable.

  ‘Well, they certainly don’t look like half-sisters,’ Maisie said. ‘If there wasn’t such a big age gap, you’d just presume they were sisters.’

  ‘I’m guessing she didn’t go over and introduce herself?’ ‘God no, but we stayed there for a good while and watched her.’

  ‘And what was she like?’

  ‘Attractive. Especially for her age. Very classy-looking. Old-money attitude. You know the type. Arrogant. High and mighty. Really flirty with the uniform she was with, teasing almost, but I’d doubt she goes any further.’

  ‘Yep, I know the type,’ Vivian said.

  ‘What a turn-up for the books, eh?’ Vivian raised her cup to her lips and drank her tea. ‘But at least,’ she said, ‘you now know you’ve not been doing the business with your sister’s dad, eh?’

  Maisie nodded.

  ‘Yes, thank God. There is that.’

  She had to admit that Bel’s revelation had put her own worries into perspective.

  If she had suffered sleepless nights over ‘doing the business’, as Vivian put it, with her sister’s father, then she was sure that both Bel and their ma had had more than their fair share of tossing and turning.

  She would not like to be in either of their shoes, that was for sure.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The South Docks, Sunderland

  Saturday 11 July

  ‘How’s young Tommy doing?’ the fisherwoman asked as she wrapped up two good-sized pollack in some old newspaper and handed them over to Arthur.

  Polly looked at the old man, glad that the question had been directed at him and not her. Whenever anyone asked her about Tommy she tended to freeze.

  ‘Well, Mrs Davis,’ Arthur said, taking the fish and trying to hand her some money, which was refused with a resolute shake of the head. ‘It’s not good. He’s been declared “missing”, so we’re not sure how the lad is, I’m sorry to tell yer.’

  The sparkle left the old woman’s eyes and she looked at Arthur and then at Polly.

  ‘Ah, I’m sorry to hear that.’ She wiped her hands on her pinny, leant over the square wooden chopping block she was standing behind, and gently squeezed Arthur’s arm.

  ‘I’ll make sure the priest includes him in the prayers this Sunday,’ she said quietly, looking at Polly with sad eyes.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Davis,’ Arthur said, moving away from the fish stall to allow another customer to be served.

  ‘And thank you for the pollack,’ he added, raising the parcelled-up fish in the air.

  As he and Polly continued walking along the docks, they were quiet, both content to let the chatter of the fishwives and the general hustle and bustle of the quayside fill their silence.

  When they walked past the Divers’ House, where Arthur had lived for many years with Flo and Tommy, the old man stared at the slightly dilapidated frontage. The wooden door and window frames were cracked and worn from years of being battered by the harsh winds and rain, and from being doused with salt spray from the North Sea.

  ‘Aye, we had some happy times in that there house,’ Arthur said, as though continuing aloud a conversation he had been having in his own head.

  Polly looked at Arthur and at the tired-looking home that also held so many memories for her – albeit more recent ones. It was there a year and a half ago that Tommy had proposed to her. It had been a night of mixed emotions. Elation and love, but also sadness and worry, knowing that the man she loved – whom she had just agreed to marry – was soon to leave for war.

  ‘Not that Flo could ever keep our Tom in the house for long.’ Arthur let out a slightly melancholy chuckle. ‘From the moment he could walk, he hated being indoors … Was always out. The only time Flo could keep him in was when there was food to be had, or it was time for bed.’

  Polly looked at the old man whose mind was no longer in the here and now, but in the distant, much happier past.

  ‘Tommy told me once that he felt trapped when he was indoors. Even when he was older,’ Arthur said, ‘when we’d go for a pint after work, he’d always insist we went to one of the inns by the quayside so we could sup our ale outside ’n look out across the river.’

  Polly listened, imagining Tommy as a boy and then as a young man.

  For the first time it occurred to her that most of their courtship had actually been conducted outdoors: they’d met each other out in the yard at Thompson’s, would eat their lunch together outside, providing the weather wasn’t too bad, and would go for rides on his motorbike along the coast and for long walks that more often than not ended up with them kissing their goodnights under the canopy of one of the large oak trees in the Winter Gardens.

  ‘How strange,’ Polly mused as they stopped to stare out to sea, ‘that Tommy would choose to spend so much of his life encased in a copper helmet and canvas suit, weighed down by lead boots and submerged underwater.’

  Arthur smiled. ‘Aye, I guess when you put it like that, it is.’

  He looked at Polly, before pulling out a handkerchief and blowing his nose.

  ‘It was like he couldn’t keep out of the water. Used to worry Flo sick. Any chance he got, he’d be swimming in the sea or jumping into the river. I remember saying to Flo that for Tommy it was as though water and air were one and the same. He needed both to live.’

  Polly felt her heart contract on hearing the word ‘live’. She looked at Arthur and saw a reflection of her pain in the old man’s face.

  ‘Eee, Arthur,’ Polly said, her voice suddenly thick with the beginnings of tears, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do if Tommy doesn’t come back.’

  She bit her lip and tried to stop herself from saying the words that were lying heavy in her heart, but which needed to be spoken aloud.

  ‘I just don’t know how I’ll live if he doesn’t come back.’

  Arthur turned and looked at Polly.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, moving away from the edge of the quayside. ‘Let’s go and give this fish here to yer ma.’ As they started walking back towards the east end, Arthur looked at the young woman who had made his grandson so happy, and whom his grandson loved so much – a young woman whom he himself now loved as though she were his own flesh and blood. He wanted to talk to her about the nature of grief and how she would live if Tommy did not return, but this was not the time.

  Later on that evening, when Polly was lying in her bed, her mind kept flitting back to the walk along the south docks with Arthur. If Tommy was still in Gibraltar, she would be writing to him, telling him all about it. She would probably enjoy ribbing him about his childhood – about his wilfulness as a young boy and the worry he’d caused his grandmother.

  All of a sudden a thought occurred to Polly and she sat up.

  So what if she couldn’t actually send any letters to Tommy. She could still write to him, couldn’t she? If he came back – no, when he came back – she would give them to him. He would know exactly what had been happening while he had been missing.

  Polly swung her legs out of bed, tiptoed over to her dressing table and opened up the top drawer. She pulled out a pen and notebook and padded back to her bed. Fluffing up her pillow, she sat up.

  Resting the pad on her knees, she started writing.

  Dear Tommy …

  Chapter Fourteen

  The following week

  Tuesday 14 July

  ‘Eee, Ma, you gave me the shock of my life! I didn’t think there was anyone in. You’re sat there, quiet as a mouse!’ Bel looked at her ma, who was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea. She had a fag between her fingers ready to have her first smoke of the day.<
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  ‘And yer like a bleedin’ whirlwind.’ Pearl looked at her daughter. ‘Where yer off to all done up like that? Yer’ve not got a fancy man, have ya?’

  ‘We’re not all like you, Ma,’ Bel said, grabbing her handbag from the sideboard.

  Pearl let out a laugh that morphed into a cough. ‘I wish I had the time fer a fancy man, it’s all work ’n nee play fer yer poor ma here.’

  ‘Well, you’re not short of offers.’ Bel hurried into the scullery, turned on the tap and had a quick handful of water.

  ‘Wot do yer mean by that?’ Pearl looked genuinely puzzled.

  ‘Nothing, Ma. Go and have your fag. You sound like you need one.’

  ‘Where’s everyone, anyway?’ Pearl asked.

  ‘Joe’s out with the Home Guard, Arthur’s at the allotment, and Agnes is next door with LuLu and Hope.’

  ‘Not very often yer let anyone have the bab,’ Pearl said. She hadn’t been the only one to notice Bel’s growing attachment to Gloria’s little girl.

  Bel ignored her mother’s comments.

  ‘Right, I’m off. See you later!’

  Pearl was just about to say something when she heard the front door slam shut.

  As Bel hurried down Tatham Street she decided to get the bus over to Thompson’s. If she took the ferry, her hair would be all over the shop by the time she got there and she wanted to look her best, give a good impression.

  Bel had a stab of guilt that she hadn’t told anyone where she was going – not even Joe. She hadn’t wanted everyone quizzing her. Anyway, the chances were that she wouldn’t get the job – couldn’t believe she’d actually got an interview at all. When she’d gone to the Labour Exchange on Friday they hadn’t seemed at all perturbed that she didn’t have any secretarial skills. Then again, the woman before her in the queue didn’t have any experience doing something called ‘splicing’, and they’d given her a job on the spot. Perhaps it was a case of any port in a storm these days.

  Jumping on the bus over to the north side, Bel thought about her ma. They’d not mentioned the walk they’d had, or, rather, what her ma had told her that day – nor what she hadn’t told her. But, all the same, Bel knew it was playing on her ma’s mind. Just as her ma knew it was playing on her daughter’s mind. The pair of them had kept up their usual verbal sparring, but they’d just been going through the motions. Their hearts weren’t really in it. They were simply keeping up appearances.

  As the double-decker trundled slowly over the Wearmouth Bridge, Bel looked down at Thompson’s and at the river itself, its waters barely visible due to the vast array of tugs and trawlers, cargo carriers and colliers. Getting off halfway along Dame Dorothy Street and making her way down to Thompson’s, she felt the nerves she’d had since getting up this morning notch up a gear.

  ‘Admin?’

  Bel looked up at the young lad in the timekeeper’s cabin.

  Because of the noise, she simply nodded. Alfie pointed to a building on the left.

  Taking a deep breath, Bel headed over to it. When she reached the main entrance and started up the stairs she passed another young woman, who, Bel guessed, had just had her interview and was on her way out.

  On entering the main office, Bel looked around at the workers, most of whom were either typing or punching numbers into little green machines.

  ‘Mrs Elliot?’

  Bel was greeted by a young woman with ginger hair, lots of freckles, and a clipboard in her hand.

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ Bel said, putting her hand out. ‘But, please, just call me Bel.’ Judging by her looks and hearing a slight hint of an accent, Bel guessed Marie-Anne was of Irish descent.

  ‘Marie-Anne.’ The woman smiled, shook Bel’s hand and showed her into a small, windowless office.

  ‘The boss is out for a few hours, so I’m doing all the interviews in here. Away from prying eyes.’ She smiled again at Bel. This was her last interviewee of the day. Hopefully it would be a case of saving the best until last.

  ‘So, Bel. What makes you want to work here at Thompson’s?’ Marie-Anne looked at the pretty blonde opposite her and wondered why she wasn’t going for a position with one of the more upmarket department stores in town.

  ‘Well, I’ve always wanted to work in an office, and the shipyards are doing such vital war work, I guess I wanted to feel as though I was a part of it – doing my bit.’ Bel gave her well-rehearsed response, knowing this would be one question she would most definitely be asked.

  Marie-Anne looked at Bel and thought she certainly looked the part – very smart and presentable, and what was particularly encouraging was that she had quite a lovely manner of speaking. Soft and gentle, but still clear and articulate, with just the hint of an accent. She’d be good on the phones, taking orders and dealing with management.

  Marie-Anne scanned the handwritten card she had been given by the Labour Exchange, on which there were the usual details of name, age and previous employment.

  ‘I can see here that you used to work on the buses.’ Marie-Anne looked back up at Bel. ‘Can I ask why you stopped working there?’

  She looked back down at the card to find the date Bel had ended her time with the Corporation. A slightly puzzled look appeared on her face.

  ‘I’m not sure if they’ve made a mistake here, but it looks like you took six weeks off, went back, but left after just a day?’

  Bel felt herself stiffen. She still felt mortified by her awful behaviour that day. How rude she had been to the passengers, and how her kindly boss Howard had told her as nicely as possible that he didn’t think she was ready to come back to work.

  ‘Well … mmm …’ Bel stuttered, not sure what to say. She could feel herself blush.

  Marie-Anne’s heart was starting to sink. There was always something.

  ‘Actually,’ Bel took a deep breath and looked Marie-Anne in the eye, ‘I’d not long been told that my husband had been killed in action. In North Africa.’ Bel took another breath. ‘I wasn’t really myself. With hindsight, I shouldn’t have gone back so soon.’ She still battled to keep the tears at bay whenever she talked openly about Teddy.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Marie-Anne could feel the tears forming in her own eyes. ‘I’m so sorry I asked.’

  Bel blinked hard and gave Marie-Anne a sad smile.

  ‘No, it’s all right. Honestly. You weren’t to know. Besides, I’m not exactly the only woman to lose her husband these days. Far from it.’

  Marie-Anne nodded, taking a handkerchief from her handbag and offering it to Bel, who politely waved it away.

  ‘Actually,’ Marie-Anne said, using the hanky to dab her own eyes, ‘we’ve got an Elliot here, working in the yard. I’m sure I heard that her brother was killed a while back. Also in North Africa …’

  ‘Yes, Polly,’ Bel said, brightening up. ‘Polly Elliot. She’s my sister-in-law. We live together.’

  ‘Ah, now I know why you want to work here,’ Marie-Anne said. ‘You two are close, I take it?’

  Bel nodded. ‘Very. We’ve known each other since we were small.’ She didn’t add, though, that her wanting to start at Thompson’s didn’t have anything to do with Polly working there.

  ‘Well then,’ Marie-Anne declared, stuffing her hanky back into her bag, ‘Polly will have told you all about Thompson’s. What it’s like here … How it all works …’

  Bel chuckled.

  ‘I think I know all about welding. And, of course, I know all Polly’s workmates. But that’s about it. I have to admit I really don’t know much at all about working in an office.’

  Marie-Anne shook her head. Her mind was made up.

  ‘That’s not a concern,’ she said, clearly relaxing now. ‘You’ll pick it up in no time.’

  ‘But don’t I have to know how to type?’ Bel was starting to panic a little. She needed Marie-Anne to know that she really did not have any kind of clerical skills – whatsoever.

  ‘Ah,’ Marie-Anne smiled, ‘you’ll learn that in no time. I’
ll teach you myself. The more you type, the easier it is, and the faster you become. You’ll be doing thirty words a minute in no time at all.’

  Marie-Anne stood up and looked out at the dozen or so admin staff beavering away in the open-plan office. Bel followed Marie-Anne’s lead and stood up to stare out at a row of typists who looked as though they were doing more like a hundred words a minute, never mind a mere thirty, the palms of their hands slapping the steel arms of their typewriters with rhythmic regularity. Everyone looked so proficient. So confident.

  Marie-Anne turned to Bel.

  ‘Well, I think you’d be a perfect fit, don’t you?’

  Bel lied and mumbled that she would. ‘Congratulations, then. The job’s yours.’ Marie-Anne gave Bel a genuine smile and extended her hand. ‘Welcome aboard!’

  ‘Thank you!’ Bel shook Marie-Anne’s hand. ‘Gosh, I didn’t think I’d get to know so quickly.’

  ‘No time like the present,’ Marie-Anne said, good-naturedly. ‘Besides, there’s no messing around these days. It’s full steam ahead at the moment. Actually, I lie – all the time. It really is one deadline after another.’

  She paused for a moment.

  ‘So, we’ll see you in the morning?’ She knew she was pushing it. ‘Nine o’clock sharp?’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Bel said, surprised. ‘You want me to start tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, unless that’s going to be a problem?’ Marie-Anne smiled, secretly crossing her fingers. If she managed to get the new girl to start tomorrow, she would also earn herself some much-needed brownie points with Helen.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot to ask.’ Marie-Anne had a sudden thought. ‘Have you got children?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a daughter, Lucille, but there’s no worries there,’ Bel said. ‘My mother-in-law runs a sort of makeshift nursery from our neighbour’s house. And, of course, there’s other family members who can look after her.’

  Marie-Anne kept a straight face, even though inwardly she was doing a little jig.