by Nancy Revell
‘You all right to work?’ Rosie shouted into Gloria’s ear as a nearby worker turned on his pneumatic drill.
Gloria nodded.
‘Bobby’ll be fine,’ she shouted back, more to convince herself than anyone else.
At half-past ten Rosie made the sign of a T and they all downed tools. Seeing her grab her haversack, they all did the same, following her across the main deck of the ship they’d been welding, to the tip of the bow. It was far enough away from the other workers, most of whom had also stopped for a break, to allow a modicum of conversation.
‘So, what’s happened?’ Rosie said as they all sat down with their backs to the railings.
Thankfully, the wind had dropped and the temperature had risen to just about bearable.
‘He’s suffered some kind of head injury,’ Gloria said, her face full of concern.
Dorothy made a gasping sound and was instantly glowered at by the rest of the women.
‘But he’s not too bad from what I can tell.’ Gloria forced a smile and looked at Dorothy. ‘He’s not been made a vegetable or anything. He managed to write to me, which says a lot.’ Gloria fished around in her bag and pulled out his letter.
‘His writing looks a bit ropy,’ Dorothy said, looking over her shoulder.
‘That’s because he’s out at sea,’ Martha said.
‘Yeah,’ Angie laughed out loud, ‘yer writing would be ropy if yer were having to write while yer ship was gannin up and down like a bleedin’ seesaw.’
Polly looked at Rosie and rolled her eyes.
‘So, what exactly does he say?’ Polly asked as Rosie handed Gloria a cup of tea from her flask.
‘Thanks,’ Gloria said, taking a sip.
‘Give her one of yer mam’s flapjacks,’ Angie commanded Martha. ‘She needs sugar. She’s had a shock.’
Martha did as she was told, offering them around, as Angie had hoped.
‘So, come on, what does it say?’ Dorothy said impatiently, her eyes darting down to the page. Bobby’s writing was small and spidery, making it impossible for Dorothy to read from where she was sitting.
‘He says,’ Gloria straightened out the letter, ‘that he and Gordon didn’t want to worry me, but during the “tussle they had with Jerry a few weeks back—”’
‘Does he mean the Battle of the North Cape?’ Dorothy interrupted.
‘I guess so,’ Gloria said.
‘Why doesn’t he just say the Battle of the North Cape?’ Dorothy said. ‘I mean, it’s not as if it’s a secret. All the papers were full of it.’
‘Bobby’s like that,’ Gloria said. ‘He can be a bit vague sometimes.’
‘Or it’s his head injury,’ Dorothy suggested.
‘Or he’s not wanted to worry his mother,’ Rosie said, giving Dorothy the daggers.
‘’Cos a tussle makes it seem like it was nowt,’ Angie said. ‘A few fisticuffs ’n then they were on their way.’
‘Go on,’ Dorothy nudged Gloria. ‘What else does he say?’
‘He says, “the ship got hit, but not badly,” and at the same time he got hit on the head, “but not badly”.’
‘But badly enough for him to tell you.’ Dorothy said what the rest of the women were thinking.
‘He says,’ Gloria read from the letter, ‘that they’ve got him “sat twiddling my thumbs” until they give him the green light to get back to “thrashing Jerry’s backside”.’
‘Well, I think they’ve done a good job of that already,’ Rosie said. The sinking of Scharnhorst meant that for the first time in the war the Allies were free from the threat of German battleships raiding their convoys in both the Arctic and the Atlantic.
‘But there must be something wrong for whoever’s his boss’ – Dorothy was unsure of the naval pecking order – ‘to have him sat twiddling his thumbs?’
Gloria looked up. ‘He just says that he’s got a bit of an ear infection, and it’s taking time to clear up.’
Dorothy breathed a huge sigh of relief. She put her arm around her friend. ‘Eee, thank goodness it’s nothing serious, eh?’
Gloria smiled.
‘Exactly,’ she said, finally taking a bite of her flapjack.
As they all trudged across the yard at the end of the shift, too tired to rush to beat the crush at the timekeeper’s cabin like some of the young apprentices, Dorothy tapped Gloria on the shoulder.
‘You still all right with me and Ange coming round tonight before we go to the Ritz?’
‘Yeah, we understand if you want to just be on yer tod,’ Angie said.
‘Because of Bobby’s letter?’ Gloria smiled. She’d had the day to mull over her son’s letter and felt reassured that he really was fine. That there was nothing serious to worry about.
‘Aye,’ Angie said, wrapping a scarf Quentin had given her around her neck. It was soft wool and smelled of him.
‘We’d all love to see you,’ Gloria said. ‘Especially Hope.’
‘Great, we’ll bring her favourite sweeties,’ Dorothy said.
Gloria smiled. Her daughter was a lucky girl. She’d got her daddy back, a godmother who sacrificed her sweet ration for her, the best big sister anyone could want in Helen, and a bunch of unofficial aunties in the women welders. And one day soon – when this war was over – she’d also have two lovable big brothers who would totally adore her. Once they got over the shock, of course. Which they would. Hearing that Bobby had been injured had momentarily blindsided her, but it had also made her realise that she needed to tell them about her situation, about her divorce from Vinnie, and the fact that they now had a little sister. It wasn’t fair to keep them in the dark any longer. Like Jack said, they were grown men – brave men – they could deal with what she had to tell them.
Chapter Nine
Monday 14 February
Helen looked at the beautiful red roses that Marie-Anne had carefully arranged and put in a vase for her. They had arrived this morning with a note saying From your not-so-secret Admirer, followed by a solitary kiss. She didn’t have to be a super-sleuth to work out they were from Matthew; he might as well have just signed his name. But that was Matthew for you – not exactly subtle, certainly not when it came to how he felt about her. Helen wondered where on earth he’d managed to get roses during these times. There were barely any florists in the town still trading. Losing herself in her thoughts for a moment, her mind wandered to John. How she wished the flowers had been from him – that he was her secret admirer.
Those musings were followed by less palatable ones. Had he bought Claire flowers? Had he arranged to take her out on a romantic date? Helen pushed back the green-eyed monster. Would it be easier to accept John’s relationship with another woman if she liked Dr Eris? Helen laughed to herself. Who was she kidding? Of course it wouldn’t.
Picking up the vase of roses, she moved them from her desk to the top of the filing cabinet. Hearing a quick rap on the frosted glass of her office door, she looked up to see Marie-Anne standing in the doorway. Helen no longer bothered to shut her door as lately there seemed to be a constant stream of people in and out: constant queries from the yard manager, as well as just about every head of department.
‘They really are lovely,’ Marie-Anne said, her eyes fixed on the roses. She had just been gossiping with Dahlia, Matthew’s Swedish secretary, about them on the phone and the fact that Dahlia had been asked to make a reservation for two at the Grand on behalf of her boss. Marie-Anne thought he was pushing his luck. Matthew might have most women swooning at his feet, but her boss was not one of them.
Helen looked at Marie-Anne, and thought she seemed a little flushed.
‘Please don’t tell me there’s someone else wanting to see me,’ Helen said wearily. This morning she’d already had Jimmy the head riveter in, followed by Billy the platers’ foreman, then Rosie. The two LCTs being built in the dry docks were of a far simpler design and much easier to produce than your average cargo vessel, but for some reason there seemed to be a litany of queries
and concerns, the latest being whether the length of the hull would put too much stress on the suspension system. She’d wanted to scream at them that it wasn’t their job to question the design, just to get the ships down the ways in time. All the same, she respected their knowledge and expertise and had promised to talk to Basil.
‘There’s someone here to see Dorothy,’ Marie-Anne said. ‘Lieutenant Tobias Mitchell.’
Helen’s face showed her surprise. Gloria had told her that Toby was being relocated down south and the chances of Dorothy seeing her chap were pretty hit and miss, at least until the summer.
‘Send him in,’ Helen said, suddenly worried. Suddenly thinking of Peter. Of Rosie. Please don’t let it be bad news. She knew Toby had brought messages and updates about Peter’s welfare in the past – most recently on Christmas Day. She felt a terrible sense of trepidation.
‘Miss Crawford!’ Toby came bounding into the room, causing Winston the cat to shoot out of his basket and scamper out of the office. Toby had his cap under his arm as he strode towards her with his arm outstretched and a smile on his face.
Thank God. Relief flooded through Helen’s body. This was not a death call.
Helen stood up to shake hands.
Looking at Toby as he reached over and took her hand, his presence filling the room, she could see why Marie-Anne was a little flushed. She’d forgotten how handsome Dorothy’s fella was. Even more so in his smart officer’s uniform.
‘Lovely to see you, Lieutenant Mitchell.’
‘Toby, please,’ he said, shaking Helen’s hand with gusto. ‘My apologies for intruding like this. I know how busy the yard must be at the moment. Only, I’ve managed to snatch a few hours before I have to catch my connection back to London.’ Toby’s white lie about his destination was necessary as he had to keep the location of the base at RAF Tempsford top secret. The entirety of the airfield had been camouflaged so that it was not even visible from the air.
‘Of course,’ Helen said, looking up at the clock. It had just gone midday. ‘You want to spend it with Dorothy?’
Toby smiled and Helen could see that he was used to getting his own way. He had a very boyish charm about him.
She laughed. ‘How can I refuse? And on today of all days. I’ll get Marie-Anne to go and fetch her.’
‘No, no,’ Toby insisted. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ve all got more important things to do. I’ll go myself. If you can just point me in the right direction.’
As Toby strode across the yard, not for the first time he felt in awe of the woman who had captured his heart. The place was a minefield of metal and machinery. There were huge piles of chains and girders stacked randomly about the yard. Two cranes were trundling over to the dry docks, one behind the other, each with mammoth-sized metal plates swinging from their jaws. He smiled when he saw V FOR VICTORY scrawled on the side.
A group of young lads who looked like they were playing catch with a red-hot rivet stopped and stared at him as he made his way across to the nearest half-built landing craft. A young boy who looked barely out of short pants waved to him as though he were a movie star. The awestruck lad was holding a thick chunk of chalk, which Toby knew was for marking numbers onto the metal plates to show where they were to go on the ship’s hull. He had learnt much about the process of building a ship since he had started to court Dorothy.
As he approached the nearest dry basin, he raised his vision to the top decking and immediately spotted the women welders, their array of colourful headscarves and the sparkling fountains they were creating with their welds setting them apart from the flat-capped men armed with rivet guns working nearby. The women all had their masked heads down in concentration and had not seen him approach.
Slowing as he reached the scaffolding that had been erected around the body of the LCT, he wondered how he was going to catch their attention; there was the most deafening percussion of sounds all around him – drilling, hammering, the clashing and clanging of metal. He was just about to climb up a ladder leaning somewhat precariously against the staging when he saw Martha, whom he recognised because of her muscular physique, tapping Dorothy on the shoulder. He saw the shower of molten metal die as Dorothy turned to look up at Martha, pushing up her mask as she did so. Her head turned slowly as she looked at where her workmate was pointing. He saw her mouth open and knew that if it weren’t for the sounds of the shipyard, he would be hearing her shriek with excitement. It was another reason he loved Dorothy – she didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of her. She might well be the most gorgeous woman he’d ever met, but what attracted him to her even more than her sensational looks was her couldn’t-care-less attitude.
He watched with a big smile on his face as Dorothy grabbed her haversack and made her way along a wooden platform, then down the ladder that Toby had been preparing to go up.
When she got to the bottom, she flung her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth. He kissed her back, which was difficult as he was smiling so much. Before turning to leave, he looked up at the women, who were staring down at them – all grinning from ear to ear. He focused on Rosie and mouthed, ‘Peter’s fine,’ putting his thumb up to make sure she’d understood. He saw relief spread across her face. Toby hoped more than anything that Peter would make it back. Rosie was a strong woman – she had to be, given the life she’d led, but seeing her reaction on Christmas Day on hearing that Peter was alive, he would not like to be a witness to her reaction should he ever have to bring her different news.
Pushing away those thoughts, Toby grabbed Dorothy’s hand and they both hurried back across the yard and through the main gates.
‘What are you doing here?’ Dorothy asked as soon as they were a hundred yards or so away from the yard and could just about hear themselves speak.
‘How could I not come,’ he laughed. ‘It’s St Valentine’s Day. And it is therefore imperative that I see my girl.’
Dorothy laughed. She felt like dancing on the spot she was so happy. Even if it was in her steel-toecapped boots.
‘I’m guessing,’ she said, ‘that you’re either on your way up to Scotland or heading back to wherever it is you’re based down south?’
Toby nodded. He had explained to Dorothy that he couldn’t tell her much about where he was or what it was he did and she had accepted that, although she’d told him that she wanted to know everything once the war was over.
‘How long have we got?’ she asked as she pulled out her compact mirror from her haversack and started dabbing away dirt from her forehead. She was always left with a dirty, sweaty line where her helmet had been.
‘Only a couple of hours, I’m afraid. I have to be on the fourteen-thirty train.’ He pulled a grim face.
‘You checked it was all right with Helen?’
‘Of course,’ Toby said, stopping to pull out a starched white cloth handkerchief from his trouser pocket and gently wiping away the smudges of soot and smears of dirt on her face. Her very beautiful face.
‘God, you’re gorgeous,’ he said, giving up wiping her face clean and kissing her instead.
They stood, bodies pressed together, Toby in his immaculate khaki uniform, his fair hair Brylcreemed back into submission, Dorothy in her denim overalls ingrained with dirt and sporting a myriad of pinholes from wayward welds.
When they finally broke away, Toby untied Dorothy’s headscarf, allowing her long dark brown hair to fall free.
Dorothy took her scarf back, twirled it around in the air, before grabbing Toby’s hand and marching up the embankment.
‘This is sooo exciting!’ she said. ‘Where we going?’ She laughed. ‘I hope it’s nowhere posh, because I doubt very much they will let me through the door looking like this.’
Toby looked at the woman he had decided was the one for him. She was full of contradictions. She could be so feminine and yet she spent her days doing a man’s job; she was a bit of a snob, yet had chosen a job that many looked down their noses at.
‘I thought I’
d take you to the salubrious eatery in the seaside resort of Roker famous for its panoramic views out to the North Sea,’ he said.
Dorothy squealed with excitement. It didn’t matter that Roker was no longer a seaside resort, its beaches now filled with landmines and cordoned off with barbed wire, nor that the views out to sea were often obscured by anti-blast tape and lashing rain running down the windows; she had wanted to go to the Bungalow Café with Toby for ages. It was where Tommy and Polly had gone when they had first started dating and she had thought the place incredibly romantic ever since.
‘So, tell me all your news,’ Toby asked as they tucked into a plate of ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches. He was sure the old woman behind the counter had given them extra ham, which he put down to the uniform.
‘Mmm,’ Dorothy said. ‘These are lovely.’ She savoured the big mouthful she had just taken. ‘You have saved me from a packed lunch I was not particularly looking forward to consuming today.’
Toby chuckled as he poured their tea. ‘I’m guessing it was your turn to put up your “bait”?’ He’d learnt that packed lunches in these parts were called ‘bait’, which he found odd as where he came from it was something you used to catch fish.
‘It was,’ Dorothy said, ‘and today was not one of my finest in the culinary department.’ She took a sip of her tea.
‘I don’t know,’ Toby said with a mischievous look in his eye, ‘what will you do when you’re married and you have to cook your dear, hard-working husband a decent meal every night?’
Dorothy almost choked on her sandwich. ‘Well, for starters, it’s if I get married.’
She returned his mischievous look.
‘I might not be the marrying kind.’
She took another bite of her sandwich and watched Toby’s reaction. He immediately laughed. ‘Oh, I think you are the marrying kind.’
‘Well, if I am,’ Dorothy continued, ‘and I do get married, it’s quite simple. I will not be slaving over the oven and making my dear, hard-working husband a decent meal. First of all, because I will employ a cook, and secondly, because I think my ability to cook a meal – never mind a decent one – is nigh-on non-existent.’