by Tania Crosse
She wasn’t the only one wanting to escape the drudgery of the workplace for half an hour and enjoy the welcome June weather. The wharfs were heaving with factory workers who had flocked outside and were already munching their packed lunches. People were sitting on the ground because every conceivable seat – every box, barrel or mooring bollard – had already been occupied. Barges were moored three abreast in places, cranes had been abandoned in mid-air, and merchandise littered the quayside.
Hillie went to stand by the river and gazed across the wide expanse of shimmering grey water. Wharfs spread along the bank in both directions as far as the bends in the river allowed her to see, serving the numerous other factories beyond the candle manufactory. It all had a certain industrial beauty to it, though, she mused, with cranes and hoists silhouetted against the clear blue of the sky. The chatter of the hundreds of workers squeezed into the narrow space was a happy buzz in her ears, filling her with contentment.
Or was it?
It was true that Price’s had provided employment for her father and so many others throughout the previous years when millions over the country had been out of work, and Hillie supposed she should be grateful for that. Despite the fact that the market for general domestic candles had been slashed first by gas lighting and now by the rapidly expanding National Electricity Grid, trade was still brisk. Night-lights were still hugely popular, and Price’s had long ago diversified into decorative products for every conceivable occasion, from the beeswax candles burned in churches down to tiny cake candles. They even still held the Royal Warrant and the contract to provide candles for every state occasion dating back to the wedding of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, something the workers still felt very proud of. In addition, for years, Price’s had also manufactured lubricant oils for motorcars and other machinery, as well as glycerine and fine soaps. Amazingly, the company still produced edible candles made from a mixture of refined tallow and coconut oil called stearine, as opposed to the usual high percentage paraffin ones. These were supplied for expeditions to remote places all over the world, such as botanical trips to the Andes and attempts on Everest, so that in dire circumstances, the candles could be eaten as food. Famously, Price’s had supplied Captain Scott’s final expedition to the South Pole in 1910 with over two thousand pounds of stearine candles, as well as Shackleton’s trips to the Antarctic in later years.
Hillie knew all this because every candle product passed through her hands for packing. But she also found it fascinating that although Price’s had in fact been taken over by Lever Brothers shortly after the war, it was allegedly still the largest manufacturer of candles in the world. It had factories in every far-flung corner of the globe, particularly in less developed countries where electricity had yet to make its mark and so demand was still sky-high.
The majority of candles were paraffin-wax based but blended with palm oil to give the perfect non-smelling, non-smoking, brightly burning flame. But was it that very knowledge that made Hillie restless? She could imagine dazzling places where it was warm and the sun shone all year round, acres of palm plantations that provided the oil for the candles. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to visit some of these exotic places rather than just dream about them? She could probably have a job as a packer for the rest of her life. But was that what she really wanted? Did she want to stand at the same bench, day in, day out, packing one box after another, and another and another, with one week’s holiday a year, for the rest of her working life?
At school, she’d always been top of the class, relishing every lesson, every map she pored over, every essay she wrote. She was clever enough to go on to grammar school, her teachers had said. But no, her father had insisted that she went out to work at the earliest opportunity, and had secured her a job at Price’s the very week she’d turned fourteen. And now she was trapped. Working full-time, she had no opportunity to go in search of better employment. Besides, with the state the country was in, new jobs were few and far between, and Hillie knew she was lucky to have the one she did. No, for the moment, she’d have to put up with life as it was, and live for the weekends. In her case, the best time was after she finished work at Saturday lunchtime. Every week on her way home, she made a detour to the library on Lavender Hill to change her library books. She knew that it wasn’t the way most girls spent their spare time, but for her, reading stories or books about far-away places helped her escape the humdrum life she was destined for.
Her mouth firmed to a disgruntled line as she silently pondered the slow-moving, majestic waters of the River Thames. Would she ever find a way out? But could she ever leave her mother and younger brother and sisters to defend themselves against her father’s temper?
‘Hillie?’
She almost jumped at the voice in her ear and turned her head to find Doris Sedgeworth at her elbow. The older girl’s dark eyes were like sorrowful pebbles in her pale face.
‘Sorry, Doris, I was miles away.’
‘Not dreaming of Jimmy Baxter, I ’ope,’ Doris said tentatively.
Hillie’s eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘No, not at all. Should I be?’
‘Definitely not. Only I ’eard what ’appened this morning. He’s a rat, is Jimmy. We was going out the last few months, but he dropped us just like that last week. Just when I was starting to fink fings was getting serious for us. And he done the same to so many before me.’
‘Well, there you are, then,’ Hillie tried to be gentle, ‘it’s what you should’ve expected.’
‘Hello, you two,’ Gert butted in cheerfully, brandishing her brown paper bag of sandwiches so Hillie knew she must have found Stan at his post in the factory’s sawmill. ‘Long faces you both got.’
‘Just warning Hillie about Jimmy Baxter. Build up your ’opes an’ then break your ’eart, he would.’
Gert threw up her head with a loud guffaw. ‘Don’t think you need to worry about that. Sent him away with a right flea in his ear, she did. Should’ve heard her!’
‘Have to admit my language was none too savoury.’ Hillie felt colour creep into her cheeks. ‘But I reckoned it was the only sort of thing someone like Jimmy would take any notice of.’
Language none too savoury, Gert repeated in her head. You wouldn’t hear many workers at Price’s using those sorts of words! A cut above was Hillie. Must be all those books she read. Didn’t quite get it herself, did Gert. Much rather go down the flicks of a Saturday night. Sometimes Hillie came with her, of course. But she’d often prefer to stay at home with her nose in a book. Mind you, Gert knew that Hillie’s dad made her hand over virtually all of her meagre pay so she couldn’t afford to go out every weekend anyway.
‘Well, you did the right fing,’ Doris nodded. ‘Wanted to do you know what wiv us, he did, but when I says no, he was off like a shot. Didn’t press us or anyfing. Just went. Anyway, I need the bog, so I’d best be off. You know ’ow old Miss Bossy Drawers don’t like us going during the shift.’
‘Yes. And thanks for the warning about Jimmy,’ Hillie added.
‘No skin off my nose,’ Doris shrugged as she turned away, but Hillie could tell by the set of her shoulders that in reality Jimmy Baxter had upset her very much indeed.
‘Poor soul,’ Gert murmured. ‘Reckon he broke her heart really.’
‘Yes, that’s the impression I got.’
‘Got to hand it to Jimmy, mind. Didn’t press her, Doris said. Might’ve left a string of broken hearts, but no one’s ever accused him of forcing himself on them, and he’s not left a string of, well, you know, girls in trouble, to put it politely.’
‘So now he’s a saint, is he?’ Hillie asked, her jaw set.
Gert frowned in confusion. ‘I wasn’t saying that exactly.’
‘Oh, Gertie, you should see your face!’ Hillie chortled in a burst of laughter. ‘I was pulling your leg! I’ve no intention whatsoever of entertaining Mr Jimmy Baxter.’
Gert blew out her cheeks in relief. ‘Good. I didn’t think you’d be so daft. But anyone else yo
u fancy here?’
‘Not really,’ Hillie shrugged. ‘Not really interested in men, me.’
‘Oh, must be someone, surely? Come on, spill the beans, girl!’
But Hillie shook her head. ‘No, honestly. Anyway, I’m not sure I want every aspect of my life to revolve around Price’s.’
‘What, you expecting some knight in shining armour to ride out of the sunset like in one of them books you read?’ Gert teased, her eyes dancing.
‘No.’ Hillie gave a wistful laugh. ‘I don’t kid myself. Life’s not like that. But what about you, if you’re so keen to match me up with someone?’
‘Me?’ Gert tried to look bashful, but a peachy hue flushed up beneath her freckles. ‘Well, keep it to yourself, but I quite fancy that Tom Ferrers in the print shop.’
Hillie lifted her eyebrows. ‘Oh, I know. Quite good-looking, I suppose. And quite pleasant. But isn’t he—’
‘Engaged. Yeah. Just my blooming luck.’
‘Oh, well, never mind. Have to wait for someone else to come along, won’t you?’ Hillie sighed sympathetically, opening her own packed lunch. ‘Come on. Let’s have our sandwiches before we die of starvation.’
‘Yeah,’ Gert agreed, laughing too, now. ‘Me stomach thinks me throat’s been cut. Look, someone’s just got down off that bit of wall over there. We can sit on that. Me feet’s killing us.’
‘What are they doing then? Wrapping themselves round your neck and squeezing tight?’
‘Oh, you,’ Gert chuckled, heaving herself atop the wall. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘Course I do,’ Hillie agreed, settling herself beside her friend. ‘It’s my back that gets me more. May and Ethel and their cronies have worked here all their lives. All through the war, standing at the same flipping bench for years on end. Can you imagine that?’
‘Expect that’ll be me,’ Gert sighed glumly as she chewed enthusiastically on her sandwich. ‘But you, Hillie. Now I reckon you’re destined for better things.’
‘If only,’ Hillie scoffed sadly.
‘Oh, that reminds us. Dad said there’s an advert been put up this morning on the noticeboard. There’s a vacancy come up in the offices. Reckons you should apply.’
‘Really?’ Hillie’s thoughts started racing. It’d be easy to apply for the position, wouldn’t it? And if she got it, it would doubtless mean more money. She could rent a room of her own. Get away from her dad. Independence. But above all, a job in the office would be far more interesting than the stultifying, repetitive one she had now! ‘What about you, though, Gert? You should apply, too.’
‘What? Oh, no, not me,’ Gert shrugged. ‘If you apply, you’d get it over me. And I’m not sure it’s really what I’d want anyway. But if you get it, you can treat us to an ice cream once in a while.’
‘Oh, Gert, I’d do more than that! You know I would! Best pals we are. Always have been and always will be.’
She hugged her friend tightly, being careful that neither of them slipped off the wall as a result. But over Gert’s shoulder, she spied a pall of black smoke rising from one of the factory’s chimneys, spreading its evil fingers across the blue sky and getting thicker by the moment. Within seconds, the sun would be obliterated by a filthy, menacing cloud.
‘That’s it. Fun over,’ she announced grimly. ‘Won’t be able to breathe in a minute.’
‘Oh, damn. But I could do with a cuppa to wash this down anyway.’
In unison they carefully folded their paper bags ready to reuse the following day, then slid down from the wall. Arm in arm, they made their way towards the canteen, Hillie keeping a sharp eye out for the ominous figure of her father. She wanted to avoid him at all costs, for no way did she want him to spoil the happy dream that she was hugging to her breast.
An office clerk. It wasn’t quite the stuff of dreams, but it would be a start, anyway.
*
Jimmy Baxter had kept himself apart that lunchtime. Some of his mates had been knocking a football around in a little yard that opened up between two of the factory sheds, but he’d declined the invitation to join them. They’d be shot if they were caught. And there’d be hell to pay on top of a new pane of glass if a window got broken! Besides, Jimmy had other things on his mind.
He couldn’t drive the image of Hillie Hardwick from his brain. Not only was she beautiful, but she had guts, too, and the word was that she had brains and all! Bloody hell, she’d be a challenge, and Jimmy was all for that. But there was something else he couldn’t quite define. For the past few months, even before he’d started walking out with Doris, Hillie had always set his heart pattering in a most curious manner whenever he saw her. Poor kid, having such a pig for a father, and that made Jimmy feel protective. But somehow he felt something for her he’d never experienced with any of the countless other girls he’d held in his arms before. And it made him feel utterly confused.
He slid through the passageways and various factory sheds down towards the river. His keen eyes scanned the wharf. It took some minutes, but at last he spotted her, talking to that silly little Doris Sedgeworth. God knew why he’d ever asked her out. Jimmy pulled back round the corner of the building that housed the toilet soap and pharmaceutical departments, carefully peering out until Doris had gone. Hillie was left chatting with her friend, Gertrude Parker. Everyone knew they were bosom pals and both girls were pretty. But Jimmy only had eyes for Hillie, and suddenly she filled every fibre of his being, swelling his heart with a passion that both astounded and delighted him.
Chapter Two
‘Suppose you’re off to the library, eh, Hillie?’ Gert asked.
‘Certainly am. You coming? I can recommend you some good stories to read.’
Mentally, though, Hillie was crossing her fingers. They’d just clocked off from their Saturday morning shift and now they’d reached the junction with Falcon Road on their walk home. Hillie hadn’t had a chance the previous afternoon, but that morning, she’d been into the vast offices at Price’s and had a chat with a Mrs Harrington there about the advertised vacancy. Now an application form burned between her fingers – or more accurately between the pages of the book she had to return to the library. She wanted to sit quietly at the table in the public building to fill in the form. Her entire future could depend on that sheet of paper. She wondered if it knew that it might hold the key to a new life for her. Fanciful, perhaps, but for her, paper and the words written thereon had an existence all of their own. And this sheet of paper in particular. Much as she loved dear old Gert, she needed to be alone to complete it to perfection.
To her immense relief, Gert pulled a face. ‘Last one you told us to read was Black Beauty. Blooming sad it was. And so many flaming words.’
‘You generally find a few of those in books,’ Hillie teased, and Gert giggled back.
‘See you later, then. What you doing tonight?’
‘I’m not—’
‘Bleeding hell, Hillie.’ Gert dropped her voice to a sharp whisper, as she shrank away from her friend. ‘Here comes your dad.’
Oh, God, she could do without him just now. Hillie instinctively clutched the book more tightly against her chest. She went to walk on, pretending she hadn’t seen Harold, but a lead weight dropped down inside her stomach as she felt an iron hand on her shoulder.
‘Don’t think you can sneak off somewhere that easily, young madam,’ his familiar, odious voice snarled in her ear.
‘Hello, Dad.’ Hillie turned to him with a smile whose sarcasm she scarcely attempted to conceal. ‘Didn’t see you there.’
‘Don’t give me that, you little smart-arse. And remember I heard what happened with you and that Jimmy Baxter yesterday morning. Like I said last night, don’t let me ever catch you—’
‘Well, you’ll also have heard that I sent him packing with a flea in his ear. So you’ve no need to worry, have you?’
‘Huh,’ Harold grunted. And then as if searching for some other way to reprimand her, he went on, ‘Suppose you think you�
�re going to the bloody library again. Well, I can tell you, you’re not.’
‘Oh, yes I am.’ Hillie’s silver blue eyes flashed like rapiers. ‘My book’s due back and you wouldn’t want me to have to pay a fine, would you?’
‘Humph,’ was the grudging response. ‘Don’t you be long. Your mother needs help in the house.’
‘Help her yourself, then.’
Hillie was just about to add that if he hadn’t saddled her poor mother with five more children after her, there wouldn’t be so much work to do, when Harold grasped her wrist in a vice of steel.
‘You little brat!’ he spat, so that spittle spraying from his lips showered her face. ‘Don’t you dare backchat me!’
‘Well, you know I do loads to help Mum. Now,’ she hissed, catching the horror on Gert’s face, ‘you’re hurting me, so let go before I call for a policeman. And you’re causing a scene. People are looking.’
She made a deliberate show of swivelling her gaze about them. She knew her father had some strange notion that he deserved respect no matter what. Her mum always said he’d come back from the war obsessed with demanding obedience from everyone around him, but Hillie didn’t think he’d like to be shown up as a bully on the street! Sure enough, he sucked in his cheeks, his mean mouth almost disappearing, and he dropped Hillie’s wrist with such a jerk, she winced in pain before relief set in. He stalked off, and it wasn’t until Gert was sure he wasn’t going to turn back that she stepped up to Hillie again, shaking her head.
‘Blimey, Hillie! Don’t know how you stand it. I know I couldn’t if my dad was like that.’
‘Not much choice. Not at the moment.’ Her eyes dropped to the secret held between the pages of the book, and her heart took an excited bound. ‘Now promise me you won’t tell a soul,’ she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, ‘but I’ve got an application form to fill in for that job you told me about.’
Gert’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’ she breathed. ‘Oh, I am pleased. And no. Course I won’t tell no one. But I’ll keep me flipping fingers crossed for you. D’you think you’ll get it?’