Wedding Bells on the Home Front

by Annie Clarke

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Davey.

  Fran did. He laughed even more, then said, ‘I’ve got news. Daisy’s settled in the home. All seems well. So that’s the end of that, and I canna tell yer how relieved I feel she’s gone. But I gave her your address, as she wants to apologise, though I doubt she’ll write.’

  Fran grimaced. ‘Well, I suppose if it makes her feel better—’

  ‘Oh, Franny’ he interrupted, ‘I love you so much. You’re a kind lass.’

  They talked on and on, and all she wanted was for him to be here, for ever, with no need for these calls. He’d go to the pit, she’d run his crossword magazine, and once he was on his feet, he’d give up the pit.

  It was only when Beth tapped on the door, pointing at her watch, for it was almost Bob’s time, that it was Davey’s turn to interrupt. ‘How is Ralph doing?’

  She sighed. ‘Sister Newsome thinks regular visits might well stimulate his brain, help to bring him back. Too late, though. Mam was already drawing up a rota. Those two, Sister Newsome and me mam, are a terrifying force, they really are.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Wednesday, 4 March

  The next morning, as Bert edged away from the bus shelter on Main Street, grumbling as usual, Tilly Oborne was yelling, ‘Don’t you be dawdling along just because you’ve had a night in hospital and think you’re a wounded hero, lad. Lounging about all yesterday, and only back at work today. Keep your hands on the wheel, your eyes on the road, and your gob shut. It’s been a slice of heaven having your boss treat us with some respect.’

  Bert hooted his horn. ‘Still got a gob on you, you old besom. I thought you might have learned some manners with me poorly, but miracles are hard to come by.’

  The women laughed fit to burst, and then started talking about the visiting rota, for the co-op had been calling on people and adding names to it. The visitors had to be slotted in according to shifts and school, but could start in two days, according to Sister Newsome. Alfie would drive people to and from the station, and the Massinghams would pay for the train fares.

  ‘Aye, me mam and I are on the list,’ said Sandra.

  Fran nodded. ‘So I saw, and all the co-op ladies are too, but most women in and around have their own bairns and canna leave them, they’ve pitmen that need looking after—’

  ‘Others, like us, are doing war work,’ Beth chimed in. ‘But we’re going on Saturday, or so the co-op have ordered, and as always they must be obeyed, God bless every last one of them. Come with us, Sandra.’

  Mrs Oborne stood up and came towards the back seat, swaying and shouting to Bert, ‘You go steady now, you daft auld fool. Have a look in your mirror and see that I’m standing up, eh.’ She dared to lift one hand from the back of Mrs Talbot’s slatted seat and pointed at Fran, who was talking with Beth about Bob, and where he could be, for he hadn’t phoned last night either, and still no letter.

  ‘D’yer reckon I could miss that great big behind of yours in me mirror?’ yelled Bert. ‘I’m driving as careful as I can, so get back in your seat. I divint want another sore head and nose, and neither do you. Your black eyes are worse today and would scare the wits out of any Nazi squaddie you came up against.’

  ‘I’m not standing here, putting me life at risk, for the good of me health,’ Mrs Oborne yelled back. ‘And you’re no picture either, while we’re on about looks. Two black eyes, and a squishy nose.’

  The whole bus was laughing. Mrs Oborne, her grey hair tinged green by the Factory chemicals, her lip swollen, her eyes black, snapped: ‘Frances Hall, I am standing here looking down at a bride-to-be who looks a real fright – and her bridesmaids look just as bad. I need to take measurements, and what’s more, we need to get some leeches on them eyes. I’ll speak to your mam, for you’re to sing on the fourteenth.’

  Beth, who’d been writing a note to Bob, looked up. ‘I’d forgotten about the booking with everything that’s going on.’

  Mrs Oborne sighed, raised her eyebrows and gestured for Fran to stand up. ‘You’ll not be seeing the dress till you have your fitting, but let me tell you, pet, I reckon you’re going to look a picture. Or once the leeches have had a good suck, anyways.’

  ‘Me mam knows all about leeches, Mrs Oborne,’ called Sandra. ‘She’s talking to your mam today, Franny.’

  Fran was standing up, waiting. Mrs Oborne shouted to everyone on the bus, ‘You’re all to keep your mouths tight shut once we get to Sledgeford, for the outfits’ll be made in the sewing room at lunchtimes, just as Sarah’s were, and I don’t want that Amelia shouting about it while we’ve got that Gaines marching about the place.’

  ‘He were quiet enough yesterday,’ said Maisie, ‘though he kept a bliddy close eye on us all. Mr Swinton did his best to keep him moving, but …’

  Mrs Oborne was dragging a tape measure out of her mac pocket. ‘Steady as you go, Bert.’

  ‘I heard Cyn Ellington say that Head Office want Gaines to keep an eye on Swinton and Bolton for any sagging in safety and efficiency after the break-in,’ said Beth, folding up her letter and putting it in her bag.

  Mrs Oborne spun round, yelling to Bert, ‘And before you say a word, our Bert, that’s nowt for yer to comment on. I’ll not have you cast aspersions about me sagging places.’

  Fran braced her legs against the seats on either side of the aisle, excitement soaring, for this was her wedding dress they were discussing. Soon she would be Mrs Bedley, and Davey would hold her in his arms, and they would lie together, and … She stopped, her arms wide while Beth and Viola steadied her and Mrs Oborne pulled the tape measure around her back, bringing it to the front. She repeated this around Fran’s waist, hips and down her leg.

  ‘That’ll do. Sit yourself down.’

  Fran did while Tilly Oborne made her way back to her seat.

  ‘Aren’t you going to write it down, Mrs Oborne?’ called Viola.

  ‘No need, lass,’ answered Maisie. ‘She’s a brain like a calculator. She can remember numbers like nobody’s business. It’s the cutters she’ll have to write it down for.’

  As they turned into the main street in Sledgeford, Bert called back, ‘Amelia Cartwright’s there, again. So, nothing about the fourteenth at the Rising Sun, and nowt about the frock. And cos I said that, I reckon I’m invited to the wedding, and let it be remembered I’m partial to a pint of beer.’

  He hooted, braked and stopped. The women of Sledgeford climbed on, with Amelia, Brenda and Rosie the last up the steps. Amelia made her way to the spare seat in front of the four girls. ‘You won’t mind if I sit here,’ Amelia muttered to the baker’s wife, Mrs Elson. It wasn’t a question. She plonked herself down, swinging her legs round, her arm along the top of the seat, and smiled at them. ‘Wedding not far off then, eh, Fran? All ready? Dress made, or are you wearing Sarah’s cast-off? Hope your face sorts itself out. Quite a picture. Well, you all are.’

  Fran gritted her teeth. How the hell had Ralph gone out with her?

  Next to Fran, Sarah shook her head and answered, ‘All under control, Amelia, and what’s more, I wouldn’t call me frock a cast-off. Worn just once and the finest curtain used—’

  Beth interrupted: ‘But as you weren’t asked because you’re such an arro—’

  Fran took over. ‘Yes, as Sarah said, all under control, thanks, Amelia.’

  Amelia continued: ‘I heard that young Ben did his little best with the gramophone for the dancing, Sarah. But our trio could always entertain your guests, Fran. We would do a friend’s price.’

  Sarah and Beth gasped and gently pressed their elbows into Fran’s ribs. Fran drew in a sharp breath and not just because her ribs still ached, but because she wanted to strangle Amelia. ‘We’ve sorted all that, Amelia,’ she said, ‘and if we took Ben’s role off him, he’d never forgive us. He does it really well too.’

  Viola leaned forward. ‘I’ll be playing the saxophone when he’s had enough, but I, of course, won’t charge.’

  Amelia flushed. ‘But how
could you charge, when they’ve rescued you like a stray and given you a place to lay your head?’ She swung round to face the front.

  There was a long pause, then Beth muttered, ‘Oh dear,’ as Fran half stood, only to be pulled down by Viola, who shook her head at her, saying, ‘I wonder where you’ll be working today, you three? You seem to be Mr Swinton’s head girls. I heard him tell Miss Ellington yesterday that he could put you in any department and you’d just get on with it, no fuss. Must be a good feeling to be so well thought of, in spite of those eyes, lips and not to mention noses. Howay, best we wear brown paper bags over our heads, or we’ll give Amelia nightmares.’

  ‘Best we don’t,’ muttered Beth, ‘then something good’ll come out of it.’

  Sarah said quietly, as Amelia buried her head in a book, ‘Swinton’s trained us well, all of us.’ She was scratching the rash that covered her arms. ‘It’s these bliddy chemicals, though. They make me itch and look at yours, Franny. We’ll be even more prickly, not to mention yellow, for your wedding. Yellow skin, black eyes and split lips, what—’

  Amelia turned. ‘Goodness me, talking about chemicals. What would Mr Gaines say, eh, if he got to hear of it?’

  Overhearing the exchange, Mrs Oborne yelled, ‘He only would if someone on the bus talked out of turn, so we’ll know where to point the finger, madam. Besides, it were chemicals they mentioned, Miss Amelia Cartwright. You have chemicals in your lodgings with Valerie, don’t you? So shut your noise. We don’t want sore ears from your blatherings, and you don’t want them neither from having yours boxed.’

  ‘Oh aye,’ Valerie called down the bus, ‘bleach, or vinegar we have. And a mop. I’ll teach you how to use them one day, Amelia. And howay, surely you’re not so short of bookings that you have to get shirty because Ben’s playing the gramophone. As for being a stray, you’d know all about that – after all, me mam took you in.’

  Fran leaned forward and whispered, ‘Amelia, just give us a chance. Let everyone be your friend, for it must be lonely coming up from the South. We’re sore today, our faces are throbbing, our patience is long gone, and though we understand you feel lonely …’ But she couldn’t be bothered. It was true they were sore, but she didn’t mind because last night she’d slept and had been dream-free, and all she wanted was for Ralph to recover and to thank him. When they visited, would he be able to hear her? For there had been no improvement, apparently. But it was only a couple of days, so what could they expect?

  Amelia pulled her felt hat further down, turned a page in her book and ignored everyone. Fran sat back as Beth said, ‘I meant to bring a cushion. These bliddy slats are driving me mad. I think me arse was bruised when the bus swung round.’

  ‘Divint you be telling your Bob,’ yelled Valerie, ‘or he’ll be back here in a jiffy to pat it better.’

  They settled back, like the rest of the passengers, and waited for dawn.

  At last they approached the Factory, and as Bert pulled into the siding they all rose, gathering up their bags. Aye, thought Fran, just as it always was. As Amelia stood, Fran felt guilty, but knew to look it in the face and push it to one side.

  The four of them waited while the bus emptied from the front. As Amelia stepped out into the aisle they followed her, saying goodbye to Bert when they reached the cab, able to see his black eyes now.

  ‘Leeches,’ Beth instructed. ‘If we’re to suffer, so should the rest of the world.’

  ‘Our Tilly’s bringing some round,’ he grumped. ‘Trust her. Anything to make me suffer.’

  Beth leaned closer. ‘Anything to make you better. She’s missing her sparring partner because she has to be gentle with you.’

  ‘That’s being gentle? Lord above,’ Bert cackled.

  They set off to the gate and were searched as usual. ‘Best get rid of those black eyes, girls. You look as though you’ve done ten rounds in the ring with a heavyweight,’ Harry said. ‘As for you, Fran Hall, the Bedley boy will do a runner.’

  They kept walking, turning left along the narrow path to the entrance of their section building. Mr Gaines was standing just inside, counting them in. His nose was red, with a drip on the end that wobbled as he breathed. They gave him a wide berth and hurried along into the changing rooms. He arrived moments later, and just stood until Cyn Ellington advised him, crisply, to make himself scarce while the women changed and divested themselves of contraband, adding, ‘For goodness’ sake.’

  They slipped into their overalls before Fran checked her hair, throwing a kirby grip into her box. It glinted in the overhead light, and there she was, back in Scotland. Her heart raced, her breathing quickened, she couldn’t hear the room, all she could see was the Scottish workshop. She stopped, really seeing it, looking it square in the face, hearing Ralph: Frances Hall, the dead don’t want your sorrow, your guilt. They want you to live – for them. You tried to stop it. That’s what’s important. So face it, look back at it, see the truth, then give yourself permission to move forward.

  With the fading of his voice, she breathed in deeply, seeing the kirby grip lying in the box, the light still glinting, but she felt the ground beneath her feet, heard the chatter around her and felt quite calm. She stood up straight. Yes, it would come back, but then she’d make it go. Yes, she was sure. She closed her eyes and tried to send these thoughts across to the hospital, into the ward, along to Ralph. Could he hear them?

  Sarah nudged her. ‘Wake up.’

  Gaines entered again, the drip gone. Fran wondered where it had dropped. He cleared his throat, presumably preparatory to spouting the rules, for where was Swinton? Around her, women were sighing. But instead of listing the rules, Gaines folded his arms.

  ‘Now, let’s see just how much you really know. We’ll start this end and you can each provide a nugget, in any order. It’ll show me just how well you’ve really been trained, eh?’ He pointed to Valerie. ‘You first.’

  She began chanting as though it was a times table. ‘One. Never speak of work in or out of the Factory.’

  Sylvia took up the same chant. ‘Two. No matches or lighters to be taken into the workshops.’

  Mrs Oborne. ‘Three. No eating with fingers which have touched chemicals unless carefully washed first.’

  Maisie. ‘Four. Wedding rings to be removed or covered. Jewellery, matches, cigarettes in our boxes.’

  Sandra. ‘Five. No going to the lavatory without an escort.’

  Angela. ‘Six. No coughing at the workbench—’

  Gaines interrupted. ‘What happens if you want to cough?’

  Geraldine. ‘You step away.’

  Fran. ‘Seven. You wear cotton, no nylon or silk.’ She held up her hand and conducted Maisie, who said, ‘If only.’ Because it was always what she whispered. The others sniggered. Mr Gaines looked round. They looked back.

  Sarah said, ‘Eight. We wear protective footwear when necessary.’

  Beth. ‘Nine. We don’t have the tannoy on when in the detonator workshop.’

  ‘Why?’ Gaines shot back.

  Mrs Oborne and Maisie looked at one another and Maisie yelled, ‘Because we could singalong with Workers’ Playtime and blow our bliddy heads off, and yours as well.’

  More laughter. Someone said, ‘Well, there’s a thought.’

  On and on they went as the clock ticked. Finally, as though Fran’s conducting was catching, Gaines used his hand as a baton, slicing downwards. ‘Enough.’

  But not for Mrs Oborne, who asked, ‘Where’s our Mr Swinton, sir? Because he is ours, you know? Wouldn’t care to think anything had happened to take him away. He’d miss our panda eyes and our swollen lips.’

  There was silence, and everyone looked from Mrs Oborne to Fran to Gaines. Were they expecting Fran to say something too?

  Gaines ignored Mrs Oborne as though she was an irritating mosquito and began designating roles for the day. Fran heard herself speaking over him. ‘We’d like you to answer Mrs Oborne, Mr Gaines. ’Tis only courteous, and after all, we’re his trainees
and if he’s ill we’d like to know, for we’re a team and he’s our leader.’

  Other women started to add their pennyworth, led by Sarah, who said, ‘Aye, would you like us to work through the rules backwards, for we could, we’re that well trained. Or you could just tell us where Mr Swinton is.’

  ‘Yes, wouldn’t feel comfortable without his beady eye on us.’

  ‘Sick of hearing them rules we were, and having him check our work, but the thing is, we know our jobs inside out, thanks to the old bugger.’

  ‘Hated the whole bliddy nagging till we came to realise it saved our lives.’

  Mr Gaines peered around the changing room. ‘Mr Swinton is keeping an eye on the workshops, and now, if you don’t very much mind, I will continue with today’s placements.’ His voice was icy.

  Miss Ellington had not said anything, she just stood listening, and so they could tell that she agreed with their every word. The door opened and yet another new security officer entered, then stood beside her.

  Fran smiled a little, for they’d be checked properly for contraband before they left the room. It was then that she drew back her shoulders and lifted her head, accepting that it was, indeed, the SOs who were the final checkers – not Fran Hall. So, you were right, Ralph Massingham, she thought.

  As the time drew near to six, the start of the shift, Gaines’s voice penetrated Fran’s thoughts about Ralph. ‘Young, Jones, Hall and Hall on detonators.’

  Hall and Hall, Fran thought, smiling at Mrs Stanhope Hall, while Beth muttered, ‘Detonators, of course we bliddy are.’

  ‘Better than the pellets,’ said Sarah. ‘With the wedding coming up we don’t want a group of rash-covered daffodils gliding up the aisle.’

  ‘But no music while we work,’ Fran mused. ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Aye,’ Sarah agreed. ‘My Stan and me were talking of “All or Nothing at All” before we got up, reckoning we should sing it at the pub and then have it at the wedding, and you, Franny, could dance—’