She was sitting in Father’s chair, as if she now had the authority of both parents. I think she had nodded off where she sat, as her head jerked when I came into the room. She looked at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, her face grim.
‘How dare you come home so late, Opal! What will people think?’
‘Most folk will be fast asleep in their beds. And those who are out and about to see me won’t think anything of it because they have stayed out too, so there’s no need to fuss. Let’s go to bed now,’ I said.
I couldn’t bear to let a row with Mother tarnish my wondrous golden day.
I ran upstairs, but Mother shouted and came after me into my bedroom.
‘How dare you ignore me! Isn’t it enough that your father and sister have both disgraced themselves? Why do you have to act like a little hussy too? You might have set your cap at that Morgan Roberts, but he’s just using you – can’t you see? He’ll never respect you if you stay out half the night with him.’
‘Mother, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I couldn’t get home any sooner. I’ve been on a motor coach trip to Hastings. We didn’t get back into town until half past eleven.’
‘Don’t tell me such wicked lies. A boy like Morgan Roberts would never go on a coach trip! Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘Yes I do, because I’m telling you the honest truth. Now please go to bed, Mother. I’m very tired and I’m sure you are too.’
Mother started sobbing in rage and frustration. It was all I could do not to seize hold of her and push her out of the door. I made myself hold her and pat her back and mop her tears. I tried to reassure her, and eventually she crept away. I could take off my clothes and lie down in peace. I wore my opal necklace underneath my nightdress and fell asleep holding it tight in my hand.
I COULDN’T WAKE up the next morning. I was dimly aware of Mother shouting at me, but I buried my head under the pillow. I was dreaming of being in Hastings and wanted to stay there.
‘Opal! What are you thinking of? It’s twenty to eight!’ Mother said, pulling the sheets off me.
I had to stagger up, wash my face, and struggle into my clothes. There was no time for breakfast. I grabbed a heel of bread with dripping and, once I was out of the house, started running. I knew I was going to be late for work even if I flew like the wind, so when I got a stitch in my side I started walking. By the time the factory was in sight I had slowed right down. I very much hoped Mrs Roberts wouldn’t be at Fairy Glen today.
I had to slink in past Mr Beeston’s office.
‘Miss Opal Plumstead, a good fifteen minutes late!’ he said.
‘I’m very sorry, Mr Beeston,’ I said humbly.
‘So I should think. I’m afraid I shall have to write your name in my late book. If Mrs Roberts sees fit to dock you an hour’s wages, I won’t be able to stop her.’
‘I’m not an hour late!’
‘I don’t make the rules, my dear. I simply implement them. Anyone arriving more than five minutes late forfeits an hour’s wages. Anyone up to and including me.’
‘Then these are ridiculously unfair rules,’ I said, and I marched past him.
All the girls were hard at work in the design room.
‘Ah, so you’re deigning to grace us with your presence, are you?’ said Alice. ‘You’re going to be for it, you know, even though you’re such a favourite. Mrs Roberts has already had her head round the door looking for you.’
This totally unnerved me, though I tried to appear indifferent. I sat down and reached for a box lid, though I’d never in all my life felt less like inventing fairies. It was a struggle to keep my hand steady enough to control my paintbrush at first, but I gradually relaxed a little, and found myself painting a mermaid frolicking in the sea with a merry trio of green and blue fairies swooping down to speak to her.
‘Opal Plumstead!’ It was Mrs Roberts, her voice very stern. ‘Please come to my office.’
Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘Told you,’ she whispered.
I took a deep breath, put down my brush and walked out of the room in a dignified manner, though my knees were shaking. Mrs Roberts didn’t turn to acknowledge me. I followed her along the corridor into her room. She sat at the desk. I stood before her. She waited a good thirty seconds, staring at me coldly.
‘I’m not surprised you were late this morning. You must have been very late home yesterday evening.’
‘Yes, Mrs Roberts. Morgan and I—’
‘I know, I know,’ she interrupted. She’d winced when I said the word Morgan, as if she couldn’t even bear me to say her son’s name. ‘I also know that you’ve been secretly writing to him for months. I found an entire cache of your letters hidden in Morgan’s trunk.’
‘You’ve been reading my private letters?’ I said.
‘Kindly don’t use that tone to me. I have not read your childish outpourings. It was enough to simply see your signature at the end. How dare you bombard him with these letters?’
‘He wrote just as many to me. He wrote first,’ I said.
‘My son is very kind and sympathetic. I’m sure he initially thought of you as a child, as I did myself. I had no idea you could be so scheming and underhand.’
‘I am not scheming or underhand. I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t know why you’re being so horrible to me.’ I was fighting hard not to burst into tears.
‘I thought you’d set your cap at my son at Easter, though it was hard to believe your temerity. I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. I never dreamed you were deceiving me all this time – even plotting to meet up with him the minute he returned from Scotland. Then you kept him out all day and half the night until I was nearly demented with worry.’
‘We went on a coach trip to the seaside. We couldn’t help getting back late.’
‘A motor-coach trip! Of all the vulgar things to do on a bank holiday! I can scarcely believe my son went along with this.’
‘We had a wonderful day too,’ I said defiantly. I didn’t know I was fingering my opal necklace until I saw Mrs Roberts staring at it.
‘Did you wheedle that out of him too?’ she asked.
‘Morgan bought it for me, yes. I don’t . . . wheedle,’ I said, tears starting to roll down my cheeks. ‘Morgan wanted to buy it for me. He cares for me.’
‘Now let us get one thing straight, Opal Plumstead. My son has befriended you and behaved in a very foolish fashion. I dare say he is partly at fault. But you must realize that there is no chance whatsoever for the two of you to continue this unseemly friendship.’
‘Why is that?’
‘My dear girl, do I have to spell it out? Morgan is my son. He will own Fairy Glen one day – the factory, and indeed the house, and various other properties and land. He is a gentleman and has been educated accordingly. He will be going up to Oxford at the end of the summer to complete his education. He will enjoy a pleasant social life there amongst people of his own sort. I’m sure he’ll meet a suitable young lady and they’ll start a romantic friendship. He won’t dally any further with you, Opal. Surely you can see that.’
‘What is so dreadful about me? You were happy enough to take me under your wing. You liked me. You invited me to meetings, you took me back to your home, you gave me the job in design, you think my fairies are really special. If I’m good enough for you, why aren’t I good enough for your son?’ I cried.
‘I don’t make society’s rules, Opal,’ said Mrs Roberts. ‘You’re simply not the right type of girl.’
‘You’ve always clamoured to change rules. You don’t think it’s fair that women are denied the vote, so you protested vehemently and even went to prison for your beliefs. But you’re still bound by stupid rules of class. You say you want Morgan to meet people of his own sort. Well, I’m his sort, whether you like it or not. We are soul mates!’
‘Stop shouting at me. I won’t have it. I am your employer, please remember that.’
‘Then I resign!’
; ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Where would you go? What would you do? No one else would give you such leeway. I’ve tried my best to give you the job you deserve. I’m not petty enough to take it away from you now, despite everything. You will carry on here, and I dare say we will resume our old friendship in time – but you are not to have any further communication with my son. He understands that now, and you must too. Now go away and wash your face, and then carry on with your work.’
He understands that now! Oh Lord, did Morgan really want nothing more to do with me? I had to see him! This was our summer month. I’d banked on seeing him every weekend. We didn’t have to go on expensive outings. I didn’t want any more presents. I simply wanted to be with him. I would be with him! Mrs Roberts couldn’t lock us up. We would show her. Nothing could keep us apart.
I thought Morgan himself might be waiting on the doorstep at home at the end of that terrible day, but he wasn’t there. He hadn’t sent a letter, though I quizzed Mother anxiously about it.
‘There hasn’t been any wretched letter,’ she protested. ‘I dare say the post office is shut. We’re on the brink of war, you stupid girl. The banks are still closed and the shops have hardly any food left because folk are all hoarding. I don’t know what we’re going to do, how we’re going to manage, and all you care about is a letter!’
It was all I cared about then. It wasn’t even too terrible a shock to go to work on Wednesday and see all the newspaper placards, hear the folk chattering in the street. War had been declared against Germany late last night. I was too concerned with my own personal war.
I wrote to Morgan that night, a long passionate letter, page after page. I addressed it to him at his home and wrote Personal and Private at the top. I went to Father’s desk and found a little stub of sealing wax. I melted it, and then carefully distributed it over the join of the envelope so it would be obvious if anyone had read it. Of course, Mrs Roberts might simply hide the letter from Morgan, or even tear it up, but she was an honourable woman and I didn’t think she’d stoop so low.
There was no letter for me on Thursday. By Friday I was frantic, scared that Morgan wanted nothing more to do with me now. When I trailed into the factory, I found it was buzzing with rumours. There was a notice at the entrance.
There will be a meeting in the canteen for all workers at 11 o’clock.
Eliza Roberts
The girls in the design room were all of a twitter.
‘Maybe she’s shutting the factory down because of the war . . .’
‘Perhaps she’s going to have us making bullets or bombs, instead of sweets . . .’
‘I think she’s going to root out anyone suspicious, like that Geoff in the fondant room.’
‘Geoff? Why on earth pick on Geoff?’
‘Don’t you know his surname? Geoffrey Rentzenbrink! It’s German, clearly. He’ll be recruited as a spy.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! Geoff’s as English as we are. And I think his father’s Dutch, not German.’
‘You can’t be too careful, not with a war on.’
‘My Michael’s going to enlist – he thinks it’s every man’s duty.’
‘Can’t you talk him out of it? What if he gets injured – or worse?’
‘What if we don’t win this wretched war? My pa says the Germans have got a much bigger army than us.’
‘We could beat the ruddy Germans even if their army was twice the size of ours.’
‘Yes, our boys will be home by Christmas, just you wait and see.’
None of us knew any real facts, but everyone had a strong opinion. At eleven, the factory hooter went and we all stood up and filed off to the canteen. It felt very odd, all of us crowding in there in the middle of the morning. The long tables and benches were still stacked against the wall, so we all stood awkwardly, waiting.
I found myself standing next to Freddy. He nodded at me and then gave me a second glance.
‘Hello, Opal,’ he said, with some of his old eagerness. ‘You’re looking very well. There’s something different about you. Maybe you’re just growing up at last.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ I said, infuriated by his patronizing tone.
‘Yes, quite the young lady,’ he said, leering at me now.
‘How’s Edith?’ I asked pointedly.
‘Oh, she’s very well too,’ he said, though he didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic. ‘How are you getting on in design? I hear you’re Mrs Roberts’ favourite.’
‘No I’m not,’ I said with feeling. ‘But she likes my fairy designs.’
‘Fairies!’ said Freddy. ‘Still, the girls like them, I know. My Edith’s dotty about them fairies on the boxes. Maybe I’ll get her the summer special box before I go.’
‘Before you go where?’
‘To enlist!’ said Freddy, his eyes shining. ‘I’ve had a word with Mr Beeston already.’
‘You’re going to join the army?’ I said, staring at him. He looked more gangly than ever. I couldn’t imagine him in soldier’s khaki.
‘It’s my duty,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you see the posters today? Like they say, it’s for King and Country.’
‘What does Edith say?’
‘She’s proud of me,’ said Freddy.
‘Isn’t she worried?’
‘She knows we’ll see those Germans off and help the poor Belgians. There’s no beating us British boys.’ Freddy stood up straighter, as though he were already lining up for inspection.
I shook my head at him uneasily. Then the crowd started pushing forward and I realized that Mrs Roberts was threading her way through. Morgan was with her.
‘Oh my goodness, Morgan!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes, that’s Mr Morgan,’ said Freddy. ‘I suppose he’s come to put in his two pennyworth too, though he’s nothing but a big schoolboy.’
‘He’s left school now. He’s about to go off to Oxford University.’
‘Yes, that place for big overgrown toffs,’ said Freddy. ‘Then he’ll come back and lord it over all of us, making us work long hours and paying us nonsense for wages.’
‘You’ve been listening to all those union men. You know nothing. Morgan will be a wonderful boss, truly fair, wanting justice for all,’ I said fiercely.
‘Mister Morgan to you. You keep saying Morgan this, Morgan that, just like you know him,’ said Freddy.
‘I do know him. He’s my friend,’ I said, before I could stop myself.
‘You’re having me on – you and Morgan Roberts are friends?’
‘Dear friends,’ I said.
Then Mrs Roberts clapped her hands and everyone was silent.
‘My son and I are here today to try to give all of you at Fairy Glen hope and reassurance. We look on you as family and friends, not just our workers. We feel more united than ever now that we are at war. Of course we’re all praying for peace. Let us hope the war will be over soon. We will continue to strive hard at Fairy Glen to produce the best confectionery money can buy.
‘Now, I know that some of you brave, patriotic young men are considering enlisting already. Although we will be sorry to see you go, we are so very proud of you. I know that some of you are hesitating. You want to do your duty and fight for our glorious country, but you are also responsible hard-working men who appreciate your secure job here at Fairy Glen. Together with my son, who will one day be in charge himself, I want to reassure you that no matter what happens, there will always be a job kept open for you at this factory.’
‘Excuse me, ma’am, but who will do all the heavy work if the lads go off to war?’ someone shouted.
‘Isn’t the answer obvious?’ said Mrs Roberts. ‘Have I not been fighting for women’s rights for years? We women will keep Fairy Glen going. We will build up our strength, develop our muscles, and toil away until our brave menfolk return home triumphant.’
‘I can’t quite see Mrs Roberts rolling up her dainty sleeves and handling a vat of boiling sugar,’ Freddy murmured. He glanced at me for a reaction.
‘Or her namby-pamby son.’
‘Hold your tongue. You’re just lowering yourself, Freddy,’ I said witheringly. He flushed.
‘Where do we go to enlist, then?’ another lad called.
‘Mr Beeston, step forward,’ said Mrs Roberts.
‘There’s a recruitment office newly opened at the public library, only a step away,’ said Mr Beeston. ‘I’d go there like a shot myself if they were accepting gentlemen of fifty-two, and that’s a fact. I’m proud of you boys, though my heart will ache to see you go. Could you step to the front right now so we can see how many of you are truly serious about enlisting.’
There was a little jostling and pushing, and eighteen or twenty men stepped forward proudly, Freddy amongst them. Dear Geoff was there at the front too. I hoped those horrid girls in the design room felt ashamed.
‘Well done, brave lads,’ said Mrs Roberts. ‘Let us give them a rousing cheer, ladies. They are an example to us all.’
There was a great cheer. I joined in, though I felt desperately sad. I knew that Geoff and many of the others had wives and children. How could they volunteer so recklessly when they might get badly injured, even killed?
‘Just one moment, Mrs Roberts!’ It was Freddy, standing right at the front, still bright red in the face. ‘You’re talking about examples. Well, what about Mr Morgan? Is he volunteering too?’
There was a little gasp. Someone shouted, ‘For shame!’ and another, ‘Pipe down, Freddy’ – but others muttered, ‘Yes,’ and ‘Good point.’ Morgan was very pale, but he held his head high. He cleared his throat, ready to speak, but Mrs Roberts clutched his arm to stop him.
‘I’m sure my son feels just as strongly as you do. In due time perhaps he will volunteer too, when he’s old enough. He has to finish his education first,’ she said firmly.
‘He doesn’t look like a schoolboy to me,’ said Freddy. ‘And surely he’d be better off fighting the Germans with us lads than mincing around blooming Oxford.’
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