The 9

by Madalyn Morgan

  Freda laughed. ‘Don’t look so worried. He’ll only want to know where Herbert is.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And stop saying, oh. You do an important job. If it weren’t for us, and people like us, the boffins here wouldn’t be able to do their jobs.’ Freda nudged Ena. ‘The reception chap’s coming over.’ As he drew near, both women stood up.

  ‘Commander Dalton would like to speak to you, Miss King. Would you follow me? You too, miss,’ he said to Ena, who was about to sit down again.

  The two women followed the officer along a maze of corridors to an oblong hall. On the left was a window looking out onto a lake, in front of them a door, and on the right a young woman sat behind a desk furnished with a notebook and a telephone. Commander Dalton’s secretary, Ena thought.

  ‘If I can take your coats?’ the young woman said.

  Freda slipped out of her mackintosh and handed it over. Freda straightened the skirt of her suit with the flat of her hands, before pulling on the lapels of her jacket. Ena envied Freda her sophistication, her style. In a charcoal-coloured pencil skirt, with a kick-pleat at the back, matching jacket nipped in at the waist, and a dove grey blouse, she looked more like a model than an engineer in a factory.

  Freda held herself in such a way that she appeared taller than Ena. She wasn’t, but Ena was in the habit of slouching. She had spent so long hunched over machines, concentrating on drilling minute holes, soldering fine wires, and scripting tiny letters and numbers, that she was in danger of becoming round shouldered.

  Ena took off her coat and gave it to the young woman who, after hanging it up, knocked on the commander’s door. At the word ‘Enter’ she opened it and ushered Freda and Ena inside.

  Pulling herself up to her full height, Ena followed Freda across the room to meet the man who commissioned the work she did, Commander Dalton.

  The commander, a tall lean man with sandy-coloured hair, stood up as Freda reached his desk. She shook his hand and introduced Ena, explaining that it was Ena who did much of the intricate work for Bletchley Park.

  The commander looked at her and smiled. Ena saw a flicker of surprise cross his face. He probably thought she was too young to have such responsibility. She had always looked young for her age, a disadvantage at times like this.

  His focus returned to Freda. ‘And Herbert? Not with you today?’ He looked at the ledger that Ena recognised as the one she had signed.

  ‘Mr Silcott sends his apologies. He was summoned to an emergency meeting at our parent company, Williams Engineering, in Coventry.’ A slight variation on the truth, Ena thought, but it sounded better than He’s taken his wife to see her mum and dad. But then Mrs Silcott’s parents did own Williams Engineering.

  Fully aware that the Luftwaffe had blitzed Coventry the night before, the commander sent his condolences, saying he hoped no one was hurt in the bombing. ‘The work Williams Engineering has been doing will now be shared between the other Midlands factories. That will mean more work for Silcott’s. Can you handle more work?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Freda said, confidently. ‘Mr Silcott will confirm as soon as he returns from Coventry.’

  Before leaving, the commander gave Freda an envelope, which Ena could see was addressed to their boss.

  After shaking Freda’s hand, Commander Dalton turned to Ena. ‘Goodbye, Miss Dudley.’

  Ena took his outstretched hand and shook it nervously. ‘Goodbye, sir.’

  Leaving the mansion, Ena said, ‘I didn’t think we’d ever find our way out of the place.’ She stopped and looked back. ‘I wouldn’t want to be stuck in there overnight.’

  ‘It can be a bit scary after dark,’ Freda agreed.

  ‘Like the houses in horror films, all winding passageways and shadows in corners. I bet there’s a ghost… Commander Dalton’s a bit scary too, don’t you think?’

  ‘Not when you get to know him.’

  Ena quickened her step and caught Freda up. ‘Aren’t we being driven back to the station?’

  Freda laughed. ‘We were only collected because we were carrying their precious work. Now they have it, we can whistle… Anyway, it isn’t worth it.’

  No sooner had they gone through the security gate than they were crossing the road to the station.

  On the platform, Freda looked up at the clock. ‘We’ve got twenty minutes to wait until the next train. Come on. Herbert gave me a ten-shilling note in case of an emergency. We’ll have a sherry in the Station Hotel while we wait. The rest we’ll spend on a taxi to Lowarth when we get to Rugby.’

  Hooking her arm through Ena’s, Freda steered her back through the portico columns at the station’s entrance and along the pavement. The Station Hotel was dark red brick, with blue bricks arranged to make diamond shapes. The ledges of the sash windows were soot stained and a grimy film of coal dust coated the windows. It wasn’t surprising. Bletchley station was a major railway junction and had been since Victorian times. Today, with hundreds of troop trains, goods trains carrying military equipment, as well as passenger trains, all pushing out clouds of smoke, it was no wonder the surrounding buildings were dirty and dull.

  Freda pushed open the hotel door and strolled in as if she knew the place. Perhaps she did. Wondering if Freda had been to the Station Hotel with Mr Silcott, Ena stifled a giggle.

  Freda sashayed into the lounge bar and dropped into an armchair to the left of the fireplace. Ena sat in the chair opposite. It was olive green with a high back and winged sides. Leaning against a gold and green tapestry cushion, Ena ran her hands over the plush fabric on the chair’s arms.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  Ena looked up to see a swarthy looking waiter in black trousers, white shirt and black tie standing next to her. He had directed the question at Freda.

  ‘Two sweet sherries please,’ Freda said, in a haughty clipped voice.

  ‘Madam…’ The waiter sounded bored, as if he knew Freda was putting on airs, which she was. With a tired nod to no one in particular, he turned and sauntered over to the bar.

  Freda picked up one of several magazines from an oblong coffee table that stood between their chairs. ‘This is better than waiting in that awful little buffet on the platform.’ Clearly not expecting Ena to reply, she opened the magazine and began to read.

  From the outside, Ena didn’t think The Buffet looked awful at all. She would have been quite happy to have spent the time waiting for the train in there with a cup of tea. She had noticed a couple of cafés as they walked from the station to the hotel. One was called The Coffee Tavern which Ena presumed sold coffee and wondered how they managed to stay in business with coffee being in short supply.

  She was miles away, pondering the difference between the coffee they would have sold before the war and the sweet sickly muck called Camp, when the waiter arrived with the drinks. He placed them on small cardboard coasters on the coffee table – one in front of Freda, the other in front of her. Ena thanked him, and the waiter left.

  Taking her lead from Freda, Ena lifted her glass and took a sip of the sweet wine. It tasted strong at first but warmed her when she swallowed. ‘This is the life.’ Ena took another sip. ‘I could get used to this,’ she joked, relaxing in the comfortable armchair. Freda flung her head back and spat out a cynical laugh.

  Startled, Ena put down her glass. Was Freda mocking her because she thought Ena was out of place in a hotel, which she certainly was not. Ena looked at her friend. It was more than that, much more. There was sadness in her eyes, anger too. And there was something else, but Ena couldn’t put her finger on it. ‘What on earth’s the matter, Freda?’

  She watched her friend knock her drink back in one. Freda banged the glass down on the table, attracting the interest of the people at the next table. ‘On our wages?’ Freda said with sarcasm in her voice. ‘Not a chance!’

  Ena didn’t believe Freda’s mood change had anything to do with money. She had been quieter than usual since arriving in Bletchley. She didn’t like travelling b
y train, but surely that wasn’t the reason for such an outburst. Ena looked at her watch. ‘We had better go. The train will be here in a couple of minutes.’ Getting to her feet, she picked up her gasmask and handbag. She no longer fancied the sherry and left it on the table.

  At the door, Ena waited for Freda. She was gathering her belongings. Both sherry glasses were empty.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After three city types in dark overcoats and bowler hats left the train, Ena and Freda boarded. The train had come up from London Euston and there were as many businessmen as there were servicemen standing in the corridor.

  Ena followed Freda, looking in each compartment for vacant seats. The train was full and they had to try two carriages before they found anywhere to sit, eventually finding a compartment with only one person in it. The passenger, an elderly woman wearing a tweed coat and a brown felt hat, was asleep.

  As the train pulled into Northampton station, Ena glanced at the tag on the woman’s carpet bag. ‘Excuse me?’ she said, tapping the woman on the arm. ‘I think this is your station.’

  Half asleep, the woman leapt to her feet and looked out of the window. ‘So it is, my dear,’ she said, in a voice thick with sleep. And in a flurry of browns and greens, she scooped up her belongings and fled the compartment.

  Ena had begun to feel queasy and took the pear drops from her handbag. ‘Want one?’ She offered Freda the paper cone.

  Freda shook her head. ‘No thank you.’

  Ena popped a sweet into her mouth, twisted the paper at the top to stop the rest of the sweets from falling out, and returned them to her handbag. With the sharp, tangy taste to enjoy, her stomach calmed down.

  By the time she had sucked the sweet to a smooth slither, she no longer felt sick.

  Feeling better, Ena looked across the compartment at Freda and smiled. Freda cast her eyes down.

  ‘Is something the matter, Freda? Are you angry with me?’

  ‘No. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself for spoiling your treat.’

  ‘I don’t care about a glass of sherry.’ Ena waved her hand in the air, as if to brush the thought away. ‘I care that you’re unhappy. Is it the work we do? Is it Silcott’s?’

  ‘No. I like my job. It’s nothing like that.’

  ‘If you want to talk about whatever it is that’s making you sad, I’m a good listener.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m being selfish. And I’m tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.’ Freda’s eyes filled with tears. She looked away and cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry...’ Ena took a handkerchief from her handbag, gave it to Freda, and sat in the seat next to her. Freda wiped her eyes. ‘I’m upset because I’m worried about my brother.’

  Brother? Ena had worked closely with Freda for six months and this was the first time she had mentioned a brother. ‘I didn’t know you had a brother.’

  ‘Walter,’ Freda said, with tears in her eyes. ‘I’m scared that history will repeat itself and Walter will be killed, his body left to rot in a foreign country like Father.’ Freda took a shuddering breath. ‘Father was killed in France during the Great War. Mother never got over losing him. She shut out everything, everyone, and retreated to a place so deep in the recesses of her mind that we couldn’t get through to her. She died a couple of years later, from a broken heart.’ A faint smile played on Freda’s lips. ‘For a long time it had just been Walter and me. Walter is three years older than me and took on the role of father and mother. And for a time we muddled along happily.’

  ‘You must have been very lonely.’

  Freda turned and gazed out of the window, as if the answer lay in the darkening countryside. ‘No, I was never lonely. I had Walter. We had each other.’

  ‘Thank goodness you did.’

  ‘Yes, thank goodness. Walter gave me the love my mother couldn’t. It’s strange, but as sad as those times were, Walter and I were very happy. But it wasn’t deemed to be correct for two children to live on their own, even though Walter was fifteen. So after mother died, the authorities took us to live with my father’s brother.’

  ‘In Northampton?’

  Freda gazed out of the window at the Northamptonshire countryside. ‘Northampton? Yes,’ she said, absentmindedly. A big tear spilled from the corner of her eye. ‘My brother means more to me than anyone in the world. I miss him so much.’

  Ena took Freda’s hand in hers. ‘Where is Walter?’

  Freda’s eyes lit up at the sound of her brother’s name. But all too soon a dark shadow crept across her face and her eyes dulled. ‘Somewhere in France. He’s in the Army.’

  ‘My brother Tom’s in France too. He came home after Dunkirk, but he hasn’t been home since.’ Ena felt a lump in her throat. ‘We haven’t heard from him either. I suppose no news is good news?’ She knew she hadn’t sounded convincing and squeezed Freda’s hand.

  The two friends sat in silence, each nursing their own fears and worries. It was Ena who spoke first. ‘You said you were tired earlier. So why don’t you ask Mr Silcott if you can take a few days off? Go and see your uncle. You could make a long weekend of it. And you never know, he might have had news of your brother by then.’

  ‘I don’t know. With Silcott’s having to take on some of Williams Engineering’s work, I’ll be too busy.’ Ena could see from her friend’s thoughtful expression that she was considering it. Freda wiped her tears. ‘Whether I can get the time off or not, I shall telephone my uncle tomorrow.’

  When the taxi dropped them off outside the factory, Ena offered to pay half the fare, but Freda wouldn’t take her money. ‘It’s my way of saying thank you for listening to me tonight. I’ve never told anyone about that time in my life. I suppose it’s because I have never felt close enough to anyone to confide in them, until now.’ Ena bit her lip and swallowed her emotions. ‘Besides, what’s left of Mr Silcott’s emergency fund will cover it.’

  Arm in arm, the unpleasantness in the Station Hotel at Bletchley forgotten, Ena and Freda collected their bicycles. Pushing them across the car park towards the factory gates, Freda said, ‘Wuthering Heights is on at the Granada. Fancy seeing it tomorrow?’

  ‘Not half. I think Laurence Olivier is so handsome,’ Ena crooned.

  ‘When we’ve been to the Silcotts, we’ll catch the bus into Rugby.’

  Arranging to meet for a cup of tea, before taking the work order to Mr Silcott at his home, Ena and Freda pedalled off together, going their separate ways at the junction of Leicester Road and Market Street.

  When Ena got home, her sister Bess was there. ‘Any news about Coventry?’ Ena asked, looking from Bess to her father.

  ‘The BBC gave the names of the city’s worst hit areas and thankfully the suburb where Bill’s parents live wasn’t one of them,’ their father said.

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ Ena said. ‘Even so, Bill and Margaret must be worried to death. Have you heard from either of them?’

  ‘Bill rang the Hall this morning,’ Bess said, ‘asked if we’d heard anything. His mam and dad don’t have a telephone, so he couldn’t get in touch with them.’

  ‘And with him working for the Ministry of Defence, he can’t get time off to come up, so Laura, one of the land girls, drove me over to see what was going on. She dropped me off and went up to the Hall to telephone Margaret at the theatre. Bill’s on the road, but he’s picking up Margaret after work. He’ll be relieved to know they’re all right,’ their father said.

  ‘And they are?’ Ena asked.

  ‘Yes, considering. Bill’s father’s faring better than his mother. She’s very tearful, but after her ordeal it’s only to be expected. She put on a brave face and made us welcome. They were lucky,’ Thomas lit a cigarette. ‘They got to the Anderson shelter as soon as they heard the planes, and stayed there for the rest of the night. The worst they suffered was being cold.’

  Ena shuddered, remembering the orange and red sky of the night before. ‘What about the house?’

  ‘Cracked windows, some
slates off the roof. We boarded up the windows and Laura got on the roof. She repaired it in no time. Did a good job, too. They’ll need to get a roofer eventually, but it’s safe for now.’

  ‘I wish I could have gone with Laura and Dad,’ Ena said, walking Bess to the door.

  ‘I think you have enough to do at the factory,’ her sister said. Ena exhaled loudly. ‘As bad as that is it?’

  ‘Worse. There’s a lot of damage. But,’ Ena said, opening the door, ‘it’s only bricks and mortar. No one was hurt, thank goodness.’

  Ena kissed her sister goodbye, watched her open the door of Lady Foxden’s black Rover motorcar and drop onto the driving seat. She waved until Bess turned off the lane to drive up to the Hall. Before going inside, Ena looked up at the moon. A big round yellow orb, mottled like a marble, in a sky that was so clear, she could see every star. It’ll be cold tomorrow, she thought. There may even be a frost.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ena set out for Lowarth early. She was meeting Freda before going to Mr Silcott’s house, and wanted to drop her bicycle off at Bradshaw’s Cycles in Market Street first. Leaning the bike against the shop’s window, she ran inside to ask if her brakes could be repaired.

  Mr Bradshaw lumbered out of the shop. He pushed the bike along the pavement for a few yards before pulling on the brakes – and let out a raucous laugh. ‘There’s nothing to repair,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Look here.’ He lifted the front wheel. ‘Worn down to the metal. Goodness knows how you haven’t gone over the handlebars before now, Ena Dudley.’

  Ena looked suitably aghast and scrunched up her shoulders. ‘I didn’t realise.’

  ‘Come back at two.’ Lifting the bike as if it were a toy, he returned to the shop.

  ‘Not sure I’ll be back by then,’ Ena said, following him in. She handed Mr Bradshaw half a crown, he rang up 1/-3d on the till and gave her the change. ‘Would you leave it in the alley for me?’ She skipped out of the shop before Mr Bradshaw had time to refuse.