The 9

by Madalyn Morgan

  During the day, Mr Bradshaw chained and padlocked new and used bicycles in a metal bike stand bolted to the wall. After six he took the bicycles into the shop, leaving the stand empty for people to park their bikes if they were going to the pictures or to a dance at the Town Hall.

  With the shortage of petrol, bicycles had become the most popular mode of transport for the young people of Lowarth. Leaving your bike in the street after dark often meant it would end up at the gates of Bitteswell, or Bruntingthorpe aerodrome, but with Mr and Mrs Bradshaw living on the premises, the alley running along the side of the shop was one of the safest places in Lowarth to leave a bicycle at night.

  Mrs Crabbe’s Café was on the other side of Market Street. Ena could see Freda sitting at a table by the window. Ena waved as she ran across the road, but her friend was miles away and didn’t see her. They had half an hour to kill before they needed to be at Mr Silcott’s house, and ordered two cups of tea and two scones with margarine.

  Refreshed, the two friends left the café arm in arm. Crossing Market Street, they followed the road round to George Street, and turned onto Coventry Road. The Silcott house was the fifth house on the right.

  The pebble drive arced in a broad sweep to the front door. On either side of the door there were large bays with diamond-shaped leaded windows. On the left of the house was a garage with what looked like a flat above. Living quarters for a chauffeur, Ena thought. The Silcotts didn’t have a chauffeur, but Mrs Silcott had aspirations.

  The large detached house stood in an acre of neatly mowed lawns, those on the side and front of the house visible from the road. The back lawn, Ena remembered from having visited the house on previous occasions to collect the wages, was surrounded by colourful flowerbeds and evergreen shrubs.

  Freda lifted the brass doorknocker and rapped twice.

  A few seconds later, Mr Silcott opened the door. ‘Good morning, ladies. Come in,’ he said, leading them into a large sitting room. ‘Please, sit down.’ He showed Freda to an armchair, Ena to the settee, and sat in the remaining armchair himself.

  ‘Goodness, where are my manners?’ he said, leaping out of the chair. ‘Mrs Silcott usually sees to the refreshments, but she stayed in Coventry last night with her parents. Would either of you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Not for me, thank you,’ Ena said. ‘I’ve just had tea at Mrs Crabbe’s.’

  ‘Nor for me,’ Freda said, ‘but I’ll make you a cup if you’d like one, Herbert?’

  Ena saw a band of scarlet creep up Mr Silcott’s neck. ‘Thank you, Freda, but I have to go to the factory to see how the builders are getting on before I return to Coventry, so I had better not.’ He looked from Freda to Ena. ‘I understand your visit to Bletchley was a success.’

  Freda took the order form for the next job out of her handbag and, after giving Mr Silcott a short summary of the meeting with Commander Dalton, pressed the document into his hand.

  ‘Thank you.’ He scanned the worksheet and fabricated a frown. ‘More work for you, Ena. I don’t know what we’d do without you.’ Ena sensed Freda stiffen, and ignored her. Crossing the room to a mahogany bureau, Mr Silcott took a key from his pocket, unlocked the pull-down top, and placed the papers inside.

  As they were leaving, Mr Silcott thanked them again for taking the work to Bletchley and for returning with another order. He wished them both a good weekend and said, ‘See you on Monday morning, Ena. Come in at nine, will you?’

  ‘Nine o’clock,’ Ena confirmed, and said goodbye. Freda walked on without her. Ena ran to catch her up. ‘What’s up with you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Freda pouted.

  ‘I don’t believe you. You’re mardy because Mr Silcott asked me to go into the factory on Monday and didn’t ask you.’

  ‘I’m his assistant! It should be me going into work on Monday, not you.’ Freda sniffed. ‘Herbert always asks you first these days.’

  ‘No he doesn’t. I’m only going in on Monday because we have a job order from Bletchley, and it’s me who does their work.’

  Freda shook her head and walked on. ‘He doesn’t think I’m capable of doing your work.’ Ena didn’t comment. ‘But I am! I do all the stuff for Beaumanor, and it’s just as difficult as the work you do for Bletchley.’

  Ena needed to assure Freda that she was important to Mr Silcott. If she didn’t, their evening together in Rugby wouldn’t be much fun. ‘Of course you could do my job. As his assistant, you could probably do his job. Oh, come on,’ Ena cajoled, ‘don’t let’s fall out about work. I expect I’ll be up to my elbows in muck and dust, and opening boxes.’ Ena tutted, linked her arm through Freda’s, and jollied her along.

  ‘Sorry, Ena. I’m not blaming you. I was just saying that’s all…’

  ‘I know. Freda, how fast can you run in those heels?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the bus is coming.’

  Running and waving their arms to attract the driver’s attention, Ena and Freda flagged down the bus and jumped on. Out of breath, they clip-clopped their way down the aisle to the back and joined their friends, Madge Foot and Beryl Clark.

  Except for Freda, the friends left Rugby Granada Cinema in tears. ‘Wasn’t it sad when Cathy died?’ Ena said.

  Beryl sighed. ‘If only Heathcliff had come back sooner.’

  ‘His love would have saved her. She’d have got better,’ Madge said, ‘I know she would. Typical bloody man, getting there too late.’

  ‘I like happy endings best,’ Beryl said, ‘when they kiss and you know they’re going to live happily ever after.’

  ‘I cry at them too,’ Madge said. ‘Happy or sad, I always cry. I know I’ve had my money’s worth if I have a good bawl. Same with a comedy, but the opposite.’ Ena looked at her friend and raised her eyebrows. ‘You know what I mean.’ Madge pushed Ena playfully. ‘A comedy’s meant to make you laugh, whereas a weepy is meant to make you cry.’

  Freda stopped walking and stood with her mouth open. ‘What is it?’ Ena asked.

  Freda laughed. ‘Anyone would think, Wuthering Heights was real. It isn’t Cathy and Heathcliff, it’s Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier, film stars who earn more money making one film than we earn in a year.’

  ‘I know, but… Oh look,’ Madge said, ‘Next week it’s Gone With The Wind. I love Clark Gable. We’ll see it, shall we?’ Everyone agreed.

  ‘See her, Vivien Leigh?’ Beryl said, pointing at the advertising poster of Gone With The Wind. ‘She’s walking out with Laurence Olivier.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Vivien Leigh. It’s been in all the film magazines. She’s courting the film star who played Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes… Well, it said she was in my magazine.’

  ‘I’ll see what it says about them in Starlet Magazine when I get home.’

  Ena yawned. ‘I don’t care who’s walking out with who, I want my bed.’

  ‘Don’t be a killjoy,’ Freda said. ‘Who’s coming for a drink?’

  ‘No one. The bus is here.’

  It had been a long day and the bus trundled along, making Ena feel even sleepier. When they arrived in Lowarth, the cold night air woke her up.

  After saying goodnight, Ena and Beryl cycled off, leaving Madge and Freda, who lived in Lowarth, discussing which film they would see next, and when.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ena arrived at the factory just before nine o’clock on Monday morning. As she approached the main entrance, she was met by a young workman who clearly wanted to impress her. ‘Good morning, Miss Dudley.’ Not giving Ena time to return the greeting, the young man carried on, ‘We started work on Friday, first thing, and we’ve worked all weekend.’ He pointed to new slates on the roof, windows that now had glass in them, and the car park’s rebuilt outer wall. ‘All that’s left to do,’ he said, opening the door and standing back to let Ena go in first, ‘is give the walls that have been plastered a lick of paint. We’ll be doing that as soon as
the plaster’s dry.’ He walked with Ena across the factory floor. ‘You’ll be back at work in no time, miss.’

  ‘Not until the gas and the electricity have been checked, she won’t, lad,’ Herbert Silcott called from the doorway of the annexe. ‘We need to make sure there aren’t any cracked gas pipes or damaged wiring.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Silcott.’ The young man’s cheeks flushed a deep red. ‘Better get back to work.’

  ‘When the factory is safe, and I am satisfied that the workforce isn’t going to go up in smoke, we’ll all be back.’ Mr Silcott looked worried.

  Ena rubbed her gloved hands together. ‘Right, where shall I start?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Ena, I’m afraid you are here under false pretences. I thought we would have lights and heating by now, but the utility companies can’t get here until this afternoon.’ He gave Ena a fatherly smile. ‘My wife said I was overly optimistic.’

  Ena returned Herbert Silcott’s smile. She didn’t mind being at work. She wanted to be of use. ‘Surely there’s something we can do?’

  ‘Without heating, possibly, but not without lights.’

  Ena followed her boss’s gaze. The young workman was rubbing the flat of his hand back and forth across a newly plastered section of wall. ‘Tomorrow morning, early, the telephone people are coming in. Hopefully they won’t be too long, so if you come in at your usual time, Ena, I’ll get you to check the work orders. If there is anything you don’t think we’ll be able to get out on time, I need to know, so I can inform the client. Hopefully, if I explain the situation, they’ll extend the finishing dates.’

  Ena was worried. If she wasn’t able to start work on the current order for Bletchley Park tomorrow – and as things stood, it didn’t look likely – it would be the beginning of a backlog. Ena blew out her cheeks. With extra work from Williams Engineering coming their way, delaying Bletchley’s current job could have disastrous consequences. The commander’s words ran through her head. “That will mean more work for Silcott’s. Can you handle more work?” Freda had said, “Yes, sir,” so confidently.

  Ena did some mental arithmetic. The average Bletchley job took a minimum of four twelve-hour days – she had three. If she added four hours onto each day, worked sixteen hours, she would complete the job on time, and even if she had to do the last check on Friday morning, it would be at Bletchley by mid-afternoon. If it wasn’t, and Silcott’s lost the contract, there would be a lot of women out of work, including her.

  Ena went to the safe. To her relief, the concrete bunker where she kept her work was undamaged. ‘If you are sure you don’t want me to check the work orders today, I’ll go. But tomorrow, I am starting work on the order Freda and I brought back from Bletchley, and I shall finish it on time.’

  ‘Thank you, Ena.’ Herbert Silcott’s eyes were moist, and he cleared his throat. As they left the annexe, he raised his hand to the workmen in a gesture of acknowledgement. ‘I don’t think there would be much work done today if you did stay,’ Herbert joked. Ena looked over to where the workmen were having a cup of tea. They were all looking at her. Now it was her turn to blush.

  When Ena arrived at the factory the following morning, the electricity was on and there was a team of maintenance engineers testing the machines on the factory floor.

  ‘We’re from Williams Engineering,’ the foreman said. ‘Mr Williams asked us to come over and check your machines, make sure they’re safe for when you go back into production.’

  ‘If you can get these three up and running first,’ Ena said, pointing to Madge Foot and Barb Allyn’s machines, and the one next to them, which she intended to use herself, ‘You’ll have saved us from losing our main contract.’ Something of an exaggeration, but it did the trick. The foreman called the other engineers over and they set about cleaning, oiling, and testing the three machines nearest the annexe. She then went over to the builder’s apprentice, told him where Madge and Barb lived, and asked him if he would go to each of their houses and tell them that Ena needed them to come into work. She then went to the annexe where Freda was cleaning her tools. ‘Any damage, Freda?’

  ‘No. I’ve checked them all,’ she said, scrutinising a small drill.

  Ena went to the cupboard and took out her toolbox. Opening it, she lifted a hard leather pouch from the top, laid it on the workbench, and rolled out the length of chamois leather that protected her precision tools. Checking each one in turn, she heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Mine are all right too.’ She then took out the drills and bits, checked them and put them back. She wouldn’t need her tools until later, so returned them to the toolbox and put it back in the cupboard.

  As she was leaving the annexe, Ena saw Violet Wilson and her sister Rose talking to one of the maintenance men. When they saw Ena, they left the man and ran over to her. ‘We were passing,’ Violet said, ‘and wondered if there was any news.’

  ‘About us coming back to work,’ Rose added.

  Ena burst out laughing. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because you couldn’t have asked at a better time. Come with me.’ Taking the women back to the engineer who they had been talking to, Ena asked, ‘How are you getting on?’

  He wiped the sleeve of his overalls across his sweating face. ‘Phew!’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Hard going this is. Right! The three machines you wanted doing first are finished.’ Ena put her hands together as if in prayer. ‘The three on this bank are done, and the two next to them are almost finished.’ He pointed to the far side of the room. ‘And that lot’ll be done next.’

  ‘That’s… that’s incredible. Thank you.’ Ena shook her head in amazement. Aware that Violet and Rose Wilson were waiting for an answer, she looked at her watch. ‘How about after lunch today? One o’clock?’

  ‘Why wait until one? I’ve got work started last week that I can carry on with,’ Violet said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Rose.

  ‘And,’ Violet said, pointing at the machines the maintenance engineer had said were ready, ‘I’ll send my boys back to tell some of the other women to come up. They’re outside. Won’t be a mo. You get your machine going, Rose!’ she shouted over her shoulder to her sister, and marched out of the factory.

  Madge and Barb arrived within minutes of the Wilson boys running off to spread the word that Silcott’s was back in production, and Ena took them to the annexe. By the time they had discussed what was needed to complete the work order for Station X, their machines were up and running.

  When Mr Silcott returned that afternoon, the communal areas had been cleaned and were ready for use, thanks to a cleaning crew organised by Mrs Silcott. Freda had read and filed the invoices, petrol coupons, bills and statements, while a couple of girls waiting for their machines to be serviced had cleaned the annexe. The factory was working at seventy-five percent, which meant the work for Bletchley Park would be completed on time.

  By the end of November, Silcott’s Engineering was working to full capacity and by Christmas, the backlog of work had been cleared. Ena had Christmas Day off. She had to go into work for a few hours early on Boxing Day as the work for Bletchley was being taken down on Friday. As her sister Margaret had said in her last letter, the war didn’t stop because it was Christmas.

  Margaret and husband Bill had to work at Christmas, so were staying in London. The rest of the Dudley family, including Claire, who was home on twenty-four hours’ leave from the WAAF, were spending Christmas Day with Bess and her ever-growing family of evacuees at Foxden Hall.

  After church on Christmas morning, Ena, Claire, and their parents walked up to the Hall. The Dudley women went to the kitchen to help Mrs Hartley, Foxden’s housekeeper and cook, to prepare Christmas lunch for the land girls and the evacuated children. Ena’s father joined Bess and Mr Porter, Foxden’s estate manager and his boss before the war, in the music room where the children were rehearsing for a concert that afternoon.

  When lunch was ready, Mrs Hartley and Ena’s mother brought two large chickens wit
h homemade sage and onion stuffing into the main hall. ‘We’ll put a bird at each end of the table, Lily,’ Mrs Hartley said. ‘Thomas and Mr Porter are carving.’ Ena and Claire brought dishes of vegetables, followed by two land girls carrying large jugs of gravy. Lunch was as chaotic as it was fun. And the tongue-in-cheek threat of not opening any presents until they had eaten every scrap of food on their plates worked so well that by the time they’d finished their main course, the children were full. Bess suggested they leave the Christmas pudding and the fruitcake until teatime and open their Christmas presents.

  The girls were content to stay inside and play with the dolls that Father Christmas had brought them, but the boys wanted go outside. So, wrapped up warm in their winter coats, hats and gloves, the boys trundled off to build a snowman.

  They hadn’t been outside long when they came crashing back through the front door. An army lorry had ditched at the bottom of Shaft Hill on the Lowarth to Woodcote road.

  Bess and one of the land girls dashed off on foot with instructions from Mrs Hartley to bring the boys back for tea, while Ena’s father and Mr Porter followed on a tractor.

  By the time the soldiers arrived, Mrs Hartley and Bess’s mother were laying trestle tables with chicken and ham sandwiches, fruitcake and Christmas puddings. Ena and Claire brought in two pots of tea and a tray of cups and saucers – and giggled when the soldiers flirted and teased.

  While the soldiers ate their meal, the children sang a selection of Christmas carols, recited poems and nursery rhymes, and danced jigs. The entertainment ended with everyone on their feet singing “Give A Little Whistle”, followed by “Hands, Knees and Boomps-a-Daisy”. The soldiers, clapping their hands when they should have been slapping their knees, made everyone laugh. Coincidentally, they conquered the moves at exactly the same time and everyone cheered. Then, after taking theatrical bows, all but one of the soldiers returned to their seats.