Our Lizzie

by Anna Jacobs

  * * *

  And then there was the question of paying his rates on the house. After some thought, Sam wrote to the Council saying he’d pay the money he owed next time he was on leave and could get to the savings bank. He got a letter back enclosing a bill and hoping the leave wouldn’t be too long delayed.

  “Grasping sods!” he muttered.

  He had a bit of luck the following week when a young officer left his wallet lying around carelessly. There was an almighty stink about its going missing, but no one found it up the drainpipe and a couple of weeks later Sam was able to retrieve it and send some money off to the sodding Council for the rates.

  He applied for leave again and again, but his request was denied and then, to his astonishment, he heard that his battalion was to be sent straight to the Front. He’d counted on getting embarkation leave before this happened, not to mention there being another few weeks’ training, but there had been huge numbers of casualties since the war began and it seemed they desperately needed more men out there.

  For the first time it occurred to him that he might be killed, which put him in a foul mood and got him in further trouble with the Sergeant. He hadn’t made friends here because the others were a bunch of bleeding fools. Listening to them eagerly looking forward to “doing their bit” made Sam want to puke. He’d do as little as he could, by hell he would! They weren’t going to find it easy to kill him.

  He wrote a long letter to Dora, giving her orders about keeping an eye on the house, then he gloomily concentrated on rifle practice. He’d taken to guns straight away, loved the feel of them in his hands and was determined to become accurate enough to make sure he could get the Huns before the bastards got him.

  To his amazement, he got pulled out the next day and commended.

  “You’re beginning to show the right spirit now, Thoxby,” a weedy young officer told him. “And you’ve got a good eye.”

  “Yessir.” Stupid git, Sam thought, even as he smiled. You don’t know what time of day it is. I’m doing this for me, not you!

  * * *

  The Monday following her arrival in Murforth, Lizzie started work in the munitions factory. It was a large, one-storey building, laid out in individual work areas, she learned later, for safety reasons. It seemed huge to her, with yards and buildings labelled A, B and so on.

  “You didn’t tell me it was so big!” she gasped.

  “Over three hundred workers here,” Peggy said proudly. “Mostly women. I reckon they can do anything the men can.”

  Which was a new idea for Lizzie.

  Peggy left her outside the supervisor’s office and when the new shift had started work, Doreen showed Lizzie what to do. First she had to clock in, then Doreen took her to the dressing room and gave her a cap, fireproof overalls and rubber shoes. It felt strange to wear trousers, but there was a freedom to it after long skirts. She looked down in wonder at herself, then realised Doreen was still speaking and jerked to attention.

  “You have to wear this cap at all times. Make sure it covers your head. No hair allowed to show. If I were you, I’d get my hair cut short. A lot of the girls are doing that. It’s so much easier to manage. And you’re not to wear any pins, brooches or rings—no metal of any kind. It’s dangerous.”

  Lizzie nodded, feeling funny in the stiff overall.

  “Here, let me fix your cap.” Doreen smiled encouragingly. “I know it all seems strange, but you’ll get used to it in no time.” Then her voice became severe. “The main thing is to follow the safety regulations. You’ll get fired straight away if we find you being careless. And, worse, you could kill or maim yourself and others if you cause an accident, so it’s very important indeed to follow the rules.”

  Lizzie nodded. She’d be very careful indeed. She didn’t want to lose this job.

  They walked down a long corridor to the room where Lizzie was to work. Another girl called Ivy showed her what to do and Doreen did a quick tour of the room to check progress while Lizzie had her first lesson.

  “These brass bits are for fuses,” Ivy explained. “You have to check them. If any aren’t up to standard, you chuck ’em out.”

  Lizzie noticed that many of the girls had bandages on their hands and wondered if they had been careless. Within a few minutes she had found out the reason, because the brass parts, small and harmless-looking as they were, had sharp edges that cut your fingers, however carefully you handled them. And these had to be filed off.

  At first she felt very much the outsider. It was a large room with dozens of women working in it, all exchanging cheerful comments and some moving round here and there, though Lizzie couldn’t at first understand what they were doing. But first one then another smiled at her and gradually she began to relax.

  When it was time for the dinner break, Ivy said cheerfully, “Come on! I’ll show you where the canteen is. They do a decent meal here, meat and veg, plus a pudding, for ninepence, and a penny extra for tea or coffee.”

  Lizzie found that for the first time in ages she was starving hungry.

  By the end of the week she felt settled in, both at work and at her new lodgings with Mrs. Bailey, an elderly widow whose only son was serving at the Front. But she still felt lonely, still missed her family, and when Peggy invited her round for tea on the Sunday, she accepted gladly. She’d found out by now that her new friend was a deputy supervisor as well as a union representative, and was very well thought of by the other women. It seemed fate had been kind to Lizzie for once. What would she be doing now if she hadn’t met Peggy at the station?

  As she walked home from her new friend’s house through the darkness of a chilly March night, she breathed a sigh of thankfulness. She wished she knew how her family were going on, but she wasn’t going to get in touch with them for a while. And when she did, she’d have to find a way to get the letter posted from somewhere else, because she wasn’t giving them her address. One careless word and Sam would be after her. And next time, he’d kill her for sure.

  * * *

  In late May, James Cardwell was sent home to recover after being wounded. He strolled into the office one day, grinning broadly, his arm in a sling.

  Emma surprised herself by bursting into tears of sheer relief and throwing herself into the shelter of his good arm. They’d all heard of the Second Battle of Ypres and the way the Huns were using poison gas, and she’d been terrified for him. She’d tried to ask Mrs. Cardwell for news when that lady paid one of her visits to the office to try to bully everyone, but Mrs. Cardwell had looked down her nose at Emma and Walter and simply said her husband was fighting bravely at the Front, and that was all they needed to know.

  Now, Walter winked at his employer and made himself scarce, so James drew Emma into his office and shut the door on the world. “Nay, lass, don’t take on so!”

  “I’m sorry! But I’ve been so worried for you. And you’d been wounded and she didn’t even tell us.”

  “I suppose by ‘she’ you mean dear Edith?”

  Emma nodded.

  “Been giving you any trouble, has she?”

  “A bit. But I just listen quietly, agree with whatever she says, then ignore her instructions.”

  He grinned. “Aye. She’s a bit put out that she hasn’t been able to bully you. Been nagging me to change how I’ve left things. But I shan’t. I’d as soon trust my son Frank to run the place as her—sooner!”

  Emma loved the way he spoke so proudly of his children, of whom he was very fond. She tried to wipe her eyes, realised she was still cradled in his arms and blushed furiously as she pulled away.

  “Denying a man a bit of comfort,” he teased.

  She looked at him then, her heart in her eyes, worried by how thin he had become. She opened her mouth to say something light to defuse the situation then shut it again and shook her head blindly. “I wish I could offer you some comfort,” she said softly.

  He muttered, “Don’t tempt me.” Then he took a deep breath and said briskly, “Well, let’s
have a look at the books, then. How are things going?”

  He stayed there all day, though he was looking tired out by tea-time.

  “You should go home,” Emma urged.

  “What for? To get another ear bashing?”

  “Then go and lie down upstairs. There are some piles of painters’ drop sheets. They should be fairly soft.”

  He yawned and nodded. “Why not? ‘It is better to dwell in a corner of the house-top, than with a brawling woman in a wide house.’ Proverbs, but don’t ask me the chapter and verse.”

  Emma chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken to reading the Bible?”

  He smiled at her. “It has some beautiful words and poetry in it. And anyway,” he shrugged, “there isn’t much else to read out there. We carry ammunition and food, not books.” His smile faded and he added, “Besides, when you see young lads getting killed and maimed around you, blown to pieces in front of your eyes, it starts you thinking of your own mortality.” He suddenly saw how white Emma had become and took her in his arms again. “Sorry, love. I wasn’t thinking. We don’t usually talk about the gory details when we’re back in Blighty.”

  This time she didn’t pull away. “But you have to face things like that—every day?”

  “Yes.”

  They stayed close to one another for a long time and only the opening of the outer office door made them move apart.

  “You’ll stay behind after work?” he breathed in her ear.

  And, heaven help her, she nodded.

  * * *

  Eva looked at her friend and mentor one night as they were finishing their tea. “Oh, Alice, I do wish we knew where Lizzie was. I worry about her.”

  “Wherever she is, she’s better off away from that man.”

  “I know, but I still wish…” Her voice trailed away. After a moment, she said, “Mr. Buckley spoke to me today. He said I could stay at school as a full teacher next year, now I’ve finished my course.”

  “Yes, he told me.”

  Eva looked very solemnly at the older woman. “Dear Alice, I owe you so much. How can I ever repay you?”

  “You’ve more than repaid me by doing well. You’re a superb teacher, my dear. And I enjoy your company. Do you—er—want to stay on here, continue living with me?”

  “Of course I do.” Eva stole a quick glance sideways. Her friend was being strangely diffident tonight. Was something wrong?

  Alice was fiddling with the fringe on the tablecloth. “The thing is, Eva, I don’t want you to feel tied to me, now that you’ll be earning enough to live on.”

  “Oh, is that what’s worrying you? Look,” she tried to explain, “I’ve been calling you Auntie Alice ever since we arrived here.” It had seemed the best way to explain why she wasn’t living with her family in Overdale. “Now—well, I feel as if you really are my auntie.”

  Alice beamed at her. “I’m so glad. I’ve been afraid you might—well, want to go and do war work.”

  “No. I’m not very adventurous. I enjoy teaching and I think that’s important, too. And at least our school hasn’t been taken over to house troops, though it is a tight fit with the extra children crammed in from Westbury School.”

  Once the tea things had been cleared away, they sat on at the table peacefully, each with her own preparations to do for the next day’s lessons, then later went to relax in the easy chairs by the fire, Miss Blake taking out her embroidery and Eva her library book.

  “I do wish I knew where Lizzie was, though,” the girl sighed again as they got ready to go up to bed. “Surely one day she’ll let us know?”

  * * *

  It was not until July that Lizzie found a way to write to her sisters without betraying where she was. Only a genuine fear for her family’s safety had made her keep quiet for so long. It wasn’t just her own that was in question. If Sam thought they had helped get her away, he would find some way to hurt them. He’d always boasted that he never let anyone get the better of him.

  When Peggy said she was going to spend a week in London during her summer holiday, meeting the people at union headquarters and sleeping on the sofa of one of the women organisers, Lizzie suddenly realised that here was her chance.

  “Could you post a couple of letters for me while you’re there?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “I want to let my family know I’m all right.”

  “Haven’t you done that yet?”

  Lizzie looked down at her hands, avoiding Peggy’s eyes, which were too knowing. She didn’t like talking about her past, didn’t even like thinking about her time with Sam, still had nightmares about him discovering where she was and coming to get her. “No. I don’t want to risk Sam finding out where I am. He might hurt them as well as me.”

  “Is he so bad? You never talk about him.”

  Lizzie nodded and managed to say, “Worse,” in a hoarse voice. She’d ask Polly to let her brother know about her quietly. She wasn’t going to write directly to Percy, because if her mother got hold of the letter, she might tell Sam.

  * * *

  The letter arrived at Redley House a week after Polly had left it to marry Eddie. Why wait? he’d said. He had the promise of a house—only a small place and rather tumble-down, but near his family. He earned enough to support her and had a secure job.

  She’d agreed at once, feeling no ties now to Overdale. Percy had got very quiet lately, and sad-looking. He spent all the hours he could at work. And her mother was so strange that people talked openly of her being “batty” and laughed at her in the street for her girlish clothes. It was so embarrassing to hear tales of her mother’s silly doings that Polly had come to hate going into town.

  Mrs. Frost kept meaning to forward the letter but things were frantic at the big house for she’d not managed to replace Polly yet. So it was two weeks before it got sent on.

  Polly burst into tears when she read it. Lizzie had not given her any address to write back to, but someone called Peggy had put the letter in an envelope and scribbled a note saying that if Polly wanted to write to her sister, she should send it to this address in London and write PLEASE FORWARD TO PEGGY on the top left-hand corner.

  “What’s up?” Eddie asked, when he came home and found his young wife with reddened eyes.

  “I’ve heard from our Lizzie. She’s safe. And—and I’ve burnt your chops!” Polly burst into tears again and found great comfort in his thin but reassuring arms.

  “Eeh, lass, I’m that glad for you. Where is she?”

  “She doesn’t say, but she’s got herself a job in munitions and she’s made some friends and says she hasn’t been as happy for years.” And Polly sobbed all the harder in sheer relief. “Oh, I do wish I could see her.”

  * * *

  One day after work, Peggy caught up with Lizzie and held her back from the group of girls who lived in the same part of town and always walked home together, tired after their long shift. “I’ve got something for you.” She flourished an envelope. “Recognise the handwriting?”

  Lizzie stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, her heart thumping. “It’s Polly’s. But how did you—?”

  “I got my friend Helen at union headquarters to forward it to me. I had to tell her why, but she’s on your side and won’t give your address to anyone else. And if you send letters to her, she’ll post them to your family for you. So now you do have a way of writing to your sister.” She had to guide Lizzie into a side street and stand with her till the tears had ceased. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

  “No, I’ll save it for later.” Lizzie gave her a tremulous look. “I’ll only cry again when I read it.” Then she threw her arms round Peggy and gave her a big hug. “I don’t know how to thank you! You’ve been a wonderful friend to me.”

  It seemed as if everything in her life had changed for the better since the day she’d met Peggy in the station in Manchester. She had a job, friends, lodgings with a motherly woman, and she was even saving money. After the war
, she knew she’d have to think what to do, perhaps emigrate to Australia or somewhere Sam could never find her, but for the moment this suited her fine. And anyway, like most other people, she wanted to do her bit for her country.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Spring–Summer 1917

  Lizzie saw her twenty-first birthday pass with a sense of unreality. She had been away from Sam for over two years now, and yet still she felt his shadow looming over her. The birthday, which no one else knew about except her, was followed by the month everyone was soon calling “Bloody April,” when the enemy had success after success against British aircraft on the Western Front.

  To add to the gloom, Polly wrote to tell her that Jack Dearden had been killed in one of those air battles—indeed, it was a wonder he’d lasted so long—and Lizzie shed a few tears for the happy-go-lucky lad she’d walked with in the park. How long ago that all seemed now. She had been a mere child. Well, at least he’d got to fly his beloved planes.

  She wrote a letter to Mrs. D expressing her condolences, but still did not dare send it direct from Murforth. Only Polly and Eva knew her address here, for as the months passed without a sign of Sam finding her, she’d relented and told them where she was. She wouldn’t let them pass the address on to Percy, though, and she wouldn’t let them visit her. It would only take one accident, one person finding out where she was, for Sam to trace her.

  As spring lengthened into summer, Lizzie began to feel weary. She was an experienced worker now, having spent time in several of the departments at the munitions factory, moving from one low sprawling work area to the next, learning to know her way through the maze of yards and store-rooms and despatch areas. Peggy, who was now a senior union representative, was trying to get her interested in helping her fellow workers through union activities, but Lizzie knew that sort of thing wasn’t for her. Let alone she wasn’t clever enough to think things out as Peggy did, and deal with the bosses, she knew that as soon as the war was over she had to get out of the country. Fast.

  She had thought and thought about her situation and had come to realise that so long as he was alive, Sam would never willingly let her go. The first thing he’d do when he got out of the Army would be to come looking for her, she was sure. So she had settled on Australia as a destination, because the Australians were sort of like cousins to the English. Well, they were fighting against the Huns side by side, weren’t they? And a lot of them came from England originally. So they must be all right. Though the thought of going so far away all on her own terrified her, and sometimes, even living here in Murforth, she was just plain homesick for Overdale and all the people she knew, like Mrs. D and Emma Harper.