Moonlight and Ashes

by Rosie Goodwin

  ‘I’m telling you, she almost bit my head off and I was only trying to get her into conversation,’ she said.

  Eileen giggled above the noise of the machines that were whirring into life in the factory. ‘Told yer she looked like a sullen-faced bugger, didn’t I? Happen now you’ll give her a wide berth.’

  The words had barely left her mouth when the topic of their conversation walked in. As Eileen and Maggie looked towards her they were shocked to see that one of her eyes was black and blue. Oblivious to the fact that she was being watched, the girl began to push her fair hair under the obligatory hairnet.

  ‘Yer know, she wouldn’t be bad-lookin’ if she smiled an’ used a bit o’ make-up,’ Eileen remarked. ‘An’ I wonder who gave her that shiner. It’s a beauty, ain’t it?’

  Still smarting from the night before, Maggie shrugged. ‘I neither know nor care. I’m certainly not goin’ to ask an’ give her the chance to snap me head off again.’

  At that moment, the factory bell sounded, summoning the women to their machines and soon they were hard at work and the girl, for now, was forgotten.

  ‘Aw, Mam. You haven’t cooked the dinner again?’ Stooping to sweep Lucy into her arms, Maggie frowned at her mother. ‘I’m more than grateful to you for havin’ the little ’un an’ the twins when they get in from school, without you cooking dinner an’ all. I don’t want you overdoing it an’ knocking yourself up.’

  ‘Huh! What yer tryin’ to say? That I’m past it?’ Her mother glared at her as Maggie grinned. ‘It’ll be a cold day in hell when I ain’t up to throwin’ a meal together. An’ don’t tell me it ain’t nice to come home to find that dinner’s nearly ready.’

  ‘Well, of course it is. All I’m saying is, I don’t want you to make yourself bad. You do far more than enough already.’ They were now into May and the warmer weather had made Ellen’s ankles balloon.

  ‘Rubbish. Now get yer coat off an’ come to the table while I get across home to see to yer dad’s tea.’

  Maggie gratefully sank down onto a chair with Lucy still clinging to her.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said, as her mother tugged her pinny straight and headed for the open kitchen door. ‘When I’ve got the kids all settled I’ll pop down to the corner shop an’ treat you an’ Dad to a bottle o’ stout each an’ ten Woodbine. How would that be?’

  Ellen Sharp grinned. ‘Hark at the last o’ the big spenders, eh? Must be nice to have a bit o’ spare cash floatin’ about.’

  ‘It is nice not to have to count every single penny,’ Maggie admitted. ‘Though half me wages goes across the bar of the Crown or the Lord Aylesford if I’m daft enough to leave me purse lying about. Sam can get very touchy about me being a little more independent.’

  ‘Yes, well, there’s a few men feel like that when their women first go back out to work. They suddenly feel like they ain’t the breadwinner any more an’ it’s a blow to their pride.’ Pausing to plant a kiss on her daughter’s cheek, Ellen hurried away to get her husband’s tea.

  Luckily, Sam decided to stay in that night, so as soon as the twins and Lucy were tucked into bed, Maggie snatched up her bag and headed for the door.

  ‘I’m just nipping out to get a few bits for me mam an’ dad from the corner shop,’ she told him. ‘Is there anything you’d like bringing back?’

  Sam, who was listening to the wireless, glanced up. ‘A couple o’ bottles o’ bitter wouldn’t go amiss. Can’t give yer the money though. I’m skint till payday.’

  Maggie sighed. ‘Just keep your ear out for the kids, would yer? I shan’t be a jiffy.’

  Slipping out into the May evening, she welcomed the cool breeze that met her. She’d just washed up all the dinner pots, done a load of washing and put it through the mangle before hanging it out on the line, then got all the children ready for bed, and the night wasn’t over yet. When she got home she still had the twins’ uniforms to iron ready for the next day and the kitchen to clean.

  It would have been pointless to ask Sam for any help. He still firmly believed that housework was a woman’s duty. Still, she reasoned, she had known how he felt before she took her job so she supposed she shouldn’t complain, and he had stayed in tonight, which made a change, though she rightly guessed that it was more to do with lack of funds than a need for her company.

  She reached the corner shop only to find the shutters down and the Closed sign in the window.

  ‘What’s going on here then?’ she enquired of a neighbour who was hurrying past.

  Greta Lewis, who was known to love a good gossip, paused and shook her head sadly. ‘Ain’t yer heard then? They had a telegram boy arrive on his bike earlier today. Their lad’s been killed in action in France. The poor buggers are heartbroken. Mind you, who wouldn’t be? This bloody war is causin’ some heartache, ain’t it? He was their only son. I just wonder if the missus will ever get over it. She worshipped the ground that lad walked on, so she did.’ Shaking her head, she walked away as tears welled in Maggie’s eyes. She’d known Ben Drew since he was in short trousers and could hardly believe that he was dead. He had been so young, with all his life before him. Her thoughts moved on to David. Would his mother be getting a telegram next saying that something had happened to him? The thought was too terrible to contemplate and she pulled herself together with an effort.

  Taking a deep breath, she glanced up and down the street. The nearest shop if this one was closed was some streets away in an area of Swanshill that most people tried to avoid. It was a notorious red-light district. But what choice did she have? She had promised her mother and father a treat, not to mention Sam. Quickly making her mind up, she hurried on. The way she saw it, the sooner she got there the sooner she would be back.

  After a brisk ten-minute walk, the shop came into sight. Heavily made-up girls on street corners sneered at her as she hurried past, and she saw more than one talking to men before taking their arms and leading them away. She shuddered, thinking how awful it must be to have to sell your body to make a living. Keeping her head down, she slipped into the shop and in no time at all was back out on the pavement with the things she had come for tucked in a brown paper carrier bag with string handles that cut into her hands.

  She quickly retraced her steps but had only walked the length of two streets when a girl standing on the edge of a pavement made her pause. She frowned. There was something about her that was vaguely familiar, and yet for the life of her, Maggie couldn’t think what it was. Slowing her step, she came abreast of the young woman and dared to glance at her. She gasped. This was the girl who had recently started at the factory - the one she had tried unsuccessfully to befriend. The girl, unfortunately, caught sight of Maggie at the same time and colour flooded into her heavily rouged cheeks.

  ‘So what you starin’ at then, Miss Prim an’ Proper!’

  Maggie gulped deep in her throat as she took in the bright red lips and the short skirt.

  ‘I er . . . Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,’ she said hastily. ‘I just didn’t expect to see you round here, that’s all.’

  ‘Why, what’s wrong wi’ round here? Not good enough fer the likes o’ your sort, ain’t it?’

  Maggie was momentarily lost for words. A large dark-haired man who was obviously the worse for wear, was lurching towards them and suddenly the girl was all smiles as she turned to face him.

  ‘Lookin’ fer a good time, are yer, love?’ When he nodded, she quickly took his arm, before turning to glare at Maggie across her slim shoulder. ‘Why don’t you just piss off back to where yer came from, eh? Go on. Get back to yer cosy little hubby an’ yer cosy little two-up, two-down.’

  Now it was Maggie’s turn to blush. She watched the odd couple stagger away, the girl almost collapsing beneath the weight of the man as she steered him along until they disappeared around the street corner. Why on earth would the girl be selling herself when she had a full-time job in the factory? It made no sense at all, but then Maggie thought back to the night the girl
had snapped at her when she tried to walk with her. Whatever her reasons, she obviously didn’t want Maggie to get involved so from now on she would avoid her. After all, she had enough problems of her own.

  Get back to yer cosy little hubby . . . As the girl’s words came back to her, Maggie nearly laughed out loud. Oh yes, she had enough problems of her own, all right. If only Miss Powder an’ Paint could have known.

  The following morning at work, as Eileen and Maggie chatted in the canteen during their break, the girl appeared and sank down at a nearby table. As usual she kept herself to herself, but her eyes when they caught Maggie’s seemed to be sending an unspoken message.

  For some reason, Maggie had chosen not to mention the incident to Eileen and now she was glad that she hadn’t. After draining her mug she rose and said, ‘I’m just off to the lav. I’ll see yer back inside, eh?’

  Inhaling deeply on her Park Drive, Eileen nodded as she glanced at the large wall clock. ‘Don’t be long, else you’ll have old May breathin’ fire down yer neck.’ May was the supervisor and known to be a bit of a tyrant.

  Some minutes later, as Maggie stood washing her hands at the sink in front of the long row of toilets, the door opened and the girl walked inside.

  Maggie had no intention of getting her head bitten off yet again, but as she made to slip past her, the girl nervously caught at the sleeve of her overall.

  ‘’Ere, about last night - I were wonderin’, could yer keep it to yerself? Seein’ me on the streets, I mean? I’ve no need to tell yer that some o’ the women who work here are hard-nuts an’ they’ll make me life a misery if they get to know I’m on the game.’

  Maggie stared into the girl’s haunted face. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman she had caught standing on a street corner. She looked so unhappy. The bruise on her eye had now turned a deep purple colour and without her heavy make-up she looked very young.

  ‘I’ll not say a word to anyone,’ Maggie murmured, and saw the girl’s look of relief. ‘It’s no business of mine what you get up to.’

  She was almost through the door when the girl muttered, ‘Thanks, missus.’ At a loss as to what to make of it all, Maggie picked her way back through the other women to her machine.

  When she arrived home that evening, she found Sam’s mother sitting at the side of the empty fire-grate.

  ‘I sent yer mam across the road to see to yer dad’s dinner,’ Beryl Bright informed Maggie, flashing her a smile.

  Maggie returned the smile before peeping out of the kitchen window to check on the children, who were all three happily playing in the Anderson shelter.

  ‘I thought yer might like to know that I had a letter from our David this mornin’.’

  Maggie’s heart began to pound but she kept her face straight as she asked, ‘Oh yes, and how is he?’

  ‘Not so good, to be honest, but at least he’s safe up to now. He’s in Norway, an’ the things he’s seein’ are breakin’ his heart. You know what a big softie he is.’ Beryl fiddled with the fringe of the tablecloth. ‘Apparently, things ain’t good out there. His friend died in his arms a while back. Seems our lads weren’t properly equipped for such Arctic conditions. Let’s just hope this government that Churchill is puttin’ together will help ’em, eh? I tell yer, them bloody Jerries have somethin’ to answer for. Though I suppose we should be grateful they’re leavin’ us alone. If it weren’t fer the rationin’, the black-outs an’ the menfolk bein’ called up left right an’ centre, there might not be a war on fer us.’

  ‘Let’s just hope it stays that way.’ Maggie thought of what David must be going through. He was such a gentle man, and she could imagine how badly seeing people die in front of his very eyes must be affecting him.

  Her mother-in-law reached across to squeeze her hand as she lumbered to her feet. ‘Right, well, I’d best get meself home now yer back. I just thought you’d like to hear he’s safe.’

  ‘Thank you, that was very kind of you. But aren’t you going to wait and see Sam? He’ll be home from work in a minute.’

  Her mother-in-law shook her head. ‘No, there’d be no point. You know me an’ our Sam allus rub each other up the wrong way. How’s he treatin’ you nowadays?’

  Maggie felt herself flush, and crossing to the sink she rolled up her sleeves and began to peel some potatoes. ‘Oh, I can’t complain.’

  ‘Mmm. Still spendin’ half his time in the pub, is he?’ Seeing Maggie’s embarrassment the older woman’s voice softened. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, Maggie, ’cos they’re both me lads, but life dealt you a bad card when it tied you up to our Sam. Sometimes I can hardly believe that they’re both mine ’cos they’re as different as chalk from cheese. You an’ our David were so right together. If only . . .’

  ‘Mam, I know yer mean well, but don’t you think it’s a bit late for If Onlys now, all these years on?’

  The woman’s chin sank to her chest. ‘Sorry, love. I’ve no wish to rake up old memories. It’s just that . . .’

  ‘I know.’ Drying her hands, Maggie wrapped the woman in a warm embrace. ‘Now get yourself home. Thanks for everything you’ve done.’

  When the door had closed behind her visitor and Maggie was alone for a few minutes, she sank onto a chair and buried her face in her hands. David was safe. She’d tried so hard over the last weeks to push thoughts of him from her mind, but now she could no longer deny how much she had missed him. As the tears that she had held back flowed freely, she offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

  Chapter Seven

  At the beginning of June, Sam sat in the kitchen with Maggie’s father, drinking beer and listening to Radio Luxembourg report that Operation Dynamo, the great evacuation of Dunkirk, was complete. Maggie hovered nervously in the background as the horrors that the British troops had been forced to endure were described. Crowds on the south-shore coasts were waving Union Jacks and shouting encouragement as the defeated troops returned aboard the huge fleets of destroyers, fishing boats, ferries and any other sea-going vessel that could carry them. All day long they had listened to shocking stories of the decaying corpses that littered the beaches of Dunkirk, and Maggie guessed that for every man who had escaped total annihilation, another poor soul had been left dead or dying. It hardly bore thinking about and her heart was heavy as she thought of all the families who would be grieving that night.

  ‘Things certainly ain’t lookin’ good now.’ Bill Sharp took a swig of bitter from his glass.

  ‘Do yer reckon they’ll start the call-ups again?’ This from Sam.

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me one little bit,’ Maggie’s father replied stoically. ‘Some o’ them lads won’t be fit to go back after what they’ve bin through, an’ it stands to reason they’ll have to be replaced. This war is a long way from over yet, the way I see it.’

  Maggie saw Sam go even paler. For all his bullying ways, she knew her husband was a coward at heart and dreaded the thought of going to war.

  A silence, save for the sound of the broadcaster’s voice, settled on the room as they all thought of what might happen in the not too distant future.

  The following day dawned bright and sunny, but the atmosphere at the Courtaulds factory where Maggie worked was heavy. Machines stood empty and the women rightly guessed that some of their workmates were at home mourning the deaths of loved ones who hadn’t returned from Dunkirk. Eileen had not turned into work either that day, and Maggie kept glancing at her friend’s empty machine. What if her friend’s husband had been hurt or lost? How could she find out? Somewhere tucked deep in her bag she had Eileen’s address, and she decided that during her lunch-break she would pop round and see her. Eileen was a good worker and timekeeper. In fact, now that Maggie came to think about it, she couldn’t recall her losing a single day since she had started at the factory, so there must be something very wrong.

  With her mind made up, she lowered her head to her work and wished away the hours until lunchtime.

  Two hours later fo
und her hurrying down the road where Eileen lived. Number 22 Cox Street, this was it. After wiping her sweaty hand down her skirt, she knocked, but there was no answer. She knocked again, louder this time. After the third knock she began to think that no one was in. She was just about to turn and leave when she heard the sound of a door opening and someone shuffling along the hallway. When the door was opened she had to stop herself from gasping. It was Eileen, but not as Maggie had ever seen her before. Her eyes, usually so bright and sparkling, were dull and red-rimmed and she stared at Maggie as if she hardly knew her.

  ‘Eileen, love, are you all right?’ But Maggie found herself talking to thin air as Eileen turned and went back the way she had come, leaving the door wide open. Maggie stepped inside and closed the door behind her before following Eileen down the passageway and into a room at the back of the house. It was a bright sunny room that was surprisingly well furnished and decorated. A huge patterned rug covered most of the floor, and round the edges of that, the linoleum shone with polish. In the centre of the rug stood a heavy oak table and matching chairs, and pretty flowered curtains billowed softly in the breeze that blew in from the open window.

  ‘I was worried about you,’ Maggie said quietly. ‘It’s not like you to miss work.’

  Eileen turned to her and silently handed her a telegram. As Maggie’s eyes flew down the page she felt her knees go weak.

  ‘Oh, Eileen, I don’t quite know what to say.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she looked into her friend’s bereft face.

  ‘Ain’t much yer can say. It came just after I got in from work last night. My Graham’s dead an’ ain’t nothin’ gonner bring him back, is there?’ Eileen’s voice was as empty as her eyes.

  ‘Look, you sit down an’ I’ll make us both a nice hot cup of tea, eh?’ Maggie felt the need to do something, and for now that was all she could think of.