The Surplus Girls

by Polly Heron

  ‘See if you can find the errors,’ said Miss Hesketh. ‘If you show an aptitude for this kind of thing, you might be a suitable candidate for book-keeping. That’s a responsible job, and is paid accordingly, even for a woman, though you wouldn’t earn as much as a man, of course.’

  ‘It’s the same at the mill. The men are on a higher rate than the women. It’s not fair.’

  ‘It is, however, the way of the world,’ said Miss Hesketh in a tone that closed the subject.

  ‘Did I say the wrong thing?’ Belinda whispered later to Miss Patience.

  ‘My sister is in full agreement with you, never doubt that. Between you and me, she had to fight to keep her job after the war and was regarded by some as unpatriotic because she resisted handing her position to a returning soldier, even though the job had been hers all along and wasn’t a temporary wartime placement. That was hard. Being thought of as unpatriotic was hard.’

  Sometimes Belinda wondered about what the ladies’ lives had been like, but when she raised the subject at home one evening, Auntie Enid snorted derisively.

  ‘Their lives have been a damn sight easier than ours.’

  And that was that.

  ‘Go and fetch the hot-water bottles, there’s a good girl,’ said Grandma Beattie.

  Belinda went upstairs. In her room, she put down the lamp she had brought to light her way and picked up her treasured photograph of Ben, gently fingering the paper poppy attached to the black crêpe sleeve. If only she could wear the poppy sewn onto her blouse, just for a dash of colour. Would she ever get to wear the pink patterned material?

  ‘Ah, our darling boy.’

  She jumped. ‘Auntie Enid – I didn’t know you were there.’

  She put down the photograph. Auntie Enid picked it up.

  ‘He’d be that sorry if he could see you now.’

  ‘Sorry?’ She went cold. Had Auntie Enid read her mind?

  ‘Aye. Instead of living your life in his memory, here you are going to night school. He’d be sorry to have caused so much worry.’

  ‘I think he’d be proud of me.’

  ‘Nay, lass. You were the sun, moon and stars all rolled into one as far as our Ben were concerned, but no man could ever be proud of his girl getting herself all trained up for a lifetime of work. That’s not what a decent fellow wants for his lass.’

  Patience was in the sitting room, embroidering and feeling guilty. Prudence, after a day at work followed by an evening of teaching, was at the dining table, preparing more lessons. Patience bungled a French knot and had to undo it. If only she could be of more use to the school.

  At last Prudence came into the room.

  ‘Now we have lessons ready up to the end of next week.’

  ‘Sit down and I’ll make the Ovaltine.’

  When she returned with the tray, they settled down for a chinwag.

  ‘This is our third week of teaching,’ said Prudence, taking a sip. ‘I’ve been thinking. Now that we have a second typewriter, we can let the girls use it for practice outside their lesson-times. It’s the only way they’re going to pick up their speeds.’

  ‘They wouldn’t need to pay for that, would they? I can’t imagine Miss Layton’s pennies stretching that far.’

  ‘If they don’t pay, we can’t call ourselves a business, although they could pay a lower rate. As for Miss Layton, I rather think the business school ought to recognise the need to support charity cases. That will make Lawrence look like even more of a philanthropist and will be of genuine benefit to Miss Layton.’

  Patience’s heart sank. ‘We can’t call her a charity case.’

  ‘Can you think of a better name?’

  ‘Not immediately, no.’ But she would. She wasn’t going to have Miss Layton known as a charity case. Even if she was one.

  ‘And we should organise a few part-time hours for each girl, on Saturdays, so they can use their new skills in a real work environment. That means getting local businesses to take them on – at no cost, of course. The girls will be doing it to gain experience. It will look good on their letters when they apply for new positions. Plus, of course, it will make it harder for Lawrence to close down the school if we have local businessmen on our side.’

  It was a sobering thought. ‘How sad to be doing everything with an eye to keeping Lawrence at bay. What would Pa have said?’

  ‘It was Pa who put us in this situation,’ Prudence said bluntly. ‘We need to do something about Miss Layton’s appearance.’

  ‘What’s wrong with it? She’s a pretty girl, and clean. Her clothes aren’t new, but they’re always clean and pressed.’

  Prudence gave a bark of laughter. ‘Poor Miss Layton. Is that the best way you can describe her? A clean girl. I’m sure she’d be flattered.’

  ‘Don’t mock. It matters.’

  ‘Of course it does. It’s the first thing you look for in the lower classes: clean poor or dirt poor. I don’t care for all that black, though. It’s deeply unflattering and if her young man died in the war, then it’s high time she came out of it. She can’t go into perpetual black like Queen Victoria.’

  ‘That’s unkind.’

  ‘It’s practical. If she turns up looking like the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, it isn’t going to endear her to a potential employer. I’ll write to Mrs Sloan. I have the impression that our Miss Layton is kept on a tight rein, which is appropriate, of course, for a young, unmarried girl, but in this case, my guidance is required.’

  ‘She’s not as young as all that. She’s twenty-one this summer. As I recall, you left home not long before you turned twentyone.’ Oh, what had made her say that? ‘I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.’

  How crass. She had no business making remarks about Prudence’s time away. Prudence never spoke of it. She had gone with such high hopes, declaring that since men weren’t queuing at the front door, she was going to devote her life to her work and not only that, she was going to leave home. Her friend had married and moved to Scotland, where her husband’s family had a smart hotel and the friend – Elsie? Elspeth? – had secured the post of receptionist for Prudence. The family owned a dozen hotels around England and Scotland and Prudence had ambitions to be the first lady-manager. If anybody could achieve that, she could.

  Pa and Lawrence had done their utmost to prevent her leaving, but she was having none of it.

  ‘Since you have both spent my whole life telling me I’m doomed to be an old maid, I’ve decided to be an old maid on the banks of Loch Lomond or in one of the other locations where the Waddens have their hotels.’

  ‘Since one of their hotels is in Manchester, you may well end up back here,’ said Lawrence. ‘That would serve you right for leaving Pa in the lurch.’

  To this, Prudence had given the most effective reply possible: she left home.

  Eighteen months or so later, she returned, complete with a brittle temper that forbade questions. On the one occasion that Lawrence had goaded her for her spectacular lack of success in the hotel world, she had risen from the table, tipped a serving dish of boiled potatoes over his head and marched out of the room, with her back so straight she might have had the poker tucked down her blouse.

  That poker had been there ever since.

  ‘If you wish to apologise,’ said Prudence, ‘the best way to do so would be never to refer to the matter again. It was years ago. As I was saying before you interrupted with your ill-judged remark, I shall write to Mrs Sloan about Miss Layton’s attire. You may spend the next few days enquiring in local businesses about the possibility of our placing our girls there for a few hours on Saturday afternoons to extend their experience.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’ What? Approach strangers?

  ‘You have to,’ said Prudence drily. ‘Do you want us to remain in our home or not?’

  A run of dry days made Belinda’s twice-weekly evening walks to Chorlton pleasanter, certainly a lot less muddy. Even though the air still had a sharp edge to it, there was a kinder note undern
eath, a hint of the coming springtime. In the next few weeks, the evenings would lengthen. Auntie Enid and Grandma Beattie didn’t like her being out after dark.

  ‘I have a letter for Mrs Sloan,’ Miss Hesketh said at the end of her lesson, ‘if you would be kind enough to deliver it.’

  Belinda took the envelope. It felt thick; not stuffed-full thick, but luxuriously thick. Who would have thought there was such a thing as a middle-class envelope? Mrs Sloan and their address were written in neat, upright handwriting in black ink, with By hand in the top left-hand corner.

  ‘I won’t put it in my pocket. I’ll carry it.’

  If she had hoped Miss Hesketh might give her a clue as to its contents, she was disappointed. Miss Patience might have murmured, ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ but Miss Hesketh was made of sterner stuff.

  She kept the letter in her hand all the way home. In End Cottage, the golden lamplight wasn’t nearly as bright at the electric light in the Heskeths’ house. Not that she said anything. One thing she had quickly discovered was that, much as Auntie Enid and Grandma Beattie gobbled up details about the wonders of the Hesketh household, only one mention of each thing was permitted. To mention something twice – the electric lights, the cloakroom, the carpets not just on the floor but on the stairs – resulted in accusations of not being happy in her own home.

  ‘Miss Hesketh sent you this.’

  ‘What is it?’ Grandma Beattie’s knitting needles clicked away without her having to look at what she was doing. ‘A school report?’

  ‘I hope not. I’m not a child.’ But she was under twentyone, so maybe Auntie Enid was entitled to be informed of her progress.

  They both looked at Auntie Enid while she read. When she finished, she looked at Belinda as if it was her fault.

  ‘Did she tell you what this is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’s only gone and laid the law down about what you’re to wear. Apparently, being all in black – except she calls it unrelieved black – isn’t how you dress to work in an office. You’re to have a white or cream blouse. Well, you can forget that.’ Again, that look, as if it was Belinda’s fault. ‘And you can forget about yon business school if it means showing disrespect to our Ben.’

  ‘Auntie Enid!’

  ‘Now then,’ said Grandma Beattie, ‘this isn’t our Belinda’s doing and she’d never give up her mourning if it was left to her.’

  Auntie Enid wiped a hand across her eyes and sighed. ‘Sorry, chick. It’s riled me, this posh lady telling us what to do. It’s obvious she’s never lost anyone she cared about.’ A moment later, the look of blame was back. ‘I suppose this means that mauve material you bought on the sly has got a use after all.’

  Grandma Beattie laid her knitting in her lap. ‘It says white.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Belinda sat unmoving. Was this the end of her hopes?

  ‘It sounds like a kind of uniform,’ said Grandma Beattie.

  ‘You what?’ Auntie Enid radiated suspicion.

  ‘If office girls are expected to dress a certain way, it’s like a uniform and that’s got nowt to do with who’s lost someone and who hasn’t. God knows, everyone’s lost someone these days. I don’t like it any better’n you do, but if it’s just a uniform—’

  ‘Well, she’s not having a white blouse and that’s flat.’ Auntie Enid gave Belinda that look again. ‘You can have a white collar and cuffs and that’s as far as I’m prepared to go.’ She made a choked sound and forced the letter back into the envelope.

  Belinda felt jumbled up. Was she meant to be relieved? Grateful? Outraged, like Auntie Enid, at the idea of breaking into her mourning? All she wanted was to make a better future for herself by getting trained up for office work. Why did everything have to be such a fight?

  Her next lesson was on Friday evening and Grandma Beattie saw to it that she had a white collar and cuffs attached to her black blouse. She should be glad to have shed some black at last, but she couldn’t be, not when she saw that sorrow in Auntie Enid’s and Grandma Beattie’s eyes.

  ‘There,’ said Grandma Beattie. ‘You look like a proper office girl now – doesn’t she?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Auntie Enid with enough of an almost-sigh to make sure you knew she felt like sighing but bravely wasn’t.

  At the Miss Heskeths’ house, she expected to be congratulated on her improved appearance, but neither lady commented. Part of her was pleased not to be fussed over, but another part was disappointed.

  Would her family notice? Mum had been pleased for her when she started at the business school. Surely she would like to see her daughter looking like an office girl? And if Dad saw her in her office-white collar and cuffs, wouldn’t he realise the importance of what she was aiming for? So the next day, after she got home from her Saturday cleaning, she changed into her black blouse with the office-white collar and cuffs.

  ‘Where are you off to, wearing that?’ asked Grandma Beattie at the dinner table.

  ‘I’m going to show Mum and Dad. I’d like Mum to see me looking like an office girl.’

  ‘Aye, well, just make sure you leave your purse at home,’ advised Grandma Beattie.

  Belinda flushed. Ever since Dad had come round here, wanting to drag her home, the unwritten rule that Auntie Enid and Grandma Beattie never uttered a word against him in front of Belinda had vanished like morning mist.

  ‘And don’t go making any fancy promises,’ added Auntie Enid.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean don’t go making fancy promises.’

  After she had cleared away their dishes and washed up, she set off. It was a bitter afternoon, but at least it was dry.

  Mum was on the front doorstep, sharpening a knife against the edge of the brickwork.

  ‘Mum,’ Belinda called, going through the permanently open gateway – and was then distracted because something wasn’t quite right. The gate was missing. Not that it had been of any use, being rotten and hanging off its hinges, but even so. ‘What happened to the gate?’

  Mum jerked back her head with a throaty, exasperated sound. ‘Our Thad, that’s what. He only went and pinched it, him and Jacob. They chopped it up and sold it for firewood.’

  ‘They’re running wild.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. Tell your father. He’s the one that should stop ’em.’

  ‘Mum, look.’ She let her shawl slip down her arms. She felt like twirling round, but didn’t because she wanted to look like business-like. ‘What do you think?’

  Mum tilted her head on one side. ‘What am I looking at?’

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Oh aye.’

  ‘What do you think?’ She braced herself for the flow of compliments.

  ‘About time too. I know how much you loved Ben, but he’s been gone a long time. Is a white collar all you’ve run to? Honest, love, you should come out of your black now. It isn’t healthy, the way them Sloans keep you in it.’

  ‘It isn’t to do with mourning, Mum. It’s for the office; and it’s white cuffs an’ all… I mean, as well. This is how office girls dress.’

  ‘Is it? Well, it’s a shame they don’t wear more white, that’s all I can say. I’m sick of seeing you in black. Are you coming in?’

  She ought to; but for once she wasn’t going to do what was expected of her. She spent her whole life doing what other people expected.

  ‘I just popped by to show you my office clothes. I’d best get back.’

  ‘Probably just as well,’ said Mum. ‘Your dad were spitting feathers when he came home after yon Sloans wouldn’t let you move back. It’s hard, you know, with our George gone.’

  ‘I know, but one day I’ll have a better job and…’

  Don’t go making fancy promises. Was this what Auntie Enid had meant? But she would never be able to see her family go without, especially Mum and Sarah.

  ‘…I’ll be able to slip you a bit more.’

  ‘Eh, you’re a good lass. Come here.�
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  Mum drew her into a hug. Belinda let her body meld with her mother’s. She smelled of soap and used frying pans. Belinda wanted to hug away all Mum’s cares, her tiredness, her scratchy temper, the way Dad and the boys took her for granted.

  ‘I’d do owt for you, Mum.’

  ‘Except come home.’

  Belinda drew back from the embrace, almost dizzy with shock and guilt.

  ‘Nay, love, that were a joke.’ Mum grasped her hands and held them so tightly it was like being caught in a pair of pincers. ‘You mustn’t come back here, whatever your dad says. This is your chance to make summat of yourself. You don’t want to end up like me.’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’

  ‘It’s true. Now, get away with you. I’ve got a rabbit to skin; and before you ask, it came from the butcher, not off the meadows.’

  She had wanted to say ‘I love you,’ but couldn’t now that Mum was going on about the rabbit. She started to leave.

  ‘Hey, our Bel,’ called Mum and she turned round. ‘You look reet bonny.’

  She laughed. ‘I’m not meant to look bonny, Mum. I’m meant to look business-like.’

  ‘Eh, my daughter, the office girl.’ Her face changed. She walked after Belinda, eyes watchful. ‘You haven’t got any money, have you? I wouldn’t ask, but you know how it is.’

  Even before she walked inside, Belinda knew. She opened the door to End Cottage and she knew. It was like when she had walked in and found Dad, only that time she hadn’t known until she set eyes on him. This time, opening the door was enough. The atmosphere was different. Heavy with politeness.

  She stepped over the threshold, glancing across the room.

  ‘Miss Hesketh!’ Her hand flew to her chest. Miss Patience was here too. She looked round at the four women – no, not looked: gawped. ‘Miss Hesketh – Miss Patience.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Layton,’ said Miss Hesketh. ‘I see you’re wearing your white collar and cuffs.’

  ‘I wanted to show my mum… my mother.’

  ‘I hope she was pleased,’ said Miss Patience.

  ‘The Miss Heskeths have come to tell us they’ve made you into a charity case,’ said Auntie Enid. She looked humble and furious at the same time.