Wedding Bells for Woolworths

by Elaine Everest

  ‘Blimey. That would be a problem, what with you marrying Sarah’s dad,’ Maisie said, putting into words what the three women were all thinking.

  ‘I suggest we don’t let what’s been said leave this room,’ Ruby instructed. ‘Let’s keep our eyes and ears open and if anything is going on, we should not interfere – unless one of them needs a shoulder to cry on. It’s probably nothing at all,’ she added.

  Maureen quickly agreed, feeling happier than she had in days.

  Maisie turned away to reach for Maureen’s dress, knowing she needed to speak to someone . . . and the best person was her friend, Betty Billington.

  5

  ‘It’s just down here,’ Freda said to Betty, who was looking at a piece of paper showing the address of Anthony’s lodgings. ‘I was told the house is no more than a hundred yards from the New Light.’

  Betty looked around in consternation. ‘I’m completely confused. What is this New Light?’

  Freda chuckled. ‘Now I do feel more of a local. It’s the nickname given to that pub back on the corner – the Royal Alfred. It was the first public house to have electric lights installed – or it may have been the first building . . . Oh well, that’s what it’s known as locally. I suggest we cross the road for a little while,’ she said, taking Betty’s arm and steering her across the narrow road as a group of men started to call out to them.

  ‘Oi, love! I’m yours for half a crown. Throw in the old girl and I’ll make it three bob.’

  ‘Oh my, did they say . . .?’ Betty blushed.

  ‘Ignore them, Betty, and don’t look back,’ Freda muttered as they walked a little faster. ‘I’m afraid you get men off the ships around here, and some are looking for . . .’

  ‘I know what they are looking for, Freda. I was just startled to think they assumed I would provide it,’ Betty started to giggle. ‘Perhaps I should treat it as a compliment.’

  It was Freda’s turn to be shocked. ‘Betty, really! Whatever would Douglas say?’

  One of the men, thick-set with dark hair that covered his ears, had followed them and tapped Freda on the shoulder. ‘I was talking to you, darling.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I think you’ve got the wrong person,’ she said as she grabbed Betty’s arm. Together they tried to hurry back over the narrow road.

  ‘Not so fast,’ another man called out. ‘Isn’t our money good enough for you stuck-up tarts?’

  ‘This one’s mine,’ said the dark-haired man who’d tapped Freda on the shoulder. ‘Come on, darling, no need to be so stuck up. There’s an alleyway over there . . .’ He took a firm grip on her arm.

  ‘Run, Betty!’ Freda cried out as he pulled her away from her friend.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ Betty shouted, landing the man a hefty blow across his left ear with her handbag and giving Freda time to pull away from his hold. ‘We are not the kind of women you’re after. Be on your way!’

  Two other men standing nearby joined in the chase as Freda and Betty ran for their lives.

  ‘Hey, there – what do you think you’re doing?’ a loud, deep voice boomed from behind them. Please don’t let there be any more of them, Freda prayed, as she tried to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She’d lost one shoe as she fled, and her arm ached where the beastly man had grabbed her.

  Betty tripped and stumbled against the window ledge of one of the shabby-looking houses set directly onto the street. Unlike roads nearby, this long terrace of two-up, two-downs didn’t have front gardens. She rapped on the dirty window, hoping to attract the attention of someone inside who might come to their aid.

  The men pursuing them, roaring loudly with laughter, now pounced, treating Betty and Freda’s discomfort as fair sport. ‘I’ve got you now, my little darling,’ grinned the dark-haired one as he pinned Freda’s arms to her sides and tried to kiss her.

  Freda turned her head aside, barely avoiding his mouth but wincing at his foul breath. ‘Help,’ she managed to scream as she spotted the other chap grab hold of Betty.

  ‘Let go of the ladies,’ the deep voice said from close by. ‘I’ll ask you just once more. I’m not an aggressive man, but I’ll not see you harm these women.’

  Freda, although fighting with all her might to beat off the offensive man, couldn’t help wonder where she’d heard that voice before.

  ‘I said leave the ladies alone,’ he growled, as Freda felt her assailant being wrenched away from her. As she turned, she saw her attacker fly into the road and lie there stunned. His mates fled, quickly followed by the man who’d been grabbing at Betty.

  ‘Oh my,’ Betty said, straightening her jacket and tucking a loose strand of hair back under her hat. ‘I don’t think we’ve met?’ She beamed up at the tall, handsome man. ‘I must thank you for saving us. You are saving us, aren’t you?’ she added suddenly, looking a little worried.

  Freda hurried over to where Betty was politely shaking the man’s hand. ‘Betty, this is my friend Lemuel Powell. He was in the RAF with Alan. I met him at the workshop the other day,’ she explained, as a questioning expression crossed Betty’s face. ‘Lemuel, this is Mrs Betty Billington. She’s my boss,and the manageress of Woolworths.’

  ‘I’m a friend of Alan Gilbert and his family,’ Betty explained as she shook Lemuel’s hand for a second time. ‘You are truly our saviour.’

  Lemuel nodded, a broad smile filling his face. ‘I have heard so much about your Woolworths store, and all of Alan’s good friends. We filled many nights talking about loved ones while waiting . . . waiting to see what the dark hours would bring.’

  ‘You flew planes?’ Betty asked, wondering how the tall man would fit into the aircraft.

  Lemuel roared with laughter. ‘No, ma’am, I worked with the ground crew. We kept the pilots in the air,’ he explained. ‘You’ve heard the saying “on a wing and a prayer”? There were times when it felt like the Almighty had deserted us and it was only a few men keeping our brave pilots up there.’

  ‘Then we have a lot to thank you for,’ Betty said. ‘Not least for turning up again in our hour of need. May I ask why you are in this less than salubrious area of Erith? Not that I’m not pleased you appeared,’ she added, glancing around to reassure herself once more that the gang of men were nowhere in sight.

  ‘I’ve been staying around here for the past two nights. But I’m on the move today,’ Lemuel explained as he adjusted a heavy-looking rucksack he had slung over one shoulder. ‘I also wondered why you are here. It is not really the place for ladies,’ he said, looking at the road that bordered the docks, where cranes were loading and offloading goods onto ships. Everything seemed grimy, with a layer of dust that made the houses look neglected and unloved, unlike those only a few streets away with their gleaming windows and scrubbed doorsteps. ‘Perhaps I could escort you, to spare you any more unwanted attention?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Lemuel. I must say, the sooner we are away from here, the sooner I’ll feel safe. We are looking for number twenty-nine,’ Betty said as she fell into step beside him with Freda on the other side. Both women had to crane their necks to look up to their tall, well-muscled companion, and they felt much safer in his company.

  ‘Here it is,’ Freda said as she stopped by a door and used a heavy brass knocker that could have done with a spit and polish to make their presence known to whoever was inside.

  ‘I’ll wait a while over there,’ Lemuel said. ‘I’ll feel better knowing you have concluded your business and gotten away from here.’

  Betty beamed at him. She’d never felt so safe. She’d noticed people who passed by give them furtive looks. ‘Thank you. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to carry out our business. Ah – here comes someone now.’

  The door was opened by a short, wiry woman who was wiping her hands on a frayed tea towel. She took in Betty, who was wearing her smart tweed suit, and looked defensive. ‘If you’re from the authorities, you’ve got the wrong house. It’s her two doors down you want. It’s
criminal what she gets up to, with women to-ing and fro-ing at all hours. I told your people I don’t hold with such things, but those poor women need help from someone – just not her.’

  Freda didn’t understand what she was going on about. ‘I’m sorry – we aren’t from the authorities, we’re from Woolworths.’

  It was the woman’s turn to look confused. ‘I didn’t know you made deliveries. Not that I’ve ordered anything. You’ve most likely got the wrong house,’ she said as she started to close the door. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.’

  ‘Please – I’m here on behalf of one of your boarders, a Mr Anthony Forsythe?’ Betty interrupted, before the door closed completely.

  ‘He’s not here. I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him these past few days. He disappeared without taking his things. If he’s in trouble with the police, you can tell him from me I’ll be selling his property to cover the rent he owes me. I’m within my rights,’ she added indignantly.

  ‘Oh, my; I do believe we are talking at cross purposes,’ Betty said, trying hard not to become irritated. The woman still seemed hell-bent on shutting the door on them. ‘I am Mrs Betty Billington, the manager of F. W. Woolworths, and Mr Forsythe is one of our trainee managers. He met with an unfortunate accident yesterday . . .’

  ‘If he’s dead, I’ll still be selling his bits and pieces. And that includes his bikes. They’re cluttering up the yard, and I’m still owed rent.’

  ‘Please, hear me out,’ Betty said. ‘Mr Forsythe isn’t dead. He’s in the cottage hospital and likely to remain there for a while. I came to collect his nightclothes and washing implements, so he’s able to be a little more comfortable during his enforced stay.’

  The woman didn’t seem moved by the news of Anthony’s predicament. ‘So who is going to pay his rent?’ she asked, folding her arms over her thin frame and glaring at Betty. ‘I’m not a charity, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps showing a little charity would help at a time like this,’ Betty said primly. ‘The poor man had an accident. He didn’t mean not to be here and pay his rent on time. I’m sure we can come to some agreement . . .’

  ‘On time? He’s never paid his rent on time since the day he moved in,’ the woman spat back. ‘He’s too bloody busy tinkering with those damned bikes or taking off cycling the streets. He’s a rum one and no mistake. I’m glad to be shot of him.’

  Freda was worried. Surely Anthony wasn’t going to be made homeless because of an accident for which she was partly to blame? She looked to Betty for help, but her boss was speechless and clearly angry. ‘Could we take his possessions?’ Freda asked impulsively. ‘They could be taken care of until he is fit to leave hospital.’

  ‘That’s an admirable idea,’ Betty beamed, attempting to take a step over the threshold.

  ‘No one’s taking a thing until I’ve been paid what’s owed to me,’ the woman snarled. ‘And if I’m not, then I’ll be flogging his stuff to cover it.’

  Freda felt more and more as though this was all her fault. The little she’d seen of Anthony Forsythe, she hadn’t liked; he seemed rude and prickly. But she felt that it was down to her to help in some way so that when he left hospital, he still had his worldly goods and this woman hadn’t sold them off, leaving him without a stitch to his name. ‘Betty, I feel perhaps we could settle Anthony’s debt and take his property. We wouldn’t want this lady to be out of pocket, would we?’ she asked, hoping Betty understood what she was getting at.

  ‘Of course not,’ Betty answered, giving her a discreet nod. ‘May I see Mr Forsythe’s rent book, please, and I’ll settle what is due and give you something on top for your trouble.’

  The woman thought for a moment before replying. ‘Wait here,’ she said, closing the door in their faces.

  ‘I didn’t expect any of this,’ Betty said, taking a couple of steps away from the front of the house and checking her wristwatch as she did so. ‘I have an appointment in fifteen minutes with a local supplier and I daren’t miss it, as it could be beneficial to the store. I’m also unsure what we are going to do with Mr Forsythe’s property. It doesn’t seem right leaving his things in the warehouse. It could be an age before he returns to work, and the responsibility if anything should go missing is unimaginable.’

  ‘I could store his things at my house. I do have a spare bedroom at the moment, and if I should take on a new lodger, we can think again about storage. I’m not sure about the bicycles, though.’

  Betty nodded absentmindedly as she rummaged in her large leather handbag. ‘Thank goodness I’d not been to the bank yet. I can borrow what is owed from this morning’s takings, and alter the ledgers when I return to work.’

  Freda forgot about the predicament of where to store Anthony’s property and gasped as Betty pulled out a bundle of ten-shilling notes in a paper band. ‘Put that away, before someone notices and runs off with your handbag! Gosh, what would have happened if one of those rough men had taken it?’

  Betty pulled out four of the notes and tucked them into the pocket of her jacket before pushing the rest to the bottom of the bag and closing the brass clasp with a snap. ‘For goodness’ sake, Freda. They were not interested in our handbags. They were after our bodies,’ she said briskly, before looking up into Freda’s shocked face. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ve shocked you, and there was no need. Why don’t you go over and ask Lemuel if he will accompany us back to the store? A little protection would not go amiss.’

  Freda agreed, and hurried over to where Lemuel stood watching discreetly. He rested his rucksack on the ground and wiped the perspiration from his brow as Freda explained what had happened with the landlady.

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘May I ask if the young man is the kind of person to be in debt to someone?’

  Freda screwed up her eyes against the hot sun as she looked up at him. ‘I hadn’t given it a thought. I only know him from work. The trainee managers move from store to store for their training. I think he’s been with us for only a few weeks.’ She didn’t like to add that they’d had more contact after she ran him down while on Bessie. ‘I’m pretty certain that anyone in training to run their own store one day would have to be honest and reliable.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have a word with Mrs Billington?’ he advised.

  Freda agreed and beckoned to Betty, who waited for a man with a wheelbarrow to pass by on the narrow road before joining them. ‘We’ve been thinking that perhaps the landlady isn’t being completely honest, Betty. Why would one of our trainees not pay his rent money? If the landlady had cause for concern, she could have complained to Woolworths and it would have been the end of his career. Something stinks here.’

  ‘I agree – something does stink, and it isn’t the river,’ Betty said, as she wrinkled her nose. ‘Look, the door’s opening. Would you join us, Lemuel?’ she asked, before heading back to where the landlady stood with her hands on her hips.

  The three of them waited for the woman to speak. She gave a quizzical look at Lemuel before clearing her throat. ‘I hope you aren’t wanting to rent a room from me,’ she said pointedly, nodding to a small card propped in the front window that bore the words NO DARKIES HERE. ‘Nothing personal,’ she added, ‘but we’ve had problems.’

  ‘You seem to have a lot of problems,’ Betty said, giving her a hard stare and holding out a hand. ‘May I see the rent book?’

  ‘Well, there’s a funny thing. I had it the other day, and now I can’t find it.’

  ‘Then we will come back when you have found it,’ Betty said, starting to turn away. ‘My friend, Police Sergeant Jackson, can visit later to help you search for it.’

  Freda did her best not to laugh out loud as the woman turned pale.

  ‘There’s no need for that. I just want what’s mine,’ she muttered sullenly. ‘As I told you before, I can sell off his stuff and cover my costs.’

  Betty reached into her pocket and pulled out the notes. ‘You can take this, and I’ll forget to speak to my policeman fr
iend. It is your choice.’

  The woman looked at the proffered notes and licked her lips thoughtfully. ‘All right,’ she said, reaching out to take them.

  ‘Not so fast, dear lady,’ Lemuel said, pulling Betty’s arm away before the money could be touched. ‘We want the young man’s possessions. When we have them here on this doorstep, you can have the money. I am sure that, from the goodness of your heart, you will be agreeable?’ He gave her a charming smile.

  ‘I can’t do it all on my own. Those bikes are heavy, and I’m an old woman,’ she answered, not taking her eyes from the money.

  ‘I’ll come with you to collect his personal effects,’ Betty said, stepping forward.

  ‘You make it sound as though he were dead,’ Freda said, inwardly squirming at the thought that if he had been, it would be her fault. ‘I can help with the bicycles, if you’ll show me the way?’ she said to the woman.

  ‘There’s a gate down that alley. They’re in the shed.’ The woman did not move from where she stood. ‘You’ll have to get them yourself, as my back won’t let me lift things.’ Turning to Betty, she added, ‘His room’s up the staircase on the left. I’ve already emptied the drawers and wardrobe. It won’t take you more than a few minutes to pack his suitcase. What did you expect me to do when he vanished without a word? I’ve got people wanting to rent that room,’ she said, noticing Betty’s look of disdain.

  ‘I’ll come along and help you,’ Lemuel said to Freda, following her towards a narrow alleyway between the houses.

  ‘Don’t you go into my house! I don’t want no darkies in my home. It’ll give me a bad reputation,’ the woman screeched.

  ‘Don’t worry – your reputation’s none too shiny anyway,’ Betty muttered as she hurried up the stairs, intending to be as quick as possible.

  ‘I’m sorry people are so vile to you,’ Freda said to Lemuel.

  ‘Don’t give it another thought. What’s that saying . . . water off a duck’s back? I don’t let people like her worry me. Let’s get those bikes, shall we?’ he said, continuing to the back yard as Freda followed, wondering what they’d fought for in the last war if people could still be so horrid to each other.