by Annie Clarke
Behind them, Mrs Oborne muttered, ‘It’s the powder. It’s not just the skin and hair that it gets into. I reckon our innards are bright yellow – stands to reason. Think on about Maisie’s babe, like a bleedin’ daffodil, it were.’
‘What was the powder that time?’
‘It were trinitro-something,’ Maisie butted in, smiling at Sarah, wanting to be friends again. Sarah sniffed and turned away.
Mrs Oborne called, ‘Trinitrotoluene, or summat like that. But that’s too bliddy long to say, so call it TNT.’
Maisie continued, ‘Well, that’s what I were packing shells with at me first factory, and I reckon the yellow could be the same, but who knows, we’re not told, and it won’t stop at the skin neither until you lot leave the stemming shop. Why would it? You’re breathing it in, after all. But anyway, the management’ll move you if you get the rashes bad enough. Mark you, some other poor beggar will have to have a go, probably me, while you come into the sewing room.’
Sylv said, ‘I reckon with all the chemicals in the air we’re a right mess inside, as well as outside. Gives me the willies it does.’
Cecil slowed for a tractor that was coming the other way, both vehicles easing onto the verges, the two drivers stopping to shout at one another. It wasn’t a row; it was just a talk. If Cecil had time for that, why was he always rushing? Fran wanted to run down the aisle and shake him, but it was only the powder making her edgy – well, making them all edgy. She looked out of the window at the drystone wall that was crumbling along this stretch. The drivers were waving to one another now and the bus jolted off the verge as Cecil headed onwards at the gallop, flying past some farm cottages.
Mrs Oborne said then, as though she’d arrived at a decision, ‘Howay, I’ve got to say this, our Sylv, you need to stop being such a ruddy ray of sunshine, and yes, I’m being bliddy funny. Just put a cork in it for Pete’s sake. The accident’s made you a mithering Minnie, but you weren’t the one who were killed, and what’s more, you’re in a clean area so not feeling out of sorts like the rest of us. So get some ruddy gumption or you’ll be walking alone with only your mithering for company. And you can stop smirking, our Maisie. You could do with some gumption too. You just remember how your mam brought you up: if you haven’t anything nice to say, say nowt at all.’
Sarah and Fran glanced at one another. Mrs Oborne usually kept out of things, but now she was part of the co-op she seemed to have changed into a mother hen. Gumption, eh? Fran thought. Aye, not a bad idea for you and all, Frances Hall.
For a while no one at their end of the bus said a word, just sat alone with their thoughts, which were only interrupted when they entered Sledgeford and the bus screamed to a stop, jolting them all forwards and then back again.
Beth came down the aisle, leading the charge because she hated the cold east wind. She was just as yellow as Fran and Sarah, and so too was Amelia, who followed her. Fran shook her head. It was ridiculous to think they were supposed to pretend they were working on something like sewing overalls or parachutes when they met friends on the street, for when did sewing anything have this effect?
Cecil drove on, screeching and swaying along the roads for what seemed like hours. Fran led the singing for some time, then Mrs Oborne took over with Beth’s help when Fran’s coughing became a nuisance. Finally, as they rounded the bend just east of the Factory, Cecil seemed to rush towards the gate, swinging into the parking area and braking so hard that everyone jerked forwards and back yet again. ‘I truly will swing for him, so help me,’ Mrs Oborne muttered.
Beth and Fran smiled at one another, for things were almost back to normal between the three of them but still not quite. But they were just too itchy, sickly and yellow to quarrel. And besides, Stan was on different shifts to them, so the gang hadn’t met.
Stepping onto the firm ground, Fran wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck against the cold. At last she felt like smiling, thinking of her mam knitting it, or sitting round the table with the co-op, making not just rugs but plans for ‘expansion’ too.
Fran’s da had muttered, as he stuffed the last of his baccy ration in his pipe, ‘Better watch it, Ben. They’ll be making you a new pair of proggy trousers any minute now, so they will.’ Ben had grimaced while the co-op laughed, drowning Da’s coughing.
Fran, Sarah and Beth linked arms as they walked to the Factory security gates.
‘Honestly,’ Beth said, ‘the thought of our mams huddling around the table, hatching plans and deciding whether to make the wall hangings with a Christmas theme reminds me of witches around a cauldron. I reckon they’ll be making spells – ones that will shove the Germans back from the Russian towns.’
Fran squeezed Beth’s arm. ‘You’re brave, or daft, because I might tell ’em you said that, and then you’ll be whacked by one of their rugs, pet.’ And what’s more, she thought, I’ll be the one doing the whacking if you start anything up with our Stan once we’re feeling more the thing.
They showed their passes at the gate and moved on into the changing rooms. They hated the stemming-shop area in a way they hated no other. ‘I hate feeling so sick,’ Beth moaned.
Sarah muttered, ‘Tell the foreman and he’ll mebbe move you, if you wear your lippy, that is.’
Beth raised her eyes. They changed and checked one another for metallic objects and silk underwear, which always made them giggle. Then they gave Valerie and Amelia a quick once-over, before picking up their masks, which became just as yellow inside as they did on the outside by the end of the shift. Amelia whispered that she had an interview for a clerk’s job that could be coming up in the office. ‘It doesn’t matter if I drop my pay. Daddy will make up any difference.’
Fran thought she hadn’t heard right. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
Sarah answered, her voice loud enough to drown the chatter, ‘She said it doesn’t matter if she drops her pay, because her daddy will make up any difference.’
Beth, who was tucking up her hair in her turban, stopped. ‘What? Howay, lucky for some, eh?’
Into the quiet, Amelia shrugged, the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘It’s not my fault if I’m used to better than …’ She faded, looking around.
Beth stepped forward. ‘Than? Than?’
The door opened and Miss Ellington appeared. ‘Time we got you to your work stations, ladies, then the fore shift can go.’
Amelia rushed through the door, brushing against Miss Ellington, who called, ‘My, someone’s eager. Come back – I need to check you.’ She waited in the doorway. ‘Come on, ladies, check one another, then file past. Ah, there you are, Amelia.’
Amelia had re-entered and now stood in front of Miss Ellington, not looking at anyone else. Finally they all filed past the security officer and out of the door into the corridor.
All Fran could think of as she walked alongside Beth and Sarah towards the stemming shop, passing safety posters, war posters, secrecy posters, was how could anyone not have to worry about money?
Maisie caught them up in the passageway, whispering, ‘That could be you, Fran, with no need to watch the pennies if you swap your pitman for the whelp, who anyone can see is licking his chops for you.’
Fran slowed, turning to look at Maisie to see if she was joking, mad or brave. Finally, she said, ‘Well, there’s no way I’m swapping Davey. Not now, not ever for anyone, and I don’t give a damn about Ralph’s chops, and that’s the most revolting picture anyone could have painted. And I never thought to hear such stupid words from you, Maisie. Take a good look at yourself when you next pass a mirror, and any more of that and I’ll punch your nose.’
Sarah moved between Fran and Maisie. ‘Now I feel sick, really sick, again and I think this time it will be on your shoes, Maisie.’
She bent over and Maisie looked shocked and scooted around her, but Beth was in her way, her arms crossed, and wouldn’t move until Fran said, ‘Let her through, Beth. She understands, I reckon.’
Fran was shaking with misery, and … wel
l, she didn’t know. Sarah resumed her place next to her and slipped her arm through hers, while Beth did the same on her other side. ‘That’ll learn her, silly fool,’ Beth muttered.
Maisie called back, ‘Can’t you three take a joke?’
At that very moment, Fran hated the war. Well, she always hated it, but now more than ever. She wanted it to be over, for Maisie would never have said anything like that if her Derek wasn’t dead. As they walked on, Sarah said quietly, ‘I wonder if you and Davey should get wed now, to stop the gossip because I don’t know how else we can stop Ralph. Marriage puts up a barrier, or should.’ Silence fell between the three girls.
Beth muttered, ‘If that’s aimed at me, I’m not listening.’
Fran almost shouted, ‘Oh, enough. Let’s deal with Ralph, can’t we?’
Sarah said, ‘But what would your mam do without you and your money, Fran? And where would you live? You’d have to change villages and pits to get away from the whelp because he’d kick up. And then me mam needs Davey’s money too, cos there’s nowt for a rainy day yet, which is what he and I said we’d sort. But don’t tell me da I said that.’
Fran noted that Sarah hadn’t denied the previous remark was meant for Beth, but she couldn’t deal with any more, so said nothing.
They passed a torn poster of a ship being torpedoed and the tannoy, which had been silent, burst into music. Fran and Davey had spoken of Ralph just last Sunday, and Davey had shrugged and said that Ralph was just a nuisance and to ignore him because he’d run out of steam. ‘Remember what your mam said, Franny Hall,’ he insisted. ‘Which was we’re not to be wed yet. War is war and you never know what’s to happen. And she meant it.’
They walked on down the corridor, passed an emergency exit and suddenly Fran realised she’d slipped back into mulling over the whelp – again. ‘That beggar’s taking up too much of me brain, and I’m right sick of him,’ she said. ‘He’s just a bliddy nuisance. Besides, we’re the Factory Girls, we three. We have gumption, all of us have – everyone working here, everyone beavering away everywhere. Just remember what Mrs Oborne said: “Get some ruddy gumption”. So I’m damn well getting some.’
Beth muttered as they walked down the corridor behind Maisie, ‘I reckon threatening to punch our Maisie’s nose meant you’d already got it.’ The three of them laughed and it looked like the spat between the other two, which was never far from the surface, was over for now, before it had begun, and Fran started to relax. Beth continued, ‘The whelp’s messing about because of Stan, I reckon.’
Fran felt Sarah stiffen at Stan’s name, and her heart sank, but it was all right because Beth went on, ‘When they were both at Oxford I bet Ralph felt superior to Stan the pitman. Now Stan’s the one who knows more, so Ralph’s kicking out. Do you remember how he used to plague us, sniffing around the village? And there was that damned ball. Kicking out, yer see, just like back then. He’s cruel, he has a nasty side.’
Fran murmured, ‘But it can’t be something so daft.’ She stopped and grinned. The word gumption was running through her head loud and clear. ‘No, it’s not the footie, not Oxford, it’s clearly because I’m as pretty as Marlene Dietrich and he can’t resist me.’
The other two looked at her. ‘Now that really is daft, our Franny Hall, unless he likes the colour yellow, like me Bob,’ Beth said.
Sarah and Fran burst out laughing and, feeling more powerful than she had for the last three weeks, Fran said, ‘You’re the one that likes the colour yellow, not Bob, and where’s the knitting? You don’t do it any more.’
Beth flushed a little under her yellow skin, which created an interesting colour. ‘Ah, well, you see I don’t feel so lonely, because … well, because we’re all together, feeling sick, looking a mess, so for once I feel we’re all the same, and besides, when you feel like we do, anything else fades away to nothing. We’re too busy trying to get through the day, and up out of the bed for the next one. Besides, you’re right, all of you. What man wears yellow?’
Miss Ellington overtook them. ‘Hurry along, girls, the stemming shop awaits your tender touch. And actually, no man in his right mind wears yellow, Beth, so good choice to ditch it. You don’t want him to do the ditching.’
The three of them watched her rush ahead. Beth looked stunned. Finally she said, ‘Oh, she meant ditch the sweater.’ But it was as though, for a moment, she’d thought the security officer had meant he would ditch her.
They walked on and Fran hoped that Beth had felt threatened, because it seemed never to have occurred to her that there were two in the marriage, and if she was being silly, perhaps Bob could be too. Fran nodded to herself. It might be the shock that Beth needed, if she did still hanker after Stan, and that would be one less problem.
At 14 Leadenhall Terrace the women of the Proggy Co-op sat around Mrs Hall’s table, their frames resting at a slant on their knees or on the table itself for those who could manage it.
In the centre of the table an old jam jar held the coppers the women had donated for the weekly tea and broken biscuits from Maisie’s mum’s corner shop. There was a hum of conversation as they all wondered how long the lasses would be able to cope with the chemicals, though they dropped their voices as they discussed this, glancing around to make sure the back door was shut.
Then they looked at one another, raised their eyebrows and burst out laughing. ‘There’s nowt like a co-op meeting to get the spies to rest their lugs against the door, is there?’ Maisie’s mam said. ‘At Maisie’s first factory, before she got herself transferred back here when her Derek got himself killed, she were right poorly, but she should have come back sooner with the babe comin’ an’ all. I reckon she were working on shell filling with TNT.’
Annie Hall shook her head slightly. ‘Hush, Mrs Adams, we must say nowt – our girls could be sacked if it’s known. Either way, whatever it is, it’s made Fran right prickly – not just her skin, but her mood. Sort of snappy.’
‘Aye, but is that because of the whelp hanging about?’ Maud Bedley muttered, continuing to hook the navy-blue blanket strips through the hessian sugar sack. ‘Canna work out why he’s getting between our Davey and your Fran like that …’
Madge Field stopped for a moment. ‘Me da says at least he’s getting his hands dirty, which shows he’s grown up a bit, and left his politics behind, but no one cares for the whelp. They think him a nasty piece of work.’ She resumed work, forcing a short strip of red blanket through the hessian.
Audrey Smith, Beth’s mam, said, ‘I reckon with Stan coming back it could be that he thought it would look good if he came and did something as well. The boss’s son an’ all, pitching in. He’ll have an eye on taking over some of his da’s works and pits when he’s finished at Oxford, I ’spect. He’ll be showing off to his da. Cunning he always was and still is, and a right little snot. I remember him scrumping with some Sledgeford boys after his mam died, and they were caught. He told Farmer Stanton he were upset cos his mam had died and the boys had led him on. So they got the belting. What else could the farmer do when he was a tenant of Mr Massingham’s? Aye, I reckon he expects his da to think highly of him for pitchin’ in. Maybe he thinks them at the pit will an’ all.’
The other women all laughed. ‘Well, he divint know pitmen,’ crowed Maisie’s mam. ‘You know, thinking about it, I reckon he’s after Fran because she’s Stan’s sister, or could it be because he wants back at Davey for besting him in that football bet? The village hasn’t forgotten, yer know, so p’raps he hasn’t.’
The women all stopped working, their faces serious. At last Annie said, ‘Nay, it’s too long since, surely?’ But no one seemed sure. Again there was silence, apart from the range spluttering from the slack.
Beth’s mam nodded towards the firebox. ‘Might be a might chilly working at the pit, when he’s the boss’s son, so if he started walking out with a hewer’s sister, he might think it’d warm things up?’
Madge shrugged, adjusting her blue eyepatch. ‘Be a damn sig
ht chillier if he shouldered our Davey out of the picture. What’s more, Annie, I can’t see your Fran putting up with it. Her and Davey have been like twins since … Well, since I don’t remember.’
Annie looked from one to the other, trying to get all her thoughts and memories straight in her head, then shook herself. The lads and lasses were all grown now, and not daft. She said, finally, ‘I suppose we should think well of him, because he is mucking in. He’ll get the message as regards Fran before long.’
Mrs Slater, Sylv’s mum, rubbed her finger where it had slipped on her hook. ‘She’s told him enough, hasn’t she, Mrs Hall?’
There was real doubt in Mrs Slater’s voice and Annie snapped, ‘You shouldn’t have to ask. Whatever are you thinking, Jane?’
There was an embarrassed silence, broken only by the range and the clatter of hooks. Annie rose to make the tea, smiling as she did so, but inside she was furious. Not with Franny, but with Ralph and his mischief-making, and with the gossips. Even Joe was getting right annoyed with the whole business. Annie sighed. She’d said to Joe, ‘What do you expect our Fran to do, slap him with a wet fish? He’s the boss’s boy and she knows that he owns us, so don’t be so bliddy daft. And that’s why Stan’s biding his time too. More’n that, he knows our Fran can cope with the wee bliddy squirt.’ She seldom swore and Joe had coughed and buried his head in his newspaper.
Annie poured in the boiling water and waited for the tea leaves to mash, feeling tired. She steadied herself on the bar of the range, wondering if she should have let Fran and Davey marry already? Yes, maybe that would be best. She would talk to Joe tonight. But where would they live? There were no spare pit houses and fat chance they’d get their own in the village if the Massingham whelp had any say in it. And good though Mr Massingham was, he’d choose his boy over a pitman, so they’d have to move and Fran would have to have her own house, and with that came bills, and housework, and cooking.