by Annie Clarke
‘It’s never bad to be happy,’ said Fran, ‘and he’ll be right glad, you know he will. We’ll all be together, the gang, and we’ll let Bob in too, when he’s home. Think of the beck, and how we’ll swim, and then our bairns too, after the war.’
Everything was ‘after the war’.
Maisie turned. ‘You just hang on to that. Bairns are a good thought, just don’t work with any powder that’s nasty while you’re heavy with the babe, eh?’ She laughed, but Fran recognised the pain in her laugh. Poor Derek, poor Maisie, poor babe. They were driving through the ford, the water swishing up either side, and then pulling into Sledgeford, where Beth clambered on, waving at the applause.
‘Here’s our striking firebrand,’ Mrs Oborne called.
Beth’s eyes looked deep-set from tiredness too. She’d left her bike at Fran’s and the taxi had taken her on to her house because she’d wanted to sleep in the sheets she and Bob had slept in rather than at her mam’s. After the shift today they’d all cycle to the station and on into Newcastle. She bowed. ‘Aye, and you lot stood behind me an’ all, so we’ll all go to clink together.’
Amelia clambered on the bus after her, and was greeted by more applause. Surprised, she grinned.
‘You’re one of us,’ called Mrs Oborne, ‘after you stood tall yesterday and then worked so bliddy hard alongside us.’
As Bert drove on, Amelia said, ‘I rather think I will really be back with you all after Mr Swinton’s vented his spleen about me to the office administrator, but that’s all right. I know my place – it’s with the girls.’
There were more cheers, and Beth made room for her on her seat. Looking across at Fran, Amelia asked, ‘You all right, our Fran?’
‘Oh aye, we’re always all right, aren’t we.’ It wasn’t a question.
As they arrived, the dawn was promising to break. Well, of course it was, Fran told herself, just as it always would. Huddled in their macs, their hats pulled down and their scarves up, they passed through the security gate and into their building, heading for the clean-room changing rooms, only to find Miss Ellington waiting for them in the corridor, pointing to the changing rooms on the other side. Mrs Oborne stopped, looked, then understood, just as they all did. ‘Our Mr Swinton’s getting his own back, I reckon?’
Miss Ellington nodded, her expression grim. ‘I tried. I failed.’
‘Ah well, pellets?’
‘Bullets.’
‘Huh,’ Maisie sighed.
Miss Ellington sighed along with her. ‘Indeed.’
‘There’s a special place for people like Swinton. And it’s not up there,’ Amelia said as she pointed to the heavens.
Miss Ellington shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, you’re for the office, Amelia.’
Everyone stopped. Amelia shook her head. ‘That’s not fair. I was part of the strike, or threatened strike.’
Miss Ellington nodded. ‘Which hurts more, moving with your friends or being different?’
Amelia paused, then nodded. ‘Devious fecking bastard.’
Miss Ellington, as surprised as the rest of them, murmured again, ‘Indeed.’
‘Can’t we do something, Miss Ellington?’ Fran called.
‘No. It would need to come from the office administrator, so all you can do, Amelia, is try and wheedle a transfer. But, on the bright side, and to keep our spirits up, don’t forget the rehearsal at lunchtime. I have checked with the office manager and you can work it so that you have the same break.’
Amelia merely nodded. ‘Received and understood, off to wheedle. See you later, girls.’
They traipsed to the changing rooms with their bottles and stripped. The security officers checked them as Fran said to the others, ‘I’m right sorry.’
Sarah came to stand beside her after they’d been told they could dress again. ‘Me too, everyone. It was our problem and you don’t deserve this.’
Mrs Oborne hitched her large bosom, then dressed again, and slipped into her overalls. ‘What’s deserving got to do with the price of eggs, daft girls? We knew the little rat—’
‘Mouse, Mrs Oborne,’ interrupted Valerie. ‘He’s not big enough for a rat.’
The women drank half a bottle of water each and were laughing by the time they headed into the bullet workshop anteroom, where lo and behold, Mr Swinton was on foreman duties. ‘Of course he bliddy is,’ muttered Maisie.
They were read the security warnings by Mr Swinton, who actually smiled this morning. He ended, looked around, then barked, ‘Follow me.’
They did and Fran comforted herself that at least the day would end. Mr Swinton must have suspected that gestures were being made behind his back but at least they made the women feel better as they took the places of the departing night shift at the benches. Hour after hour they worked, putting the detonators into the bullets brought by conveyor belt. The noise built, the belts creaked and rumbled, and Fran knew that she must not think of Davey, and that neither must Sarah. Instead they must concentrate, that’s all, concentrate.
After the first hour they were so familiar with it all, that concentration was only a part of it. Fran found herself singing ‘All or Nothing at All’, and then again, until they were all singing, even Mrs Oborne and Valerie, so that the others sang louder to drown them out. ‘You two are our secret weapon,’ Fran called. As time went on, Fran suggested the contraltos should add harmony. It sounded good, but at this point a security officer stepped into the room and placed her hand on Fran’s shoulder.
Fran stepped away from the bench and the security officer checked her for illicit hairgrips and so on, a precaution which happened more frequently these days. All the while the bus team were repeating the second verse, as they pushed in the detonators, carefully, carefully, but as they did so the conveyor juddered to a halt.
Mr Swinton yelled, ‘What have you done?’
‘Nothing at all,’ sang Fran.
The women laughed. Mr Swinton did not. ‘You, Miss Hall, should know your place.’
A mechanic was called. While they waited, they had to step away from the belt and bullets while the security officer checked other workers at random. They still sang and this time Fran wondered if a staccato deep bass would give the idea of drums. It was just a question of seeing who could go low enough.
Without a doubt, Mrs Oborne would be perfect, and Valerie too. Mrs Oborne blamed her large bosom, but Valerie couldn’t claim that. For the third drum they were joined by a new lass from Massingham, Marjorie, who was young and big-boned. They tried it again as they watched the clock. They’d have to stay and do overtime to meet the target if the ruddy belt held them up for long and then when could they visit Davey, oh when?
After an hour the belt was working, and as the mechanic left he tipped his cap, which he had not removed, even for a moment, and said, ‘Right nice that were. I’ve set it to break down again tomorrow, just so’s I can hear it.’
Their boos followed him out of the section and all the women there, not just the bus team, laughed, until Mr Swinton strutted along from the end and again wanted to know who’d buggered the belt? It took the security officer, who had finished her checks, to stop by Mr Swinton and assure him that it was overworked machinery, not overworked women. Swinton huffed off on his rounds again.
As they returned to work, Fran found herself drawn back to Davey, though she’d never been far from him, and to her horror started weeping silently at his pain, his despair—
‘Concentrate, concentrate,’ Sarah snapped next to her.
She jerked upright. Of course she must.
They broke for lunch and ate cottage pie, with a lot of potato and just a little mince. Fran pushed hers away. Maisie raised an eyebrow and Fran nodded. Maisie gobbled it down, but said, as she ate Fran’s rice pudding too, ‘You’ll feel hungry again soon. I promise, lass.’
They rose, following Miss Ellington to the side room as she wanted to hear their rendition. This time they followed the sheet music exactly. It was uncertain and fla
t as though they’d run out of energy. After the first run-through, Amelia rushed in, panting. ‘Am I in time?’
Mrs Oborne laughed. ‘We’ll always make time for you from now on,’ she said, and Amelia smiled, embarrassed.
Mrs Raydon put her head through the door. ‘I heard, the whole canteen heard, and it’s messy. You need a leader to conduct, and I reckon on Fran, since I gather you had some good ideas in the bullet section, or so the security officer told me. What do you say, girls? She needs something to think about, Sarah too, so why not have them share it between the pair of them? Before you mither, Fran Hall, I’ve just heard from one of the other groups that you were the Angel Gabriel in the Nativity at St Oswald’s, singing “Silent Night”. What more of a reference do you need?’
Everyone laughed as Mrs Raydon disappeared again. Miss Ellington waved her truncated arm. ‘Come along now, Fran, you can’t ask me to embarrass myself by waving this about in the air for the rehearsals. What’s more, I have money riding on you lot to win. I want to hear you singing for the wireless when they come.’
The women gasped.
‘When, she said,’ shouted Maisie.
‘And she’s got a bet on us,’ added Valerie.
The mood lifted, though more because of the bet, Fran thought. Suddenly she was nervous at the idea of the whole country hearing them. Fran shook her head at their security officer. ‘That’s blackmail.’
Beth stepped forward and turned to the women, who were grouped together as a choir would be. ‘Come along, we look the part, or would do if a choir with a banana tinge were needed, so let’s win this damned thing, or we’ll never hear the end of it and we’ll be frisked every hour of the shift by an angry Miss Ellington.’
Mrs Oborne replied, ‘Aye, and I’m not having that lot out in the canteen calling us a mess.’
Miss Ellington coughed. ‘I rather thought you and Valerie had decided not to be included … Foghorns were mentioned.’
Mrs Oborne put her hands on her hips. ‘We’re to be the drums, I’ll have you know, along with Marjorie, the new girl, and that’s that. Cos if our mates can say they’ve been on the wireless, we want to say we’ve been on too. Anyone got a problem with that?’
No one dared say a word.
Miss Ellington grinned and made for the door, calling over her shoulder, ‘Your dinner break runs for another twenty minutes. I expect great things from my girls. Don’t let me down. Can’t have Swinton’s favourites winning – the choir from the artillery-shell sector.’
She shut the door behind her. Fran looked down at the music, shaking her head. ‘I was five when I was the Angel Gabriel.’
The women burst out laughing. ‘You should see your sulky face, lass,’ called Maisie.
‘Never mind her face,’ said Mrs Oborne. ‘I’m not having Swinton getting his lot on the wireless, so come along, get serious.’
At 2 p.m., the girls streamed onto the bus, but not Amelia. She had to wait until the end of the working day at five. Neither would she be on the morning bus again, now she was permanently in the office. Beth stayed on with them past Sledgeford, and at four they hurried from the bus to find Ralph there, in his roadster. He tipped what looked like a new Harris tweed cap at Fran. ‘Your carriage awaits.’
Sarah pinched Fran’s arm, her indrawn breath an indication of her fury. ‘We’ve our bikes, Mr Massingham,’ she said.
‘Well, as Fran is Davey’s special friend, I expect she’d rather have a ride.’ Ralph’s voice was as cold as his expression.
Beth said, ‘Aye, but Sarah’s his sister, so I reckon if it’s anyone—’
Ralph put up his hand, as though to stop her. Beth was not about to take any notice and began again, but Fran took over. ‘We can all squash in, two of us in the dicky seat. Stan told me the luggage-rack can lift up like magic to make a couple of seats. What do you say, girls – we’ll take turns with the dicky for as long as Ralph gives us lifts? And thank you kindly for the offer, Mr Massingham.’
Her gaze was calm as he stared at her with that look he had given Sarah. She stared back without expression, hiding her rage at his attempt to muscle into her life, and even having the bloody cheek to use Davey’s hospital stay to do so.
She became aware that most of the women were off the bus, standing around waiting, the wind lifting their hats or tugging at their headscarves. Their pallid, sallow faces were pinched with tiredness, and no one said a word. They just looked, and it was like having an army behind her. She stood straighter.
Finally Ralph broke his gaze and smiled round at everyone. ‘Why not? I’m sure Davey will be pleased to see us – all. After all, anything I can do for him, I will. I feel so very annoyed with myself for being so tardy on his watch.’
On Ralph’s return from the hospital, he saw through the open study door that his father was back from London and was once again sitting at his desk.
Ralph’s heart sank. The open door meant ‘A word with you, Ralph.’ He put his coat as quietly as possible on the coat stand, along with his scarf, and walked across the hall on his toes. His father heard him nonetheless and called, ‘A word with you, Ralph.’
At least, Ralph thought as he changed direction, he sounded mellow. He allowed his heels to click on the black and white marble floor, his cigarette smoke trailing behind him. No sound from the boys, thank God, because the weekend had been bedlam. If it wasn’t bad enough having those ghastly children, the mothers had appeared, invited by his stepmother, who should damned well know her place.
His father had moved from the desk and was waiting by the fireplace, in which blazed a roaring fire. At least it would be warm while Ralph received what would no doubt be some parental homily. And presumably it would be something to do with the accident in the mine, again.
He crossed the study carpet soundlessly, making for his father’s desk, and stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray which already held several stubs. ‘Good evening, Father. Satisfactory trip, I hope? London’s surviving its travails?’
His father smiled. ‘Good enough, but tiring. I suppose we all feel that, in the midst of this wretched war. There’s so much for us all to do and perhaps to worry about, including London, which is, as you say, surviving its travails.’
Ralph drew out his cigarette case and offered it to his father, who took a Player’s. Ralph took another as well, not really wanting it, but it gave his hands something to do. He lit both with his gold lighter and stood by the fire too. It was good to feel the heat. ‘Where are the boys?’ he asked.
‘At Cubs in Sledgeford. Sophia has taken them, thought it might be a good idea to meet the other evacuees. I gather they collect jam jars, or pans, or some such, for the war effort, or …’ His father stopped, and ran his hand over his forehead. ‘No, they dig about in the rubbish tip for them, then they are washed and so on and taken to the Women’s Institute for jam or some such.’
Ralph knew his father was preoccupied; the endless repetition of ‘some such’ was the clue. Thinking about clues, he wondered if his father wanted to see him because of the call Ralph had made to Professor Smythe between the end of his shift at the mine and collecting the girls? His excitement rose.
His father was holding up his cigarette and staring at the glowing end. ‘I had a call while you were out. I gather you contacted Professor Smythe following the Bedley boy’s accident with an update on his condition and to suggest that the lad’s crossword facility could surely be put to better use than making a few column inches in a magazine. Smythe was able to relay to me that in all likelihood the Bedley lad’s days as a pitman are over, which comes as no surprise, given what the doctor at the hospital told me about the severity of his injuries. Though, thankfully, he is out of danger.’
His father paused, the eyes that examined Ralph carefully expressionless. ‘I did wonder, shall we say, after our recent discussion about the lad and his feisty lass, whether the accident was a tad convenient—’
That was all, but it was enough. Ralph felt hi
mself grow cold, and his cigarette smoke trembled as much as his hand as he cut in. ‘Father, how could you? Indeed, how dare you? How could a mine accident be convenient?’
‘How indeed? But you didn’t allow me to finish, Ralph. That was indeed my initial thought, but Smythe tells me you admitted being slow, causing Davey to have to check on your well-being. This, of course, had already been reported to me by Elliott. As you explained to Smythe, your guilt is why you feel the need to make reparations and, er, explore some way of finding an alternative to the less-than-satisfactory surface job that might be all that is on offer.’
Ralph did wish his father didn’t talk as though he’d swallowed a dictionary.
He leaned forward and flicked his ash onto the flames, muttering, ‘It was the blacklocks. The beggars fell down my neck. I hate the things. It held me up, and I didn’t hear him call over the noise of the mine. I just heard the falling coal and let go of the tub as I rushed to have a look-see. It almost whacked into the coal, but sort of spun off the rails before then.
‘D’you know, Father, I think one of the pit props was in need of replacement – you could see where it broke, so it’s no wonder the roof caved in. Perhaps Elliott should have a word with the security team? That’s Bedley’s father and Stan’s old man, isn’t it? Not that one would wish to cast aspersions on their actions, or lack of them.’ He inhaled deeply on his cigarette. If his father could come up with long words, so could he.
His father looked up sharply. ‘Indeed not. You speak of two of Massingham Colliery’s best men, and don’t you forget it. It’s more likely that the movement of the coal increased for some unaccountable reason. A possible explanation that was considered was that the tub was released beforehand, hit the prop and snapped it, but there also seemed to be another cut on that particular prop, which made a fall inevitable when the coal squeezed against it. Poor Davey – how sad that he was there at that particular time. And good for your peace of mind that you let go of the tub after the fall, for it isn’t hard to see that an empty one would crash off at that particular point. However, who can say what happened, for the accident has muddied …’