Women who had never owned a decent dress in their lives except, perhaps, their wedding dress, were now earning good wages. Naturally, after buying food, their first desire was for pretty clothes—at any price.
A very handsome girl, Betty, who lived not far from our quaint mustard pot of a bungalow, heard from her mother that I could sew. She arrived on our doorstep one evening with a fine length of blue woollen material in her arms.
I did not know her, but without preamble, she said, "Me Mam says you can sew—she saw a frock you made foryour sister. Could you sew this for me? I got a pattern."
Flattered by her trust, I invited her in. I fingered the beautiful material wistfully. Then I said, "I'd be afraid to cut it. I'm not a professional dressmaker."
She laughed. "Go on with you. All the dressmakers is in factories and things. Me Mam says you can do a nice enough job." She eyed me hopefully, and then carefully laid the bundle of cloth down on the kitchen table. I hastily moved an abandoned pot of tea out of the way, and carefully eased the material away from the ring of cold tea it had left on the table's battered surface. "Go on. Take a chance," she urged. "I can't sew for toffee."
"Well." I paused. "If you like, I'll cut it and I can tack it up. But I don't have time to stitch it. I sewed Fiona's frock by hand, and it took me ages—we don't have a sewing machine."
Betty's face fell, her full red lips pouting. "Oh, blow! Me Mam's got a machine she mends on. But she won't tackle a dress for me." She giggled unexpectedly, "Says I'm too hard to please!"
I took a big breath. Mentally I saw thegirl, with her exquisite figure shown to its best advantage in a completely plain blue dress with, perhaps, a string of pearls as the only ornament. She would look lovely.
"Show me the pattern," I commanded. "And let's cut it. I'll tack the darts which have to be machined first. Perhaps your mother could then machine them. You could bring the pieces back to me, and I'll continue the tacking. Bit by bit, we could do it. And, finally, I'll fit it very carefully on you." My voice gained in confidence, as I outlined the plan.
Happily she drew the pattern out from the folds of the cloth. It was not at all suitable for the material, and my heart sank. "I thought we could trim it with blue satin ribbon, if I can find some," she said eagerly. "And I'd like a proper low sweetheart neckline, if you know what I mean. Do you think you could make panties to match? Like, when you jitterbug, they whirl you round so much your panties show, don't they?"
I persuaded her that the material would not be suitable for frills, as shown in the pattern, and that blue ribbon to match would be hard to find. We compromisedon a full, gathered skirt and a tightly fitting bodice with a sweetheart neckline. I sighed. It seemed sacrilege to make such a vulgar dress out of such fine stuff, and I suggested that she might dye an existing pair of knickers blue—wool ones would be too warm, wouldn't they?
It was her turn to sigh, as she reluctantly agreed that they would be too warm.
When I took some pieces to her mother to show her how to machine them, I asked idly, "Where did Betty get such lovely material?"
Her stout mother laughed. "A lad in the village had it. And our Betty's got money to spend. She asked no questions and she got told no lies."
Betty was delighted with her dress and went gaily to show it off at the next village dance. I thought no more about it.
About a week later, in the evening, an elderly man in crumpled work clothes came to the door and asked to see me. Mother allowed him to step into the living-room, but did not offer him a chair. She hovered in the background, while I came hastily out of the kitchen, wiping my hands on my apron.He said gruffly, "Fm Betty's grandpa. Her Ma sent this for you. Our Betty's that pleased with the frock." He handed me an envelope.
I took the envelope, thanked him, and, then as he seemed in no hurry to depart, I invited him to sit down.
He slowly lowered himself into an easy chair, and said, "You'd better open t' envelope. I told 'em it weren't enough."
Standing in front of him in my damp apron, I did as I was bidden. Inside was a clean pound note. I looked at it in amazement.
"For me? For the dress?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, you worked hard on it, Betty's Mam said."
"It was a pleasure. Betty's mother did practically all the sewing. Betty was very welcome to the help." I made to hand the money back to him, but he waved it away. He had been looking round our dreadfully shabby living-room, its walls darkened by years of coal fires, its upholstered furniture threadbare and grey with age, the carpet with but a shadow left of its original pattern. He said stolidly, "Don't be foolish, love. You keep it—you earned it."He stared past me at my mother, still fidgeting by the kitchen door. Then the bloodshot blue eyes came back to me. He twiddled the ends of his big grey moustache. It was evident that he had more to say, and I waited politely, the opened envelope still in my hand.
He cleared his throat. "Our Betty told me you couldn't sew her frock 'cos you haven't got no sewing machine?"
I nodded. "That's true, unfortunately. And to sew it by hand seemed too much work."
"Well, you know, I've got a secondhand shop, and I got a good Singer sewing machine in it. I oiled it and tried it this morning, and it runs well. You could have it for five pounds, if you like."
Five pounds was a lot of money—it seemed excessive, even bearing in mind that new machines were almost impossible to get. Yet suddenly I longed for it. There was always mending to be done, and I could sew so much better with a machine.
"I couldn't pay it all at once," I burst out. In the background, Mother exclaimed, "Tush!" in a derogatory way.
"That's all right. You could pay me twoshillings a week," He smiled at me, watchful old eyes nearly vanishing amid wrinkles.
I guessed that he had probably bought the machine for a few shillings years before and had forgotten about it until Betty reminded him.
I was not sure how I would find even two shillings a week, but I did have a pound note in my hand that very minute.
"I could put Betty's pound down on it, if that would be all right, and I could drop two shillings into your letterbox every Friday."
He got up from the chair quite briskly, took the proffered pound and slipped it into his trouser pocket. "Done," he agreed. "I'll bring it over tomorrow night."
As soon as the door closed behind him. Mother berated me for giving him the pound note. "He would have let you have it without a deposit," she stormed. "I could have used that money, even if you're so well off that you could part with it."
I refused to answer.
The machine paid for itself dozens of times over. All of Betty's friends seemedto have dress lengths obtained from anonymous sources, and not one of the girls could sew. Betty was right that local seamstresses had all got wartime jobs, so I had the field to myself.
Though the work was hard—I sewed far into the night and most of the weekends —it solved my financial worries. I often made the wildest looking dresses, especially when the country was flooded with American soldiers, fond of overdressed blondes. The decoUetages sank ever lower, the waists became breathtak-ingly tight, the panties ever more gorgeously frilled or embroidered; I collected second-hand clothes with lace and ribbons on them, and recycled the trimmings. Buttons, too, became something to be ardently sought for. And I remember pouncing on a packet of hooks and eyes in a haberdashery department, as if I had found a gold sovereign.
Periodically I made dresses for Fiona, Avril and myself, though the material we had was either paid for with coupons or culled from second-hand garments, like old evening gowns or men's evening shirts.A frilled evening shirt was soon adapted into a pretty blouse.
A sailor sold me a uniform he did not want. The material was rough navy serge, but it made a fine warm skirt and jacket for me. I bought an almost unworn blue georgette evening gown from a neighbour, and made two blouses to wear with the serge suit.
Clothes rationing unexpectedly changed my whole existence, but the foundation for my sudde
n success had been laid years before. Sylvia's mother was a dressmaker and she had showed me how to cut out and fit ladies' clothes, though I was not able, of course, to emulate her fine finishing techniques.
Mother put her usual pressure upon me to share in my hard-earned monies. I refused. I was already paying her more for my keep than I would have paid a landlady. A number of times, however, when she was threatened with Court proceedings by local shopkeepers, I paid the bills. I was always afraid that she might pawn or even sell the machine. Fortunately for me, there were no pawnbrokers nearby, and the machine was too heavy to carry far.Every night, when I returned home, my first thought was to look to see that it was still on its kitchen shelf.
With the money I earned I was able to buy a good lunch, because the Installation unexpectedly acquired an excellent canteen.
During the May blitz of 1941, the Germans had not only destroyed ships, docks, warehouses, homes and the core of the city, they had burned out most of the frowsy little dockside cafes in which the dockers customarily ate. These minute eating places were usually run by one woman. They had provided good plain breakfasts and snacks for a few pennies. I remember seeing a pencilled cardboard notice in a steamy window which announced that for twopence the cafe would provide a large bowl of porridge with sugar and milk and buttered toast to follow. Now, the ever recalcitrant dockers began to complain bitterly that they had nowhere to eat.
Strikes were, and still are, endemic in the Liverpool docks. With remarkable alacrity, the Government built subsidised canteens, to placate this vital work force.The petrol installation at which I worked counted as a dock, so a canteen was established there.
Though the canteen was allowed a certain amount of rationed food, we would have fared poorly had the Manageress not been such a good cook. She produced large plates of good, plain food every lunchtime, by using much-despised and unrationed offal, and cooking it well. The office staff and the outside workers paid a small sum for these meals, and lamented loudly about how awful the food was.
I ate everything put in front of me. I rejoiced at the sight of roast heart, fried cow's udders, devilled kidneys, and liver in a thick gravy. Steamed puddings, lacking both eggs and sugar, vanished from my plate. I thanked God heartily that my dressmaking money had come along just in time to enable me to pay for these meals. I thought all morning about the joys of lunch.
Despite the long hours of work and travel, I put on weight and my figure rounded out a little. At work, I began to laugh and sometimes to be happy, though the terrors of the war lay over all of us.The Wages Department was responsible, through the payrolls, for collecting employees' contributions towards War Savings Bonds. Through all kinds of special promotions, such as Buy a Spitfire, the Government encouraged this siphoning off of the increased earnings of the civilian population—money saved was money not spent on the few consumer goods available, which otherwise would have increased in price even more than they did. It also raised much-needed revenue.
One of my colleagues, with all a York-shireman's care of money, suggested that I too should save a little each week in this way. Feeling very daring, and hoping that my dressmaking would continue, I committed five shillings a week to this. I wanted to buy for Mother a set of artificial teeth. She had lost every tooth, as a result of the hunger we had endured when first we came to Liverpool, and I really pitied her. It was quite common in those days for people to manage without teeth. But Mother had been a very beautiful woman and I felt for her. Though I had lost several teeth from the same cause, the
Zyjdevastation had not been so great, perhaps because I was so much younger.
I knew that I would need at least twelve pounds, and thought I should save thirteen, to be certain that I could meet the Dental Hospital's bill. If I did not do this for her, I knew that nobody would.
I have always been grateful to my colleague for this suggestion, because it taught me to save methodically. He also talked one coffee time, when all of us were discussing money, about the idea of keeping a personal account of our spending.
Father's favourite complaint to Mother had always been, "I don't know what you do with the money!" So I took my colleague's advice, and have all my life kept an account of my spending.
24
AUTUMN rain was thrashing across the office window-panes when one of the payroll clerks said, "Eddie Parry's on leave. Saw him just now." She sUpped into her seat and began to spread out a pay sheet, similar to the one that I had laid out on my desk.
We were much busier nowadays than we had been, and I sighed, as I looked down at the neatly ruled columns. What a boring job it was, to fill it in, week in and week out. I was always thankful when it was done, and I could revert to shorthand and typing. Figures never obeyed me; they seemed to jump about on the page and they never added up to the same total twice. Being a shorthand typist was not exactly mind-stretching, but it did offer a Httle more variety.
The regular employees of the oil companies often spoke of their male colleagues now serving in the Forces, and, gradually, mental pictures grew up in mymind of these absent friends. When one was killed or taken prisoner, I felt almost as sad as the other girls did, and, like them, I contributed to a fund to provide the prisoners with parcels of food. The virtues of the dead were extolled; the stories of the Uving, like those of Eddie Parry and his brother, had a tendency to become legends.
"Eddie Parry and his brother—they're both in the same regiment—are as tough as old Nick," I was assured by one of the girls, who had worked with Eddie. "They go on pub crawls and they get wildly drunk."
Eddie had been seen with a known prostitute.
Bully for him, I thought. A decent business deal, rather than the importuning for favours that went on amongst the staff. Most of the girls were able, with a laugh, to brush the men off, but a few were indignant and upset. Nobody ever bothered me —I suppose I was too prim.
Eddie's father had died when the boys were young, and their mother, so went the story, had never been able to control them.
"Never been to church since they werechristened," I was informed. "If there's a fight anywhere, they'll be at the bottom of the scrum."
I smiled to myself. Quite a reputation.
About mid-morning, a tall, red-faced man passed rapidly through our office, without any greeting to the girls and— dreadful sin in those days—without removing his cap. He went straight into the little room occupied by the male staff members, and shut the door behind him. There was a rumble of hearty greetings from behind the partition.
I was left with an impression of a man without an ounce of spare fat on him, a man who walked lightly and swiftly, despite clumsy army boots. An infantry private's battledress certainly did nothing for him, with its ridiculous forage cap perched on top of fair hair cut extremely short. To me, he seemed too old to be wearing a Forces' cap.
"How old is he?" I whispered idly to my nearest neighbour.
She grimaced. "All of thirty, I should think."
"Humph." That made him younger than Harry had been.I laboriously filled out my payroll, while, through the partition, we could hear Eddie discussing the problems of military life. Though many of the incidents sounded very funny, the stories were couched in language so bad that even I, exposed to every kind of humanity in the streets of the slums of Liverpool, was not sure of the meaning of some of the words. We made faces of disgust at each other, as we listened.
We went out for lunch and, when we returned, he had gone.
A few days later on in his leave, he came again, and had afternoon tea with his male friends. I happened to be typing at a table right up against the partition beyond which he was sitting, and I became very annoyed at having to endure listening to such bad language.
I stopped typing, and for five minutes I kept on a piece of paper a running count of the words of which I disapproved. Then, seething with indignation, I marched into the other room.
The three men had their heads together, as they leaned over the same desk. At
my entry, they looked up in surprise.I addressed Eddie.
"Excuse me," I said firmly. "I'm working on die other side of the partition, and I want to ask you that, when you are speaking, you remember that there are ladies present." I put down my list in front of him.
A subdued hurrah came from the girls in the other room.
Eddie looked at it, and then slowly rose from his chair. I found myself looking up at hazel-green eyes, astonishingly like my own. He was silent for a moment as he looked first at the paper in his hand and then at me. His red face went a deep plum colour, and then he said in a mildly Liverpool accent, "I'm very sorry."
"That's all right," I responded, feeling suddenly shy. "You probably forgot we were here."
As I went out of the door, the other men sniggered. I felt that they were sniggering at him and not at me, and I was suddenly sorry for him.
Half an hour later, when I had moved over to my payroll desk, he came out, this time cap in hand. He asked one of the girls, who knew him, how she was, andafter a minute or two's polite talk, she introduced him to the newcomers.
I was the last one to be made known to him, and he paused to look down at the payroll. "Hm,'* he grunted. He looked along the lines of crabbed figures, and then remarked, "You know, this is a very slow way of doing it. Didn't anybody show you how to do these payrolls?"
"No," I replied with a small shrug, "except for the headings of the various columns—they told me what those should be."
"Good gracious," he exclaimed, with a grin. "What's this office coming to?" He turned, and pulled a chair close to mine. "Move over. I'll show you how to do it in half the time."
He did the entire payroll for me in a very short time.
I was very grateful. His instruction improved my accuracy a little, as well as my speed.
He leaned back in his chair, letting it rock perilously on its two back legs, and began to talk as if we had been co-workers for years. He was amusing, as he told tales of when he was himself a very ignorant
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