The Buffer Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘He’ll stop on at school,’ she’d declared. ‘Learning’s important for a boy.’

  And so Josh had stayed on, working with his father and learning the trade of a chandler at weekends and in the school holidays. But early in 1916, the House of Commons voted for the conscription of all single men between eighteen and forty-one and two months later this was extended to include married men. Walter, at thirty-seven, would be obliged to go.

  ‘I’m not waiting to be called up,’ he’d told his startled family one sunny May morning. ‘I’ve stood the jibes for long enough. I’ve volunteered and I leave on Monday.’

  And so – much to Martha’s chagrin – there was no choice; Josh left school. But by then, both he and Emily were skilled enough between them to carry on the business together.

  The four young friends had still met up whenever Trip was at home, but since he’d left to live and work in the city, there’d only been the three of them. Soon, it became just Josh and Amy, once Emily became aware of the growing affection between her brother and her best friend.

  But now, their working life was to be very different. Emily helped her mother get their father down the stairs for the day and seated him in the chair by the fire, then, when Lizzie came to collect her, the two of them left with Josh to walk to work.

  ‘I do wish you were coming to Waterfall’s with us, Josh,’ Lizzie said, linking her arm through his as they walked to the bottom of their street. ‘You can’t even walk to work and back with us. Trippets’ is in the opposite direction when we get to the end of our street to the way me an’ Emily will go. But it’d be nice to meet up at dinner time with you. Us buffer girls usually have a quick walk into town. Emily saw us yesterday, didn’t you?’ Lizzie glanced briefly towards Emily, but her gaze soon went back to looking up sideways at Josh.

  She was definitely making a play for him, Emily thought uncomfortably. One of them would soon have to tell her that he’d got a girlfriend back home. But first, Emily decided – though the guilt swept through her at her deception – she needed to settle into the job Lizzie had found her.

  They parted on a corner where Josh set off towards Trippets’ and Emily and Lizzie headed to Waterfall’s in Division Street.

  The other girls greeted her with friendly laughter. ‘Right, lass,’ Mrs Nicholson said as the other girls began to dress themselves in their calico aprons and wrap brown paper or newspaper around their legs. ‘Let’s get you kitted out. You’ll be doing the job of errand girl to start with but we’ll dress you up like a proper buffer girl and later on I’ll give you a try at a wheel.’

  Mrs Nicholson – or ‘missus’, as the girls all called her – tied a clean, white smock-like garment around Emily, tying it at the back. ‘This is called a buff-brat, though don’t ask me where the name comes from, ’cos I don’t know. It won’t stop this colour for long and it’s up to you to take it home and wash it. Once a week’s enough, though it’ll be caked with the flying sand by the end of a week. I’ll lend you this one to start with, but when you start as a buffer girl, you’ll have to provide your own.’

  ‘We have a washday on a Saturday afternoon in the court,’ Lizzie, who was still hovering nearby, put in. ‘She can join us, can’t she, missus?’

  Emily felt a stab of disappointment. Working hours, she’d been told, were weekdays plus Saturday morning and she’d hoped she would have been free on a Saturday afternoon to meet up with Trip. Never mind, she told herself. There was always Sunday afternoon.

  Over the buff-brat was a coarse, grey apron and then Mrs Nicholson held out two pieces of red material. ‘Now, this is a head rag to protect your hair and there’s a neck rag too to stop all the muck getting into your clothes, lass,’ she explained. She stood back to look Emily up and down. ‘Course if you were starting the buffing, you’d have a brown paper or newspaper apron over all this to catch the worse of the dirt, but you needn’t put that on today.’ She paused and frowned. ‘You’re a bit old to be starting as an errand lass, but since you’ve had no experience, I’ve no choice. And I can only pay you half a crown a week to start with, but I reckon you’ll soon pick the buffing up. Watch how the other girls work whenever you can. Now, you’re a bit late this morning. Not your fault, lass,’ she added hastily. ‘I knew Lizzie would have to bring you the first morning, so I came in early and got everything ready for them. You see, they’re paid piece rates. You know what that means, don’t you?’ When Emily nodded, Ruth Nicholson went on, ‘So, they mustn’t be kept waiting for what they need. Usually, the errand lass must get here well before eight o’clock to get everything ready for the buffer girls coming in. So, from tomorrow, that’s the time you must start. Now, first of all, you must light the fire in the stove and sweep up the workshop. I like everything nice and tidy. I’m a bit of a tartar for the place being kept as clean as possible. Orreight?’ For the first time since Emily had met her, there was a twinkle in the woman’s eyes. It was good to see that she was sometimes able to forget the dreadful sadness in her heart, even if it was for only a brief moment. ‘After that, I shall give you instructions as to how to fetch the work and share it out amongst the buffers. You’ll also have to run errands for me and for the girls so that they can keep working. They’ll ask you to do their shopping for them, but they’ll give you a list, so always mind you’ve got a piece of paper and a pencil handy to write it down, ’cos if you come back without something, they’ll only send you again.’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘And I’ll ask you to get me a bit of snuff now and again.’

  Emily managed not to look surprised or shocked; she would ask Lizzie about it later. Instead, keeping her face straight, she merely nodded.

  ‘Now, about dinner time,’ the missus was not finished with her list of jobs the errand girl had to do. ‘A lot of the girls bring their dinners in a basin – a stew, perhaps, or meat and potato pie – and it’s up to you to make sure it’s piping hot by the time they stop. Sometimes, they’ll send you out for fish and chips as a treat, but mostly they bring their food from home. It’s cheaper. And then,’ on and on it went, ‘you need to mash tea for them and wash out the mugs afterwards. On a Monday morning, your very first job – and this is important, Emily – is to mix up a new bag of Trent sand and oil. The girls use it in the buffing process. Share it out to each girl’s place on t’side – that’s the bench – near them. There, I think that’s about it for now. I know it sounds a lot to remember, but you’ll learn as you go along. And there’s other little jobs you can do when you get a spare minute but I’ll tell you about them when you’ve had time to settle in.’

  A spare minute, Emily thought, what’s one of those? But, of course, she said nothing.

  Emily was thankful she had a good memory and was quick and neat in her work, whatever that work was. She felt Ruth’s eyes on her, but she never slackened for a moment. She was at everyone’s beck and call all day.

  ‘Emily luv, I need more sand.’

  ‘Can you go t’shop and get me some bread an’ milk, else my ol’ man won’t have owt for his snap tin tomorrow.’

  ‘Emily, fetch us another pan of work, luv.’

  ‘Emily, you haven’t dished the work out yet. We don’t want the wheels stoppin’. Look sharp.’ This was from the missus, whose orders Emily had the sense to obey first.

  ‘Have you got the dinners on, lass? Me belly thinks me throat’s been cut.’

  ‘I’m ’aving fish an’ chips today. Emily, can you fetch them for us?’

  ‘I can’t afford them this week. Bread an’ dripping’ll have to do me.’

  ‘Emily, see what’s on at the Empire this weekend while you’re out, luv. I fancy a night out at the theatre. You up for that, Nell?’

  But Nell would always shake her head and carry on working. It soon became clear to Emily that Nell was the hardest-working buffer girl of them all and the best at the job too. She loved to watch her working and see the shining spoons and forks emerging under her skilful hands; hands that bore the scars of cuts and
burns from hot resin, an everyday danger for a buffer girl. Apart from walking into town at dinner time and meeting the other girls on a Sunday afternoon, Nell didn’t go out very much. But still she sang every day at her wheel along with the other buffer girls. They sang all the latest music-hall songs: ‘Burlington Bertie from Bow’, ‘Down at the Old Bull and Bush’, ‘My Old Man Said Follow the Van’. Nell’s favourite was always ‘Hello, Hello, Who’s Your Lady Friend?’. Emily noticed that they avoided singing any of the songs like ‘Oh! It’s a Lovely War’ and ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ – anything that might remind them of the recent war that was still so painful for all of them. Nearly everyone in the buffing shop had a relative or friend who had joined the Sheffield City Battalion – the local pals’ battalion – and many, mown down in the battle for the village of Serre on the Somme, had not come back.

  Emily couldn’t remember ever having felt so weary in the whole of her young life. Working beside Josh at the candle making was nothing compared to this. By the time the hooter sounded for the end of the day, every bone in her body seemed to ache and her eyes stung with the gritty sand flying about the workshop and with tiredness too.

  By the fourth day, Emily had all her chores under control and it earned her a smile and a nod from Ruth Nicholson.

  ‘You’re doing ever so well,’ Lizzie told her as they walked home. ‘The missus doesn’t give praise very often.’

  As if to prove Lizzie’s point, the next morning Ruth said, ‘I’ll show you how to cut out the paper aprons for the girls. We use the brown paper that’s used for wrapping the finished cutlery in, but, failing that, we use newspaper. The girls bring in whatever they can at the beginning of the week.’

  Emily nodded but said nothing. The Ryans could no longer afford the luxury of buying a daily newspaper to read although Emily promised herself that the very day she started to earn a decent wage, she would take one home for her father on payday. She knew he missed sitting at the table and reading the latest news. Sometimes, it was the only thing that seemed to stop his constant shaking. For the next two hours Ruth showed her how to lay out the paper on a table and cut out the shape of an apron. These were then stacked neatly for the girls to help themselves to whenever they needed one.

  ‘I’ll never remember it all, Lizzie,’ Emily confided to her new-found friend one day as they walked home after work. ‘There’s so much to do.’

  ‘The main thing is to keep the girls supplied with what they need. If you slow down their work, they’ll get cross. It’s money lost to them. Anything else can wait, though they do like their dinner ready on time.’

  Emily groaned. ‘Oh don’t.’

  ‘We’ll all help you. Nell’s sort of head buffer girl; she’ll keep you on your toes. It’s not an official title – she doesn’t get extra pay – but she’s the best worker of all of us, though it pains me to admit it.’ Lizzie laughed. ‘Oh, and by the way, I saw your face when the missus said you’d got to buy your own work clothes. Don’t worry. I’ve got some old ones you can start off with.’

  As they entered the courtyard, the door of Lizzie’s home opened and a young man stepped out. He was wearing a grey suit and a striped waistcoat with a white shirt and tie, black boots and a cloth cap. Dark haired like his sister, he was thin faced, with a bony, hooked nose and steely blue eyes that were set a little too close together for Emily’s liking. He grinned at her cheekily. ‘So you’re our pretty new neighbour Lizzie can’t stop talking about. But to be honest –’ and that was something Emily instinctively doubted happened very often in his world – ‘it’s your brother she talks about the most.’ His piercing eyes raked her up and down, making her feel distinctly uncomfortable. Dressed in her workaday, drab and now dirty clothes, Emily felt at a distinct disadvantage. The young man was certainly not dressed for work and she guessed he was heading out for a night on the town. Unnecessarily, for Emily had guessed exactly who the young man was, Lizzie said, ‘This is my brother, Mick. I told you about him.’

  Emily smiled thinly and nodded in greeting.

  ‘If you’re off into town,’ Lizzie said, ‘just watch yourself, our Mick. Don’t go getting kaylied.’

  ‘Now, why would I get drunk? I’ve got to keep my wits about me in my business.’

  ‘Well, don’t go getting into any fights. You’ll upset Mam.’

  As he passed close to them, he tweaked Lizzie’s nose playfully. ‘You worry too much, Sis. I can take care of missen. Night, night, sleep tight, watch the bugs don’t bite.’ And he pushed his hands into his pockets and walked jauntily out of the yard, whistling loudly and, surprisingly, quite tunefully.

  ‘He’s a one,’ Lizzie said, watching him go and shaking her head. ‘He’s a right worry to Mam and me. Always in some scrape or other right from when he was little. But he’s a good lad, really. He looks out for me and Mam. We don’t go short of anything if Mick can help it. I just hope he doesn’t get himself into real trouble. It’d be the death of me mam.’

  As Emily walked in through the door of their house, longing to have a quick wash and lie down on her bed, even if only for a few minutes, Martha greeted her with the words, ‘I need help with your dad. He’s had a nasty turn today and his breathing’s worse.’

  ‘What did you expect, Mam?’ Tired and irritable and thinking longingly of the little cottage back in Ashford, Emily snapped, ‘Bringing him here . . . the air’s thick with smoke. You can hardly see the sun sometimes.’

  Martha’s eyes flashed. ‘I’ll have less of your cheek, miss. And where’s Josh? How’s he got on today?’

  Not a word of enquiry about her day, the girl noted wryly. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since first thing this morning.’

  ‘No doubt he’s doing so well they want him to work late,’ Martha said. Her faith in her son’s abilities knew no bounds.

  ‘Whatever it is you want me to do, Mam, I must have a wash first.’

  For the first time Martha seemed to become aware of her daughter’s blackened face and dirty hands. ‘Go on, then,’ she said impatiently, ‘but be quick. I need to get your dad upstairs to his bed, else he’ll likely fall out of the chair.’

  It was a struggle to get Walter up the steep, narrow stairs.

  ‘Couldn’t we have waited until Josh gets home?’

  ‘No, we’ll have to manage. Josh has got his career to think of. We can’t expect him always to be on hand. Right, you go downstairs and peel the potatoes whilst I get him sorted. Come on, Walter, do try to help yourself a bit.’

  Emily glanced at the pathetic figure of her dad. He was nothing like the man she remembered, who had marched away to war so proudly.

  Downstairs, Emily began to prepare the meal, swaying with tiredness as she stood at the sink. She heard a slight noise behind her, a scuffle, and turned to see a huge rat looking up at her with bright eyes. She screamed and the animal scuttled away, squeezing through a hole at the bottom of the door. Her heart was beating fast as she leaned against the sink. It wasn’t that she was afraid of rats – she’d seen plenty in the countryside – but she’d never seen one intruding into their home.

  ‘Oh Mam,’ she whispered, as tears ran down her face. ‘Whatever sort of a place have you brought us to?’

  Nine

  When Josh arrived home each evening during his first week at work, Martha fussed around him. ‘What sort of day did you have? What job are you doing now?’

  On the Friday, Josh glanced around the kitchen. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  Before her mother could answer, Emily said, ‘He’s in bed. He’s had a bad day. His breathing’s terrible.’

  ‘Never mind about that now,’ Martha snapped. ‘He’ll be all right. Tell me about how you’re getting on. Did – did you see Mr Trippet?’ Her mother seemed strangely agitated, Emily thought, but maybe it was just her eagerness to see Josh settled in a job with prospects.

  But Josh was not to be diverted from his concern for his father. ‘You should have waited for me to come home. You m
ust have had a struggle to get him up those stairs.’

  ‘We did,’ Emily said tartly, ignoring Martha’s angry glance.

  ‘Well, wait for me to get home in future. I’ll make sure I’m home on time every night.’

  ‘We’ll do no such thing. If you’re needed to work, you’ll stay there. How can you hope to advance if you don’t show willing? We can manage.’

  The brother and sister exchanged a glance but said no more.

  ‘Did you see Trip today?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Yes, he came to see how I was getting on now that I’ve been there a few days. They’ve started me at the bottom, as you might expect.’

  ‘Yeah, me too. I’m what they call an errand girl and—’ Emily began, but her mother brushed her aside.

  ‘At the bottom?’ Martha said, ignoring Emily and disgruntled at the very thought that her precious boy had not been started at least halfway up the ladder. ‘With all your talents, you should start a bit higher up than the bottom.’

  ‘I know nothing about the cutlery industry, Mam. I’m a candle maker.’

  ‘Not any more, Josh. You’re going to be someone in this city and before very long, if I have anything to do with it. So, have they started you on an apprenticeship yet?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘“Sort of”? What kind of an answer is that?’

  ‘They’ve set me on as an apprentice table-knife grinder,’ Josh replied shortly. ‘But an apprenticeship at Trippets’ can take seven years and you have to agree not to get married during that time. So, I’m not happy about that.’

  He returned his mother’s glare steadfastly and it was Martha who was the first to look away. ‘Besides,’ Josh added, trying to drive home his point, ‘apprentices’ wages are a pittance. I’d be better doing a proper job where I can earn a bit more.’