The Buffer Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Because I have the shrewd suspicion that old man Trippet doesn’t want his precious son consorting with the likes of you. The Ryans aren’t good enough for the son of a wealthy cutlery manufacturer. But just you wait and see. This is just a little set-back, that’s all. One day, Josh will be someone in this city and then the fellers will be queuing at the door to marry his sister.’

  Emily’s eyes blazed. ‘Well, if you think I’m going to hang around that long, Mam, you’ve another think coming. I’ll be an old maid by then. Besides, I’ll choose my own husband, thank you very much.’

  Martha raised her hand as if to strike her daughter, but Emily faced her squarely and said softly, ‘Don’t you dare, Mam, or I’m leaving.’

  Martha’s hand fell and she turned away. Emily was a different kettle of fish to deal with compared to Josh. Josh would always do what his mother told him even, she believed, after he was of age, but Martha knew that she could no longer control her daughter; if she ever had been able to, she reminded herself ruefully.

  No more was said that night and the following morning there was a strained silence in the household. As usual, a light tap came at their door when it was time for Emily to set out for work; Lizzie was calling for her.

  Once safely out of the court, Lizzie asked, ‘How’re things?’

  ‘How d’you think?’ Emily said bitterly and then added hastily, ‘Oh sorry, that sounded so rude.’

  Lizzie laughed. ‘No matter. You’re right – I can guess. Let’s just hope the missus can work her magic.’

  Ruth Nicholson said nothing as the girls hurried to start the day’s work and although Emily longed to ask the woman, she bit her tongue. It wouldn’t do to harry her.

  At dinner time the machines stopped, the girls ate their food and then set off into town.

  ‘I don’t feel like coming today,’ Emily said. ‘I’ll – I’ll just wait here and . . .’

  ‘Then I’ll stay too,’ Lizzie said promptly. She shuddered dramatically. ‘I don’t fancy a walk into town in this weather. It’s too cold. Besides,’ she added, leaning towards Emily to whisper, ‘I’m as anxious as you are to hear what the missus has to say. I hope she’s spoken to Mr Crossland. The suspense is killing me.’

  It was almost the end of their dinner break and the other girls were due back at any moment when Ruth came into the workshop. Two pairs of eyes turned expectantly in her direction and the woman smiled. ‘Tell your brother to come and see Mr Crossland in the morning. He has a job for him, but he wants to speak to George Bayes first to get the truth behind his dismissal. It’s not that we don’t believe you, mind,’ she added hurriedly. Ruth Nicholson had taken a liking to the newcomers in the court and especially to Emily, who was a good worker. The girl never shied away from, or complained about, the lowliest of tasks and Ruth had been more than happy to start her on the buffing when she knew there was a little lass ready to take Emily’s place as their errand girl.

  ‘Oh missus, thank you – thank you.’ Emily clasped her hands together and there were tears in her eyes. ‘He won’t disappoint you, I promise.’

  Ruth flapped her hand, dismissing the effusive thanks, but she was smiling.

  When they returned home that evening, the two girls had some better news to impart.

  ‘I’ll come in with you,’ Lizzie said. ‘Poor Josh. I bet he’s had a rough day.’

  Emily could hardly refuse, but she sighed inwardly. They were getting deeper and deeper into Lizzie’s debt and it worried her. Even though they were miles apart now in another county, she still considered Amy her best friend. She knew the young girl would be yearning for news of the family and especially of Josh. She hoped her brother had written to her regularly and she promised herself she would write to their friend as soon as she could.

  As they entered, they saw Walter sitting in his chair and Martha bending to take a meat pie out of the oven in the range. It looked, at first sight, like any close-knit family, but then Emily saw that Josh was sitting at the table, his head in his hands. He looked up and her heart twisted to see the defeated, hopeless look in his eyes.

  ‘Good news,’ Emily said at once. ‘Well, hopeful, anyway.’

  ‘The missus has spoken to Mr Crossland,’ Lizzie said, unable to keep quiet and let Emily explain. She was anxious to look good in Josh’s eyes. And in Martha’s. She sensed she had an ally in the young man’s mother. ‘You’re to go to see him in the morning.’

  ‘But he’s going to speak to Mr Bayes first. He wants to know what happened at Trippets’.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Martha said flatly and then added bitterly, ‘then I don’t hold out much hope. They’re not going to say anything against their lord and master, now, are they?’

  ‘Mr Bayes seems a good bloke. And Trip might put in a good word for me . . .’ Josh began, but stopped, biting his lip.

  Martha shot an accusing glance at Emily, but said nothing.

  ‘I’ll be going, then,’ Lizzie said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  The door opened once again. Beside the fire, Walter shivered.

  ‘I wish folks’d stop running in and out,’ Martha muttered. ‘It’s hard enough to keep this place warm as it is without someone opening the door every five minutes.’

  Before she could hold back the words, Emily said, ‘Then we shouldn’t have come here.’ And even though her heart ached at the thought of not being able to see Trip every Sunday, as she was able to do now, she added heatedly, ‘We’d all have been far better off staying back home in Ashford.’

  She felt torn; she wanted the best for her father and she was sure that Josh would be happier making his candles and planning his future with Amy, yet she counted the hours to the following Sunday when she could meet Trip. On fine days they walked in the park or around the city centre. If it rained, they found shelter in the city, reminiscing and tentatively planning what the future might hold. They held hands as they walked and he put his arm around her waist when they crossed a road, but still he did not tell her he loved her.

  For now, Emily told herself, she had to be content with what he’d whispered at the ball: ‘You’re my girl now.’

  Nineteen

  The following morning, Josh accompanied the girls to their place of work. Only minutes after their arrival, he was facing Mr Crossland, a big, jovial man with a broad Sheffield accent.

  ‘Nah then, lad, I’ve had a word wi’ George Bayes and he says he’s blessed if he can understand why ’mester fired you. You’re a good worker, he said, and learning fast, considering you’ve had no experience afore. I’d be glad to take you on and you can work alongside Chris Marples. He’ll take you under his wing. In fact, if you’ve nowt else to do, you can start right now.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Crossland. I’m very grateful.’

  Eddie Crossland put his hand on Josh’s shoulder as he steered him through the workshop towards a tall, middle-aged man working at a grinder. Chris Marples had pale hazel eyes and thinning grey hair, but his smile was warm and his handshake firm as Eddie Crossland introduced his new workmate, and when Josh walked home that evening with Emily on one side of him and Lizzie on the other, he was grinning.

  ‘It’s a lot better than Trippets’,’ he told them. ‘The blokes are all so friendly. There –’ he referred again to his previous place of work – ‘they all seemed so miserable. Just did their day’s work and went off home. Here, it’s a laugh a minute and they meet up for a pint at the weekends, Chris told me. He’s invited me to join them on a Saturday night.’ Josh chuckled. ‘He asked me if I was any good at darts. As if.’

  ‘You could learn,’ Lizzie said, loyally. ‘I bet you’d be good at anything you put your hand to, Josh.’

  He glanced down at her, smiling. In fact, today he couldn’t wipe the smile from his mouth. ‘Thanks for the faith in me and thanks again for helping me to get this job. I really don’t know what we’d do without you.’

  Emily’s heart sank.

  That night, by the flickering light of a candl
e in her side of the bedroom, Emily wrote a letter to Amy. She found it difficult to write with the flow of words that once would have been so easy. Now there was a constraint, a reserve that she was sure Amy would notice and wonder at. Perhaps it would be better if she saved up to take a trip back to Ashford to see her, but every penny of her wages was needed to keep the family fed and as warm as possible. And it was the same for Josh; as trainees, they were poorly paid. When she read the letter through again, she knew her words were stilted and unnatural. Deliberately, she had not mentioned Lizzie and in avoiding doing so she was giving validity to the fact that Lizzie was a threat where Amy was concerned.

  And she is, Emily thought. She intends to get her claws into Josh and I can’t see what more I can do to stop it. I’ve tried telling her that he is engaged to Amy back home but that doesn’t seem to bother her. In the darkness Emily sighed heavily. And we need her, her and her mother – even her brother Mick. The whole family needs them all. Since Christmas Eve, Emily had noticed extra items in their home that she knew her mother could not possibly have afforded to buy: a sack of coal, a joint of meat, extra butter and milk and a warm blanket for Walter’s bed. The Ryans needed the Dugdale family’s help. What else could she do?

  Emily was troubled by the tone of the letter she’d written, but she thought it would be even worse not to send it.

  ‘I’ve written to Amy,’ she said the following morning. ‘Have you got a stamp, Mam?’

  Without turning round from the sink, Martha said, ‘No, but leave it on the table. I’ll post it when I go out shopping.’

  Amy could no longer hide her condition and now the whole village knew that she was to bear an illegitimate child and they all guessed that Josh Ryan was the father. To her surprise, the villagers were very understanding.

  ‘Bob Clark’s done his best to bring up the lass on his own,’ they whispered to each other, ‘but it’s not the same for the poor lass as having a mother’s hand to guide her. Mrs Trippet says we must do what we can to help.’

  And so little gifts began to appear at the smithy; tiny clothes to fit a newborn and a magnificent crocheted shawl. And Mr Osborne from the corner shop appeared almost daily with something to tempt the young mother-to-be’s appetite. And on the day that a magnificent cradle, trimmed with white lace and complete with coverlets, was delivered to their door by Kirkland, the Trippets’ chauffeur and gardener, Amy wept at the kindness of the villagers.

  ‘Oh Dad, I don’t deserve this. And to think that even Mrs Trippet has sent such a wonderful gift.’

  Bob put his arm around her shaking shoulders, but he was unable to speak for the lump in his throat. He too was overwhelmed, but then he’d known the villagers’ kindness before when he’d been left with a small child to care for. They’d rallied around him then and now they were doing it once more for his daughter. It was as if they regarded her as theirs too.

  ‘You must write a nice little thank-you note to Mrs Trippet.’ He paused and then asked tenderly, ‘Still no word from Josh?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Nor from Emily. I – I thought at least she’d have written.’

  Bob sighed heavily. He was acutely disappointed in the Ryan family. Oh, not poor Walter, who, in his condition, was helpless against his fiercely ambitious wife, but he had thought better of Josh and Emily. Surely the friendship that had existed between them for years had meant something. He sighed heavily and squeezed Amy’s shoulder. ‘Ne’er mind, lass, we’ll manage. I’m glad our secret’s out and that folks are rallying round.’

  ‘I never thought –’ Amy bit her lip and tears spilled down her cheeks – ‘they’d all be so kind about it. I – I thought I’d be shunned.’

  Bob chuckled wryly. ‘Oh there’re a few secrets I could tell you, love, if I’d a mind, but I haven’t,’ he added swiftly. ‘But let me just say this, for a few folks in this village it’d be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.’

  For a moment, Amy stared up at him and then, through her tears, she began to laugh.

  On the first Sunday after Josh’s dismissal, Emily met Trip with the words, ‘Josh has been sacked from Trippets’. Did you know?’

  Frowning, Trip stared at her. ‘No, I didn’t. Why? What had he done?’

  Emily shrugged. ‘Nothing – as far as I can make out.’ Emily told him what had happened.

  ‘My father, you say? He sacked him?’

  ‘Yes. In front of everyone.’

  ‘Oh, Emily, I’m so sorry. I’ll – see what I can do.’

  ‘Don’t bother. He’s got a job at Waterfall’s and—’ She’d been about to say that Josh liked it much better, but she stopped herself. This wasn’t Trip’s fault. She could see by the worried look on his face he’d known nothing about it.

  She tucked her arm through his and smiled up at him. ‘It’s all right now so let’s forget about Josh and enjoy ourselves.’

  Trip took her hand and said, ‘Shall we go somewhere different today? It’s a bit cold for the park.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You’ll see. Come on.’

  They walked for some distance until Trip stopped and waved his arm. ‘Here you are. Fitzalan Square. I thought you’d like to see some of the buildings here. Look at that one. It’s what they call the White Building.’ He laughed. ‘I think it’s supposed to stand out against all the sooty buildings round it.’

  ‘Well, it does,’ Emily said.

  ‘And over there is the Electra Palace. I’ll take you there one day, when I’m earning a bit more than a lowly apprentice’s wage.’

  ‘Is that all your father pays you?’

  Trip grimaced. ‘Says I’ve got to learn to manage my money. He does pay my lodgings, though I think Mother had something to do with that. She wanted me to have somewhere decent to live.’

  ‘I don’t blame her,’ Emily said wryly. ‘You can’t really call where we’re living “decent”. The folks are nice, friendly and helpful, but I don’t relish rats sharing the kitchen. Would you?’

  ‘Not really. Come on, let’s go and meet King Edward.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘The bronze statue in the centre of the square.’

  When they’d wandered around for a while, Trip said, ‘Do you want to take a tram back home? I think it’s starting to rain.’

  ‘Are you sure? I haven’t been on a tram yet.’

  ‘Come on, then. Top deck, so you can see all the sights.’

  They parted at the end of Garden Street, Trip kissed her cheek lightly. ‘See you next week and please tell Josh I’m so sorry about what’s happened.’ And then he was gone, leaving her staring after him, her fingers touching the place on her cheek where he’d kissed her.

  ‘Have you written to Amy?’ Emily asked Josh a week after her own letter to the girl had been sent.

  ‘Yes, I’ve written several times now,’ Josh said, ‘but I’ve not heard anything from her all the time we’ve been here.’

  ‘No,’ Emily said slowly, ‘neither have I. I find that strange, don’t you?’

  ‘I wish I could go to see her, but I just can’t spare the money. Mam needs every penny to care for Dad and to feed us. It’d be so selfish of me. I was going to try to get a lift when I planned to go last time, so it wouldn’t cost me much, but it’s a bit chancy. I daren’t be late back for the start of the week.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘I can’t risk being sacked again.’

  ‘No, nor me. I’d love to go and see her, but I don’t see how we can. Just mind you keep writing to her and plead with her to write back, if you have to. And another thing, whilst we’re on the subject of Amy. Back off a bit from Lizzie. Ever since the ball, she’s making out to all the girls at work that you’re her boyfriend and, now you’re working at the same place, it’s getting harder and harder to prove otherwise.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Josh said, but he didn’t sound too confident or determined.

  As they left work on the Friday night having collected their week’s
pay, Emily said, ‘Oh look over there, Lizzie. Mick’s come to meet you.’

  Lizzie glanced across the road at Mick standing on the street corner with two other young men. All of them were dressed smartly. None of them, Emily guessed, had spent the day at any form of manual labour.

  Lizzie laughed wryly. ‘He’s not here to see us, Emily. Come on, let’s go.’ She grasped Emily’s arm in a firm grip and hustled her along the street. ‘Mick’s with his mates, Emily. Best leave him to it.’

  Josh was about to follow the girls when Mick shouted, ‘Hey, Josh, let me buy you a drink, mate.’

  Josh hesitated as Lizzie pulled on his arm and said urgently, ‘No, Josh, don’t go. Come with us.’

  ‘But it’ll look churlish to refuse, Lizzie. I’ll see you later.’

  Lizzie sighed as she watched him cross the road towards her brother. ‘I wish he wouldn’t,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, I do wish he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Why? There’s no harm in him having a drink with Mick, is there?’ Emily glanced across the road at Mick and his cronies. ‘Though I hope he doesn’t have to spend all his pay on buying a round for all of them.’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s what I’m afraid of,’ Lizzie said quickly as they saw Mick slap Josh on the back and introduce him to the others.

  Lizzie sighed. ‘Come on. There’s nowt we can do now, Emily. Let’s go home.’

  Josh did not arrive home until the early hours of the morning, long after the rest of the family had gone to bed, although Emily lay awake listening for him. Just after midnight, she heard the door downstairs open and then close with a bang. She heard him stumbling through the kitchen and then mounting the stairs to the attic. The door opened with a crash and he staggered into the room, grasped hold of the curtain between their beds, and pulled it down from the ceiling, the fabric tearing from the nails.

  Emily threw back her bedcovers and got out of bed, taking hold of him and leading him to his bed.

  ‘What on earth were you thinking, Josh? You’ve work in the morning. Just look at the state you’re in. Whatever will Mam say?’