The Buffer Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘I don’t reckon you listened to a word I said last time, did you, lad? You’ve been seen with Mick Dugdale. Well, it’ll do you no good.’ He stepped closer and lowered his voice. ‘Look, Josh. You’re a nice lad. I like you and – most of the time – you’re a damned good worker. But this week your mind’s been elsewhere and I can’t have that when you’re operating dangerous machinery. And if you’re going to spend your free time with the likes of him, then I’d have to think seriously about keeping you on here. I’ll give you a tip, lad, though I’d ask you to keep it to yourself. My nephew’s a copper and they’ve got Mick Dugdale and his gang in their sights. I wouldn’t like to see you caught up in that, ’specially if there are some arrests soon.’

  Josh gaped at him and actually trembled inside.

  Hoarsely, he said, ‘Thanks, Mr Crossland. I’ll mind what you say. Really, I will.’

  As he walked home, Josh was deep in thought. He would keep that piece of knowledge to himself; he wouldn’t even tell Emily and he certainly wouldn’t say a word to Lizzie, though he did feel guilty. Whatever they said, Mick had been good to the Ryan family in all sorts of ways and it was Mick who’d been instrumental in helping the girls set up their ‘little missuses’ business. Josh sighed. Whatever was he going to do?

  ‘Josh, you really ought to go to Ashford and sort things out.’ Despite her own ever-growing worries about Trip, Emily was still anxious about her brother.

  Josh turned away. ‘Soon, Em. I’ll go soon. Another week or so won’t make a lot of difference now.’

  ‘It might, where Lizzie’s concerned. She does nothing at work but talk about you when the machines are off and even when they’re on sometimes, but we’ve all stopped lip-reading her.’

  Josh smiled thinly. ‘You’re right, of course. Things are getting a bit more – well, you know – between Lizzie and me. It would be better if I knew once and for all.’

  ‘Then for Heaven’s sake go, Josh. And the sooner, the better.’

  Josh gave a lot of thought to what Emily had said. In fact, he thought of little else. She was right, of course, about Amy and Lizzie, but she didn’t know the half of it. He’d give anything to be safely back in Ashford with Amy and well away from Mick Dugdale.

  The following evening, when Josh arrived home, he was agitated and kept glancing anxiously at Emily. She could see that he was itching to tell her something. As soon as they could, they left the house and went outside. Emily pulled her coat tightly around; it was bitterly cold.

  ‘Trip’s gone,’ Josh burst out.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I went to Trippets’ for you, like I promised. Mr Bayes said there was a terrible row between Trip and his father just after Christmas. Trip stormed out of his office, roared off on his motorbike and no one’s seen him since.’

  ‘What was the row about? Did Mr Bayes know?’

  ‘Not really . . .’

  ‘He’ll have gone home. That’s where he’ll be. Back in Ashford.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Mr Bayes said he did hear the final words. Mr Trippet told him to get out of the factory, that he was no longer a son of his and – and that he wasn’t to go home.’

  ‘Not go home!’ Emily was shocked. ‘But what about his mother? Mrs Trippet is a lovely lady. Look how much she’s always done in the village. Surely she wouldn’t stand by and see her son treated like that.’

  ‘Huh! I bet old man Trippet rules the roost. She’ll have to do what he says or risk being thrown out too, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘But Trip’s his only son. His heir.’

  Josh didn’t answer.

  ‘I must find out where he is, Josh. If you don’t go to Ashford, then I will.’

  ‘I’ll go. I’ve got to be the one to go.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just as soon as I can.’

  Two more weeks went by and it was the beginning of February. Josh still made excuses not to go to Ashford. With each day that passed, Emily became more and more frantic to find out something – anything – about Trip. She comforted herself with the thought that Trip would have gone home at least to see his mother, even if he couldn’t stay at Riversdale House. He’ll be all right, she told herself, but somehow she couldn’t convince herself and she was irritated with Josh that he was still putting off going to Ashford both to see Amy and to find out about Trip. If Josh didn’t go that weekend, she promised herself, then she would.

  ‘Any letters, Mam?’ she asked when she came home from work every night and, each time, Martha shook her head.

  It was the second Saturday of February when Emily, tired and dispirited, sat helping her father to eat his evening meal. ‘You look good tonight, Dad,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful for his sake. The last person she wanted to worry was her beloved father. ‘Are you feeling a bit better?’

  She hadn’t expected him to reply; Walter hardly ever responded to anything that was said to him. Most of the time, he just sat sunken in gloom, probably with horrific memories of the trenches going through his mind that would then bring on a bout of shaking. But tonight, he was sitting up straight, there was no shaking and he was staring at her, his eyes bright, and he looked as if he was trying to tell her something.

  ‘What is it, Dad?’ Emily said softly.

  Walter glanced warily across the room to where Martha and Josh sat at the table eating their tea. Emily looked at them too and then her gaze came back to Walter’s face. Slowly, he put his fingers to his lips. Emily nodded that she understood. There was something he wanted to communicate to her but not, it seemed, in front of either Martha or Josh, or maybe both of them. She nodded and whispered, ‘Later, Dad, eh?’

  There was the ghost of a smile on his mouth, something Emily hadn’t seen for years.

  After tea was finished and the washing-up done, Josh went out and Martha went upstairs to change the sheets on Walter’s bed.

  When they were both safely out of earshot, Emily said softly, ‘What is it, Dad?’

  Walter opened his mouth, trying hard to speak, but the words would not come. Then he spread his left hand and with his right forefinger he made a sign as if he were writing something.

  ‘You want to write something?’

  Walter shook his head and repeated his action. Then he acted out folding a piece of paper, putting it in an envelope, licking the edge and sealing it.

  ‘You want to write a letter?’ Again, Walter shook his head. Then he pointed to the clock on the mantelpiece above the range, behind which were one or two official-looking letters.

  Emily pointed at them. ‘Is there something in one of those you want me to read? No? Then I wonder . . .’ Emily frowned. He was trying desperately to tell her something.

  ‘It’s something about a letter, is it?’

  Now Walter nodded.

  ‘Letters we’ve written or ones written to us.’ As he nodded again, Emily asked, ‘Both?’

  Another nod.

  Now Walter put his hands together and acted out tearing paper and then tossing it into the range fire.

  ‘Letters have been torn up and burned. Is – is that what you’re telling me?’

  Again, his answer was ‘yes’.

  Now Emily stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘But – who? And – and why? And which letters?’ And then she knew. Without Walter having to make any more signs, she knew. But she had to be sure.

  ‘Who, Dad? Who destroyed the letters?’

  Slowly, Walter glanced up towards the ceiling.

  ‘Mam? Mam did that?’ Emily whispered, shocked now beyond belief.

  Walter’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded. Emily took hold of his hands and held them tightly as she asked, ‘Amy’s letters to us?’

  Walter gave a sob, but nodded.

  ‘What about ours to her, because we’ve both written to her and left them on the table for Mam to post for us?’

  He put a shaking hand to his head as he nodded again.

  ‘And – and has there been one for me r
ecently from Trip?’

  Another ‘yes’.

  Emily was horrified and yet there was a little comfort in the thought that Trip had written to her since he’d gone missing.

  Now, Walter’s eyes were frightened as he pulled one hand away from her and put his finger to his lips.

  ‘I must tell Josh,’ she said urgently. ‘He must know, but I promise we won’t say a word to Mam.’

  At once Walter relaxed and, as they heard Martha’s footsteps coming down the stairs, he fell back in his chair and closed his eyes, exhausted by the supreme exertion of communicating with Emily. She stood up as Martha came in. ‘Is his bed ready, Mam?’ With a great effort Emily managed to make her voice sound normal. ‘He seems very tired.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. He’s been on edge all day. I don’t know what the matter is.’

  I do, Emily wanted to shout. Maybe he watched you burn yet another letter, probably one for me from Trip, and he just couldn’t bear the deceit any longer. But instead she pressed her lips together and said nothing. ‘I’ll help you,’ she said, with surprising calmness. ‘Have you got a brick heating in the oven?’

  Martha nodded. ‘I’ll take it up and we’ll get him into bed.’

  Tenderly, she touched her father’s hand. ‘Come on, Dad. Let’s get you upstairs and you can sleep.’ As her mother left the room again, she whispered, ‘Don’t you worry about a thing.’

  But what would Josh say and do when she told him?

  Thirty

  After her father was safely in bed and, to Emily’s relief, asleep, she left the house and went in search of Josh.

  ‘Hello, luv,’ Bess Dugdale said as she answered Emily’s knock. ‘You lookin’ for Lizzie?’

  ‘No, actually, it’s Josh I was looking for. Is he here?’

  ‘Sorry, luv, no. He hasn’t been round here of an evening for several days now.’ She stepped close. ‘Have they quarrelled, d’you know?’

  ‘I . . . don’t know, Mrs Dugdale.’

  Bess was thoughtful for a moment, then she shrugged. ‘Lizzie seems OK. If there’d been a row, she’d have been in a right teking, I can tell you.’

  Emily tried to smile. The news she had to impart to Josh would change everything. ‘If you do see Josh, please tell him to come home.’

  ‘Is it your dad, luv?’

  ‘No, no, he’s fine, but – Josh is needed at home.’

  ‘Well, he’s gone out with Mick and his mates. I do know that, though our Lizzie’s fuming about it. She wanted Josh to take her out, it being Saturday night.’ Noticing Emily’s worried frown, Bess said, ‘But don’t you worry about your Josh. Mick’s a good lad. He’ll look after him.’

  If Emily had known exactly where Josh was at that moment, she would have been truly alarmed.

  As Josh arrived home from work at lunchtime, Mick had been hovering in the courtyard. ‘Orreight, Josh?’

  Josh forced a grin. ‘I will be, when I’ve had a good wash and called it the weekend.’

  ‘Be ready at six tonight. Pete’s picking up a car and taking us out of the city for a little drive.’

  Josh felt a wave of relief; there couldn’t be any harm in a drive in the countryside. It’d be good to get out of the smoke and dust of the narrow streets. Now Josh smiled genuinely. ‘I might have to help Mam with me dad before—’

  ‘Can’t Emily help? Or they can call on my mam for help. Tha’s gotta be ready at six, mate. Pete can’t have the car for long. He’s – er – borrowing it.’

  ‘All right, I’ll be ready.’

  As soon as he got in, he said, ‘Is Emily home?’

  ‘Not yet. Working late – again. I think she makes a lot more of this little business of hers than it really is. Anyone would think she’s angling to be Master Cutler one day.’

  ‘Mick’s asked me to go out with him tonight. We’re going for a ride in the countryside. Is that all right, Mam? I mean, Emily will be home soon to help you with Dad.’

  ‘Of course, it is. You go out and enjoy yourself. You’ve worked hard all week and you’ve been so good giving me extra money. You deserve a bit of fun. Your dad’s a bit on edge today, but he’s all right. We’ll manage him.’

  And so Josh, believing that all the evening held was a merry drive out into the countryside in Pete’s borrowed car, had gone happily to meet up with Mick.

  Pete arrived in an open-topped Model T Ford. Gary was already sitting beside him as Mick and Josh paused to admire the motorcar.

  ‘By heck, Pete, you’ve got a good ’un tonight. Shame to—’

  ‘Look quick,’ Pete shouted above the noisy engine. ‘I don’t want to hang about.’

  When Mick and Josh had climbed into the back, they were off with a jerk as more and more folks on Garden Street came out of their houses to see what the commotion was. Mick waved grandly, just as if he were visiting royalty as the car reached the edge of the city and began to chug up the hill towards Baslow. Soon, they were out in the countryside and the cold wind was biting their faces and chilling them through. This wasn’t quite the nice drive Josh’d thought it would be; his teeth were chattering.

  ‘Is it much further, Pete?’ Mick shouted. ‘We’re perished back here.’

  ‘Not far. Just down this narrow lane . . .’ He swung the car to the left and it bounced and jolted over rough ground. About half a mile down the lane, he turned left again into a grass field and drove across it towards a huge barn.

  Josh was now beginning to feel apprehensive; this was no ordinary drive out into the country. Now he could see the moving shadows of several men – in fact, a lot more than several, there must be at least a hundred, he thought – all moving towards the barn. Pete drew the car to a halt alongside one or two other vehicles on the far side of the building, out of sight from the lane.

  ‘Come on,’ Mick said, climbing out. ‘Josh, I want a word before we go in.’ There was excitement in his tone. Pete and Gary moved away, following the other men into the barn.

  ‘I want you to be me runner tonight, Josh.’

  ‘What is this, Mick? Another pitch and toss game?’

  ‘Nah! It’s bare-knuckle boxing. A lot more money to be made here, mate. Now, you go around the crowd taking bets, orreight? And you write out a slip for each one, ’cos we’ll never remember all this lot. Pete and Gary’ll be doin’ it an’ all, so you don’t have to get round everybody.’

  Josh sighed inwardly. Why had he been so naïve? A ride into the countryside on a winter’s evening? He must have been mad to have believed such an unlikely story. But, sadly, he only realized it now. And now was too late!

  They stepped inside the barn, which was surprisingly warm. In the centre was a makeshift boxing ring, with bales of straw placed to form an empty square.

  ‘The lads like to see the boxers before they place their bets,’ Mick said, ‘just to see who they like the look of. Now, here’re some bits of paper and a couple of pencils. Don’t forget to write ’names down of who places what, ’cos you can’t trust no one in this game.’

  That, Josh could well believe!

  Two men, dressed only in their vests and long johns, climbed over the bales. They took up their positions in opposite corners, their backs to the ring as they held out their hands to their seconds, two more men at each corner who appeared to be binding their boxer’s knuckles with straw. Josh shuddered as he imagined what was going to happen and for the first time he was grateful he had a job to do and could avoid watching the bloodbath.

  He weaved in and out of the crowd as bets began to be taken. Soon he had run out of all the pieces of paper that Mick had given him and broken the tip of one of the pencils, but his pockets were bulging with money. As the first bout of the evening began, he threaded his way through the crowd to Mick.

  ‘You’ve done well, Josh. Lizzie would be right proud of you – if she knew, which she mustn’t. You know that, don’t you, Josh?’ His tone was deadly serious now. Gone in an instant was any joviality. ‘No one must know. Orreight?’ />
  Josh nodded, but avoided meeting Mick’s penetrating gaze. ‘What do you want me to do now, Mick?’

  ‘You can watch the match with the rest of ’em, if you want, or you can help us count the money and take our dibs. When it finishes, we’ll have to pay out to those that have won.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ Josh said quickly.

  Mick had set himself up in a corner of the barn with an upturned box as a table. Pete and Gary arrived with their takings and the four of them began to count the money. Josh had never seen so much money in one place. He noticed that Gary tried to secrete a pound note up his sleeve, but Mick’s sharp eyes saw him. He gripped his friend’s arm and hissed, ‘Don’t you try that on me, mate, else I’ll break your knuckles for yer.’

  ‘Sorry, Mick.’ Gary was immediately contrite. ‘It’s just that I ain’t ever seen so much money.’

  ‘You’ll get your share. I’m always fair with you, ain’t I?’

  Subdued, Gary nodded. ‘Sorry, Mick. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘It better hadn’t,’ Mick said warningly but then he was all smiles again.

  There were three bouts and to Josh each one seemed bloodier than the previous one. He was glad to run around with the winnings and then busy himself taking the next lot of bets. He didn’t want to see two men trying to knock each other senseless. It was a gruesome sight and Josh felt sick every time he caught a glimpse of the fighters. The very last bout seemed worse than the previous two. They battered each other, until straw bits from their bound hands were sticking to each other’s facial wounds. Josh was glad – yet sorry at the same time for the chap on the floor – when it finally ended with a knockout.

  When it was all over and the winners paid out, Mick gave Pete, Gary and Josh their earnings for the evening. As the crowd began to disperse, Mick said, ‘Right, we’ve earned a few beers now, lads. There’s a crate hidden under those bales over there. I brought ’em when I did a recce yesterday.’

  Gary grinned and headed to the corner whilst Pete said, ‘Mick always checks out a place first, just to make sure it’s as safe as it can be. And we never go to the same place twice running. Mind you,’ he added, glancing round. ‘We’ve been here before. ’Bout six months ago, I reckon, but it were light nights then and a bit more risky. Folks don’t come out so much when it’s dark and cold. Not even coppers.’