‘No, I am not. It’s called being sensible. And if the air-raid sirens go off before you get to Jessica’s, make sure that you head for the nearest shelter.’
Annabelle had never seen her father in this mood before, and realising that for now at least he was not going to be swayed, she turned on her heel and marched off to fetch her new coat and the hated gas mask. She detested having to carry it everywhere with her and saw little point in it anyway. Word had it that the Germans would be targeting the factories on the other side of the city, so she didn’t see why she should have to lug the damn thing everywhere. For a moment, a sense of the enormity of what was happening to them all overwhelmed her in a wave of fear about the future. Then she pulled herself together and brushed her feelings to one side.
Blasted war – I’ll be glad when it’s over and things can get back to normal, she thought, and in no time at all she had slammed the door and was making her way through the icy, darkened streets.
Chapter Two
‘Come along, Miss Kent. Get this lot tidied away now. An untidy counter will not do, now will it?’
‘No, Mrs Broadstairs,’ the mousy-haired girl muttered as she hastily shuffled the gloves the customer had tried on into pairs. The woman had been difficult to say the very least, trying on nearly every pair of gloves available and then leaving without even buying any – a fact of which Mrs Broadstairs was acutely aware. Not that she was surprised. Dorothy Kent was a timid little thing, hardly suited to serving the public in her opinion, with barely any social graces at all, but then if Mr Bradley felt that Miss Kent was up to serving, who was she to argue?
Percival Bradley, the manager, ruled his shop like a sergeant-major – not that he could do any wrong in Mrs Broadstairs’s eyes. She had been in awe of the man, and more than a little enamoured of him, ever since the day she had started at Owen Owen as his assistant. Unfortunately, he never seemed to notice her – which was a shame as she’d been widowed for the last four years and now felt ready to look for a suitable replacement – and Mr Bradley more than fitted the bill. As far as she was aware, he had never been married, although she couldn’t understand how he’d managed to escape the net. Nearing sixty, he was still a fine figure of a man, and seeing as she wasn’t far behind him in age, her chances of finding a new husband were narrowing significantly, although she prided herself on being as smart as a new pin. Unfortunately, up to now, all her best attempts at flirtation had come to nothing, and each time this happened she tended to take her frustrations out on the shop girls – as she was doing now with young Dorothy.
As well as being Mr Bradley’s assistant, Mrs Broadstairs was also responsible for deciding which girls would work in which departments, especially the new employees. It was a task at which she excelled. Usually she could tell within minutes which department a particular girl would be best suited to. Not that it always worked out as she would have liked any more. Now that they were so short-staffed, the girls had to go where they were most needed for much of the time.
The girl was fumbling in her haste to tidy the counter and after tutting, Mrs Broadstairs swept away.
Dotty, as she was known, sighed with relief. This was only her second month at Owen Owen and she was still doing her best to fit in. It was her first job and although there was an element of excitement in working for a living, it was still all rather strange too. Dotty had had a lot of adjusting to do over the last few months. She had been dumped in an orphanage on the other side of the city by her mother when she was a very new baby, and had stayed there until just before her eighteenth birthday. Her welfare worker had then found her lodgings in King Edward Road in Hillfields, and had also helped her to get this job so that she could become independent and pay her own way.
Dotty could clearly remember how excited she had been when her welfare worker had told her about the room, but when she took her along to see it, Dotty’s first glimpse had been somewhat of a disappointment, to say the very least. It was an attic room situated in a large Victorian terraced house that had been divided into three floors, and it was barely big enough to swing a cat around in, consisting of a small bedsitting room and a kitchenette that housed a sink and two grimy gas-rings. A grubby settee pulled out to make into a bed at night with the addition of pillows and an eider-down, but then she had consoled herself; at least the place would be all hers and she wouldn’t have to share it with anyone, which was a first for Dotty. To get to the attic meant a long climb up a number of steep stairs. The bathroom, which was shared by all the residents, was on the second floor, but after one glance inside, Dotty knew that she would rather die than ever use it. She would make do with a good strip wash each night and then visit the public baths once a week.
Dotty had always shared a dormitory with other girls and she had become used to keeping herself to herself, so she’d decided that she would look at ‘going it alone’ as an adventure. The only person she had ever been remotely close to was Miss Timms, a gentle woman who had worked at the orphanage for as long as Dotty could remember. Miss Timms had been a great favourite there, especially with the younger children, for she would read to them at bedtime and sit them on her lap and rock them when they were feeling unwell. In actual fact, Dotty realised that Miss Timms was the only person she would really miss, although the woman had promised to visit her often, which had made the parting bearable. And the fact that the room was so rundown would give her something to do each night after work, Dotty told herself. She would buy some paint and brighten it up no end, and it was quite exciting to think that she could choose any colour she wanted – if she could get hold of the paint, that was. Everything was suddenly in short supply since the war had broken out.
The next big step had been when Miss Wood, the welfare worker, had taken her along for an interview at Owen Owen. Dotty had been quaking in her shoes and sure that she would never get the job in such a posh department store. All the other shop girls they passed on the way to the office looked so pretty and so smart that she didn’t think she stood a chance. But much to her amazement she had got the job, although she did wonder if it was because many of the shop girls had now gone into munitions factories, where they were paid better money.
Miss Timms had taken her shopping to purchase two black skirts and two white blouses as well as a pair of sensible black shoes that would be suitable for work, and in no time at all she had been deposited in the flat. For the first time in her life she was truly alone and it was more than a little daunting. Dotty had become institutionalised over the years and was used to following a strict routine. Admittedly, the staff at the orphanage had never been cruel to her, but apart from Miss Timms the rest of them had been too busy to give any one particular child any special attention, and so she had become used to doing as she was told and obeying orders. And now suddenly here she was, free as a bird to do whatever she chose and it was taking some getting used to.
Up until now, the other girls she worked with had more or less ignored her, although Dotty would find them huddled in small groups, smoking and chatting about what film they had been to see or what music they liked, in the staff dining room at break. She herself had never been to the cinema and longed to go but was too afraid to venture into a picturehouse on her own. The other girls would glance at her and smile but rarely tried to include her in their conversations, for on the few occasions that they had, Dotty had blushed furiously and become tongue-tied. And so she would sit and watch enviously, wondering how they managed to get their hair looking so nice and their make-up so perfect, painfully aware that she was a real plain Jane. Her hair was as straight as a poker, as Miss Timms had used to tease her, and she was so slim that she was almost boyish.
Coming back to the present, she renewed her efforts when she saw Mr Bradley glance her way, and in no time at all the gloves were replaced neatly beneath the glass counter. Through the window she could see that it was growing dark and she knew that it must be getting on for home time. Other girls were bustling about tidying the hats that
were strategically placed for best effect about the shop, and others were dusting their counters whilst keeping an eye on Mr Bradley’s movements. They all knew that he would not allow any of them to go home until the whole place was spotless, and so they scurried about like ants, putting the shop to rights.
At last Mr Bradley was satisfied with their efforts and he waved his hand dismissively as Mrs Broadstairs followed him about like a lovesick puppy. The girls trooped away to the staff room where they chatted animatedly about what they were going to do that night as they wrapped up warmly. Dotty listened wistfully as she shrugged her arms into her drab brown coat. It was the one that the orphanage had supplied; plain but serviceable, as were all the clothes that the children there were given. I’ll perhaps save up and get myself a new one, Dotty thought as they all began the long trek through the department store. They passed the lingerie department and the bridal department where the shop assistants were still throwing snow-white sheets across the gowns on mannequins that were dotted about, and Dotty sighed dreamily as she tried to imagine how it would feel to wear such a dress – not that she was ever likely to find out. She needed no one to tell her that she was as plain as a pikestaff. The mirror told her that every time she glimpsed herself in it.
A doorman stood at either side of the exit when the girls finally reached the ground floor. The doors had been closed to the public for the day now, but they unlocked them for the staff to leave, flirting outrageously with the prettier ones. But no one bothered Dotty or even seemed to notice her for that matter; it didn’t trouble her, she was used to it by now.
The cold outside took her breath away and after pulling her collar higher she set out for the Pool Meadow bus station. Frost was already forming on the pavements and the thought of going back to a cold empty room and making herself a meal was not appealing. At least at the orphanage she had had her meals prepared for her, and had been surrounded by people. Still, there was no going back; so she knew she would just have to make the best of it.
The smell of boiled cabbage and the sounds of babies crying met her when she entered the house. She was cold and tired by then and she trudged wearily up the steep staircase. Once inside the tiny room she hastily lit the gasfire, then went to rummage in the only cupboard the room possessed. Her search came up with a tin of soup, so after taking the lid off with a tin opener, she put it in a saucepan on the gas-ring to heat up, then peeled off her layers of outer clothing before turning the wireless on. The sound of Bing Crosby floated around the room as another lonely night loomed ahead of her. The only visitors she had had since moving in were her welfare worker and Miss Timms.
Placing the kettle on the other gas-ring, she then turned to the bucket of cold water that she stood her milk in, only to find that it had curdled. She wrinkled her nose as she sniffed it before tipping it down the sink, then turned the soup off. There was nothing else for it; if she wanted a cup of tea that evening she would have to go to the corner shop, although she didn’t fancy venturing outside into the cold again. She pulled her boots and her coat back on then hurried out onto the landing, locking her door behind her. It should only take her ten minutes, if she hurried.
She had reached the landing below when a door opened and a harassed-looking woman appeared clutching a wailing baby in her arms.
‘Ah, I thought I heard yer comin’ down the stairs, luvvie,’ she said. ‘You ain’t off to the shop by any chance, are yer?’
‘I am actually,’ Dotty answered.
‘Ooh, then yer couldn’t do me a big favour an’ fetch me a loaf back, could yer? This ’un’s been yarkin’ her head off fer the last ’alf an ’our. I reckon she’s hungry an’ I ain’t been able to get out ’cos the other two are down wi’ the measles. Poor little mites. Still, I suppose I shouldn’t grumble. At least it’s stopped ’em from bein’ evacuated, fer now at least.’
‘Of course I will, Mrs Cousins,’ Dotty responded kindly. She felt so sorry for the poor woman. Her husband had been one of the first victims of the war, being killed in an accident just four weeks after joining up. Mrs Cousins had been forced to leave their home then and had ended up here with three small children to care for and barely tuppence to rub together, from what Dotty could make of it. It seemed such a shame, but then she was only one of many who were suffering because of the war, and Dotty supposed she should think her own self lucky. There was some compensation to being alone: at least she had no one else but herself to worry about.
Taking the money that the older woman held out, she smiled and hurried on her way, grimacing as she passed the bathroom. The smell that issued from it was appalling and she wasn’t surprised that no one ever used it. All the residents preferred to go to the outside privy, which at least had the benefit of a strong flush and fresh air coming through a broken window. Dotty thought it was probably her turn to cut up squares of newspaper to hang on the string there.
The frost on the pavements had thickened now and her breath floated in front of her like lace, but soon the corner shop came into sight and she hurried inside to get the bread and milk.
Once back at the house she toiled up the first two flights of stairs and tapped on Mrs Cousins’s door. The baby was still crying as Dotty thrust the loaf towards the woman, along with the half-a-crown she had given her.
‘But you’ve not taken anythin’ for it,’ the woman protested. She was dressed in an old pair of men’s trousers and a baggy Fair Isle jumper that Dotty supposed might be her late husband’s, the only thing she had ever seen her in, and a scarf was tied turban-like around her hair.
‘Oh, the shopkeeper let me have it for nothing because it’s yesterday’s and a little stale, but I’m sure it will still be all right if you eat it tonight. Oh, and there’s a bottle of milk here too that he was going to throw away. He was just about to shut.’
Mrs Cousins looked puzzled as she squeezed the bread. ‘Well, it feels fresh enough to me. Are yer quite sure it didn’t cost yer nowt?’
‘Absolutely.’ Dotty began to move away, clutching her own pint of milk. Her feet felt as if they were going to drop off after being on them all day, and all she wanted was to settle down by the fire for the night with the wireless for company. She didn’t want to give Mrs Cousins an opportunity to question her too closely either. She had treated the poor woman to the milk and bread, but what was the harm in a little white lie if it was doing someone a kindness? As she hurried on, she realised with a little start that Mrs Cousins was the only person who had spoken to her all day, apart from Mrs Broadstairs when she was issuing her orders, of course, and the customers she had served.
The flat was warm when she got back up to the top floor, which was something at least, so she turned the heat back on under the soup and sighed with pleasure as she kicked her boots off, sat down and stretched her feet out by the fire.
‘Now then, Miss Kent, there’s been a slight change of plan for today,’ Mrs Broadstairs informed her when she got into work the next morning. ‘One of the girls in the lingerie department is off sick, so I’ve told the floor manager that you may help out down there today. Do you think you can manage that?’ Personally, she had grave reservations about sending Dotty to that particular department. All the girls who worked there were so much more glamorous than her, and seemed to have so much more about them. But then desperate times called for desperate measures. The whole store had been operating on a skeleton staff since the out-break of war, and Dotty was the best she could manage. She certainly wasn’t going to send one of her more experienced girls. It wouldn’t do at all if sales were to be down on her own floor.
‘Yes, Mrs Broadstairs, I’ll be fine,’ Dotty assured her meekly.
‘Then run along, dear. We don’t want to upset the floor manager now, do we? Her name is Miss Norton. Just tell her I sent you.’
Mrs Broadstairs then scurried away, leaving Dotty to turn and head for the stairs. The lingerie department was down on the next floor and she had often wondered what it would be like to work there. Adm
ittedly, there was not the same wide selection of underwear and nightwear displayed as there had been before the war, but there were still the odd few extravagant items in pure silk. Dotty couldn’t even begin to imagine how it would feel to wear anything so expensive. The orphanage had always made sure that the children were adequately turned out, but their budget had not run to anything other than hardwearing materials, and the habits of a lifetime were hard to break. Dotty still tended to go for sensible shoes and clothes, partly because she had no fashion sense whatsoever. She hadn’t needed to be fashionable in the orphanage. She had just been one of many. Now as she entered the lingerie department she felt slightly out of her depth as she gazed about at the mannequins strategically placed to catch the customers’ eyes; a blush rose into her cheeks. It seemed strange to see such personal items displayed so blatantly, but then men rarely ventured into this particular department, which Dotty felt was just as well.
Glass-topped counters were placed all along one wall. In one was a selection of cotton knickers – very serviceable and very much in demand since the outbreak of the war. Another counter contained brassières of various sizes and colours. There were nightdresses in flannelette and cotton, and pyjamas, dressing-gowns, and stockings, which were getting much harder to come by and ridiculously expensive.
Along the opposite wall were the counters containing the more exclusive items in silks and satins, some trimmed with guipure lace. There was even an exquisite negligée set on display that got Dotty’s pulse racing, and she flushed at the thought of anyone daring to wear it. She was also terrified at the prospect of having to show it to anyone. It was so delicate that she was sure it would tear if she so much as blew on it. But thankfully, Miss Norton took one look at her and guided her to the other side of the room. Dotty seemed a nice, helpful enough sort of girl but she was hardly the sort to show off Miss Norton’s treasured exclusive lines.
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