Industrial protests were out, suspect, possibly illegal. Because ‘There’s a war on’ truly applied. Compared to the men and women at the front their problems were insignificant.
It sounded fair. Keep the heads down, work for the war, don’t let the boys down, assess the gauges, maintain the accuracy, keep the equipment up to the mark, make sure the job is precise and efficient and reliable and punctual, make sure the machines are manufactured and the aeroplanes can fly, do the job do the.... steady as she goes, going steady. Steady steady...
Mrs Griswald was right. The conditions were deplorable. Her hands were shaking. She was light-headed. The figures on her note-pad were a haze. She should go home. Maintenance of accuracy was impossible. Precision was impossible. The aeroplanes and their crews were at risk.
The hands on her watch had stopped again. She really should call a taxi. She didn’t. She kept working to concentrate on the fuzzy figures.
The girls came back. Distracted by the sight of what now appeared to be an argument between Macklin and Grace, they continued to find work impossible.
Listening to her friends, she heard her arguments become theirs. How could they possibly be fooling themselves? In these conditions anything they did had to be unreliable. So why pretend? They’d be better off back in the staff room. Except they must find a way to keep the war effort’s timetable on track. They must keep Churchill’s tools of war flowing at the rate required to win the war. Despite the appalling conditions, they agreed there was no choice. They must stay. They must work. They must risk inaccuracy. Even though the work they eventually did accomplish was going to have to be re-checked tomorrow. Probably re-done tomorrow. Time. Time was precious.
She stole another glance at her watch. Two hours to go. She’d never make it.
“You’ll have to go home, Anne.” Lillian missed little.
Unable to speak, she shook her head.
“Be sensible, Anne. I’ll talk to the Boss.”
She felt herself sliding from the stool.
Lillian broke her fall to the floor.
“What’s going on?” Macklin and Grace hurried from the office.
“She’s sick. Anne’s sick.”
“Lay her on her side. Clear her airways.”
“Give her room!”
“I’m all right.” She protested.
“You should be home.”
“I’ll be all right.” Assisted by Lillian, she pulled herself up onto the stool.
“Is it worse than usual, Anne?” Grace felt her perspiring forehead.
Macklin frowned. “Mrs Griswald was out of order. She left us all upset.”
“Trust me,” Grace argued. “It wasn’t Mrs Griswald. It’s her usual…”
Quickly, she interrupted “If I could lie down a while.”
“Not possible, Miss Preston,” Macklin started for the office. “A taxi will take you home. Do not return unless you’re fit. One hundred per cent fit.”
“This is getting out of hand, Anne,” her mother set the breakfast tray on the bed. “Next time I’m going to call the Doctor Matthews.”
She slept in until late morning, changed, went out to the shade of the gum tree and settled into one of the cushioned cane chairs.
Her mother was watering the vegetable garden. “You had a visitor.”
“Who was it?”
“That nice young man you brought home for Christmas. Gary.”
“How did he know I was home? What did he want?”
“He didn’t know you were home. He was off to get a medical check. He wanted to know if it was all right for him to call in on his way home.”
“He’ll probably forget.”
“I doubt it. I think he’s smitten.”
“With me? Don’t be silly.”
“What’s so silly?”
“I hardly know him,” she blushed.
“He’s been going to church for months. Long enough to want to get to know you.”
“It’s not mutual.”
“Anne…?” Her mother was uncharacteristically hesitant.
“What?” Why couldn’t she be left alone to rest?
“Your father approves of him.”
“You’re wasting your time, Mum. I’m not interested in Gary.”
“You know I agree with your father. We both believe that Julian’s not coming back.”
Why was her mother insisting on this conversation?
“You mustn’t mope around any more, dear.”
If only they would all leave her alone.
“We do care about you, Anne. Even if you don’t think so.”
Why wouldn’t they leave her alone? Her mother wanted to persuade her to like Gary. She wanted to convince her to forget Julian. There was no comparison. Julian was a man with ideals and the strength to take personal risks to fight for them.
She was being unfair. Gary was a fighter who’d taken far greater personal risks than Julian. He’d been gravely wounded. Gary’s life would never be the same again. So why did she respect Julian more than Gary? Was it because she had to wonder - did Gary appreciate what he was fighting for? As Julian did?
It was confusing. If only she could unreservedly confide in her mother. Or her father, even if he was here. She couldn’t. There was no-one to talk to, to ask. The only thing to do was to say nothing.
The stiff back and the determined hands holding the watering can were waiting for a response. Any response except silence. Her mother deserved more.
She broke the silence. “Leave it alone, Mum.”
“You really must stop making excuses for him. I worry for you. He hasn’t even written to you.”
“He will. There’s time. There’s…”
“Forget him! Forget him, Anne!”
“Don’t say that! He promised to write.”
“I pray he doesn’t. The man’s no good. Don’t trust him.”
She fled, out of the back yard and into the house, away from her mother. Her mother was right. For all his idealism, Julian invited mistrust. Worse, he deserved mistrust.
Going back, she apologised. “I’m sorry, Mum. I just don’t feel well. Give me time.”
“Don’t trust him, Anne.”
“I thought you were true blue for Julian?” Joan fished in her locker for her lab coat.
“I am.” She was sitting at the staff-room table. They were early, the others would arrive at precisely nine o’clock.
“So who’s this Gary you’re talking about?”
“A friend. He’s just a friend.”
“Come on, Anne. Pull the other leg.”
“It’s true. He knows about Julian. He’s happy to be just a friend.”
“You believe that? He’s too good to be true.”
“I told you! He’s been wounded. He’s sick. He just wants someone to go out with.”
“I’ll bet he kisses you goodnight.”
“You’d lose.”
“I’ll bet he wanted to.”
“Okay! So he tried. I don’t need it.”
“You really are keeping it for Julian!”
“It’s none of your business,” she flushed. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Any time. You’re the one who’s talking about Gary, not me.”
“I told you!”
“Yep. You’re keeping it for Julian. I heard you.”
“You heard wrong.”
“Little miss goody two shoes? I don’t believe you. Not with a man Julian’s age.”
“What do you think I am?”
“Sorry,” Joan closed the locker door, and slipped into her coat. “No offence, child.”
“I’m nearly as old as you.”
“But yet a child.”
“ ’Morning all.” Coming into the room, Sophie sensed trouble. “A scrap before we even start?”
“Shut up.” Anne turned away.
“Where is everybody?” Sophie made for her locker.
“Late,” Joan answered. “Or not coming.”
/> “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Helen’s still sick. Margaret phoned in sick. I don’t know about Lillian. She’s never late.”
“What’s going on?”
“Helen’s mother is right. We shouldn’t have to put up with this.” Sophie glanced around the cramped room.
“Damned right,” Joan sniffed. “The smell’s getting worse. When are they going to clean up out there?”
“It’s not just that.”
“It’s time we were at work.” She’d heard it all before.
By ten a.m. there were still only the three of them in the laboratory. The other three - Helen, Lillian, and Margaret - were off sick.
In the office Jeffrey Macklin was working, head down, intent on the papers on his desk. He did not look up. At her desk, Grace was equally busy. She’d come in after nine, reported to Macklin, waved to the girls, settled to her work and made no further effort to contact them, not even by the slightest glance.
The air was stiff with tension. She couldn’t shake the feeling of impending drama. Or was it, yet again, her over-active imagination? How could it be mere imagination? Three workers missing at the one time, Grace determined not to leave her desk, not even for the routine rounds of inspecting their work. Macklin making no outside contact, not even using the telephone
It wasn’t imagination. The mounting tension, initially just a feeling, built until it was undeniable fact. The entire morning was frigid. From the office there had been absolutely no communication, not even in the regulation recuperative breaks, not even at morning tea when neither Grace nor Macklin appeared. Even the three assistants, without having the slightest idea of why it seemed necessary, had spoken only an occasional conspiratorial whisper. At exactly 12.30, just after Macklin left for lunch, they again went to the staff room.
They’d collected their lunch boxes, changed, and were about to leave for a break in the fresh air, when Grace entered. “Do you mind hanging on a while?”
“Why?” Joan objected. “We’re entitled to a proper break.”
“I know,” Grace agreed. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“Spit it out.” Sophie was impatient.
“I’m afraid it’ll take a little time.”
“What’s so mysterious?” Joan was suspicious.
“If you hang around, you’ll find out.”
“Mysterious! I love mysterious.” Sophie took a place at the table and bit into a sandwich. “I’m staying.”
“Thanks.” Grace turned to Joan and Anne. “What about you two?”
“I give in.” Joan joined Sophie.
“I’ll make tea.” Anne lit the gas burner.
Grace looked at her watch. “They’ll be here in a minute.”
Intrigued, they watched Grace leave.
“I don’t trust her.” Joan’s suspicions had deepened. “She’s up to no good.”
“Still mysterious,” Sophie laughed. “Let’s hang around.”
It was mysterious. The air prickled with expectation. There was no way they could leave. Pouring their tea, she joined them at the table. Still Grace did not return.
“I’ve had it.” Joan impatiently re-packed her lunch box. “I’m going to eat outside.”
“Give her another minute,” Sophie argued. “It’s got to be important.”
“Anne?” Joan started for the door. “Are you coming?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
“For God’s sake, Anne. Think for yourself for a change!”
“This is ridiculous.” Sophie took another sandwich from her box. “I’m not budging ’til I find out what’s going on. You can eat outside any day.”
“Nothing’s going on! It’s just….”
The door opened.
Grace, followed by Helen, Lillian, and Margaret squeezed into the tiny room.
“You’re supposed to be sick!”
“What’s going on?”
“How did you get here?”
Grace explained. “They came out in a taxi.”
“I don’t get it.” Joan protested.
“Just shut up for once and listen!” Sophie cried.
Lillian spoke into the sudden hush. “There’s no need for that.”
“I’m sorry,” Sophie flushed. “It’s been a terrible morning. We thought you were sick. We’ve been so worried.”
“The room’s too damned small to even think,” Joan complained. “Can’t we go somewhere else?”
“Good idea,” Sophie agreed.
Joan started for the open door.
“I think we should stay in here.” Lillian barred the way.
“What the hell!”
“She’s right, Joan.” Margaret supported Lillian. “This needs to be talked about in here.”
Anne switched off the gas and squeezed between Lillian and Margaret. Whatever this was about, no-one seemed interested in food or drink.
“We’ll sit here.” Taking control, Lillian attempted to organise space around the inadequate table.
“There’s no room.”
“Stop pushing.”
“I’m hungry. Why can’t we…?”
“For God’s sake!” Joan cried. “Shut up!”
What were they doing? Sitting between Lillian and Margaret, she wanted to cry.
Glaring at Joan, Sophie asked: “What’s this all about, Grace?”
“We met at the week-end,” Grace answered. “Margaret, Lillian, Helen, and me.”
“The sick-leave trio. Do they look sick to you, Anne?”
“You kept it quiet,” Joan accused. “Why exclude us?”
“Fact of life. You three aren’t on the telephone.”
“Helen isn’t on the phone, either.”
“Her mother saw me,” Grace responded. “Me and Macklin. You saw her. We already knew where Helen stood on this.”
“The plot thickens,” Sophie sneered. “Back to the militant mum.”
“Take that back!” Helen defended her mother.
“Girls! Please!” Lillian begged. “There’s not much time left. He’ll be back soon.”
“What’s this got to do with Macklin?”
“He’s not to know. He can’t be implicated.”
“One suspects he does know.” Joan was cynical.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grace bristled.
“If you don’t know…”
“For heaven’s sake,” Margaret pleaded. “Let’s get this over. Tell them, Grace.”
“The plan is to refuse to work here.”
“What!”
“It’s been done before.”
“What’s been done before?”
“Workers who are subjected to substandard conditions…”
“Don’t be so bloody stupid! It’s not on!”
“There’s a war on!”
“It’s mutiny. You can’t! It’s mutiny!”
“What you are really talking about is….”
The small room buzzed. Her head pounded. If only she could escape.
“I’m not! No way!” Joan prepared to leave. “It’s illegal.”
“Sorry, Joan,” Lillian objected. “I’m not sure that it is. In any case, that’s not the point here.”
“Shouldn’t we find out?” Joan retorted.
“It isn’t,” Helen answered. “My mother read something.”
“It’s not relevant. Illegal or not illegal, we can’t keep on working like this.”
“We have to do something. It’s affecting all of us. It’s affecting our reports. We already risk making mistakes that could cost lives! You’d better stay.”
At the door, Joan was hesitant.
“You should hear this out, Joan.”
“I’ll listen,” Joan resumed her seat. “But that’s all I’ll do.”
This couldn’t be happening. They were her very best friends. They were talking about doing something much worse than the things Julian and his friends had done; the things she knew about. Il
legal meetings, smuggling match boxes and sitting in the wrong section of a train were nothing in comparison to what was being proposed in this cramped room. There was no escape; they were expecting her to be part of it. If Joan was actually staying to listen, she’d have to at least follow Joan’s example.
Employing the same precision she used in her laboratory work, Lillian set about explaining to Joan. As though she was assessing a piece of equipment she went through each item. The conditions, ruthlessly itemised, were dangerously substandard. Levels of skill were deteriorating. Accuracy was questionable. Chronic illness and increasing absenteeism were escalating. Medical certificates, placed as evidence on the table, verified the link between deteriorating conditions and deteriorating health. Their grievances were overwhelmingly justified.
So, Lillian asked, what was going on? Why hadn’t Management acted? The excuses were no longer good enough. Their job was critical to provision of the tools of war. Their role in the network of responsibility for ensuring the availability of reliable precision equipment was central. They were not doing the job. Through no fault of their own. Far from it. The fault lay with an unknown saboteur, and the result was just as destructive as if he’d wiped out the whole building.
Yet the authorities, Macklin and his bosses, had done nothing. Even though those medical certificates on the table in front of them had been presented again and again. Even though Mrs Griswald had made her strong protest. There clearly wasn’t going to be any action for a long time. Unless they forced the issue.
“It’s up to us. But it has to be all of us,” Lillian confronted each disturbed face in turn. “All of us. Together.”
“We need time...”
“I can’t even think about this...”
“What if we just chuck it in…?
A confused whisper circled the table. No voices were raised. It was as if Jeffrey Macklin and his bosses were standing on the other side of the closed door.
“You’re very quiet, Anne.” Lillian filled a momentary pause. “What are you thinking?”
She was thinking it was too difficult. What would her father say? She needed time, she needed to talk to someone. If only she could ask Julian.
Tools of War Page 11