Tools of War

by Dulcie M. Stone

  “Spit it out, Anne.”

  “I shouldn’t be here. It has nothing to do with me. I’ll have to go.”

  “We need to know where you stand on this, Anne.”

  Everyone was looking at her. It wasn’t fair. How could she tell them where she stood when she didn’t know the answer herself?

  “I told you! It’s not my business.”

  “So you like working in this place? Come on, Anne. It should be condemned and you know it.”

  “It’s making you sick too, Anne. Just like everyone else.”

  “I’m not staying here. I’m going out to have my lunch and then go back to work.”

  “You should stay, Anne,” Lillian gently advised. “You may not like it, but you’re as much a part of this as the rest of us.”

  “She’s a baby!” Joan objected. “She’s too young. She’s right. It’s not a fair question for her. Leave her out of it.”

  “I’m sorry, Joan.” Lillian shook her head. “I really am sorry. You’re right. Anne is too young for this. But think about…”

  “There’s nothing to think about.”

  “On the contrary. Be logical, Joan. Isn’t being logical what we’re paid to do? Isn’t that what we’re getting too sick to do?”

  “So what am I supposed to be logical about?”

  “When Anne took on this job, she accepted the responsibility that goes with it. No one thought she was too young then.”

  They were talking about her as though she wasn’t even in the room.

  “She works here,” Lillian continued. “She was considered adult enough to do the job. Therefore she’s adult enough to accept the responsibility of deciding whether to protest. She chooses. The same as each of us. Out loud. So we can all hear it. Walk out. Or stay.”

  They were looking at the table, at their clenched hands, at the closed door, the barred window. At anything except each other - or Lillian.

  No-one spoke. In the stifling room there was only the nauseating stench of the fetid air, the shallow breathing of fear and the uneasy claustrophobia of too many bodies squeezed into the tiny space.

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t choose. Even leaving the room was going to be perceived as a choice.

  Lillian sighed. “I guess that’s it then. No one’s walking out.”

  “I’m not walking out on you.” She reached for her unopened lunch box. “I’m just not going to talk about this any more. I’m going to go for a walk and have my lunch.”

  “I’ll come with you, Anne.” Joan shoved her chair back.

  “Wait! Please wait!” Margaret’s urgency arrested all action. “I think you two should stay.”

  “For God’s sake!” Joan protested.

  “Honestly, Joan,” Margaret insisted. “We have to do something.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I’d like to hear something that we can actually do.”

  “You’ve already heard what we can do,” Lillian answered.

  “We really should take more time, “Grace cautioned. “It’s been too sudden. We can’t be expected to make up our minds in a minute.”

  “I bloody give up.” Again Joan started for the door. “Don’t you get it? I’ve had time to think. It’s a strike!”

  “We should take a vote.”

  “To what end?” Grace pointed out. “If it’s to have any effect, it’s all of us or none of us.”

  “I can’t do it,” she begged. “Please don’t make me decide.”

  “You’ve been ill too, Anne.”

  “My father would kill me!”

  “Your father!” Joan was scathing. “Get real, Anne. Your father doesn’t have to work here.”

  “It’s no argument, Anne.” Sophie’s was the voice of reason. “Your father won’t even know. He’s not even home.”

  “Sure. Anne’s father…”

  “It’d be a different story if he worked here.”

  “Can we please just forget Anne’s father and get to the point?”

  “It is the point. Anyone who doesn’t work here will blame us. Do we want that?”

  “Can we stand that?”

  Lillian tapped the table. “Time’s getting on. Can we get back to the point?”

  “I guess it’s clear, after all,” Grace answered. “We’re all for it, except Anne who’s worried about her father.”

  “You’re not listening,” Joan was exasperated. “It’s not what I said. I never said I’d be in it.”

  “You agreed to listen,” Lillian reminded her.

  “You’re right,” Joan conceded. “I’ve listened. I can’t argue with the facts. My choice has got nothing to do with what anyone else thinks. It’s my choice.”

  “Do we get to hear what it is?” Sophie sneered.

  “I say no way. It’s not on.”

  “Then you won’t side with us?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with taking sides. It’s impossible. End of story.”

  “Full circle,” Lillian sighed.

  “You really haven’t thought it through,” Joan retorted. “Even if you try it, what about the consequences? Have you thought about that?”

  “Of course we have. This is wasting time.”

  “It’s a strike!” Joan cried. “For God’s sake! In the middle of the war! They’ll bloody shut us up and throw away the key!”

  “Please don’t swear,” Helen admonished.

  Lillian was deeply troubled. “We know the risk. We also know we’re letting the war effort down right now. Our performance….”

  “You already said that.”

  “Our performance is up the creek,” Sophie was forceful. “It’s true. We’re worse than useless. We’re so inept we’re dangerous.”

  “You exaggerate.” Margaret was white.

  “That’s going a bit….”

  From the laboratory came the sound of a closing door.

  “He’s back!”

  “What’s it to be?” Lillian pressed. “We have to…”

  “Hang on.” Helen made for the door. “I’ll look.”

  It was frightening. It was unbearable. They were friends. Despite all their different backgrounds, they’d become friends. And now, within a few minutes, all the differences were suddenly becoming divisions.

  In their own way they were front line soldiers. Whatever action they decided to take, there must be no rift that would affect the integrity of their work. Too late! It was already affected. Hiding here, listening for outside movement, she felt as guilty as she’d felt watching Mick smuggle in the illegal box of matches. She’d been drawn into something very wrong. There was nothing she could do. These were her friends, as Julian’s group had been.

  Helen returned. “There’s no one there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He could have come in and gone when he saw the place was empty.”

  “Can we please settle this?” Margaret was in tears.

  “What about if he comes back?”

  “There’s no one there! I told you!”

  “He probably came in for a minute.”

  “To the point, then.” Lillian resumed command. “It’s undeniable. We are, in actual fact, impeding the war effort. Sophie’s not exaggerating. Right this minute, sitting here instead of working, we’re not much better than active saboteurs.”

  “Hang on!”

  “What difference is there between someone who deliberately sabotages their work and us? We’re not doing it on purpose. God forbid! All the same, the truth is we’ve almost totally broken down.”

  “Are you sure there’s no one else but us trained to do this work?”

  “Even if there was, they still couldn’t work here. There’s no room!”

  “Precision tools depend on us. Totally. There’s no one else.”

  “It’s awesome!” Margaret sputtered. “We can’t!”

  “There’s no choice, Marg.”

  “On the tools depends the war,” Sophie was derisive.

  “It’s serious!” Joa
n was furious. “Can’t you be serious for once?”

  “Sorry,” Sophie reddened. “My tongue gets away. It’s so unfunny, it’s terrifying.”

  “Then bite your bloody tongue!”

  So much for friendship. Was it really so fragile?

  Lillian once again put it to them. As a group, as one voice, they must decide - where did their true responsibility lie? Knowing they now clearly comprehended the enormity of their decision, she changed tactics and outlined possible personal outcomes.

  If they continued to work, more mental and physical breakdown. If they refused to work, possible imprisonment. At the very least, severe censure and termination of employment.

  On the other hand, refusal to work could also open the door to the possibility of positive action. It could ensure that, in the long term, ‘Churchill’s tools’ in this particular area were no longer at risk. It could achieve the aim of better conditions and adherence to the highest standards of quality - for whoever worked in the laboratory.

  The choice was to invite personal risk, or to continue the risk to indispensable tools of war. Neither naivety nor misplaced loyalty had a place here. Not at this moment in this place.

  “It’s scary!” Helen whispered.

  “I wish I really was sick,” Margaret moaned.

  “Whatever we do,” Joan warned. “We have to get our act together.”

  “She’s right.” Grace looked at her watch. “Let’s take a vote.”

  “Why don’t we agree to abide by a majority decision?”

  She was shaking. How could her friends even be thinking about something so terrible? “If it’s for strike action - I won’t do it.”

  Margaret impatiently located paper and pencils. “We need to vote. We need something concrete.”

  “I told you…”

  “For God’s sake, Anne! Shut up!”

  “What’s the point?” Sophie argued. “We all know we won’t get a unanimous result.”

  “Then let’s talk about a majority.”

  She pushed away from the table. “Count me out.”

  “That’s a good girl, Anne,” Joan sneered. “Make another pot of tea for us, child.”

  “That’s not necessary!” Grace cried. “Why should she risk everything because of our actions? Let’s at least agree to exempt Anne because she’s still under twenty-one.”

  She should leave the room. Grace was right. She was too young and inexperienced for this.

  “Actually,” Lillian grasped at the straw. “It’s a good idea. Can we agree on that much? Exempt Anne because she’s under age? A show of hands?”

  Six raised hands relieved Anne of responsibility.

  She turned to leave the room.

  “You don’t have to leave,” Lillian smiled. “At least you’ve helped us agree on something. I suggest we take a secret ballot.”

  “What’s the point?” Sophie reiterated.

  “You said that before,” Margaret wept. “We have to do something! A secret ballot’s a good idea. We don’t want any unpleasantness.”

  “It’s a bit late for that!”

  Lillian folded her paper. “It has to be a secret ballot.”

  Margaret threw her paper into the middle of the table. “Let’s find out.”

  “Why bother to even count them?” Joan added her paper to Margaret’s.

  “Do I have to?” Helen dithered.

  “Helen!”

  Helen gingerly topped the tiny pile of folded papers.

  “You count them,” Grace suggested to Joan.

  “Why me?”

  “Why not you?”

  “I’ll do it.” Reaching for the tiny squares of paper, Sophie set them into two sections - for and against strike action - and announced: “Five for, one against.”

  “It was all or none. So we’ve made no progress.”

  “None.”

  “I disagree.” Pressing back from the table, Lillian prepared to return to the laboratory. “A majority has decided to take action.”

  “We never said that!”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “So what progress is there?”

  “Do the math!”

  It was terrifying. The six slips of paper were collected, and tossed into the waste bin.

  Again, from the laboratory, came the sound of a closing door.

  “We must go back.”

  “Your taxi will be waiting,” Grace told the three. “I’ll get him into the office while you get away.”

  “What about the vote?”

  “If Anne and Joan won’t be with us, we’ll have to….”

  “No,” Joan interrupted.

  “What does that mean? No?”

  “It means I know when I’m beaten,” Joan answered. “I agree. It has to be all together to carry any weight. Now it’s a decision, I’ll go along with whatever action you decide to take.”

  “What will you do now, Anne?” Lillian opened the door.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Chapter Eight

  March 29th

  American President Roosevelt orders miners to continue working as a coal strike threatens.

  Alighting from the bus, she saw them waiting beside the sentry box.

  Helen met her. “There’s no point in you going into the lab, Anne.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re not going in.”

  “Where are you going? What’s going on?”

  Sophie joined them. “We’re off to protest, Anne.”

  “So why can’t I go to work?”

  “Because we don’t want Macklin to know, for one thing.”

  “I won’t say anything!”

  “It’s not just that. We don’t want anyone to get the idea we’re not all together. It will undermine us.”

  “You could have warned me. I could have stayed home.”

  “We would have. The problem is you’re so hard to contact. We’re all together except for you. Even Joan.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. Sit outside. Take a walk. Go to the cafeteria. It’s your problem.”

  She was trapped. It was hard to contact her, but it wasn’t impossible. Obviously they wanted her to be here. They wanted her to see what they were doing and to feel disloyal. So much for consideration for her age. Had all that talk about her youth merely been a ruse to isolate Joan as the lone dissenter?

  Whatever the truth of that hour in the cramped staff room their tactics, deliberate or accidental, had worked. So why hadn’t they contacted her? Suspicion was justified. “How long will you be?”

  “How do we know?”

  “I don’t know what to do. I can’t walk around out here. Someone will see me. I can’t…”

  “Work it out, Anne.” Sophie returned to the group by the sentry box.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’ll think of something.” Helen followed Sophie.

  She was alone. The sentries, still in their box, were keeping watch on her friends huddling together and not moving on as usual. They were also watching her. Soon they’d be picking up the phone, or coming out to order them on or to ask awkward questions.

  She’d have to move on before the sentries became alarmed. Her friends should move on. They didn’t. They were her best friends. They were her only friends. Acutely aware of the sentries’ inspection, she joined the group. “I’ll come with you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  She didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

  As they moved towards the gate, a sentry left his post, inspected their passes, and waved them off. The only difference from the usual procedure was that, rather than file through at random, they remained in a tight-knit group. But then they didn’t immediately head off to the laboratory. Instead, they stood quietly watching the other workers disperse in their accustomed directions.

  The sentry stood on the steps of his sheltered box; he did not re-enter it.

&n
bsp; “What are we waiting for?” Helen pulled her coat collar up around her face. “The wind’s freezing.”

  “Give them time,” Lillian advised. “Let them think there’s nothing different.”

  “He knows something’s up.” Sophie eyed the sentry. “He’s not so stupid.”

  “Sh!”

  “What about Macklin?”

  “A chance we take. Even when he reports us absent, they’ll never expect us to be right here.”

  “How are we going to get in?”

  “We’ll find a way.”

  They didn’t even have a plan!

  Another bus emptied, another group of workers disappeared down the various pathways.

  “For God’s sake!” Sophie begged. “Get it over!”

  “All right.” Grace started after a group of workers.

  “Slow - walk slow,” Lillian warned. “Take it easy.”

  They edged from the sight of the uneasy guard.

  “He’s gone back in,” Joan reported.

  “Good. Can you see if he’s on the phone?”

  “Not from here.”

  “Is he watching us?”

  A pause. “No - no. All clear.”

  Moving on, they veered from their usual route and made for the Administration Offices. At yet another sentry box, an armed soldier stepped into their path.

  They showed their passes.

  Carefully taking his time, he inspected each pass and each face.

  Her heart was somersaulting. Thank goodness this would end it. They’d be turned away.

  As expected, the soldier advised: “Sorry, ladies. This is Headquarters. You’re in the wrong area.”

  The group did not protest. It was over. They’d fallen at the first hurdle.

  “Let’s get back to work,” Joan whispered.

  Watchful as the sentry at the front gate, the guard did not move.

  They were already turning away, when Grace announced: “We have an appointment to see Sir Frank.”

  “Time?” The sentry asked.

  “We’re early. The buses…”

  “Wait here.” The sentry returned to his station. They could hear him talking, obviously telephoning.

  “What’s he doing?” Margaret was shaking.

  “What’s going on, Grace?” Sophie asked.

  “Trust me.”

  Reappearing, the soldier reported. “I’ve phoned through. You’re to go ahead.”