‘I’ll not keep you one minute,’ said Kezzie, and explained what she wanted.
He wrote the letter of reference as she asked and handed it to her. She hesitated.
‘Would you put it in an envelope please? And,’ she added as he did so, ‘will you address it “BY HAND, THE MANAGER”?’
He smiled.
‘I can do even better,’ he said, and sealed it with red wax.
Kezzie next went to Bella’s house.
‘Have you anything I can borrow?’ she enquired. ‘Something to wear to make me appear older?’
A wistful look came over her aunt’s face.
‘I may have the very thing,’ she said.
She pulled an old kist from under the recess bed and took out a dark blue two-piece suit. It had a fitted jacket with a peplum waist and a long accordion-pleated skirt.
‘This was the costume I was married in,’ said Bella.
‘I can’t take that,’ Kezzie protested.
‘Why not?’ asked Bella. She indicated her ample figure. ‘It’s never going to fit me again.’
She found a pair of black shoes with heels and little bows at the front. They were slightly large but stuffing the toes made them stay on Kezzie’s smaller feet.
‘Mmmm,’ said Bella, walking round Kezzie, examining her, ‘a bag and, I think, some make-up.’
They found a purse-style handbag and Bella combed Kezzie’s chestnut hair and pinned it up into a French roll. She then applied make-up and some lipstick and rouge.
‘Right,’ she instructed, ‘you go in there and kill them dead.’ She threw a shawl about her shoulders and postured about the kitchen giving a display of how she imagined famous film stars acted. She puckered her lips together and minced up and down. ‘Now, just you bat yer eyelids, pet, and if it’s a man give him one of yer big smiles. Oh, and don’t forget, wiggle yer bum a wee bit as ye walk across the room. Men like that.’
Kezzie ran all the way back to Shawcross. She knew that she had to get there before the factory opened at ten. It was just a few minutes to the hour when she reached the site again. She took a couple of deep breaths and walked purposefully to the head of the queue.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to the people at the front, ‘I have a letter to deliver.’
She rapped on the door set in the wooden gate. No one came. She tried again for longer and louder. After a pause a shutter slid back and a face appeared.
‘We’re not opening until ten,’ a man said brusquely.
‘I know,’ said Kezzie pleasantly. ‘It’s just that I was sent with this letter.’
‘Give it to me then.’
‘I was told to deliver it personally,’ said Kezzie firmly, pointing to the writing on the envelope. ‘There’s something I have to explain.’ She gave the man her brightest smile and tried to appear calm.
He hesitated, then opened the door a crack. She was in!
Kezzie hurried to the office buildings. Out in the yard she heard them getting ready to open the gate. There was a door marked SECRETARY. For a second she faltered, then went past it to the one marked MANAGER. She knocked briskly and walked straight in.
There was a small bald-headed man sitting behind a desk. He was dictating to a lady who was writing in a note pad. They both looked up in surprise.
‘Oh! I do beg your pardon!’ said Kezzie as politely as possible. ‘I thought this would be the office for the interviews. Did I make a mistake?’
The man consulted his pocket watch.
‘Goodness, it’s ten o’clock already. I didn’t realise.’ He stood up. ‘We’ll continue later, Miss Dunlop. I’d better see these people right away.’ He glanced out of the window to where the queue was assembling in the yard. ‘Some of them have been waiting since before dawn.’
He indicated for Kezzie to sit down.
‘Now what experience have you had with knitwear machines?’ he asked her.
Something about his manner gave Kezzie a clue to how to react. She looked him straight in the eye.
‘Absolutely none,’ she stated truthfully. ‘However, I do learn extremely quickly. I was intending to go to university but my father’s death prevented that. I have my leaving certificate and a very good reference from my minister.’ She handed him the letter.
He examined the seal closely before opening and reading it.
‘Very impressive,’ he said. ‘It says here that you are diligent, truthful, hardworking, intelligent, punctual and of a neat and tidy appearance.’ He smiled. ‘Do you agree with all of this?’
‘Yes,’ said Kezzie.
The manager laughed out loud.
‘How could I not employ you?’ he asked. He took a card and wrote her details down. ‘You start on Monday. The shift is eight o’clock until five-thirty, with an hour for lunch. Tea is for sale but not food, so bring sandwiches.’
Kezzie stood up.
‘Thank you very much,’ she said.
‘Don’t you want to know what the wage is?’ the manager asked her.
She blushed and sat down again quickly.
‘You will start on the coarse knitting at fifteen shillings each week, and if you show promise you might progress to fine knitting.’ He consulted a sheet. ‘Fine knitting pays seventeen and sixpence.’
Kezzie’s eyes brimmed. Seventeen and sixpence! What she could do with seventeen and sixpence! She was going to show the most promise of any person on the whole factory floor.
‘Thank you again,’ she said. She paused. Something had just occurred to her. It was worth a try. Boldness had got her this far already, and she sensed that he was sympathetic.
‘Is it possible,’ she enquired, ‘for me to have an advance against my first pay?’
He stopped with his pen in mid-air and regarded the girl in front of him. He had noted the cheap suit and the make-up, and her feet sliding out of the too large shoes. He was sure that she had tricked herself in first this morning in some way. She was very thin and had a barely concealed desperation about her. But she was also striking-looking and determined and he could see the spirit shining out of her. He might probably never see her or the money again, he thought ruefully.
‘I can advance you five shillings,’ he said, and marked it on her card. ‘Give this to Miss Dunlop and she will give you the money and file your card. Congratulations, Miss Munro, you are our very first employee.’
Kezzie stood up. She had to control a sudden urge to run round the other side of the desk and kiss the factory manager on the top of his shiny balding head.
Instead she took her card demurely and went to see the secretary.
She completely forgot to wiggle her bum.
CHAPTER 14
A trip to the seaside
KEZZIE SKIPPED HOME like a child out of school. She went to Bella’s to tell her the news and give her back her clothes.
‘No, no, you hang on to them,’ Bella insisted. ‘You’ve set a standard, now you’ll have to keep it up.’
Kezzie stopped at the village shop to get sweets for Lucy, dolly mixtures, aniseed balls and liquorice. She bought tobacco for her grandfather, and for herself a bar of scented soap. As her goods piled up on the counter she sobered up a little and asked for corned beef, condensed milk and some other basics to see them through the week.
Almost immediately there was an incredible change of atmosphere in their caravan. The prospect of a weekly income removed the spectre of starvation which had hovered in their company now for many weeks. Lucy sang as she set the table or washed the dishes. Grandad smiled more often. Kezzie couldn’t believe it was all her imagination because she, too, felt as if a burden she had not known she was carrying had been lifted from her shoulders.
Spring came very slowly. The weather was wild for days on end as Kezzie walked to Shawcross and back each day. She didn’t mind at all. Wrapped in a huge mackintosh, which had belonged to Bella’s husband, Kezzie would willingly have trudged double the distance. She liked the factory. The girls were pleasant and it was go
od to have company of her own age each day. She was quick and deft at her work and concentrated more than the others, and she soon progressed to the fine knitting, which was easier as you could sit rather than stand. She enjoyed the noise and the bustle even though she was tired with working long hours. She had bought Lucy an almost-new coat and had actually started putting some money away in a savings account.
At the farm the lambing had started and Grandad was getting some work again from the farmer. They were eating better, mince and stews rather than the daily soup and potatoes. Kezzie started to teach Lucy to bake and they had great fun with scones so badly burnt that even the birds would not eat them.
One Thursday night as Kezzie was about to leave work, the manager stopped her.
‘Miss Munro,’ he said, ‘Miss Dunlop’s assistant is off ill and we have the wages to make up. Would it be possible for you to wait on?’
Kezzie thought quickly. It would probably mean extra pay, and she could treat herself to a bus ride from Shawcross to the village and not be home any later.
She nodded and took her coat off.
‘The floor supervisor says that you are an intelligent girl,’ said the manager. ‘Have you ever done work like this before?’
‘No,’ said Kezzie sitting herself down at the table, ‘but I –’
‘– learn very quickly,’ the manager finished for her.
They all laughed.
‘One day,’ he went on, ‘you must tell me how you bluffed your way in here first on the interview day.’
Kezzie’s face went red and she bent her head and busied herself sealing the wage packets as fast as she could. They finished within an hour or so and he gave her five shillings for overtime. On the way out Miss Dunlop walked with her to the bus stop.
‘My assistant is thinking of leaving in the near future. She is to be married in a few months. I wondered if you would be interested in the position? You would require training, but there are classes for shorthand and typing and books you can study. It would be a wonderful opportunity for you.’
A wonderful opportunity, thought Kezzie, on the way home. Yes, it was, and she knew it, but there was a faint feeling of disappointment as well. If she trained as a secretary then she was saying farewell to any chance of becoming a doctor. It was ridiculous to hold that dream still. She was being greedy. Not so long ago she had no job and barely enough food, now she was being offered something many would trade places with her for.
She was still unsettled on the day for the works’ outing. The firm had hired a bus so that all workers and their families could go. Kezzie was glad to have a day out. It would serve Lucy instead of the annual Sunday school outing. She just could not bear to imagine Lucy, Grandad and herself going on that trip without her father. She had decided that they would be busy with something else that day.
Lucy hardly slept the night before, asking questions every two minutes. How far away is the sea? Will we be on the bus for a long time? Can I make a sandcastle? Eventually Kezzie threatened to leave her behind if she opened her mouth again.
The next day everyone made a pet of her. Even the usually austere Miss Dunlop took Lucy on her knee and pointed things out to her through the window as they passed by.
‘Your sister is a beautiful child,’ she told Kezzie as they climbed off the bus.
Kezzie looked to where Lucy was running ahead, pulling Grandad along in her excitement. She was very pretty, Kezzie thought, with her blonde curls and blue, blue eyes, but she was still quite thin from the winter, her little body almost frail. And she was so trusting, she would go with anyone, a child unaware of any badness in the world. She must stay that way as long as possible. Time enough for her to come to Kezzie’s realisation of the grimness of ordinary existence.
They went on to the sands with their picnics.
‘What is it?’ asked Lucy in amazement. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s the sea,’ said Kezzie, laughing at the wonderment on Lucy’s face. ‘It’s the sea.’
‘Come on,’ said Grandad. He had taken off his socks and shoes and rolled up his trousers. ‘We’ll go for a paddle.’
‘It keeps moving, Kezzie,’ Lucy informed her sister when she came back after about half an hour. ‘It moves all the time.’
They had a glorious day. It was warm and sunny and they ate ice-cream and rode on the donkeys, and made sand pies and jumped the waves until they were exhausted. While Grandad and Lucy packed up their things in a bag, Kezzie walked along the beach by herself. Her bare feet sank into the cool sand. The sun was beginning to go down and the sky was green and cream and gold. She breathed in and faced seawards. What was out there, far away where she could not see? Ireland, Michael’s home, America, then far far away India and Africa. That was where she was going some day. She would do the secretarial work just now, but she would not give up her dream. She touched her silver locket without knowing it.
On the bus going home they ate chips and the men drank beer. The driver had the headlights on as darkness came down and as they roared along the country roads, someone started a sing-song. Lucy fell asleep on Grandad’s knee.
The bus dropped them at the end of the lane and they carried Lucy home in the gloaming and put her to bed. There was sand in her shoes and in her hair and ears. Kezzie decided she could wait until the morning for a wash.
Grandad made some tea and they sat by the fire drinking it and talking softly.
‘I think I’ve spent all our savings,’ lamented Kezzie.
‘It was worth it,’ said her grandfather. ‘Did you see the wean’s face when I sat her on that donkey and took her for a wee trot around?’
‘She must have had about nine rides up and down,’ said Kezzie. ‘The man was letting her on for nothing at the end. And the ice-cream we ate! Oysters and nougat wavers. No wonder I don’t have any money left.’
‘Don’t you worry too much about the money,’ said her grandfather. ‘I’ve got good news for you. I was talking to your manager fellow and he says he might be able to fix me up with a job with a friend of his in Glasgow.’
CHAPTER 15
The royal connection
ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, THOUGHT Kezzie, could have made her more happy than the expression on her grandfather’s face some weeks later when he came back from Glasgow and said: ‘I’ve got a job.’
She had watched him walking down the lane and knew even before he spoke that his news was good. His back seemed straighter and he was swinging his arms.
She brewed some tea as he sat down. Lucy climbed on to his knee and he tucked her into the crook of his arm and began to fill his pipe.
‘Come on, tell us,’ begged Kezzie.
‘It’s a proper job,’ he said, drawing slowly and making the tobacco glow, ‘but I’m not telling you too much about it because I’m planning a wee surprise.’
No matter how much both of them coaxed him in the days which followed he revealed very little. Kezzie knew that he must be at his trade again because he spoke of tools and engineering equipment. She marvelled at the change in him now he felt he had a purpose in life again. His shoulders and arms filled out and there was colour in his face. He was more cheerful both with them and with his cronies whom he had avoided in their bad times. It was so unfair, thought Kezzie, when he needed friends the most he had been ashamed to be seen with threadbare trousers and no money for tobacco or beer.
Finally one weekend, he told them to get ready as they were going to Glasgow.
‘Put on your best clothes,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you to meet royalty.’
Royalty? thought Kezzie as she dressed Lucy with white ankle socks and buckled her new sandals. She remembered Matt McPhee and his mother telling their fortunes.
‘There’s a royal connection in your life,’ she had told her grandfather.
Lucy bounced up and down on the bus seat as they travelled the six or so miles to Glasgow. As the bus entered the city it passed through some very dirty streets with tenement buildings blocking the sun
, and ragged children playing in the gutters. Kezzie looked away. She hated to see the children so ill-kempt. It made her uneasy. It must be so much worse, she thought, to be poor in a great city. At least in the country they had fresh air and sunlight.
They went on a tram. For Kezzie and Lucy it was the first time. It made a tremendous noise and seemed to travel at a great speed, although as she watched the houses sliding by she realised they were not going so fast as it appeared. Lucy was scared. She hung on to Grandad as the conductor punched their tickets, rang the bell and called the stops. They passed Queen’s Dock and Yorkhill Quay, where the Anchor Line ships came and went across the Atlantic. Through Yoker to Clydebank, past Rothesay Dock and then they stopped at John Brown’s shipyard.
‘The Clyde,’ declared Grandad. He pointed to the great grey mass of water which breathed life and hope into workers and their families, a prospect of employment, of pay and food, but more than that, of a pride in something. A job well done, a mission completed, a statement made.
‘There she lies,’ said Grandad, ‘my queen.’
He had taken them through the shipyard gate and they stood a little way off gazing at the huge hull of an ocean-going liner. She was immense. The vastness of her loomed over the little family. The gantries and scaffolding were petty fripperies to be cast aside before her launch. She had a power and a presence that belonged to her alone, a queen indeed.
‘I’m on the engineering side of it,’ Grandad explained. ‘When they got this contract, due to the recession they were actually short of skilled workers. I’ve got a squad of lads under me. She’s due to be launched in the autumn, but even then I’ll still be involved in the fitting out.’
He was so proud, Kezzie thought. Proud of his work. Proud of the ship, and of the workers and the skill it took to build something such as this. Only four years before the Queen Mary, the first ship over 75,000 tons, had been launched in 1934 from Clydebank. When this one was completed it would be the largest liner in the world. And he was proud of them too, Kezzie realised, as he introduced them to various people he knew on the site.
Kezzie at War Page 6