Mrs Boots Goes to War

by Deborah Carr

She looked from her oldest daughter to her son. John was laughing at something Margery had said. He was now working for the company and doing even better than she had hoped. Working for Boots suited him well. And as for Margery, her independent, bright youngest child, Florence hoped that she would find a passion that she could focus on in the coming months.

  She clasped her hands together. This was all she had ever wanted. For her family to be happy, safe and fulfilled. They all had so much already and everything to look forward to. The coming year – 1914 – held so much promise.

  Suddenly, she realised everyone was staring at her with wide grins on their faces.

  Florence laughed. ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘You seemed so far away,’ Jesse said. ‘Care to share your thoughts?

  Florence shrugged. ‘I was thinking how lucky we all are to have so much and to be able to spend today here in this lovely house. We have achieved so much, Jesse. I know it’s taken years of struggle, but we’ve made it.’

  Florence had heard a lot about the impressive Selfridges, but neither she or Jesse were worried about any competition from Harry Selfridge, despite being asked by journalists since the opening of the other store. She and Jesse had seven factories now and employed around five thousand people. It was a huge number that never failed to stagger her. She had been discussing with her lady’s maid Harriet how she had read that Mr Selfridge was reported as saying that he saw his store as some sort of theatre. Florence thought then, as she did now, that a bit of healthy competition is a good thing where business was concerned. ‘It keeps us all on our toes and striving to be better,’ she murmured to herself.

  ‘What was that, my dear?’ Jesse cupped his right ear trying to hear her.

  Florence rested her hand lightly on his. ‘I was just saying how happy I am.’

  Chapter Four

  September 1914

  Florence stared at her son John in horror. She loved him so much and the thought of him choosing to put his life in danger terrified her. ‘What do you mean, you’ve enlisted?’

  Her pulse raced, the shock of his announcement making her knees buckle, causing her to land heavily on the chair behind her. She took a moment to gather her composure. Why would he do such a thing? ‘I don’t understand.’

  He frowned. ‘What? That I want to fight with my fellow man? I feel it’s my duty to do this, Mother.’

  Florence tried to calm herself. Then, standing, she marched over to her George III mahogany circular table displaying her pristine silver picture frames of her family and selected the one of John and his new wife Margaret on their wedding day only a few short months before. She picked it up, holding it in front of his face. ‘You’re a married man, John. Have you forgotten?’

  ‘No, Mother, I not forgotten.’ Florence couldn’t miss his determination to keep a rein on his temper. He must have known she would be upset when he broke this unexpected news to her. ‘Naturally, I discussed my intentions with Margaret before I accepted my commission in the Sherwood Foresters. She understands my need to do something to help my country. We’re at war, Mother, and, instead of scolding me, you should be thinking of ways that you and Father can do your bit, too.’

  Florence tensed, irritated that her son was telling her how to go about her business. She stared at the photo of Margaret in her beautiful lace wedding dress gazing deep into John’s eyes at St George’s Church in Hanover Square in London. It had been such a joyful event and even Jesse had enjoyed the day despite the pain he was now suffering on a daily basis. Florence did her best to remain calm as she placed the photo back on her polished table.

  ‘I’m painfully aware of that, John.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Please don’t think for one moment that we haven’t been making our own plans but, surely, your time would be better spent working at Boots? We’re doing all we can right now to find ways to help the gallant soldiers. I might be too old and a woman, but I intend going to war for my country, too, albeit in my own way.’

  Florence couldn’t miss how his muscles near his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth together. She knew she should hold her tongue and that now was not the time to reprimand him. It was obviously far too late for that and she had no intention of falling out with her beloved son just before he left to go to war.

  How could their world have changed so much in four short weeks? One minute, they had all been enjoying long, lazy summer days in the garden and the next the country was at war. It was surreal. Florence wondered if everyone else felt as stunned as she did by the sudden difference in their circumstances since Great Britain had declared war with Germany on 4 August. She suspected they did.

  ‘John, it won’t be the same as what you’re used to in the Territorial Army.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that, Mother.’ John frowned and she realised she had gone too far.

  ‘I’m sorry, dear boy. You’ve just taken me off guard with this news, that’s all. I never expected you to join up, not when you didn’t have to. I wish with all my heart that you hadn’t.’ She knew she wasn’t seeing things from his point of view. ‘I know I’m being selfish but the thought of something happening to you is too dreadful for me to contemplate,’ she added quickly, her voice breaking with emotion. ‘I simply couldn’t bear to lose you.’

  With that, John’s face relaxed. He stepped forward, taking her gently by the shoulders. ‘Mother,’ he said, his voice gentle, ‘I do understand how you must feel.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s possible,’ she said quietly, ‘and it won’t be until you have a child of your own.’ She barely managed to contain her emotions.

  He gazed down at her for a moment, his expression softening further. ‘Maybe not, but I can try to empathise. Anyway, it’s done now, and I have to go.’ He gazed out of the window as if his squadron was waiting for him. ‘I want to go. Is that terribly selfish of me?’

  ‘Oh, John,’ Florence sighed heavily. ‘How am I going to break this news to your father?’

  John’s hands dropped to his sides. ‘Would you like me to go and speak to him now?’

  ‘I wish you could but he’s in a meeting with a new research chemist and the man’s assistant he’s recently recruited to come and work for the company. He won’t be back until later. If you’re free to wait for a while, you can tell him when he returns home.’ She looked at the white marble and gilt mantel clock to check the time. ‘He shouldn’t be too much longer now, hopefully.’

  Florence would have rather told Jesse herself, but this was something John needed to tell his father. Her son was twenty-five and a married man, able to make his own decisions. He was no longer a boy and someone she could protect like she used to or easily persuade to change his mind. She had to accept that this was what he wanted and support him in any way she possibly could.

  ‘I’ll write to you often,’ he promised, as if sensing she was watching him.

  ‘I know you will.’

  at that moment, they heard Jesse’s car and John turned and walked over to his mother, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. ‘I want you to be proud of me, Mother. You mustn’t worry too much; I’ll keep my head down and won’t take any unnecessary chances when I’m in France.’

  Florence nodded, unable to reply. If her son going to war wasn’t such a frightening prospect, then she would be exceedingly proud of him right now for being so brave. She would just have to pray harder that he be kept safe. Watching her son leave the room to go and speak to his father, she sat down on the sofa and stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace. She could do nothing to stop him going to war, but at least she had her work to focus her attention on and keep her mind from racing. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a cry. She wasn’t ready for her son to go abroad and put his life at risk. She never would be. If it wasn’t for this war, she knew John would be focusing on his job and his wife, living safely in Nottingham. However, he had made up his mind and there was nothing she could do about it. Who knows, she thought, trying her best to be positive, maybe
one of those ideas she and Jesse had been working on might be the thing that saves their own son’s life when he goes to fight?

  Florence shuddered. She couldn’t think of such things, it was far too terrifying. She forced her mind to focus on the reports she had read earlier that day before John’s arrival. The falling sales in the fancy-goods and other high-end toiletries were only to be expected. She understood why there had been a dip since the war had begun. The last thing on her own mind right now would be to treat herself to pretty trinkets or perfumes. All she and no doubt the other mothers, wives and daughters could focus on was the safety of their loved ones and trying to find ways to give their own time to the war effort.

  How did these women cope, left at home with little to distract them from their fears? At least her work at Boots meant she still needed to put in long hours each day to find ways to keep the business going as well as ensuring their staff had enough work. Florence knew that if she was worried about the situation then Jesse would already be working on ideas to produce items to help the men at the Front.

  The idea of being able to do something to make her son’s life easier in France calmed her slightly. She thought about the tinned heat Jesse had spoken to her about the previous day. She loved the idea of a little pocket stove and thought the price of sevenpence-ha’penny was very reasonable. She could send one to John in a care package, she decided, along with one of the new pocket air pillows to help make his nights more comfortable. Yes, she thought, she might be helpless when it came to keeping her son from going to France, but there was nothing stopping her from furnishing him with products that might make his time away a little more bearable. The notion soothed her, but only slightly.

  Why were her children so obstinate and determined to do the things that they wanted even if it might be dangerous? What a stupid thing to ask herself, she then reasoned as she pulled the curtains closed against the cold evening sky. Didn’t she already know the answer to that question? All she had to do was look at their parents she and Jesse were the two most determined people she knew, and it wasn’t really a surprise that their children had inherited these traits of theirs.

  Florence wished she could hold on to her children for just a little while longer, though, before they all found ways to go off and fight this war. She thought of the assurances she had heard staff and customers giving to each other that the war would be over by Christmastime. She hoped desperately that they were right. Maybe, this nightmare would end before John had even trained as a soldier, let alone been sent overseas. Yes, she thought, feeling a bit better, that’s what she would cling to. She couldn’t bear to think of her son in any danger and certainly didn’t need Jesse becoming upset at the thought of John going away to fight. He was already playing with what little good health he had left by pushing himself to find ways to produce necessary medicines for the British Forces.

  Yes, this dreadful war might be over even before there was reason for her to panic. She certainly hoped that would be the case, because the alternative was too terrifying for her to entertain. Yet, even if the war were over by Christmas, men would still die before it ended, and the thought that her son could be one of them terrified her. Even more so if he was going to war to prove to his father that he was his own man and not someone who could be told how to live his life. She wasn’t sure she understood why Britain had been drawn into this war, and she had no idea what dangers John would be facing on the Continent. Her inability to protect him in any way gnawed at her insides.

  Chapter Five

  ‘But you can’t truly be telling me that you’re leaving, Eleanor? Not when we need you at Boots so badly.’

  Florence could not imagine Boots now without Eleanor at the helm of their Staff Welfare programme. She thought back to the previous year at the Olympia trade exhibition in London when their model sickroom had been built on the site and their achievements at having four out of the sixty professional industrial-welfare workers in Britain working for them at Boots were being lauded in the press. Now, Eleanor Kelly and her three assistants were to leave, just when Boots needed their services most.

  ‘We’re grateful to you for all that you’ve done for the company and staff,’ Florence said. ‘I’m finding it difficult, however, to hide the fact that this news has rather shocked and, I’ll admit, saddened me. And you say that your assistants, Miss Harrison, Miss Kerr and Miss Holme, feel the need to leave, also? But why? Is there something we’ve done wrong that we can try to rectify?’

  Florence knew Jesse’s reaction to war being announced had been to fret and hoped that his recent reactions to what was happening hadn’t upset his staff. She wouldn’t criticise him though. He was sixty-four now and in constant pain, crippled by his arthritis, which didn’t help his moods. Florence felt certain she would also find coping with difficulties hard especially when there was so much to fear with all the uncertainty in the world, let alone if she had to cope with severe pain.

  She watched the incredible woman standing in front of her who had, over the previous three years since Jesse had employed her, brought huge changes to their canteen and created a sickroom attended by nurses and a doctor brought in to see their staff several times each week.

  ‘Your work here has been invaluable. I don’t know what we’ll do without you and your assistants.’

  Eleanor Kelly smiled, and Florence felt slightly reassured. ‘I’m very grateful to have been given the opportunity to do all that I’ve done for Boots and the staff here,’ Eleanor said. ‘Your consistent support, Lady Boot, and Sir Jesse’s has been incredible and I’ll always be grateful for the trust you put in my efforts. However, I feel that my work at Boots is well established now and, as we are at war, I believe my experiences will be more useful elsewhere.’

  Florence could see there was nothing she could do to change the woman’s mind. ‘As do Miss Harrison, Miss Kerr and Miss Holme, I assume?’ Florence asked miserably.

  ‘Yes, that is correct. We believe our individual areas of expertise should be put to good use, especially now that the country is calling for qualified medical staff to step forward and offer their services.’

  Florence knew it would be selfish to expect the four talented women to stay working for the company when so many others needed their skills. ‘You’re right. I understand your need to do your part and, although I’m very sorry to see you all leave, I know that you will all make a big difference in your own ways.’

  After further polite small talk, Florence bid Eleanor farewell and watched the woman leave her office. She stared at the closed door in stunned silence. So much had changed for them all in the past few months. She grieved for the peaceful years they were all used to living in where her biggest worry each day was whether her children were eating properly, or the books were balanced at work. What did this war mean for them all now? she wondered fearfully.

  Despite trying to persuade the factory staff who had already left to work in the new munitions factories that were being set up, and the men who were enlisting in their droves, to change their minds, Florence didn’t seem able to. What was going to happen to all these young people in the coming months? What was John going to have to confront? she thought, feeling sick to think of her son facing danger. At least Dorothy was now married and running her home and with Margery working at Boots she didn’t have to worry about their safety. The thought comforted her slightly.

  Unable to stop fretting about John, Florence decided to pay a visit to the Island Street factory to see for herself how the girls were getting along. She had only been there a few minutes and spoken to a couple of the women in the packing department when she came across a girl who, unlike the other women, didn’t look up to greet her. Florence sensed there was something wrong. She watched her for a few seconds and noticed she was trying to hide the fact that she had been crying.

  She walked over to her. ‘Brenda, isn’t it?’ Florence asked, keeping her voice low.

  The dark-haired girl, whom Florence knew to be only twenty
, looked up, her red-rimmed eyes puffy and filled with sorrow. ‘Good morning, Lady Boot.’

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she asked, hating to see one of her girls so upset. ‘Is there something I can do to help?’

  Brenda let out a cry and burst into noisy sobs. ‘I’m so … sorry, L-Lady Boot.’

  Florence walked around the large table to her. ‘Here,’ she said, pulling over the girl’s chair. ‘Take a seat and try to tell me what’s upset you so badly.’

  She sobbed into her handkerchief for a few seconds. ‘It’s my Frankie…’ she sniffed. ‘He’s enlisted and I’m so very frightened I’ll never see him again.’ She broke into fresh tears.

  Florence knew exactly how she felt. Since John’s announcement that he had enlisted ten days before, she had barely been able to think about anything other than her fear for him. Only that morning, Jesse had asked if she was unwell and she knew it was because she was so pale after barely being able to sleep since that day.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Brenda. I understand how you feel.’ Brenda looked up with a doubtful expression on her face. ‘I do. My own son has recently enlisted, and I can’t stop worrying about him.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. It’s horrible being left behind not knowing where they are or what they’re doing.’ She sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I wish there was something we could do, but there isn’t. Instead we’re expected to sit and wait, dreading each time a telegram boy comes to the house.’

  Florence sighed heavily. ‘I was thinking the same thing.’ She rested a hand on Brenda’s shoulder. ‘You take your time to gather yourself. I’d better return to my office. Who knows, maybe there might be something that we can do for our boys at the Front.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Brenda asked, a glimmer of hope in her reddened eyes.

  ‘There will be, if I have anything to do with it,’ she reassured Brenda, feeling a bond with the young woman who was suffering as much as her.