Mrs Boots Goes to War

by Deborah Carr

  It was too soon, but what could she do? Florence hated the thought of him leaving again but to drag it out would be painful, she knew that much. She stood and opened her arms. ‘Then, I wish you well,’ she said, ‘but you have to promise me that you will stay safe and come back to us as soon as you possibly can.’

  ‘I will be back before you know it,’ he said.

  Florence knew that was impossible but hoped it wouldn’t be too long until John returned home. She couldn’t believe the war was taking her son from her again. How long could his luck possibly last? Dare she hope that her own good fortune would last long enough for him to return to them unscathed once more?

  Florence thought of other women bidding farewell to their sons as she was doing now, and how they had struggled with their loss when those sons had failed to return. Could her turn be coming?

  Chapter Twenty

  October 1916

  The following week, Florence was about to meet with the manageress of the Gas Mask Department when Lily brought in an envelope. ‘Joseph Meadows delivered this letter from your home a moment ago. He said you would want to read it immediately as it’s from Margery.’

  Florence smiled, gratefully. ‘Thank you for bringing it in to me.’

  As soon as she was alone, she slid her silver letter opener through the fold at the top and withdrew a sheet of paper. She unfolded it and gazed at her daughter’s neat handwriting.

  30 September 1916

  France

  * * *

  Sir Jesse and Lady Boot

  St Heliers House

  The Park

  Nottingham

  * * *

  Darling Mother and Father,

  * * *

  I’m writing in the hope that you are both well and not too shocked after the Zeppelin bombing in Nottingham the other night. I heard the news from one of the other girls whose parents had written telling them about the incident and then John wrote to me to let me know you were both fine. He said that he suspected you wouldn’t mention it to me hoping not to worry me. Please don’t be cross with him for doing so, I’m glad he did. We hear news from home all the time and I would rather know what happened and that you were both safe than not hear anything at all and make up my own assumptions.

  * * *

  It’s strange to think that all this time you’ve been concerned for my welfare and now the danger is coming closer to home and the tables appear to have turned somewhat. I’ll have to trust that you are both safe and know that you will have already made plans for what to do in case of another similar attack. I love my work but miss you both all the time and it’s at times like these when I truly wish I was back at home with you and seeing for myself that you are both safe and well.

  * * *

  I know you will want to know how I am. All I can say is that we’ve had a difficult time of it lately. The number of injured men seems to continually be on the increase and we are rather more stretched than we’re used to being. I don’t know if I’m being more sensitive than usual but it’s troubling me more than ever to see so many men, especially those of my age and younger, with life-changing injuries. I worry that the futures they might have once imagined will now no longer be possible. However, when I become morose I remind myself that I am one of the lucky ones and it’s my job to help soothe and cheer them.

  * * *

  Before I forget, I want to thank you for the extra supplies you shipped to us recently, they were much needed and their arrival very timely.

  * * *

  We have had to move our canteen several times since we first arrived in Northern France. The front lines move often and we have to move with them to stay out of harm’s way and also to be as much help as we can. The result is that I’m rather tired and although at times it’s difficult to keep my spirits up, I’m rarely alone long enough to ponder on the situation and whenever I’m down one of my colleagues will find a way to cheer me up.

  * * *

  They’re a good bunch and we are all very supportive of each other, so please don’t fret on my account.

  * * *

  I can hear another train pulling into the station bringing more soldiers. They’ll be needing our attention so I had better press on.

  * * *

  My love to you both.

  As ever, your loving daughter, Margery

  Florence breathed in the scent of the paper, hoping it would bring her closer to her daughter, but couldn’t pick up anything familiar. Then, folding the letter, she placed it back into the envelope and put it into her bag to show to Jesse later. Margery was right. It was strange that after all this time worrying about their daughter, Margery was now concerned for their welfare. Florence determined to reply to her letter as soon as her next meeting was over. She didn’t want her daughter to worry about her and Jesse needlessly.

  She checked her hair was neat and left her office for the factory to meet her manageress. It was something she liked to do as often as possible, believing that visits to her staff encouraged her girls to remember that she was working as hard as them. They needed to push themselves to produce as many of the small box respirators as they could, and her continued presence and support always seemed to help achieve the numbers that were necessary each week. Jesse was busy working on the emergency bombing raid plans which were coming together well. He had the senior managers from each shop and factory working on their own plans to send them to him as a matter of urgency.

  Florence spotted one of the newer recruits to whom she had given a job only a week before. ‘Good morning.’ The girl looked up at Florence from under her eyelashes and said something she could barely hear. ‘Tell me, how are you getting along in here? I hope the girls are all looking after you and helping you settle in?’ Florence gave a friendly smile to the other women. ‘I’m told this is one of the busier departments to work in and that the production is increasing most weeks.’

  The girl barely looked Florence in the eyes but nodded. ‘It is busy, but I’m really enjoying being part of the team I work on, Lady Boot. Thank you.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad.’ Florence gave an approving look at the manageress. ‘All seems to be running very well here, as usual.’

  ‘It is, Lady Boot. The girls are all hard workers.’

  Florence noticed that the new girl was still waiting for permission to return to work. ‘Thank you. Please carry on with what you were doing.’

  They walked on to the next row of women working hard, their fingers quick and dextrous as they put together the pieces on the station where they were standing. Florence bid a few of them a good morning and passed the time of day before continuing with the manageress.

  ‘I note from the reports that this department’s output is extremely high. I must commend you for that. Thank you. These masks are desperately needed by our boys at the Front and the sooner we can provide our Forces with them, the fewer men will be killed in gas attacks.’

  ‘Yes, Lady Boot. I think the reason these girls work extra hard is because a lot of them have loved ones fighting. It’s an added incentive and those that don’t, well, they simply want to do as much as they can to help the war effort.’

  ‘Well, they’re all doing a marvellous job.’ She stopped at the door before leaving. ‘Girls, I want to thank you for all your wonderful efforts,’ she said wanting to induce them to achieve more. ‘Reports coming from this department are truly first class and my husband and I are grateful to you all for your hard work to support Britain’s war effort. You might not be able to fight on the battlefields, but you are playing a vital part in what you do. Thanks to you and your efforts many men will be returning to their families who otherwise might not, and I thank you for all that you do.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Boot,’ one of the girls called out. Then another and another, until all Florence could hear were the women cheering for her. Her throat tightened to hear them thanking her when all she had done was give them the chance to produce vital war supplies and praise their efforts.
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br />   Florence visited a couple more departments and then returned to the Pelham Street store. As she neared the staircase, she overheard one of the girls saying something and caught the name ‘Lightbody’. Florence recognised the voice as Bridie, one of her younger girls and, by the sombre tone in Bridie’s voice, Florence gleaned that whatever she was saying, it wasn’t happy news. Florence immediately called her over to a quiet area.

  Bridie looked unsure why she was receiving Florence’s attention but walked over to her side. ‘Yes, Lady Boot?’

  ‘I overheard you mention the name Lightbody just now.’ Florence kept her voice low so that no one could hear what she was saying.

  ‘Yes, that’s correct.’

  ‘If it’s not too much of a personal issue, may I enquire what it was you were discussing?’ Wishing to make herself clearer, she added, ‘That is, were you referring to Gladys Lightbody, by any chance?’ Florence waited for the girl to reply and hoped that Gladys was all right.

  ‘Gladys is one of my neighbours,’ she said quietly.

  ‘She is?’ Florence could tell Bridie wasn’t sure how to put across what she had been saying to her colleague moments earlier. ‘Please, go on.’

  She watched for a few seconds as the girl gave some thought to what she needed to say. ‘It’s just that Private Marsh, that’s Gladys’s husband, Cyril, was killed a couple of weeks ago.’

  Florence gasped, horrified to think that Gladys’s life as a wife had lasted such a short time.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help thinking of her as anything but Gladys Lightbody. She’d be mad if she knew. She did love her Cyril so.’ Bridie cast her gaze down at the floor. ‘They were devoted to each other, those two. Cyril was the only man for Gladys, my mum says. Thankfully, they were living with her widowed mum, so Gladys has someone to look after her.’ She looked back up at Florence, her eyes filled with unshed tears. ‘Oh, Lady Boot, it’s horrible to see her so broken. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have been talking about her during work hours, but I’m that worried for her. I was hoping my colleague might have an idea how to help Gladys.’

  ‘Not at all, Bridie. I’m glad you were speaking about Gladys. She needs her friends right now.’

  Florence thought back to the happy girl she had bid farewell to after presenting her with a bible only the year before. Her heart ached for Gladys and all the wives like her who had lost their men. She rested a hand on Bridie’s shoulder to comfort her. ‘You leave this with me,’ Florence said quietly. ‘I’ll pay Gladys a visit this afternoon and see if there’s anything at all that I can do to help.’

  The girl brightened visibly. ‘Oh, would you Lady Boot? I know a visit from you would cheer her up no end.’

  Florence sighed. ‘I’m not so sure about that but, if there is anything I can do to help her, I certainly will make sure that I do it.’ She smiled at Bridie. ‘Thank you for confiding in me. I’m grateful to know how things stand. Now, I’d better get on.’ She spotted two customers at the counter and indicated them with a tilt of her head. ‘I think that, by the looks of things, so must you.’

  Bridie rushed off and Florence hurried back to her office. She closed the door and leant against it for a moment, shaken to think of Gladys’s monumental loss.

  Moments later, when Florence was seated back at her desk, Lily knocked once and walked in carrying a cup of tea and two digestive biscuits. She put down the cup and frowned. ‘Is something the matter, Florence?’

  Florence lowered her face into her hands and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Then, opening them again, she looked across to her friend. ‘It’s Gladys Lightbody: I’ve just been told that she’s lost her husband.’ She struggled to believe that the young woman was now a widow. ‘I keep thinking how excited she was to be marrying her Cyril. This war is making widows of far too many young women. So many haven’t even had a chance to start families.’ Anger coursed through her. ‘It’s all so cruel and heart-breaking.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I’m going to see her this afternoon, to make sure she’s coping. Would you mind going down and preparing a hamper for me with food, a tonic and maybe a few books from the lending library? I’ll take them to her this afternoon.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lily replied. She walked to the office door, her step faltering before she opened it.

  Florence noticed and wondered what was worrying her. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Lily looked over at her for a couple of seconds and then shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. I’ll go and arrange that hamper for you now.’

  Florence wasn’t sure what Lily had been thinking, but soon forgot about her reaction and going to her cabinets searched for Gladys’s home address. She decided not to send notice ahead that she would like to see Gladys, in case her ex-secretary panicked about Florence visiting her at home.

  She knew from experience that many of her staff found it disconcerting if Florence popped in. Some of them were embarrassed by their homes, but Florence hoped that she soon put them at their ease. Hadn’t she been raised in a small flat above a shop? She hadn’t always been a Lady and even if others didn’t know or forgot her roots, Florence never did. She was proud of her parents and where she had come from and certainly would never judge others by their misfortune or even their fortunate start in life. No, Florence thought, she judged people by how they acted and how they treated others. If they were decent, caring people then they were acceptable as far as she was concerned.

  Florence told her driver the address of the house she was visiting and spent the short drive to Gladys’s home thinking through what she wanted to say to the young widow. All she really wanted was to find a way to help Gladys in some way, however small. The car stopped in front of a tiny terraced house.

  ‘This is it, Lady Boot.’ Her driver got out of the car and opened Florence’s door. Then, lifting the hamper from the back, he followed her the couple of steps to the front door.

  Florence knocked and, seconds later, she heard footsteps and the door was opened by an elderly lady who Florence assumed must be Gladys’s mother. The tired eyes opened wider when she spotted Florence standing on her doorstep.

  Florence was used to this reaction. She extended her gloved hand for the woman to shake. ‘Good afternoon. Mrs Lightbody, I presume?’

  ‘Y-yes, that’s me.’ The woman frantically wiped her hands with her apron before reaching out and taking Florence’s hand in her trembling one.

  ‘I’m Lady Boot. Your daughter Gladys used to be my secretary.’ She kept her voice quiet, not wishing to disconcert the woman.

  ‘Yes. I, er… Is there something I can do for you, Lady Boot?’

  ‘I apologise for coming to your home unannounced. I hope you don’t mind, but I was hoping to have a quick word with your daughter? Would that be all right?’ Florence realised she might have to admit to knowing Gladys’s sad situation. ‘One of the girls at Pelham Street alerted me to Gladys’s dreadful news and I wanted to convey my and my husband’s condolences to her.’

  Mrs Lightbody’s eyes welled up. She stepped back and waved Florence inside. ‘What am I like, leaving you standing on the doorstep and not inviting you in? Please, do come in and I’ll call for Gladys.’ She seemed to notice the driver for the first time.

  ‘Please, don’t mind my driver. He’s only stopping long enough to carry a small hamper of things I thought you and Gladys might make use of. Just a small gesture from my husband and I.’

  Mrs Lightbody visibly brightened. ‘Well, I must say that’s very kind of you, Lady Boot. If you’ll both please follow me through to the parlour, I’ll call for Gladys.’

  Florence walked into the room with its dark Victorian wallpaper and sat down on the sofa when her hostess indicated for her to do so. She watched the woman leave the room and asked her driver to leave the hamper on the table. As soon as he had done so, he left the house to wait outside for her in the car.

  Florence studied the room. It was spotless and she couldn’t help wondering how often
it was used. Not very, she thought, imagining the family gathering here on holidays and high days. Such a waste of an extra room in a small house but everyone seemed to keep their front rooms for best.

  She heard footsteps and Gladys’s voice murmuring something to her mother.

  ‘Lady Boot,’ Gladys said, her eyes puffy as she tried to give Florence a welcoming smile from the parlour-room door. ‘I’m sorry, you find me in a little bit of a muddle. I hadn’t realised you were coming by.’

  Her mother entered after her. ‘Lady Boot has kindly come to see how you are, Gladys. Look at the gift she’s brought you.’

  Gladys’s red-rimmed eyes moved from Florence’s to the hamper. ‘That’s very kind of you, Lady Boot. Really, it is.’

  Her mother looked from one to the other of them. ‘May I offer you tea, Lady Boot?’

  Florence was so taken aback by the change in her once vibrant secretary that she took a moment to be able to answer.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Lightbody,’ she said. ‘But, no, thank you. I don’t wish to intrude on you both for long. I have to be elsewhere this afternoon but wanted to call in on my way there.’

  ‘I’ll leave you both to it, then. Thank you again for your thoughtfulness,’ Gladys’s mother said. ‘We really do appreciate you taking the time to come and visit us.’ She gave Florence a brief nod and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Florence turned her attention to her ex-secretary. It was heart-breaking to see how her sorrow had diminished Gladys so badly. The already slim girl was now a bag of bones and Florence hoped that some of the tasty treats Lily had included in the hamper might encourage her to eat. For once, Florence was lost for words. She thought of John’s wife and how badly she would take the news that John wouldn’t be returning and wished for the hundredth time that he hadn’t returned to France. Poor Gladys represented all the women that must be going through heartache at the moment. Florence wondered when she could expect to see her son again now that he was back in France. All she really wanted to do was go home to her room and sob for the future this poor girl and thousands of others had lost. But, she thought, this visit wasn’t about her, it was about Gladys.