by Deborah Carr
As much as she didn’t want to bring up the death of Private Marsh, she had little choice, if she was going to try to find a way for the girl to move on. Then it dawned on Florence what Lily had been about to say to her in her office. She could offer Gladys her old job back. She would be entitled to a small Army pension for the loss of her husband, but Gladys would need more than that to be able to take care of her and her mother. Florence would see how their conversation went and work out whether she should make Gladys the offer of work.
Florence cleared her throat. ‘I was dreadfully sorry to hear about your tragic loss, as are your friends and colleagues at Boots. How are you doing, Gladys?’
Fresh tears ran silently down Gladys’s face. For the first time, Florence saw that Gladys was gripping a handkerchief in her hands. She watched as the girl dabbed at her eyes then wiped her nose.
‘I’m so sorry, Lady Boot. I know this isn’t the way to behave in front of a Lady, but I can’t seem to help myself.’
‘Now, don’t you worry about that, my dear. You cry, if that’s what you need to do.’
Gladys sniffed. ‘Thank you. You’re always so kind. My mother and I are extremely grateful for the hamper. I can imagine it’s full of beautiful and tasty things.’
It was. Florence had checked it and repacked it before leaving her office. She had also gone down to the shop floor and picked up a few extra treats to add to it: a box of soaps, cold cream and some hand cream. However dreadful the world was, a beautiful scented cream always seemed to help her, if only minutely.
‘It’s my pleasure.’
Gladys looked at her hands. ‘I know I must look dreadful to you. I’ve found it difficult to eat since,’ she hesitated, ‘I heard the news about my Cyril. I know that sitting here wallowing each day doesn’t help.’ She looked up at Florence and for the first time Florence saw a determination behind the blue eyes. ‘I’ve always been so busy, you see. It was one thing giving up work to be a wife, but now I feel like I’m just whiling away my days, and to what end? It isn’t like I have anything to plan for, not now Cyril isn’t coming back to me. I may as well force myself to accept that, but I think it would be easier if I had something to keep me busy.’
Florence wasn’t sure, but she suspected Gladys was asking her for a job. ‘Do you want to return to work so soon?’
Gladys shrugged. ‘I do, but Mum keeps telling me it’s not necessary. She insists we’ll find a way to manage.’ She shook her head. ‘Mum’s rather old-fashioned, you see. She believes I should be in mourning for at least six months.’
Florence believed that everyone had their own way of coping with grief. ‘And what do you believe?’
Gladys brushed away a stray tear from her gaunt cheek. ‘I want—’ She stopped. ‘No, I need to go out to work, Lady Boot. Half the time, I feel as if I’m losing my mind being enclosed in this house day after day.’ Florence wasn’t surprised. If she lost her precious son and had to spend her days sitting at home she would lose her mind, too. ‘I’m used to working with people. I need to find a job.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know it’s impertinent of me to ask when you’ve been kind enough to come and pay us a visit, and with a beautiful gift, too, but do you mind me asking you?’
‘If I can find you work, you mean? Of course I don’t.’
Gladys closed her eyes and sighed heavily. ‘Thank you. Really. You don’t know how much I appreciate you saying that. I don’t mind what it is, or even the wage, I just need to keep busy.’
Florence understood. She might not have suffered a loss like Gladys but whenever her life had taken a turn for the worse – when John had run off to Canada that time, his return to France more recently, Jesse’s bouts in hospital when his health failed him, Margery leaving for France to run her canteen – Florence had always been able to cope by focusing all her attention and energy on her work.
‘You might not believe me when I say this, Gladys,’ Florence began, ‘but I did only come here to see how you were and bring the hamper to you. However, I would dearly love for you to return to work, as my secretary.’ She raised her hand on seeing Gladys’s surprise. ‘Only if you feel you’re up to it, that is. If you’d rather I find you an easier job, then I’m happy to do that.’
Gladys’s mouth fell open for a second. ‘I don’t understand. What about my replacement?’
‘Enid is a decent, hard-working girl, but she is much happier in an assistant secretarial role and has found it rather difficult to keep up with all I’ve thrown at her since you left.’
Gladys gazed at Florence, thoughtfully, her eyes brighter than they had been. ‘Then who is acting as your secretary right now?’
‘Someone you know. Miss Buttons, from Number Two department. I asked her to step in after Enid spoke to me about how she was struggling, and she kindly agreed. Miss Buttons prefers working on the shop floor. She is desperate to return to running the department.’
‘Are you telling me that I could have my old job back, Lady Boot? Right now? And I wouldn’t be stepping on anyone else’s toes? Because I would hate to do that.’
‘That is exactly what I am telling you, Gladys.’ Satisfied that she had at least brightened the young widow’s world for that day, Florence stood. ‘I’ll leave you to think about my offer. I think you had better discuss it with your mother, first. I don’t want to cause any friction between the two of you. Let me know what you wish to do when you’re ready.’
Gladys got to her feet slowly as if in a trance. ‘I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me, Lady Boot. I don’t need to think about your offer. The answer is yes, and I’ll start as soon as you like.’
Florence smiled. ‘I am very happy to hear that. However, I think it might be better if you spoke to your mother first.’
Gladys shook her head. ‘It’ll be fine. My mother is only trying to be protective of me. She knew how much I loved working for you and how sad it made me to have to leave. I’ll explain how much I want to go back to working for you at Boots and I know she’ll give me her blessing. I know she will.’
‘Then, shall we say that, unless I hear otherwise, I’ll expect you to start next Monday? Unless, of course, you’d like a bit longer?’
Gladys didn’t attempt to hide her delight. ‘No, that’s more than enough time. Next Monday it is.’
As Florence sat in the back of her car on her way home, she thought of how delighted Gladys had been to be offered her job back. She knew that Lily would be relieved to know she could return to her colleagues in her own department, and Florence could relax her search for Lily’s replacement and focus on the many other items waiting for her in her diary. She gazed out of the window at the passing pedestrians and vehicles and felt a tug to her heart as she thought how poor Private Cyril Marsh’s death had meant that her own working day would improve drastically. It didn’t seem fair somehow, and despite having no hand in his demise Florence couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt.
Chapter Twenty-One
December 1916
The past few months had been traumatic for all of them. Who could have foretold that we would still be suffering such global hardships? Florence thought, struggling to come to terms with the fact that yet another year had almost passed them by. Those of her family who were in Nottingham had left the day before after joining her and Jesse at St Heliers to celebrate a quiet family Christmas. Initially, Florence had expected Dorothy, her husband and baby Nancy, as well as John’s wife Margaret and their baby daughter Barbara, but at the very last minute, as they were bidding each other a good night to leave the drawing room to retire to their bedrooms on Christmas Eve, John arrived at St Heliers to surprise them, having returned from France.
Florence had just reached the third step on the staircase going up to her room when she, Margaret and Dorothy heard the distinct sound of a car engine drawing up outside the house. They glanced at each other questioningly and then Florence looked down to the hallway where George was about to pick Jesse up from his chair to take hi
m upstairs.
‘Who on earth could that be?’ Florence asked. ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock.’ Her heart raced as it dawned on her that whoever was here could be bringing bad news. She turned and ran downstairs, reaching the door just before Meadows arrived and the doorbell rang.
‘Thank you, Meadows,’ she said raising her chin and bracing herself to greet whoever was on the other side of the front door.
Meadows pulled open the door. ‘We weren’t expecting you, Mr Boot.’
Mr Boot? Florence gasped as Meadows stepped back and John walked in, a wide smile on his gentle face.
‘John?’ Margaret whispered. Florence made room for her to greet her husband and smiled at Jesse.
‘Well, this is the best Christmas present I think any of us could have asked for,’ Jesse said, his eyes brighter than usual.
Margaret moved to the side and Florence smiled as her son grinned at her. ‘Merry Christmas, Mother. I thought you wouldn’t mind an unexpected arrival for the festivities.’
Florence opened her arms and drew John into a tight hug. ‘My boy,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever received a more welcome gift than your arrival. Now I know, we’ll all have an absolutely wonderful Christmas.’
She watched John as he greeted his sister before putting his arm around Margaret’s waist and kissing her cheek. She knew his happiness to be with them was genuine but could not miss the slightly forced cheerfulness and wondered what he might have gone through in the few months since she had last seen him. For now though he was back home and safe. The relief of not having to worry about him even if only for a few days was immense and Florence knew that for the first time since John had told her he had enlisted she would be able to sleep deeply.
‘It’s marvellous to be back here with you all,’ John said. ‘Are you all off to bed now?’
‘We were,’ said Florence, laughing, ‘but I doubt that any of us are in a rush to get to our beds just yet. Come through to the living room and I’ll ask for some food to be brought to you.’
Having John with them to share their festivities had been the best present Florence could have ever hoped for. The only other gift she would have wished for was if Margery had come home with him. Florence recalled the surprise and then seconds later the joy on John’s wife Margaret’s face when she turned to see who had arrived at the house so late.
Now, though, they had all finished celebrating their third Christmas during wartime. Florence hoped there wouldn’t be a fourth. As with the previous two Christmases Florence had made a point of keeping the celebrations low-key and the presents to a minimum. It didn’t feel right somehow having fun and spending a lot of money treating themselves when so many others around the country and elsewhere were grieving for their lost loved ones, sitting by hospital bedsides or waiting for news of those missing in action.
Florence had insisted on holding a muted affair, especially with Margery being away. Thinking of her working so hard in her canteen in Northern France worried her terribly. As much as she was proud of her youngest child, she wished she would consider returning home to Nottingham. If only she could persuade Margery that by helping tens of thousands of wounded soldiers and refugees she had done her bit now, and that maybe it was time to return and find work to do on safer ground. Margery had always been a hard worker when she was at Boots. Florence knew she had enjoyed the camaraderie working in one of the factories. If only her daughter would consider setting up a canteen at a British station, it would be much safer and closer to home. Even as she thought of suggesting her idea to Margery, Florence discounted it, aware that it wouldn’t have the same satisfaction for Margery as her work on French soil.
With Christmas now over, Florence was looking forward to the next celebration they were to enjoy as soon as the New Year had begun. She gazed at the letter in her hand addressed to Jesse from King George the Fifth. It was odd to think that the king had placed one hand on this same piece of paper that she was holding in order to sign his signature. To think that her darling Jesse, who had dedicated his life to providing many thousands of people with medicines and other items that they needed, was to become a baronet the next month. It was tremendously exciting, and Florence couldn’t help feeling immensely proud of her husband.
Florence sighed. She was in her fifties now and Jesse in his late sixties. She had assumed that Jesse being knighted for his achievements seven years earlier by the then King, Edward the Seventh, would be the highest accolade bestowed on him. Florence had taken a little time to get used to being called Lady Boot. It had been strange to think of her husband as Sir Jesse then, but now he would be Sir Jesse Boot, Baronet. It was a lot to take in.
She thought back to when she had spent her younger days serving customers and dusting shelves as an assistant in her father’s shop in Queen Street in Jersey, and how it would never have occurred to her that she would mix with a baronet and his wife, let alone be those people. She gave a laugh, amused at how much her life had changed – beyond anything she had ever dreamt her future to be. At times like these, if she sat quietly and took herself back to those carefree days, she could still almost summon up the young girl she had been, with all the hopes and dreams she had imagined for herself.
How much she had learned over the years since meeting Jesse. She thought of Jesse’s reaction to reading this letter and discovering the new honour being bestowed on him.
‘Can you believe it, my dear,’ she recalled him saying on opening the envelope. ‘I’m to be recognised by a second king. And when you think where we’ve both come from and how far…’ He had gone quiet momentarily, his eyes misting over. Then added, ‘My mother would be so proud of me right now.’
Florence had kissed him. ‘Your mother would be proud of you every day of your life, Jesse. You were an exemplary son. Think how many people, me included, have benefited from all that you’ve worked to achieve.’ She pictured her dear Jesse going to ask for her hand in marriage thirty-three years before and how nervous he had been. Now he was this important man and still he was the same Jesse to her.
‘Look at us now,’ she murmured to the empty room. Jesse had always been ambitious and never failed to work as hard as he could, which, she thought, was far too hard most of the time. But on the eleventh of January he would be honoured for a second time and her heart swelled with pride for him.
How many thousands of people had he helped over the years simply by employing them in one of his five hundred and sixty plus stores? She thought of the hundreds of thousands of customers to have shopped at their stores or benefitted from the medicines sold in their cash chemists – and now those in the Forces being treated by those medicines, the men in trenches now having a way to sterilise dirty water so that they could drink it safely and those brave men saved from gas attacks by gas masks made at Boots.
Yes, she thought, she was immensely proud of Jesse’s hard work – and, if she was honest, hers, too – over the years, finding ways to help others and provide them with medication and pretty things.
Jesse was asleep upstairs, and the staff were downstairs eating their supper. Florence generally enjoyed quiet moments like these, but tonight she couldn’t settle down to the book she had chosen from the lending library several days before. She missed having her children living in the house. At least at Christmas John and Dorothy had brought their daughters to play at the house and she and Jesse had sat watching their brood, her hand on his twisted one, enjoying being taken back to a time when they had their own small babies, with so much of their future waiting for them to grasp it and make of it what they wanted.
What to do now though? She wasn’t tired, despite having been up since five that morning when Jesse had woken her suffering from a coughing fit. She needed to feel close to one of her children. The two closest to her were in their homes with their families. She would write to the child she currently worried about the most and the one furthest physically from her.
Florence walked the few steps over to the small desk unde
rneath one of the side windows, lifted the lid and took a sheet of paper and a fountain pen from inside, then, lowering the lid quietly, sat down to write to Margery.
St Heliers House
Nottingham
28 December 1916
* * *
Dearest girl,
* * *
We all missed you here this Christmas and hope that you were able to take some time during the day for yourself. I expect you received the small package of gifts that we sent on to you. You might have received them a little earlier than necessary because we wanted to be certain they wouldn’t be delayed past Christmas and so decided to post them to you ten days before.
* * *
The Christmas cake and Christmas pudding were your father’s idea. He insisted you should have them even if you decided to share them among the visiting soldiers and only ate a mouthful of each. He said they would give you a taste of what we were eating at home, to transport you back to being here with us, even if only in your mind.
* * *
The enclosed bundle of socks and scarves I thought you could pass on to any soldiers who needed them and the other box of medicines and bandages we thought might be put to good use at some point. The leather gloves were for you and your assistants and the coat and footwear we hope will help keep you warm through the winter months.