by Deborah Carr
It was worrying, too, when Gladys told her that one of the women she lived near who had left Boots’ employ to work at the arms factory had explained that the chemicals they handled were so toxic that they had to wash their faces and arms thoroughly in washrooms before leaving for home at the end of each day.
‘They do have medical inspections,’ Gladys said, ‘but I’m not sure how in-depth they are or how often they take place. The girls have to be extremely careful when they’re working, too.’
Florence was horrified. ‘Surely that level of danger can’t be compensated by higher wages,’ she asked.
Gladys shrugged. ‘I suppose it depends on how much these women need the money. I know some just like the freedom of having more in their wage packet each week, but others need to compensate for lost wages when their menfolk leave to enlist or are killed. The army pension isn’t very much, not when there are quite a few mouths to feed.’
Surely there was something she could do to persuade her girls to stay working for her? Young women shouldn’t risk their lives at work. Then again, Florence thought miserably, who was she to think that way? The government needed the artillery that John had spent his time in the army transporting to the Front. How else were their forces going to be able to fight back and who was going to make them if not her girls who had left Boots to go and work at places like Chilwell?
‘I suppose,’ she mused, ‘that however upset I might be to lose any of my girls to these places, someone has to do the work, otherwise how else are the arms to be produced and this seemingly endless nightmare brought to an end?’
Florence wondered when that might be and then tried to picture how life would be after it was all over. Already the war had continued far longer than anyone had imagined it would. She felt sure that the people of Britain would be very changed after coping with such a lengthy and difficult experience. How could they not?
Florence reflected on how up until now those with more money had been protected against the difficulties that poorer people suffered. It seemed from reports and talk that she had heard that the officers, sons of wealthier and aristocratic families, were being killed in higher numbers as they led their men over the top and into battle, coming into contact with enemy fire first. Class didn’t matter though when it came to bombs being dropped from airships. Yes, she thought miserably, this war had been a great leveller to them all. For the first time in history it didn’t seem to matter who you were, what your background was, if you were a mother you could lose your son at any time and the pain would always be just as acute.
Florence couldn’t shift the feelings of anxiety that weighed heavily on her today, but she put a brave face on when she went to Jesse’s study to see how he was feeling.
‘Sit down, my dear,’ he said, indicating the chair next to him. ‘I have something I want to share with you.’
Florence did as he asked and hoped that whatever it was it wouldn’t be more bad news. She waited patiently for him to speak.
‘You know I’ve been holding a few more meetings with the board than usual of late?’ Florence nodded. ‘Well we’ve been discussing you.’
Florence couldn’t understand why that might be. ‘Me? But why? What have I done to merit such attention, especially at such a busy time?’
Jesse held his hands out for her to take. ‘It’s been approved that you’re to become the next director of Boots.’
Florence couldn’t speak. What had he just said?
‘Did you hear me, my love? The Board have agreed that upon receipt of your consent they are happy to appoint you as the first female director of Boots.’ He smiled at her and waited for the unexpected announcement to settle in her mind.
‘Me?’ Why couldn’t she come up with something a little more intelligent? Florence wondered, unable to take in what Jesse had just told her.
Jesse laughed. ‘Am I to understand that you’re happy about this?’
She stood and leaning forward kissed him. ‘You know I am. I simply can’t quite believe it, that’s all. I’ll need a moment to gather myself, let it all sink in.’ Florence replayed Jesse’s words over again in her mind. She was going to be a company director serving with a board of directors and at Boots. It was the biggest honour she probably would ever receive. ‘Jesse, for once I’m almost lost for words,’ she said, aware that she was probably grinning inanely at him. ‘Thank you so very much for putting this trust in me.’
Jesse raised his right hand and rested it on her cheek. ‘After all that you’ve done to grow this business over the decades. It’s largely thanks to your innovative ideas and constant hard work that this company has been transformed from a chemist into the huge brand it is now. I think it’s the very least I can do to show you how much I value your business brain and your never-ending support for all that I do.’
Florence didn’t know of any other women serving as company directors. She thought back to that twenty-three-year-old girl working in her father’s stationery shop and what she had thought to be enormous ambitions she never truly expected to realise. Now, here she was, about to be appointed to the board of directors at Boots. It was a dream come true – albeit a dream she hadn’t even let materialise privately because it wasn’t something she ever thought could happen.
‘The day I met you in my parents’ flat at 27 Queen Street was the luckiest day of my life,’ she said, her voice barely above a tight whisper. ‘I always knew I was lucky that you had come into my life, Jesse and I thought I knew how much you valued me, but this is something I never dared hope for. I am truly honoured. I hope you know that?’
‘I do, my dear,’ he said leaning forward and kissing her. ‘And I can’t think of a more worthy person to bring to the boardroom table. And,’ he said, raising an eyebrow, ‘I look forward to having you sitting in on all meetings and offering your valuable opinions.’
Florence laughed, picturing the scene. ‘Even those opinions that irritate you and which you disagree with.’
‘Yes, even those.’ He frowned thoughtfully for a moment, a glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘I say this now but imagine that I won’t find it quite as funny when we do disagree in meetings.’
‘Probably not.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
May 1917
As March slid into April, Florence and Jesse were cheered that the United States Army had entered the war on the 6 April.
‘Hopefully, the allies will have enough military strength behind us to be able to overcome the enemy, once and for all,’ Jesse said.
Florence hoped so, too. ‘Yes, then the men and women who are overseas can return and we can all start getting on with our lives again.’ When Jesse didn’t reply immediately, she suspected something might be wrong. ‘Don’t you think?’
He sighed. ‘I’m not so sure it’s going to be that easy.’
‘Why? What do you mean?’
‘Think about it, Florence. Our turnover has increased massively and that’s in the new departments where we make the ventilators. What will we be able to give those employees working in there when we no longer need to produce them? And what about when the men return home and want their old jobs back? Will the women be happy to give up their new-found freedom and return to keeping home and not earning their own income, do you think?’
Florence tried to imagine what it would be like if someone took away her role at Boots and gave it to someone else simply because he was a man. She would hate it; she knew that much.
‘But what can we do about it?’ She thought of all the roles at Boots that were once carried out by men and were now covered by women. These absent men and, to a smaller extent, women should not be penalised for fighting for their country. But did it mean that those who had stepped in to cover for them would now have to suffer from their return to England? It seemed so, because she had no idea how else they could rectify the situation but by honouring those jobs for ex-employees on their return.
‘Thankfully, we have a large number of roles for female staff
,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But I see what you mean. We can’t expect soldiers to go and risk their lives for us for a number of years and then return to nothing, can we?’
Why was life constantly throwing up new problems? she wondered.
Jesse nudged her gently. ‘Don’t look quite so down. We’re not there yet. We still have to find a way to win this war before this will be an issue for us.’
She returned his reassuring smile but was still troubled. ‘Yes, that might be true, but it is something we need to keep in mind for when we do win the war.’
Jesse laughed and gazed at her. She couldn’t miss how much love there was for her in his look. ‘I love your certainty that we will do so.’
Florence shrugged. ‘We have to believe it will happen,’ she insisted. ‘The alternative is too terrifying to contemplate.’
The following days and weeks lowered her spirits even further when Jesse sat at the breakfast table and read out snippets of news from his broadsheets. ‘It seems that for every four boats importing food into Britain, there are U-boats managing to sink one of them.’ He looked up from his paper and stared out of the window. ‘At this rate the people will suffer greatly, or even starve.’
Another thing to worry everyone, Florence thought miserably. ‘But what can we do, apart from make sure we grow as much as we can in our vegetable garden and take care not to waste anything?’
Jesse looked at her. ‘We already do those things, Florence. It’s not us that I worry about so much as those without gardens. How are they supposed to find ways to supplement their food?’
She didn’t know. ‘Can’t the government do anything to help guard against this happening?’
Jesse sighed and looked back down at his newspaper. ‘It seems that they are introducing a convoy system, which I hope will go some way to guard against the worst happening.’ He lowered the paper to the table and stared at her. ‘I thought matters had been difficult in the past when I witnessed others’ suffering through poverty and even my own childhood experiences, but this war is coming down heavily on so many people, Florence. It’s too cruel.’
She wondered if Jesse was referring to a blind, one-legged beggar they had seen and stopped to give money to the day before on their way to work. He could not have been much older than Margery and his life had been reduced to standing in the rain begging for money to be able to feed himself and his family. Her heart ached for him and all of those like him whose lives had been destroyed, leaving them in a living hell. It reminded her of something she had recently been told about one of her ex-employees’ sons.
‘I heard the other day that Nellie Blythe’s son was terribly injured on the Somme last summer.’
Jesse frowned thoughtfully. ‘I know that name but can’t place her.’
Florence thought back to how she had tried to help the young unmarried mother early in her marriage to Jesse and had messed things up terribly for her. It had been a dreadful situation and one that she had had to work hard to rectify. ‘I think it was back when we first opened the Pelham Street store,’ she said, giving the matter a little more thought. ‘It must have been around 1892 or ’93. Do you remember, she had a son and I tried to help her but initially made matters a whole lot worse?’
Jesse thought for a moment and then nodded slowly. ‘So you did. I seem to recall that you were terribly upset by the whole situation.’
‘I was mortified,’ she said, recalling how Jesse had tried to dissuade her from becoming involved as she had done. ‘But I managed to sort things out in the end, thankfully.’
‘Tell me, what happened to her son?’
Florence cleared her throat to dispel the emotion threatening to overcome her as she thought of the baby boy she had hoped to help, back when she too was a young mother. ‘His right hand was damaged, so I’m told, and one side of his face has been destroyed. Poor Nellie is understandably heartbroken for him. He was engaged and his fiancée broke things off with him once she had been to visit him and saw the extent of his injuries.’
Jesse glowered across the table. ‘What an unfeeling young woman she must be. He will be better off without her.’
Florence agreed. ‘That’s as maybe, but I don’t think he sees things quite in the same way.’
‘The poor man… and after all he must have done to help fight for his country.’ Jesse shook his head. ‘Is there no way we could help him?’
Florence would love nothing more. She wished she could recall the name of Nellie’s little boy, but despite going over and over that time she had gone to Nellie’s mother’s house and seen the baby, just couldn’t remember what it was.
‘I can check to see what vacancies we have in the factories.’
‘Or, if he’s self-conscious, then maybe we can find work for him in one of the back rooms. Either way, we should invite him in for an interview. If we don’t have a position for him then we’ll come up with one.’
Florence gazed lovingly at her caring husband. ‘Thank you. I knew you would want to help him, as do I. I haven’t spoken to Nellie for a few years, but I’m sure she won’t mind if I contact her,’ she said hoping she was right. ‘If she’s open to it, I’ll ask her to send her son to me at his convenience and see what I can do about work for him. I’m told that she desperately wants to help him find a way to leave the house and face people once again.’
‘That’s a good idea. The poor boy needs to find his way back to normality again, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Florence gave Jesse a nod, aware how difficult it must have been for him to come to terms with his ailing health over the years. It never ceased to surprise her how, despite all his difficulties in movement, he always seemed to find a way to continue working for his business. What a shame it now was that he was too incapacitated to drive his specially adapted motor car himself. She knew Jesse was luckier than most to have been able to afford to have the car built to his specifications in the first place and at least he had a driver to take him where he needed to go so that he could maintain some of his independence. She was glad of it.
Later that day, Florence wrote to the last address she had for Nellie in her records.
St Heliers House
The Park
Nottingham
5 May 1917
* * *
13 Red Lion Street
Nottingham
* * *
Dear Nellie,
* * *
I hope you are keeping well and can hardly believe it’s almost three years since you married and left Boots. I am taking a chance that you still live at the address I have for you but if not I’m hoping that it is forwarded on to you and that it finds you very soon.
* * *
I apologise for my presumption in contacting you, Nellie, and do not wish to offend by doing so. I have been advised that your brave son went to war and has returned injured and I wanted to offer any help that Sir Jesse and I might be able to give him regarding his employment. We appreciate the difficulty in some returning soldiers finding work and so offer our assistance.
* * *
Should your son wish to meet with me regarding work at Boots, then please ask him to come to my office at Pelham Street where we met and spoke with each other many years ago.
* * *
My best wishes to you and your family.
* * *
Yours sincerely,
Florence, Lady Boot
Florence sealed the letter in an envelope and placed it on the pile of signed letters for Gladys to send to the Post Office that afternoon. She closed Nellie’s file and put it back in the metal filing tray for Enid to replace in her filing system. Florence hoped that the letter would reach Nellie and that either her son had already found work that satisfied him or he came to see her so that she could ensure he was given employment. How sad, Florence thought, for a young man who should be starting out building his own family to have been abandoned by the woman he had chosen to be his wife. How heartbroken must he now be to have to find a way to m
ove on with his life just when he had imagined he would be celebrating having children and a home of his own?
Florence stood and walked over to her window and clasping her hands behind her back looked down on the busy street below. She couldn’t help wondering how many of those pedestrians were going through their own heartache. It was a dark time in their history, of that she had no doubt. She wished she had the power to look into the future and see how much longer this torturous time would continue.
She turned to go back to her desk and thought of all the men who would never return to their homes or families and those, like Nellie’s son, who did return but were very much altered. She knew she had to do everything she possibly could to help Nellie’s son and other ex-soldiers.
Chapter Twenty-Five
July 1917
‘Lady Boot,’ Gladys said, entering Florence’s office, her voice low. She appeared a little shaken, which was not like her secretary at all. ‘There’s a young man asking to see you. He says his name is Joseph Blythe.’
‘Joseph Blythe.’ Florence glanced at her diary. There was no mention of Nellie’s son coming to meet with her today. ‘I wrote to his mother a couple of months ago, asking that he come and see me.’
‘A couple of months ago?’ Gladys repeated, sounding surprised.
Florence waved Gladys away. ‘It’s fine. Please, do send him in.’