by Deborah Carr
Florence was relieved to see the local councils trying to help the people of Nottingham in such a way. Each afternoon as she and Jesse sat in their car being driven home from the office, she noticed the queues at the butchers, bakers and other food shops lengthening. It was obvious food was becoming scarcer by the month. It had been the case for a couple of years now and Florence couldn’t imagine how people were going to keep their families nourished on an ever-decreasing supply of food. The wretchedness on the faces of those waiting for hours in line hoping to be able to buy something that they could feed to their family was horrifying.
‘These people are slowly starving, Jesse,’ she said, staring out of the car window. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so dreadful.’
‘I agree,’ he said quietly. ‘When I was a boy and we had nothing, we could at least rely on the congregation at our church to help feed us. Now though, with food so scarce throughout the country, there’s none extra to supply to those who need it most.’
‘At least our girls still have their cocoa each morning,’ Florence said half to herself. ‘It’s not much but it’s something.’ She thought of her servants at home, each of whom, like she and Jesse, had cut back on their food intake. ‘I wonder how much longer the country can go on in this way before we completely run out of food?’ She shivered. It was like an ongoing nightmare that she couldn’t wake up from, dragging on and on, getting continually worse in ways she couldn’t have imagined.
‘I’ve no idea.’
One afternoon, as they were driving through the town on their way home, Parry slowed the car, waiting for a vehicle that had broken down to be moved out of the way, when shouts erupted. Florence and Jesse looked out of their window towards the nearest queue where an argument had broken out. The next thing she knew, one man’s fist connected with the other’s jaw. He fell backwards and then several more men and women joined in.
Florence gasped. ‘They’re going to kill each other if they’re not careful.’
‘They’re frightened, Florence,’ Jesse said sadly. ‘Those men are panicking because they don’t know how to find enough food to feed their families.’
Florence’s heart pounded as she tried unsuccessfully to tear her eyes away from the ugly scene. What was the world coming to if decent men like these forgot themselves in this way? It devastated her to see how the fear of not being able to provide for their families had brought them so low. People were falling apart and surely it was only going to get worse the longer this war and the lack of food continued. How soon would it be until her own family were brought to their knees?
Her vision blurred and she wiped her eyes roughly with her gloved hands. ‘Surely there’s something we can do to help these poor people?’
The sadness she felt at witnessing such hopelessness was almost overwhelming. She was worn out by the war, as was everyone around her. It had dragged on for so long now, changing everything they had once known. Florence wished she could see an end in sight, but there was little sign of it coming any time soon.
Jesse sighed heavily. ‘I only wish we could do something, but the problem is too enormous. The government needs to step in and find a way to help this countrywide problem. Hopefully it will do something soon, for all our sakes.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
November 1917
‘Milly Jones to see you, Lady Boot.’
Florence motioned for Enid to show her employee into her office.
‘Sit down, Milly,’ Florence said, indicating the seat on the other side of her desk. She recognised the fresh-faced girl. She had taken a look at her records prior to the appointment and reminded herself that Milly was only fifteen when she had come to work for them two years before. ‘How are you keeping?’
‘Very well, thank you, Lady Boot.’ Milly chewed the side of her lower lip anxiously.
Milly didn’t say anything further and Florence sensed she was there to give notice. It wasn’t difficult to detect the signs – she had come up against this quite a few times over the past couple of years.
‘Would you like to tell me what I can do for you, Milly?’
The girl sat up a little straighter and seemed to brace herself. ‘Firstly, Lady Boot, my mum said I must tell you how happy I’ve been working for Boots and to thank you for taking me on when I left school.’ Florence didn’t like to interrupt. It was obvious by the way Milly kept swallowing that her mouth was dry and that she was nervous about speaking to her. ‘I’m sorry but I’ll be leaving, Lady Boot.’ For the first time, she looked Florence directly in the eye. ‘It’s not that I haven’t been happy here because I have been. Very happy. It’s just that, well, I…’
Florence could not bear to watch the girl suffer so badly. She raised her hand to stop her saying anything further. ‘I’m sorry to hear that you wish to go. Do you mind telling me where you’ll be working next?’
‘I don’t mind at all. My cousin helped get me a job up at the shell-filling factory. Chilwell way.’
She had been right, then, Florence thought, concerned. She clasped her hands together on her lap, not wishing Milly to see how concerned she was at hearing the girl’s future plans. She wished so many of her girls hadn’t been tempted by the extra wages but understood how the increase in their family income would come in handy. The arms factory offered the girls thirty shillings a week.
No doubt Milly’s family, like most people in Nottingham, were panic-stricken that there seemed to be little prospect of an Allied victory, and they had to cope with increasing restrictions, constant news of more losses and the return of many wounded, who, even if they recovered, would continually struggle with the changes their wounds had brought to their bodies and minds.
‘Is there anything I can do to persuade you to remain at Boots?’
Florence wondered if she would ever get used to feeling helpless when it came to situations like these. She doubted it. The company couldn’t afford to increase everyone’s salaries in an effort to keep the girls; there were too many staff. Florence knew now that many of the girls were leaving out of a sense of duty to their country. Didn’t they realise that working at Boots fulfilled the same role? After all, the company was working hard to support the war effort and surely by working in those departments the girls were doing their part. She said as much to Milly, but her efforts proved fruitless.
Milly shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Lady Boot, but I’ve made up my mind.’
‘I’m sure your colleagues will be sad to see you go.’ She looked down at Milly’s file and, opening it, read her most recent work report. ‘Your manager says here in her report that you’re a valued member of staff and a hard worker.’ Florence closed the file. ‘If you do decide that working in munitions is not for you, please do come back and see me. I’ll do my best to find you work here and we’ll certainly be happy for you to return.’
Milly’s shoulders relaxed slightly and Florence could see she looked very relieved. ‘Thank you so much. My mum was upset when I said I was leaving here and worried what I’d do if I hated it there, so she’ll be happy to hear what you’ve said.’
‘Good.’ Florence discussed Milly’s notice and her last day working at the Island Street factory. Then she wished her well once again and showed her out.
She watched helplessly as Milly walked along the landing towards the stairs and prayed that the girl would stay safe. She had heard tales of girls being terribly injured and others dying of toxic poisoning in munitions factories despite the strict regulations they each had to abide by. She hated to think that one of her girls might end up permanently damaged or even losing her life for the sake of a few extra shillings a week. She despised how powerless she felt to stop them from going, but knew that now more than ever these girls’ families needed the extra money they would be bringing in.
Florence’s concerns for Milly were forced to the back of her mind when she returned home to an unexpected surprise.
‘You’ll never guess what happened today,’ she sai
d, walking into the living room expecting to find Jesse sitting by himself reading in front of the fire. Florence saw a woman stand up and start to turn towards her and by the look of happiness on Jesse’s face she knew before she turned fully to face her that it must be Margery.
‘Hello, Mother.’ Margery grinned at her and immediately hurried around the sofa to hug Florence.
Florence’s heart leaped to see her youngest child at St Heliers House. ‘My darling girl,’ she said, taking her in her arms and hugging her tightly. ‘When did you arrive?’ She let go and taking Margery by her upper arms held her away from her slightly to study her, fear seeping into her mind. ‘Nothing’s wrong, is it?’
‘No, not at all.’ Margery leant forward and kissed Florence on the cheek. ‘I’m perfectly well.’
‘I didn’t receive word that you were on your way,’ she said, trying to recall if she might have missed something. She marched over to the side of the fireplace and pulled the cord to call for one of the servants. ‘Your bed isn’t made up and we need to make sure Cook prepares enough supper for you.’
‘Calm down, my dear.’ Jesse waved for her to sit. ‘Margery’s been here for almost an hour and her room has been made up and Mrs Rudge spoken to. Everything is in order and there’s no need for you to fret.’
Margery took Florence’s hand in hers and led her to the sofa. ‘Sit next to me, Mother. Tell us what’s happened today. You seem a little out of sorts and I know it’s not me turning up out of the blue.’
Florence realised she was acting erratically so did as her daughter suggested. Once seated she smoothed down her skirt and took a deep, calming breath.
‘You’re quite right. Today has been rather worrisome.’ She patted Margery’s hand. ‘I am delighted to see you here though. How long do we have you with us this time?’ she asked hoping it would be for at least a fortnight but doubting Margery would be able to take that much time away from her canteen and her colleagues.
‘It’s only for a couple of nights, I’m afraid.’
Florence couldn’t hide her disappointment, but said, ‘Take no notice of me. Two nights is far better than none. I’m simply relieved to have you here at home, for however long it might be. It’s a long way to travel for two nights though, you must be exhausted.’
‘I am a little. It was a rough crossing and we travelled with a boat load of wounded being brought back from what sounds like a very bloody, extremely muddy battle somewhere called Passchendaele.’
Florence had read horrifying accounts of an ongoing battle that had been raging for a couple of months on the Ypres salient. She shivered at the thought of the men Margery would have encountered on their way home.
‘Oh, my poor girl. That can’t have been easy?’
Margery shook her head slowly and stared at the flames leaping in the grate. ‘It was… I’m not sure how to put it into words.’ She looked at Jesse and then Florence and Florence could see the weariness in her daughter’s eyes. ‘I know I’ll never again see life as I used to do. Or be able to forget what I’ve seen. I try to push the memories aside, but they seem to be imprinted on the inside of my eyelids so that closing my eyes doesn’t help at all.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve seen many wounded soldiers before, obviously. Tens of thousands have passed through our canteen and I foolishly believed I was finally becoming used to seeing badly injured men. These poor souls though seemed worse than any I’d met before. Many of them seem to have broken minds, as well as damaged bodies,’ she said so quietly that Florence struggled to hear her clearly. ‘I can’t imagine that those will ever be able to find work after the war does end. And if they can’t work, how will they support themselves or their families?’
Florence wished she could protect Margery from all that she was witnessing in Northern France. ‘We don’t have to speak of it, if you’d rather not.’
Margery shook her head. ‘I’ll only become weepy if I do,’ she said. ‘And that’s not the way to behave when I have so little time with you both.’
‘Nonsense,’ Florence said hoping to reassure her. ‘We’re here to listen to you. You must speak freely and for as long as you need about any subject while you’re here.’ Florence looked at Jesse to back her up. ‘Isn’t that the case, Jesse?’
‘Yes, it is.’
Margery brightened. ‘You’re both very sweet, but I’d rather find out how you’ve been getting along and catch up with your news.’
‘You go first, my dear,’ Jesse said. ‘My news isn’t too interesting, I’m afraid. Just more of the same.’
Florence and Margery smiled at each other fondly. How typical of Jesse to want her to share the news of her day. He had seen how disturbed she had been on arriving home and knew she needed to get a few things off her chest. She told them about her meeting with Milly Jones and how she was going to join several others of her girls by leaving to work at the shell-filling factory. ‘I’m concerned about their safety, that’s all.’
‘I understand why,’ Margery agreed. ‘I’ve heard all sorts of stories about these places. And remember the Silvertown explosion in West Ham at the beginning of this year.’
‘Yes, I recall reading about it only too well,’ Florence said. ‘Over seventy people killed, and hundreds injured, if I recall rightly. I just can’t bear to think of that happening to any of my girls.’
‘My dear, they won’t be your girls any longer, not if they’ve left your employ,’ Jesse reminded her. ‘They are no longer your responsibility and I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to keep them from leaving and going to work wherever they choose.’
She knew that only too well but wished it wasn’t the case. She felt Margery give her a gentle nudge.
‘Stop worrying about them, Mother. They’re going to make their own choices, like me, John and Dorothy. Have you ever been able to dissuade us from doing things that might put us slightly in harm’s way?’
Florence thought about John enlisting and then having been disabled out of the army then signing up the Reserves to work in another capacity. What about when Margery had announced her plans to set up the canteen in Northern France?
She looked at her daughter and shook her head. ‘I’ve never managed to get you to change your mind, if that’s what you mean.’ She smiled at her to ensure Margery didn’t take her words too seriously.
‘Well, then.’
It seemed that no sooner had Margery arrived than she was preparing to leave again. Florence hated having to wave her daughter off at Nottingham Station once more. It was a relief to know though that with another Christmas drawing ever closer she had a diary full of appointments that would keep her busy and unable to fret about her daughter too much. Not that the wartime Christmases were as joyous as those her family had enjoyed before, she thought miserably. However much her family might portray a festive spirit, Florence couldn’t miss the weariness in their eyes. They were all tired of this dreadful war and having to put on a brave face in each other’s company. She hoped that something would soon change to bring to an end the years of dreading what each day would bring.
The first appointment Florence had to honour meant hours of travelling and a night in London. She and Jesse had sponsored a Christmas gift-giving event for wounded soldiers at the Stoll Picture Theatre in Kingsway. However, on the day Jesse wasn’t feeling well and was in too much pain to travel hours away from home.
She was met at the station by the man she had been corresponding with, a Major Gilby-Stratton, who seemed very grateful to her for taking the time to travel to London. He dropped her off at the Savoy, where she rested for a couple of hours and had a bite to eat before being collected once again.
His driver took them through the busy London traffic to the cinema. ‘Do you come up to London often, Lady Boot?’ the Major asked.
‘Not as often as maybe I’d like,’ she said, aware that each time she visited London she promised herself to return soon but rarely did. ‘My husband and I are terribly busy with business and our family, so we
don’t get away very often.’ She didn’t add that ordinarily when she did have time for a break away from work she and Jesse liked to return to Jersey and spend time with family there.
‘Here we are,’ he said, as the car drew up next to the entrance of a vast building that seemed to take up the length of the entire block. Florence gazed at the French Renaissance façade adorned in Portland stone, the Corinthian pilasters on its upper storey and a centre window that she had been told was almost forty feet in height. The entrance hall was flanked by white and gold fluted columns with bas-reliefs that she recognised as being of famous composers.
‘It looks like a rather splendid opera house,’ she said in awe as she gazed at the boxes high up around the surrounding walls.
‘It is rather impressive, isn’t it?’ the Major agreed. ‘The theatre was only bought last year by Mr Stoll and he opened it this April after converting it into a cinema. We thought it the perfect place to hold today’s event. I want to thank you and Sir Jesse very much for your generosity in sponsoring the many gifts, and you for coming all this way to meet the men and hand them out.’
‘It’s the perfect place for it,’ Florence said as she was taken through to the stage and welcomed by over six hundred wounded soldiers and officers, who cheered when they saw her. ‘And I’m delighted to be here. My husband was sorry to miss this today, but I’ll send him your good wishes.’
Florence waited for the cheering to end and for everyone to take their seats in the auditorium. As she smiled at the huge crowd welcoming her Florence could not help thinking how lucky she was to be in a position where her presence and a gift from her could make such a difference to the soldiers’ Christmas. She wished Jesse could be here now witnessing how happy these men were to be invited to the cinema for the handing out of the gifts. He would be delighted to see the joy on the men’s faces.