Mrs Boots Goes to War

by Deborah Carr

  Margery sat on the edge of her bed. ‘It is. I suppose I’m more wistful than usual being back here at St Heliers because it’s been an exceptionally long and miserable winter and for some reason there seemed to be far more desperately wounded men passing through the station than there have been for a long while.’

  ‘It must be draining to live with that day in and day out,’ Florence said, sorry for all those who faced such miseries each day.

  ‘It has been. More so recently than before. I feel a little guilty coming home, but I know from the way you worry about Father over-exerting himself that if I didn’t come home now I would risk burning myself out. I know I’ll be more use to my colleagues with a little time away from the canteen than if I persevered and didn’t take this short break.’

  Florence waited for Margery to take off her hat and rested a hand lightly on the top of her head. ‘You’re a very wise girl and I’m grateful for it.’ Margery stood and unbuttoned her coat. ‘Is there anything else you need?’ Florence asked straightening the smaller towel on the wooden towel rail underneath the window.

  ‘No, Mother. I’ll just take a few moments to freshen up and come and join you downstairs. Thank you.’

  ‘You take whatever time you need,’ Florence said, happy that one of her children was safely back in her care at least for the next two weeks. ‘I’ll go downstairs to your father. Come to the conservatory when you’re ready and we’ll take tea.’

  She left the room and closed the door quietly behind her. As she walked slowly down the stairs, she had a moment wishing she could go back in time to when her children were younger and all lived at home. She was going to make the most of having one of her babies back with her.

  A short while later, Margery walked in, passing the large aspidistra that was shaded by an even larger palm where the conservatory joined the rest of the house.

  ‘There you are,’ Jesse said, grinning widely and holding out his hands for Margery to take. ‘It’s good to have you back with us again, my darling. Can you see the smile on your mother’s face? I haven’t seen her this happy since the last time you were home.’

  Florence rang for tea while Jesse and Margery caught up with their news. A few minutes later, Meadows brought in a tray for them.

  ‘Cake?’ Margery said, looking astonished to see it on the tray. ‘But I thought you were being careful with supplies?’

  ‘We are,’ Florence said. ‘But Cook wanted to treat you to her speciality. She knows how much you love her Victoria sponge. Although,’ she added, ‘it will taste a little different to what you’re used to. Cook has to make do with whatever rations are available.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be delicious,’ Margery said, widening her eyes.

  Florence served them each a cup of tea and a slice of Mrs Rudge’s sponge.

  ‘Thank you,’ Margery said, as Florence handed a plate to her. ‘I’ll go and thank Cook as soon as we’ve finished eating. It was kind of her to bake this for me.’

  They fell silent as they ate, and Florence kept stealing glances at her daughter, relishing having her back at home with them. ‘We have an ex-soldier working for us now in one of the factories. He said he visited your canteen.’

  ‘You have?’ Margery asked, finishing her mouthful and placing her cake fork on the plate before putting it down on the small table in front of them. ‘What did he think of it?’

  ‘He was highly complimentary,’ Florence said, thinking back to her surprise when Joey Blythe had mentioned meeting Margery. ‘He said it was wonderful to be given a taste of Blighty in Northern France, or something like that. I think that his visit to your canteen certainly gave him a boost to help him continue with the rest of his journey home.’

  ‘That’s really good to know. Was he one of the wounded soldiers?’

  ‘Unfortunately, he was. His mother worked for us for a long time until she remarried. She wrote to me and asked me for help. His injury was on his face and he was finding it difficult to leave the house.’

  ‘But he’s coping much better now?’ Margery asked. ‘He must be if he’s working.’

  Florence thought of the strong young man who worked so hard for them and never missed a day’s work for any reason. ‘Yes. He’s doing very well. In fact, I heard that he’s now courting a lovely young girl who also works at the factory.’

  Margery frowned. ‘Doesn’t he mind you knowing? Especially as, if they marry, she’ll be leaving Boots.’

  Florence shook her head. ‘He doesn’t know that I know about it, but his mother wrote and told me secretly. I think she was so happy to share how much confidence he has, now that his work has given him reason to leave the house each morning, that she didn’t think.’

  ‘I hope she doesn’t mention to him that she wrote and told you,’ Jesse said, a mischievous smile reaching his eyes. ‘He won’t be too happy to discover that his mother has been sharing his secrets with his and his lady friend’s employer.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Margery laughed. ‘Poor lady. And you haven’t told her, I suppose.’

  ‘No, I was just happy to know that he’s making a life for himself again.’ She thought back to the sad, disillusioned man sitting across her desk from her who believed he had little to live for. ‘I enjoy knowing that he’s happy again. He deserves to be.’

  ‘Good for him,’ Margery said.

  Florence gazed lovingly at her daughter. ‘You’ve grown so much these past few years and I’m so impressed with all that you’ve achieved, my darling girl. I hope you know that?’

  ‘As am I,’ Jesse added. ‘You’ve made a huge difference to thousands of men at what is probably the most troubling time of their lives, returning home injured and unsure what greeting is awaiting them when they get there.’

  Margery took one of Florence’s hands and one of her father’s in hers and smiled. ‘Thank you both. Coming from you two that’s an enormous endorsement.’ She let go of their hands. ‘Anyone for more tea?’

  As Margery poured, Florence decided she would take a few days off work for once to be available should her daughter need her for company or for any outings. ‘Have you given any thought about what you’d like to do this week?’

  ‘I have to see my little nieces but apart from that, I’m happy to do whatever you wish, Mother.’

  How lucky was she? Florence thought as her daughter helped Jesse to another small slice of cake. She had so much to be grateful for, especially at a time when there was such uncertainty in the world and millions of others were grieving or struggling to feed their families, or simply alone. She intended making the most of every minute she had Margery back at home, and wouldn’t allow herself to think about how upsetting it was going to be to wave her off when she had to return to France.

  She realised Margery was talking to her. ‘Sorry, what was that?’

  ‘I was saying about them passing that act giving women over thirty with property, or wives of men with property, the right to vote. It’s not perfect, but it is a start, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, I gather it also applies to women over thirty who are graduates. It is hopefully the start to further change for women. I don’t see why we can’t be treated as equals, especially when so many millions of women have shown how they can do the same job as a man during this war. I shall certainly use my vote when the time comes, of that you can be sure. And in a few more years both you and Dorothy will be able to do the same.’

  Margery sighed. ‘I know this war has taken a terrible toll on people’s lives, but it has given us women much more opportunity than we could ever have imagined being given four years ago. After all that the women’s suffrage movement had to go through, working for changes for women, this war has given many of us freedoms we never dared to hope for.’

  She was right, Florence mused. ‘It’s a shame that so many have to suffer though to enable others to have these freedoms. I wonder how long they’ll last after the war finally ends.’

  ‘Whenever that might be,’ Margery said
, quietly. ‘Yes, I was thinking the same thing. But then I look at you, now a director of Boots, and all that you’ve achieved in your lifetime when restrictions were so much harsher for women, and your determination and resilience inspire me every day.’

  Florence felt a lump forming in her throat. To hear her beloved daughter say such words was the best gift she could ever receive. She had never set out to be an inspiration to others, only to live the life she wanted and help as many other girls to achieve all that they could in their own lives.

  ‘Thank you, my darling. That’s exceedingly kind of you.’

  ‘I mean it, Mother. You and Father have done so much for others. Every day you show Dorothy, John and me what hard work and tenacity can do. But for you, as a woman, it must have been terribly difficult to put all that you have into place.’

  ‘I couldn’t have done it without your father,’ Florence said, barely able to speak, so much emotion was threatening to spill over from her heart. She beamed at her love sitting quietly and, she noticed, proudly gazing back at her.

  ‘Nonsense.’ Jesse said. ‘I don’t know of another woman who could have thought of all the innovative ideas you’ve put into place over the years, let alone found ways to make them happen. Margery’s right, my dear, you are an inspiration and not just to your children but to me as well. And,’ he added, ‘I’m sure to many hundreds of others.’

  ‘Father’s right,’ Margery said, kissing her mother on her cheek.

  She pulled her daughter into a hug, delighted to hear her saying how much she had inspired her. It made the years of hard work and long hours worth all the effort. ‘Thank you, Margery. It means a lot to hear you say such things.’

  ‘I’m sure my sister will agree with me when we visit her and the babies tomorrow for lunch,’ Margery said.

  Florence hoped she would but didn’t say so.

  Chapter Thirty

  June 1918

  Nothing seemed to be getting any better, Florence thought miserably as spring slipped into warm May and then a cool, dry June.

  Everyone had been coping with the rations imposed since the beginning of the year and Cook agreed with Jesse when he said there was talk of more coming soon. ‘But people still appear to be going hungry,’ Florence said, frustrated to see so many desperate people on her way to and from work each day. ‘If this war doesn’t end soon then who knows how people are going to cope?’

  It was something that worried her continuously – and now John had been sent away to France as part of his role at General Headquarters. He had insisted it was a managerial role, but as far as Florence was concerned he was once again in France and therefore much closer to danger than he had been when he was in England. This war couldn’t end soon enough, she thought, praying that something would happen to turn the tide of the fighting and bring hostilities to an abrupt end.

  She made the most of a warmer Saturday morning, taking a copy of The Secret House, a thriller she had bought the previous year but had not yet had a moment to read. She enjoyed Edgar Wallace’s books and needed something to take her mind off her day-to-day worries. Florence had been sitting reading by her rose garden for only about an hour when she heard the tinkling of a bicycle bell, followed two minutes later by footsteps coming through the conservatory.

  Florence heard the urgency in the hurried footsteps and turned to see who was on her way to speak to her.

  ‘Harriet, whatever is the matter?’ she asked, seeing her lady’s maid’s pale face.

  ‘This has arrived for you, Lady Boot. The telegram boy is waiting to see if you have a response.’

  Florence’s heart seemed to stop for a few seconds as she prayed silently for the message not to be bad news about Margery or John. She wished she didn’t have to read the telegram and could put off whatever horrors it might contain. She could hear Harriet’s breath as she tried to remain calm, knowing she must read whatever news the telegram was bringing to her.

  She placed a bookmark in her book as calmly as she could, closed it and set it down on the table next to her. Then, taking the proffered envelope in her trembling hands, she opened it with her little finger and read the words. She gasped, relieved to see no mention of Margery or John. Her children were fine. It was her brother who was not. A whimper escaped her lips as she reread the words swimming in front of her eyes, sent by her sister-in-law Florence in Jersey.

  Dearest Florence and Jesse,

  * * *

  At pains to tell you that my husband, your brother, Willie Rowe died last evening STOP The cause is uncertain at present, but he did not suffer STOP Ernest and Colin coping well and I do not wish for you to worry about me STOP Fondest regards, Florence Rowe, Mrs

  She took a moment to collect herself, unsure what answer to give to the boy.

  ‘Thank you, Harriet.’ She tried to think what to say in return to her sister-in-law and wished more than anything that she could immediately board the ferry taking her to St Helier Harbour to comfort her brother’s widow and sons in person. Yet another thing this war was taking from her.

  She stood, wanting to write down the words to be relayed back to her family at home. ‘One moment. Follow me to my study and I’ll note down my reply.’

  Florence had to force her shaky legs to move and rushed to her study, trying to put her feelings into words with each step. She pulled out a chair, sat at her small writing desk and, picking up a pen, wrote:

  Dearest Florence, Ernest and Colin,

  * * *

  Jesse and I are heartbroken to hear your terrible news. We wish that we could come to you at this sad time. If there is anything that we can do, please let us know. As soon as this war ends we will come to you and help you in any way possible. Our love is with you all, Florence and Jesse

  She tore the note from her notepad and handed it to Harriet to pass to the telegram boy still waiting at the front door. Florence was sad to think that her only brother had died and, thanks to this dreadful war, she would not be able to attend his funeral and comfort poor, dear Florence and her sons. Ernest, she realised, must now be nineteen and Colin barely nine. They were too young to lose their father, especially at such a dark time. She would have to find some way to make it up to them after the war ended.

  Florence had been missing her island home more and more over the past four years. She might have only visited some years for her birthday during the summer, but it was nearly that time again and she was certain that once again there would be no trip back to visit her family.

  Florence sighed. This enforced separation was too cruel, for all of them. She thought of all the other mothers, sisters and families held apart from each other for months or years at a time due to this ongoing nightmare. Thank heavens, she still had Dorothy living nearby and her daughter-in-law Margaret with their little girls to visit and pull into a hug.

  Florence prayed that one day soon she would be able to bring her entire family together, to look at them face-to-face and listen to their voices. There were a lot of things about this war that inspired her to fight back and she almost always managed to succeed in finding ways to deal with the difficulties that the war flung at them. But this distance between her and her loved ones was not something she could alter in any way, and she hated to feel as powerless as she did now.

  She had been imagining returning home to her family for four years now but never thought it would be in such sad circumstances. She tried to recall the last time she had seen her brother. It must have been at Dorothy’s wedding. If only they had realised then that there would be such an all-encompassing war, and that the last time they had bid each other farewell had been the last time ever that they would do so.

  Florence tried her best not to cry, but it was impossible. Sitting out by her roses, the scent filling the warm summer air, it was hard to connect this perfect afternoon with news that broke her heart and caused such longing to return home to Jersey. She was barely aware of Harriet bringing her tea. How thoughtful, Florence reflected, for her lady’s maid
to bring the tray herself, knowing Florence wouldn’t want the other servants to witness her distress.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured as Harriet poured her a cup of tea before leaving her in solitude to come to terms with the sad news she had just received.

  Jesse arrived home earlier than usual. Florence imagined it was because Harriet had sent him a message telling him the upsetting news.

  George wheeled Jesse’s chair outside and stopped it next to her. He covered Jesse’s legs with a light blanket and left them alone to talk.

  Jesse reached out his left hand and Florence took it in hers, lifting it to her lips before lowering it again.

  ‘Harriet told me about Willie,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m so sorry, Florence. I know you two were close.’

  Florence’s throat was tight from emotion and it took her a moment to speak. ‘I can’t bear the fact that we have no way of going to be with Florence and my nephews, especially now when they probably need us most.’

  ‘I know.’

  Florence looked into Jesse’s eyes and saw her sadness reflected at her. ‘If only we could do something to help them.’

  ‘I can’t see that there is anything that we can do, my dear. Unfortunately, we’re simply going to have to wait until this war is over.’ He gave her a tight smile. ‘Then, though, we will return to Jersey and you can do whatever it is you want to help them move on from this.’

  Florence dared to ask something that had been bothering her since receiving the telegram. ‘Do you think it can go on for much longer, Jesse?’

  ‘I have no idea, my dear. The news doesn’t seem to be getting any more positive.’

  Florence looked over at her roses. How could they still look so beautiful and serene when everything around them was disintegrating? ‘I’m not sure how much more of this I can stand, Jesse.’