by Mary Gibson
Maggie let out a squeal of delight – marriage and six children hadn’t dampened her thirst for romance – and she hugged Nellie.
‘I’m so pleased for you, love, you deserve a bit of life, and don’t forget if you need any advice about anything…’ and she finished the sentence in a dumb show that horrified Nellie. ‘You just ask me, gel, I’ve got lots of experience of that, haven’t I, Ethel?’
Ethel’s raucous laughter joined Maggie’s and Nellie blushed to the roots of her hair. And this, she knew, was only the beginning!
Albert, the foreman, was waiting for them at the double doors of the packing room as they trooped to their workbenches. He gave each of them a long hard stare as they passed, making Nellie feel like a naughty schoolchild.
‘He’ll make our lives a bloody misery now, you wait,’ she whispered to Lily.
‘Nothing new in that,’ Lily replied.
The factory floor looked darker to Nellie, dingier and more closed in than she remembered it. Normally, when they changed shifts, everything was already in motion and there was barely a pause in the ceaseless activity of the factory. But now the web of machine belts was still and the whole floor had an abandoned feel to it. Without the army of packers to keep the work flowing out, all of the factory’s production had ceased during the strike. The minute an agreement was reached, the boiler men had been called in to stoke up the furnaces in the basement, the filling machines were made ready, and the hoppers filled with custard powder. As they slipped into their accustomed places, Nellie was struck by the unusual silence; it was like waiting for the orchestra to strike up from the pit. As soon as the hundreds of women were settled by their machines, Albert stood on a packing crate and launched into his speech, no doubt one that was being repeated in various forms by foremen in blancmange, jelly, and the print works.
‘All right, settle down!’ he hushed their chatter. ‘Now you’ve had your little revolution and you’ve got your eleven bob a week, you’ll be pleased to hear that the management has kindly agreed to take no action!’ He appeared to be waiting for a grateful response from the custard tarts; instead he was met by blank faces and stony stares.
‘Bloody too right an’ all!’ bellowed Ethel Brown. Fondly known by the custard tarts as Mouth Almighty, Ethel was always willing to be their spokeswoman. She looked round at Nellie, grinning.
Albert tugged at his shirt collar, holding up his hand for silence, but there were more rebellious comments from around the floor. They might be back at work, but Nellie could feel there had been a shift in power. She’d felt it immediately she’d got back in front of that delivery chute. She was still just a pair of hands, another human cog in the machine, but at least now she and all the other women knew the result of removing those cogs: nothing worked without them.
‘What’s more,’ Albert went on, trying to ignore the catcalls, ‘the owners have responded to demands for better working conditions and you’ve been given a room in the basement to hang your coats and eat your sandwiches!’
‘That’s bloody big of ’em,’ Ethel shouted fearlessly. ‘Still no canteen, though! Hartley’s have got one, so why can’t we?’
She was backed up by shouts of agreement.
‘All right, that’s enough, Ethel, you’re not on your soapbox now!’ Albert shot back.
‘No, but you are!’ The comment had come from Annie, a normally timid girl who worked opposite Nellie.
Albert quickly jumped off the crate. ‘All right, they’re not paying you to stand here gassing. Let’s get back to work!’
With that, he signalled to a group of boys who’d been waiting patiently by the lifts. They flung open the gates, pulled out the trolleys and began trundling them along the packing room, leaving one at each packing team. Albert picked up a speaking tube, giving the instruction for the great hoppers on the floor above to be opened. Nellie heard a clanging and then a whooshing as the tide of yellow powder chuted down. Machine belts started whirring, custard powder flowing, and Nellie grabbed her first bag of the day.
It was a long hard morning. Unused to their repetitive tasks, Nellie’s muscles began protesting after a couple of hours and she was glad when the noon hooter sounded, allowing them to inspect their new cloakroom in the basement. It was a low-ceilinged room next to the boilers and the hot pipes ran through it, making it only a little cooler than the furnace itself. Rows of wooden railings with coat hooks screwed to them ran the length of the room, and round the edge benches had been attached to the distempered walls.
‘Shall we go outside, Nell?’ a shiny-faced Lily asked. ‘I don’t fancy roasting in this oven, do you?’
Nellie agreed and as they hung up their smocks and caps, Lily gave her a mischievous smile and asked, ‘So where’s that brother of mine taking you? Make sure it’s somewhere nice!’
In fact, Nellie had no idea where they would go. They had left it that he would call for her one night after work, and meanwhile she had the job of smoothing the way with her father. It was a task she knew she had to tackle that evening. Her father might have mellowed, but not enough to accept an unannounced visit from Ted Bosher without protest.
She waited until after tea, when her father was comfortably seated in his favourite chair with a pipe and a drop of his favourite brandy, which he took from a little flask he kept tucked behind a shelf. Of course he had been pleased with the extra money she was bringing in, but he had avoided any praise of the strike or its organizers.
‘Nice you can have a tipple now ’n again and not have to worry, eh, Dad?’ she began.
‘If a man can’t have a bit of comfort after a hard day’s work it’s a poor show.’
Nellie nodded. She would have to steer in another direction. ‘It’ll be lovely not to have to worry about new boots for the boys an’ all.’
He nodded, drawing on his pipe. ‘If you want me to say I agree with what was done, I won’t, but I’m not going to chuck the money back at ’em either. If they’ve given you more, so be it.’ He paused. ‘And I was thinking, Nellie, you deserve a bit more pocket money out of it as well.’
‘Oh, thanks, Dad!’ Nellie was genuinely surprised, but relieved as well. She would need a new dress if she was walking out, especially with Ted, he took such care with his clothes. If she went out in the same old skirt she’d look like a rag doll on his arm.
‘It would come in handy… I was thinking I’ll be needing a new dress now…’
Her father looked at her enquiringly and she was conscious of twisting at her skirt. She laughed nervously, wishing his fierce blue eyes were a little less piercing.
‘I mean, look at this skirt, it’s more darn than anything!’ she gulped, then decided in for a penny... ‘But the thing is, Dad, I’ll need something a bit nicer when I’m walking out with my young man.’
Her father inhaled a little too deeply and choked on his own pipe smoke. ‘What young man?’ he coughed out finally.
Here it comes, she thought, and launched in. ‘I know you won’t like it, but Ted Bosher wants to come and call for me and I really want to go, Dad!’
She hadn’t asked her father for anything in a long time; any generosity of heart that he might have had seemed to have vanished with her mother’s last breath. But his simple offer of a few pennies more pocket money gave her a little hope. Perhaps he really had changed? She waited. He took another nip of brandy and this time, when he looked at her, his eyes were different. She knew it wasn’t possible, but their colour had changed. The blue had softened, darkened, it seemed to her, and in their smokiness she saw something that surprised her; she saw sadness. He simply shook his head. ‘Well, Nellie, gel, you know what I think. He’s trouble and I hate to think of you hooked up with the likes of him. But I’ll say no more on the subject. If he’s really what you want I won’t forbid it, just don’t bring him in this house.’
Nellie’s heart quailed before this softening of her father. For some reason, it made her even more scared than his threats and bullying. His resigned tone
disturbed her more than all his shouting ever had. For half a second she wondered if he might be right, but then her heart lurched with excitement. Her father had said yes!
Next day she had much discussion with Lily about what she should wear, for Ted was calling that evening and there had been no time to buy the new dress.
‘What about your Sunday best?’ Lily suggested. ‘You could always wear that.’
‘I could… but it’s only best ’cause everything else is so much worse!’
In the end Lily had the idea that Nellie should wear a beautiful kingfisher-blue shawl of her mother’s over her dress. It was a little old-fashioned, but Nellie loved it and Lily told her it brought out the blue of her eyes.
‘Our Ted will be drowning in those eyes soon enough, mark my words!’ she joked.
Nellie privately thought that the only drowning going on would be hers, in those sea-green eyes she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind for days.
When the time finally came and she heard Ted’s knock, she was ready at the door. She was a little embarrassed not to ask him in, but as she slipped out she whispered, ‘He said it’s all right.’
Ted looked pleased, but then hesitated. ‘Shouldn’t I come in and let him tell me to behave myself?’
‘He doesn’t want you coming in.’
Ted’s face hardened, but he said nothing. Then, solemnly, he held up his arm and she took it. She gave him a sidelong look. She was right; he looked immaculate. He hadn’t just put on a clean collar, as many boys would have; he had on his best suit with a new cap, and proper shoes, not his work boots. His copper-gold hair had been brushed till it shone. Nellie thought she would burst with pride and she squeezed his arm just so that he would look down at her and she could begin to drown, as she knew she would.
However, as it was, walking out with Ted meant exactly that, walking. For in spite of his new cap and his good suit, Ted was as short of money as any other docker after the long strike.
‘Sorry, Nell, it’ll have to be just a trot round Southwark Park, but I promise I’ll make it up to you, soon as the next ship comes in.’ Ted was a casual at the docks and his wages would always depend on which ships were at Surrey Docks, or Butlers Wharf, and on whether or not the dock foreman favoured him on that particular day.
‘Oh, Ted, I’m not bothered about where we go! The park is lovely.’ Nellie meant it. For her, it was the perfect destination. She didn’t want the distraction of a show or a pub, and anyway she didn’t feel as though she were walking at all: she might as well have been floating. Her senses seemed to have narrowed. She was conscious of her hand on Ted’s arm, the feel of good cloth, and the hard muscle beneath it. She felt the heat of his body where it touched hers, and when he spoke he looked down and she felt his breath on her cheek. His breath was sweet, all mixed with the scent of roses, as they walked through the rose garden towards the pond.
They found a secluded bench by the pond and Ted put his arm round her, pulling her in close. ‘Now I’ve got you!’ he said mischievously. ‘I’ve had my eye on you for a long time, Nellie Clark!’
And I’ve had my eye on you! thought Nellie, though she wasn’t going to admit it to Ted. Instead she feigned mock surprise.
He laughed. ‘Obvious, was it?’
‘I should say so.’
‘Well, I’m a lucky man, you’re as sweet as a peach!’
Nellie blushed, but Ted lifted her chin and kissed her. It was a more lingering kiss than their first, but his mouth felt harder. His kiss became more insistent, more probing, and a fluttering of panic rose in her as she looked into his eyes. It was like the sea closing over her head and she breathed into Ted’s mouth like a dying woman.
Nellie barely noticed dusk gradually turning to night, and it was Ted who suggested he should walk her home by ten. Nellie hoped this would make a good impression on her father. But he only grunted over his pipe when she stuck her head round the door to say goodnight. In bed as she drifted off to sleep, she felt rocked by a sea as green as the colour of Ted’s eyes and when she woke next morning she felt the previous evening must have been a dream. But as soon as she met up with Lily in Duff’s cloakroom before work, her friend brought her back down to earth.
Lily was full of questions and when Nellie told her they had walked round Southwark Park, she shook her head. ‘You’ve got to keep your head, Nellie, where my brother’s concerned. And if he can afford new shoes, then he can afford to take you to a show! Next time don’t let him get away with it!’
But all through the rest of that summer they walked. Arm in arm, they walked around Southwark Park and sometimes across Tower Bridge to look at the boats and listen to the barrel organ at Tower Hill. It was on their walks that Nellie learned of Ted’s hopes and dreams of a better future. One day, as they strolled in Southwark Park, Ted drew her towards the empty bandstand. As they sat together on the steps she seemed to see the swirling crowd of strikers, felt again the power of their numbers driving her towards the waiting soldiers. Perhaps he was remembering that day too, for suddenly he grabbed her hand.
‘I’m not staying a docker all me life,’ he said vehemently. ‘I tell you what, Nell, I think it’s high time working people had a bigger share of the cake.’
He had plans to become a union leader, like Eliza and Ernest James.
‘Might even be a politician!’
Nellie laughed and his face grew serious.
‘Why not? I can go to night school. I’ve been in negotiations with them bosses and I tell you, they’re no cleverer ’n us, they just got a better start!’
What he said had its appeal. She only had to remember the difference those extra six shillings a week made to her to see the value, and then when she imagined Bobby and Freddie living a different life from hers, perhaps not having to work till they dropped, it made her admire Ted and his big plans all the more. Her dreams, in comparison, felt small, unimportant even. When he asked her what she wanted out of life, she told him, ‘I want to bring up the boys and keep the family together. I’m their mum now, you see, Ted, and you know how Dad is…’
‘You don’t have to tell me about your old man, he’s a mean old sod to you and to them. But don’t you want nothing more, Nell?’ And his face seemed to quiver with the intensity of his question. She hesitated, but why should she be embarrassed to admit it?
‘Well, I should like a husband and family of me own one day, ’course I would.’
Ted went quiet. He seemed disappointed. Nellie stood up, hastily pulling Ted to his feet in an attempt to dispel the awkwardness she felt.
‘Let’s go over to the pond,’ she suggested quickly, knowing it would please him. ‘Their bench’, as they now referred to it, was tucked away in a little arbour near the water, where they were hardly ever disturbed. Linking arms, Ted grinned at her, but Nellie regretted sharing her true desires. Why hadn’t she bitten her tongue? Of course he wouldn’t be thinking of settling down with anyone like her. A couple of kiddies would soon put paid to his plans of changing the world!
Nellie’s romance was now counted as common property among the custard tarts, spicing up their breaks, and Nellie was no longer offended by their unsubtle questioning about first kisses and favourite rendezvous. Instead she felt pleased to be initiated into this new world of courting. It was the sort of talk she’d never been party to, but now she drank it all in as if her very life depended on it. The strike had won them the right to a ten-minute break in the morning and the afternoon, which they were allowed to take in the new cloakroom. In spite of the stifling heat, no one would turn down the chance of ten minutes off their feet and it had quickly become the place where all the gossip of the factory was exchanged. Even the hot pipes had their advantages, the bottles of cold tea the women brought with them could be warmed on the pipes, and some even brought pies to heat up on them. It was a warm cave that smelled oddly of gravy, vanilla from the custard, and coal from the furnace room.
During one morning break, as Nellie shared a bo
ttle of tea with Lily, the talk turned to the custard tarts’ favourite topic.
‘How’s that Bosher treating you?’ Maggie nudged Nellie. ‘Any hanky-panky going on?’ Nellie blushed as the other girls leaned forward to hear the details.
‘Go on, gel,’ urged Ethel, ‘don’t be shy, even little timid mouse Annie here’s admitted her feller’s getting a bit handy, ain’t he, Annie?’ she said, turning to the shy girl who giggled, covering her face with her hands.
‘Come on, tell us, Nell, we ain’t got all day,’ Maggie persisted. ‘Albert’ll be sending a boy down after us in a minute.’
Eventually Nellie confessed that Ted might be getting a little impatient with a kiss and cuddle on their favourite bench. Maggie, true to her word, gave her the benefit of her unsophisticated but sound advice. ‘What you got to remember, Nellie, love, specially with ’andsome gits like Bosher, is that he can always get another once he’s got what he wants from you, so if you want to keep him, gel, just keep yer legs crossed!’ This had been followed by a chorus of approval from all the custard tarts.
One Sunday not long after this she and Ted walked all the way to Greenwich Park, where they strolled up to the observatory to view the sweeping Thames snaking away into a haze-filled London. They found a secluded ancient oak and lay under its shade. There Ted’s hands first wandered from her waist and she sat up abruptly.
‘Ted Bosher, you keep yer hands to yourself!’ she snapped. ‘I’m not yer fancy woman!’
He leaned back on his elbows and laughed at her. The sun was behind him, obscuring his expression in shadow, but she was surprised not to see the expected anger. Instead she saw something worse: the flash of his teeth and the tilt of his head spoke only of scorn.
‘All right, all right, little girl!’ he soothed infuriatingly.
She was tempted to prove him wrong, but instead she thumped him on the arm. It would be so easy to let him have whatever he wanted, but she wasn’t so much a fool as to go that way. She knew what happened to girls who got into trouble and, with Maggie Tyrell’s advice ringing in her ears, she pulled herself away from Ted, marching off down the steep hill towards the park gates.