‘Don’t be silly!’ her grandmother snapped. ‘Not taking a bath together – just using the same water like we used to do in the old days. Children first, then mother and, lastly, father.’
‘That’ll be me in first then,’ Myrtle said happily, adding with a smirk, ‘and you last, Gran.’
Grace glared at her and sniffed. ‘I was thinking you three girls could share one lot of bath water and me and your mother another. I’d go first, of course. It is my bath and my water.’
‘Of course, Gran,’ the three girls chorused and avoided looking at each other in case they should burst out laughing. Grace frowned, but said nothing, whilst Mary turned away to hide her smile. After years of being reminded that she and her family were living with Grace under sufferance, she felt as if she now had three allies. Well, at least two in Peggy and Rose. She wasn’t too sure about Myrtle; she and her grandmother often shared a joke at the expense of the others.
‘What are these, Gran?’ Myrtle asked on the following Saturday morning when there were only the two of them left in the house.
‘A luggage label with your name and address on it. Everyone’s got to carry them until we all get our identity cards.’
Grace had taken charge of all the public information leaflets that were being issued. She listened carefully to the announcements on the wireless and, when she went out shopping, she read all the posters that were appearing around the city.
‘Identity cards?’
‘Yes, we’ll get them in about a month’s time. But until then you carry this.’ Grace handed a label to her. ‘I’ll leave these on the table for the others when they come in.’
Myrtle eyed her suspiciously. ‘I thought these were only for kids being evacuated?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not thinking of sending me away after all, are you?’
‘Only if the bombing got really bad here.’
Myrtle’s eyes widened. ‘It won’t, will it? Not in Sheffield?’
‘Nothing’s happened yet as they expected, Myrtle. London’s still expecting to be bombed any day and then the enemy will target other major cities. And, don’t forget, we’re a major industrial city and much of our output from now on will be for the war effort, I’ve no doubt. And you just be careful in this blackout, Myrtle. It’ll soon be almost dark by the time you get in from school and—’
‘Coo-ee – anybody home?’ A voice sounded in the yard followed by a knock and then the sound of the back door opening. Grace groaned. ‘Not her, again. She’s been round twice today already.’ She raised her voice. ‘Come in. Make yourself at home.’ She dropped her voice as she muttered, ‘You will anyway.’
Letty Bradshaw – dressed as always in her pinafore, her hair covered by a headscarf folded into a turban – lived next door in the corner house of the terrace with her husband, Tom, and her family. She’d given birth to five boys. Her eldest son, Walter, was married and lived in Walkley and now worked in the steel industry. The second, Simon, had joined the navy and was somewhere at sea. The third, Albert, known as Bertie, was living in lodgings in London and was ‘summat in the city’, as Letty, with pride and something akin to awe in her tone, told anyone who would listen. Only the two youngest, Sidney, aged ten, and Jimmy, aged eight, now remained at home. They were the tearaways of the street and any pranks were always laid at their door whether the boys were guilty or not. They were often spanked by their father, whilst still protesting their innocence of a particular misdemeanour.
Tom was not fooled. ‘Happen tha’s done summat else, though, that ah don’t know about,’ he would say and the boys would grin, knowing full well that there was plenty of mischief their father didn’t know about. They would take their punishment like the men they would one day be.
‘Can I borrow a cup of sugar, love?’ Letty began, almost before she stepped into the living room.
‘You can and you’re welcome,’ Grace said. Whilst Letty irritated her almost beyond endurance at times with her gossiping, Grace was shrewd enough to know that in the coming months – maybe even years – neighbours would need each other. And Tom Bradshaw – big and burly and strong – was the nearest male that the Booth household had. But with him came his wife. So Letty had to be tolerated. And Grace realized that with five boys, one already in the navy, Letty would have her own anxieties to face.
‘“Needs must . . .”,’ Grace could often be heard to mutter under her breath on various occasions and putting up with Letty Bradshaw was one such.
‘But,’ Grace went on now, ‘we might not be able to oblige for much longer.’
Letty gaped at her. ‘Eh?’ Then she spotted the little pile of luggage labels on the table and the one Myrtle was holding. ‘Tha’s not goin’ away? Not bein’ evacuated?’
‘No, no, but we’ve all got to carry these until we get our identity cards. And in another month or so – November they say – we’ll get our ration books.’
‘Ration books?’
‘That’s right. A lot of foodstuffs will be on ration and I’ve no doubt sugar will be one of them. So that’s why I say you’re welcome to a cupful now, but soon we’ll all be going short.’
‘Eh, tha’s a mine of information, Mrs Booth. Who needs t’ papers or t’ wireless when tha’s around? An’ wait till I tell my Tom he’ll ’ave to stop ’aving sugar in his tea. He’ll not like that.’
‘Then he’ll have to lump it, Letty, just like we all will. Myrtle, get Letty a cup of sugar, love, will you? I’ll have to sit down. I’ve been on my feet all day.’ Grace sat down in her armchair and eased off her shoes. ‘Queuing’s getting bad already.’
‘Hast tha had a stirrup pump and a shovel delivered?’ Letty asked, sitting down uninvited as if settling down for a nice long chat. Grace glared at her but said nothing, whilst Myrtle hid her smile.
‘We have. I’ve put them down the cellar.’
‘What a’ they for?’
‘If we get incendiary bombs.’
‘Oh, my lor’,’ Letty cried and fell back in the chair. ‘It’s really goin’ to ’appen, Mrs Booth.’
Soberly Grace looked at Letty and was the gentlest she’d ever been with her exasperating neighbour. ‘I’m afraid it is, Letty.’
‘Oh, Mrs Booth,’ Letty said, with tears in her eyes as the thought that had already struck Grace came into the woman’s own mind. ‘What’s goin’ to ’appen to my lovely boys?’
Five
On the following Monday Myrtle came home in a panic. ‘What am I going to do? They might close our school. They’re shutting all the elementary schools until further notice.’
Grace looked up over her glasses. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Because they say there aren’t adequate air-raid shelters. If they do, we’ve to go to each other’s houses for a bit until they get something organized.’
‘And how long’s that going to last?’ Grace had visions of hordes of unruly schoolchildren crowding into her best front room.
‘I don’t know, but they won’t be able to teach us properly like that.’
‘Quite right, Myrtle,’ Grace readily agreed. ‘I don’t want a gaggle of your classmates here. If you need to see a teacher, you go to wherever they are.’
‘It won’t be ideal, but it’ll be better that you’re safe,’ Mary put in. ‘You can study at home until they get some shelters organized.’
‘But they said it might be a whole term.’
‘It’s not the end of the world.’
Myrtle glared balefully at her mother. It seemed like it to her.
Peggy completed her training and became a fully fledged clippie. She loved her new job, especially dealing with the awkward customers, whom she cajoled into good humour with a smile and a cheery word. Even the prospect of standing on a cold and draughty platform when winter came, punching tickets, giving change with frozen fingers and working the late shift: none of it fazed Peggy. And Laurence Bower had teamed her with Bob. He knew that the couple were walking out together, but as long as ‘love’s young dream’ d
idn’t get in the way of their work, then he was happy to play Cupid; a rather old and bullish one at times, Laurence realized, but even he had a softer side that not all of those under his charge saw very often.
From the beginning, when Peggy came home in her uniform and regaled the family with stories of the training and her first days as a clippie, Rose was even more determined to join her.
‘We’ve already been warned that it’s bitterly cold in winter and boiling in summer,’ Peggy warned her. ‘It’s dirty and dusty – and you wouldn’t believe the trouble we’re likely to get from passengers sometimes. And by the end of an eight-hour lump – that’s what they call a shift – my feet are killing me.’
‘But you love it, don’t you, Peg?’
Peggy’s eyes had sparkled and she couldn’t deny it. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Will Bob have to go? You know, be called up?’
As the first volunteers were disappearing from their neighbourhood and even one or two men from work had gone already, Rose asked the question.
Peggy shook her head. ‘He says not. Mr Bower saw a list published in The Times in January—’
Rose gasped. ‘You mean they thought there was a war coming back then?’
Grace, overhearing, sniffed. ‘Of course it was always coming. It never really ended last time. That’s what the papers say, anyway. And we’ve had leaflets already telling us what to do if there’s an invasion.’
‘You shouldn’t believe all you read in the newspapers, Mother,’ Mary said mildly as she glanced up at Peggy. ‘Go on, dear.’
‘Nobody listens to me,’ Grace muttered and then clamped her lips together as if determined to say no more.
‘Mr Bower kept the list,’ Peggy went on, ‘just in case it came in useful, and it includes tram motormen, so he thinks at least they’ll be exempt.’
But Grace’s efforts to remain silent didn’t last many minutes. ‘Unless they volunteer, of course. And you know what fools men are.’ She glanced up at Mary, silently reminding her that her husband, Ted, had been a gallant volunteer, but look where that had landed them all. ‘You mark my words, they’ll all go flocking to get themselves killed and we’ll be left with silly young girls to drive our trams.’
Rose’s eyes widened. ‘Do you really think so, Gran?’ She clapped her hands. ‘Oh, I do hope you’re right. I’ll ask Mr Bower in the morning and get my name put down.’
The family all laughed at Rose’s enthusiasm, not taking her seriously for a moment, but the very next day Rose cornered the inspector when he came into the canteen.
‘Mr Bower, if a lot of the drivers leave, will you be training up women to take their place, because if so I’d really like to be considered?’
‘Whoa, whoa there, Rose. Hold your horses, love.’ He peered at her closely. ‘I thought you wanted to be a clippie like your sister.’
‘I did – I do, but learning to drive a tram would be so much more exciting.’
‘It’s not about excitement, Rose. It’s about keeping our passengers safe.’
‘But will you be training girls?’
Laurence shook his head. ‘I really don’t know yet, lass. Management haven’t said owt.’
‘But if they do – please, Mr Bower.’ She pretended to pout, but her eyes were full of mischief as she said, ‘You know I always give you an extra spoonful of your favourite mashed potato.’
Laurence Bower wagged his forefinger playfully at her, trying hard to keep a stern expression on his face, but failing miserably. ‘Don’t think extra helpings are going to coerce me into giving you a new job. You’re a bad ’un, Rose Sylvester. A real bad ’un.’ Now he was grinning broadly, but then his smile faded and he became serious. ‘I know you want to be a clippie like your sister. She’s a good lass, bright and excellent with money. At the end of the day, her ticket takings are rarely wrong and she’s calm in a crisis. We get a few awkward customers, y’know, but she can handle them.’
He regarded Rose thoughtfully. He was already on the lookout for a new batch of recruits. Maybe he could take a chance on Rose. ‘Look, I tell you what, I’ll see if I can get you on training up to be a clippie.’
‘Oh, Mr Bower, thank you.’ Rose flung her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek.
‘ ’Ere, steady on, lass. What if someone sees us?’
Rose giggled deliciously. ‘Well, it wouldn’t be the first bit of scandal in the depot, would it?’
Now that women were being trained as conductresses, rumours were always rife about tram drivers and their clippies getting a little too close to each other. But when you thought about it, Rose said, they spent more hours with their work colleagues than they did with their families. And look at Peggy and Bob, though at least neither of them was already married.
Laurence found himself smiling; you couldn’t help it for long when Rose Sylvester was around. For a lot of reasons she’d make a good clippie, and her passengers would love her. He just dreaded the moment when her ticket takings would be counted each night! Now, though, he chuckled. ‘Well, there’s never been any gossip about me and I don’t want there to be, even though I’m a widower and thought to be fair game by some of the older women. So keep your kisses for your boyfriend, there’s a good lass.’
‘Haven’t got one, Mr Bower,’ Rose said cheerfully.
‘I can’t believe that. I’spect you’re keeping them all at arm’s length until Mr Right comes along, eh?’
Rose stared at him and the smile faded from her face.
‘What? What have I said?’
‘N-nothing,’ Rose stammered, but he had. Mr Right, he’d said. And now the full force of the truth hit her like a sledgehammer. Mr Right – her Mr Right – had come along.
The only problem was – he was in love with her sister.
That night, in the single bed set close to Myrtle’s in the small attic room, Rose lay awake staring into the darkness, trying to come to terms with her devastating realization about her feelings for Bob Deeton. He was so kind and caring. He was good-looking too – at least Rose thought so. With light brown hair and hazel eyes. He had a stray curl that flopped onto his forehead and Rose longed to stroke it back into place. She even found his shyness endearing. He was nothing like one of those conceited, full-of-themselves young men and she liked that. But he wasn’t hers, he was Peggy’s, and so Rose must treat Bob like the brother none of them had ever had. She’d laugh and joke with him but she’d be careful never to let him – or anyone else – see how much she cared for him.
It wasn’t going to be easy, but she’d do it. For her sister and for him. If Peggy was the one he wanted, then she just hoped her sister would make him happy. Instead, Rose vowed, she’d give up all thoughts of Bob Deeton and concentrate on being the best clippie Mr Bower had ever had.
‘I won’t have to have a medical, will I, seeing as I already work for the company?’
‘I think it would be best, Rose,’ Laurence Bower said. ‘It’s a very different job from working in the canteen.’
Rose shrugged. She was confident that she would pass A1. She’d rarely had a day’s illness in her life, except for the usual childish complaints in her school days. Since she’d started work she’d never taken a day’s sick leave.
The doctor was a dour man, who spoke little and when he did it sounded as if he was permanently angry.
‘Have you brought another woman with you as chaperone?’ he asked when Rose entered the room where the medical inspections were being held.
‘Eh?’ Rose blinked in surprise and then she smiled impishly. ‘It’s all right, Doc. I don’t mind.’
‘But I do,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want some foolish young woman making a complaint about me.’ Rose opened her mouth to protest angrily, but he ignored her and went to the door, opened it and asked the secretary seated outside to come in. The woman was clearly embarrassed, but did as she was asked, standing awkwardly in the corner whilst Rose was examined. The doctor listened to her chest, speaking onl
y to say, ‘Breathe in’ or ‘Breathe out.’ He tested her sight and her reflexes. He examined her feet closely and then weighed and measured her.
‘You may get dressed,’ he said curtly as he sat down at his desk, picked up his pen and began to write. When she was ready he merely nodded and said, ‘You may go.’
‘Have I passed?’ Rose asked eagerly.
‘You’ll be informed,’ the doctor said stiffly. Rose left the room, raising her eyes skywards as she passed the woman now seated back at her desk. The woman smiled and gave the tiniest of nods to show that she understood and empathized. Rose went back to the room where eight other women who had also applied to become clippies were waiting for their turn to be examined.
‘He’s an old goat,’ Rose said, as she sat down beside a girl who didn’t look old enough to have left school, let alone become a tram conductress. She looked nervous and agitated, twisting her fingers together in her lap. Rose took pity on her. ‘Like me to come in with you? He seems to want another woman there when he’s examining someone.’
Relief flooded the girl’s face. ‘Oh, would you? My husband would have come, but he’s away in the army.’
Husband! Rose nearly fell off her chair and before she could stop herself, the words were out of her mouth. ‘You’re married?’ Nor could she stop the surprise in her tone. The girl must have been used to such comments, for she smiled shyly and said, ‘I’m older than I look. I’ll be twenty next month. We – we got married in April this year.’ Now she looked away, as if embarrassed, and avoided meeting Rose’s gaze. Instead, she murmured, ‘My name’s Alice. Alice Wagstaffe.’
‘And I’m Rose Sylvester. Pleased to meet you.’
When Alice was called in to see the doctor, Rose got up too and followed her in. ‘I thought I’d save the secretary the trouble of coming in again.’
The doctor glared at her for a moment, grunted something unintelligible and then got on with his examination of Alice, ignoring Rose completely.
The Clippie Girls Page 3