Sarah frowned. ‘Privacy?’
‘I have some news about Alan.’
Sarah knew the day had to come when Alan’s death would be confirmed. She followed David into the front room, clutching Georgina close to her chest. She allowed David to help her to a seat and soothed the baby as she murmured in her sleep. ‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’ she asked fearfully.
David knelt in front of Sarah and looked into her eyes. ‘It’s good news, Sarah. Alan is alive.’
27
‘Well, the sun certainly shines on the righteous,’ Vera said, before biting into a salmon sandwich. ‘I must say they’ve put on a good spread.’
Ruby could only agree. The bride had looked radiant in her ivory silk gown as she’d walked down the aisle towards her handsome husband in his smart RAF uniform. Beams of sunlight had shone through stained-glass windows as they’d spoken their vows. In attendance had been her granddaughter, Sarah, and Freda. Young Lenny, now a free man, dressed in a new suit, sat in the pew proudly watching his sister. The two bridesmaids looked pretty in pale pink, carrying flowers grown in Irene and George’s garden, which had been carefully transported up from Devon the day before. Even little Georgina wore a matching gown, though she sat on her granny Irene’s lap gurgling contentedly.
Ruby was pleased to be able to meet David’s parents and thank them for the Christmas hamper. They seemed a decent lot considering their posh accents. It had been David’s mother who’d insisted on taking charge of the wedding breakfast in the absence of Maisie’s relatives. Even a wedding couldn’t mend a broken family. It had been a proud moment when Ruby watched George walk Maisie down the aisle to give her away. He was recovering well from his injury, although there would always be a slight limp. Things could always have been worse, she thought to herself.
The wedding reception was being held in the hall of the Prince of Wales. Mrs Carlisle had suggested a local hotel, but Maisie insisted that the pub had played an important part in the lives of her and her friends, and she wanted to hold the reception in the large hall at the back of the building. Colleagues from Woolworths were there to help celebrate their friend’s happiness, including Maureen, who had returned to Erith when they heard that Alan had not perished while serving his country. Even Hitler had managed not to upset the proceedings by sending his planes to the wedding.
‘Fancy another sandwich?’ Vera asked as she rose to her feet.
‘Not for me, thank you, Vera. I’m going outside to get a bit of fresh air before the band starts playing. Maureen’s going to sing a special song for Maisie and I don’t want to miss that.’
She headed out into the small garden, where the landlord had placed a few benches for the guests. Although early evening, it was still warm and she fanned herself with her handbag. It would be stifling once they had to close the doors and the blackout curtains were in place. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face.
Ruby heard the band starting to play and then Maureen’s voice as she serenaded the happy couple. ‘. . . I found a million-dollar baby in a five-and-ten-cent store.’ She smiled to herself. The song was about a five-and-ten-cent store. In America, that was what they called the Woolworths stores. Maureen was so clever to think of that song. She hummed along to the tune as David took Maisie into his arms for their first dance as a married couple.
Through the open door, Ruby could see Sarah, with Georgina in her arms, swaying in time to the music. The happiness was catching and Ruby found herself humming along to the tune until there was a tap on her shoulder. ‘Can I have the next dance, Mrs Caselton?’
Ruby turned in shock as she recognized Alan’s voice. ‘Oh my goodness. Alan, it’s you. After all this time.’ She was trembling violently with the shock and Alan led her back to the bench she had vacated to watch Maureen sing. She reached out and touched the young man to make sure he was really there. Alan kissed her cheek. ‘Does your mum know you’re home? What about Sarah?’
Alan laughed. ‘Mum knew I’d be here. I wrote to her as I wanted her to do something for me. I swore her to secrecy.’
‘No wonder she’s had such a grin on her face today. Why didn’t she say something?’
‘I asked her to keep it a secret.’
‘She’s certainly done that. I’m all of a fluster. Go in and see Sarah. She’s just inside the hall holding your daughter, Georgina.’
Alan stepped towards the door to look at the wife he hadn’t seen for over a year and the daughter he’d yet to meet. He turned back to Ruby. ‘Would you mind sending her out to me – and not telling anyone else?’
Ruby nodded and went into the hall. Alan watched as she whispered into Sarah’s ear and took the baby from her. Sarah left the dance floor and walked into the sunshine, looking around to see why her nan had sent her out.
‘Sarah?’
‘Alan? Oh my God, Alan!’ She rushed into his arms and he held her close, breathing in her familiar scent, scarcely believing he was home once more. He took her by the arm and walked her to the side of the building, not wanting anyone to know he was there until he had time alone with his wife.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home today?’ Sarah asked when she had gathered herself together after the shock.
‘I wasn’t sure. There’s been so much debriefing, people to talk to, and I’ve not been back in England very long.’
‘I don’t understand. I’ve not seen you in eighteen months . . .’ She looked at his face for the first time. There were a few lines around his eyes. His cheeks were thinner. ‘What happened to you, Alan? Did you know you would be going away from us when we last met?’
‘I think we’d better sit down. It’s a long story.’ He led her to a low wall that surrounded the garden. They sat close together.
‘I thought you didn’t love me anymore. My letters were never answered. You were so distant . . . different, even.’
Alan gazed out across the garden, deep in thought.
‘Alan, please tell me what happened.’
‘I knew I was going away that last Christmas we had together. I knew it would be dangerous. I would have told you if I could, but you know the rules. It was just too much for me seeing everyone so happy and coping with the war and having to walk away from you all and return to God knows what.’
‘I should have realized. I was just being selfish. I’m not a very good wife, am I?’
Alan turned to her almost in anger. ‘Don’t ever say that. I couldn’t have done half of what you’ve managed in these past months and coped with what you’ve all been through. Then you were alone with our daughter and I should have been there for you. I didn’t even see your letters through some God-awful mess-up at HQ. If only I’d seen them, I would have known we had a daughter. Can you ever forgive me?’ He took both her hands in his and looked at her. She could see in his eyes that he was begging for forgiveness.
Sarah pulled her hands away. ‘It is me who should be asking for forgiveness. Alan, I almost left you for another man.’
Alan looked away. ‘I know. David told me.’
‘You spoke to David?’
‘Yes. He was instrumental in getting me back to England. He was able to pull quite a few strings. He has friends in pretty high places.’
‘Back to England? Where were you?’
‘In France. I was supposed to drop some people behind enemy lines, but we were shot down. If it wasn’t for the French Resistance, I wouldn’t be here now. They hid us for months. It was touch and go at times. I feared I would never see you again.’
‘Thank goodness David could help. Wherever you were, we all wanted you back. I didn’t love him, Alan. Nothing happened between us. He truly loves Maisie.’
‘I wouldn’t have blamed you if something had happened. This war is playing hell with so many people’s lives. If I hadn’t been such a bore that Christmas, then our parting would have been easier.’
‘No, Alan. I think perhaps being so angry with you made me stronger.’
He stroked her cheek. ‘So where do we go from here?’
She sighed. ‘I want the old Alan back. Is he still there? I don’t think I could stand it if I lost him again.’
Alan pulled Sarah to her feet. ‘Come, let me prove it.’ He led her inside the hall, only stopping to hug his daughter before heading towards the dance floor, where Maureen was still singing with the band. Her face lit up as she spotted her son. She nodded as he waved his hand.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please indulge a very happy mother as she welcomes back her son.’
To loud cheers from everyone in the hall, Alan opened his arms. ‘Dance with me, Sixpenny?’
The band started to play and Maureen sang a familiar song.
‘Goodnight, sweetheart . . .’
‘My goodness, Alan, it’s the song we danced to at the Woolworths Christmas party.’
Maureen sang on. ‘. . . Goodnight, sweetheart . . .’
‘Did you think I’d forget?’ he whispered in her ear.
The crowd on the dance floor parted as the young couple, oblivious to their surroundings, relived the night Alan had first held Sarah in his arms.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a thin silver chain with a small coin attached to it and placed it round her neck.
Maureen wiped a tear from her eye. Her son was home and safe. It was hard for her to keep singing. ‘. . . Goodnight, sweetheart . . .’
‘Oh, it’s a sixpence. A silver sixpence.’
‘. . . Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight.’
‘Can I walk you home, Sixpenny?’
‘Yes, please, Alan.’
Acknowledgements
There are so many people to thank who helped me make the writing of The Woolworths Girls more than just an idea. First, I would like to thank my agent, Caroline Sheldon, who, faced with a few notes jotted on a single sheet of paper, decided to take a chance on me. To then be accepted by Pan Macmillan and have my lovely editor, Natasha Harding, and her colleagues guide me through to publication day is a dream beyond belief. Thank you all.
The London Borough of Bexley, where Erith now resides, has a marvellous archive, and staff not only share local images and stories online but contribute to Erith Facebook groups as well. I’ve lost count of the number of times an image or story has fired my imagination or clarified a point about the town where I was born and grew up – and where the Caselton family resides in The Woolworths Girls. It is a joy to belong to these cyber groups, and the number of members shows how fond people still are for the area where Sarah and her family lived during the Second World War, even though time and town planning have all but removed the area that we fondly remember.
My work was made much easier by the discovery of the Woolworths Museum (www.woolworthsmuseum.co.uk) and the information found there. I cannot thank Mr Paul Seaton, curator of the online museum, enough for the detailed information he supplied me with about Erith Woolworths and the staff who worked there during the Second World War. He helped to bring the store alive and made it a place where I could place my girls safe in the knowledge they would become true Woolworths workers.
Support and feedback are important to all writers and I’m lucky to have so many supportive friends who also write and are there to help chew over a problem when it occurs. Students and friends at The Write Place in Dartford, Kent, where I run my writing classes, are a talented bunch and always ready to help when the going gets tough. We support each other. Special thanks to Natalie Kleinman for her proofreading skills and Nats Nits!
I’m sure that my path to this day would not have happened if it were not for the Romantic Novelists’ Association. Although already an established writer, I was able to join their New Writers’ Scheme as my writing had been in short fiction, features and non-fiction books. The knowledge shared so generously by so many well-known authors and the friendships gained since my membership are worth more than all the tea in China.
Author’s Note
If only I’d known that my first Saturday job would lead me to write this book, I’d have taken notes! Yes, I was a Woolworths girl, just like Sarah, Freda and Maisie. It was 1969, I was fifteen and three months, studying for my O-levels, and like most girls my age, I found that I was able to apply for my National Insurance card and a Saturday job.
I lived in Slade Green, Kent, at the time, which is a village between Erith and Dartford. If only I’d applied for my job in Erith, I’d have had my own ‘inside information’ on the Woolies branch featured in The Woolworths Girls, as the store where Sarah and her friends worked was still standing at that time (the original Woolworths was replaced by a more modern store in the early seventies after a fire). Instead, I followed my school chums to Dartford to a much larger store. There, I learnt what it meant to be employed by F. W. Woolworth. I learnt what each bell that resounded through the store at regular intervals meant. I yearned for the tea break and lunchtime bells, although the ‘shop closed’ bell was the sweetest sound of the day. I learnt we would be told off if we shortened our green overalls or wore too much lipstick. I found out that waist-length hair had to be rolled into a bun and hidden inside a net when working on the biscuit counter and not to volunteer for the vegetable counter in the dead of winter, as muddy potatoes contained worms and other creepy things.
I was moved to the electrical counter, where I had to measure out lengths of cable from rolls above my head, and to this day have a mental blank when it comes to wiring a plug. We also sold light bulbs. Each one had to be tested before being placed into a brown paper bag and handed to the customer. Testing meant inserting the bulb into a box and turning it so that it came alight. Some didn’t; some shattered. I dreaded a customer asking for a light bulb and would do anything not to be the staff member who served them.
Looking back, I know I was fortunate to have my first experience of work at Woolies. Where else would I have sharpened my skills with mental arithmetic? We had to add up every item on a notepad tied to the waistband of our overalls. I learnt how to count change back into a customer’s hand and help them pack the items they purchased into their shopping bags. It was all part of the service. I learnt that whatever my feelings, the customer was always right, and by pinning a smile to my face, quite often even the most annoying customer remained pleasant. I learnt that keeping busy meant that the day passed more quickly, so when not selling orange buckets and rubber plugs for the bath, I would take my feather duster and dust the rolls of toilet paper stacked on glass-fronted shelves. I learnt not to question my superiors, as they had more experience than I did and had chosen a career in Woolworths, whereas for me, it was the first step on my pathway to full-time employment elsewhere.
At the end of my working day, I would queue with fellow workers to sign for my brown paper pay packet and check the contents. One pound minus thruppence for my National Insurance stamp. I was rich!
Never, in the many years since, have I worked for a company that instilled such strict work ethics into its staff or inspired such happy memories for both employees and customers. So when writing my book about a group of friends and setting it in the memorable town of Erith, there was nowhere better than Woolworths for the girls to spend their working life, to fall in love and to experience the Second World War.
I grew up knowing Erith Woolies. It was where, as a child, I bought my mum and dad’s birthday and Christmas presents. It was where I purchased pens and notebooks for school, and my first stockings and then tights when I was a teenager. Mum even bought my first bra at Woolworths. So many happy memories of times long gone.
However, my memory doesn’t reach back to the Second World War. For information on this period, I went to the Woolworths Museum online. Contacting Mr Paul Seaton brought forth not only his own memories of the area but stories of the people working at Woolies during the war and what they did to help the war effort. Who knew that the staff at Erith helped out when the nearby Bexleyheath branch was devastated by enemy action, or that like the tragedy that occurred at B
ethnal Green Underground Station, it was kept secret for the purposes of morale? The locals knew how to keep quiet back then. Careless talk could well have cost lives!
As the writing of this book continued, I was surprised how many friends and family told me they too had been Woolworths girls and had fond recollections of their time working in the UK version of the five-and-ten-cent store. We all share so many happy memories thanks to F. W. Woolworth.
Playlist for The Woolworths Girls
I had such fun choosing the music for The Woolworths Girls. ‘Music for a book?’ I hear you ask. Yes. For me, my characters have to be able to hum a tune and enjoy a sing-song.
I grew up listening to my dad and his siblings singing at family events. Not just ‘My Way’ and ‘Delilah’ from the late 1960s, but old standards from both the World Wars and before. I’ve smiled and cried as I gave some of my memories to my Woolies girls. One memory I could not share in the book was seeing my uncle Nobby stand and sing ‘My Way’ at my uncle Cyril’s ninetieth birthday party several years ago. Uncle Cyril joined him on the stage, and sitting nearby, Aunty Doll, Aunty Joan and Aunty Maureen joined in. I had to look away and wipe my eyes, as my dad was no longer with us. In my mind’s eye, I could see him, singing along with other family members who had also passed away. Looking up, I spotted two of my cousins and we shared tearful grins. So many shared happy memories to be able to remember.
Time has moved on and we’ve now bid our goodbyes to more family members, but for me, I only have to catch a melody, hear a few lines of lyrics and the memories come flooding back. To quote Irving Berlin, ‘The song is ended, but the melody lingers on . . .’
Here are some of the songs I chose for The Woolworths Girls. I found many being performed by the original singers on YouTube, a great source of musical memories.
The Woolworths Girls Page 34