The Women of Waterloo Bridge

by Jan Casey

  Dad knew the geography so well it only took him seconds to do as he was told.

  ‘Now, remind me,’ Evelyn went on. ‘How long does the journey take from here to Halifax?’

  ‘Oh,’ Dad rubbed the stubble on his cheek. ‘Minimum of five days.’

  Evelyn nodded. ‘And Sylvie will probably not have set sail yet, will she?’

  ‘We really don’t know,’ Dad said. ‘But maybe not.’

  ‘Well, even if she has and posts a letter the minute she docks, it will take at least another week or two to get to us. Won’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dad said. ‘I know, I know.’ He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his chair.

  Evelyn propped the book under the lamp and put her head on Dad’s shoulder. ‘Silly sod,’ she said.

  *

  When the WES was in sight, Evelyn had to stop herself from breaking into a run. The same woman she had seen on previous occasions was manning the desk and she greeted Evelyn like an old friend. ‘Come to join us again, my dear?’ she asked, as confident and competent as ever.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Evelyn said. ‘I actually wanted to have a chat with Cynthia Blackwood. You know, the lady engineer who…’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Blackwood.’

  Evelyn suddenly felt as if she’d been disrespectful. ‘Oh, we always called her Cynthia. She told us to.’

  ‘That’s Mrs Blackwood’s way,’ the woman said. ‘She doesn’t like to be too formal.’

  Evelyn gestured to the area behind the reception desk. ‘Does she have an office here and might she be available?’

  The receptionist placed both her hands on the desk and shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck,’ she said. ‘Mrs Blackwood has been seconded to the University of Kentucky. She’ll be back at some stage, but we don’t know when.’

  Another woman crossing the Atlantic. Evelyn was aware that the same pale green shade of envy was washing over her as it had done when Sylvie left for Canada.

  ‘Can anyone else help?’

  Evelyn wasn’t sure if she wanted to attend lectures given by anyone other than Cynthia, but told herself that she shouldn’t dismiss any opportunity. ‘I wondered if there were any other courses going similar to those taught by Cynthia.’

  ‘Ah, well. We’re trying to find a replacement but…’ The woman’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘It’s proving to be quite difficult as lady engineers are few and far between.’ Then she smiled again. ‘We’re waiting desperately for the likes of you to step up, my dear.’

  Evelyn could feel that the smile she gave in return was thin and, like her projected career, really not worth waiting for.

  ‘There is someone named Mrs Beryl Platt who will be giving a few talks about mechanical engineering. Any good for you?’

  ‘I suppose I could attend one and see.’

  The woman nodded her head. ‘Mrs Platt is one of only five women to gain a Title of Degree in Mechanical Engineering from Cambridge University and has been working at a test flight department in Bucks.’

  Now the veil of jealousy descended on Evelyn in dark, heavy waves and she was tempted to put her forehead on the desk and weep.

  ‘So you see,’ the woman went on. ‘It is possible. If Cambridge is not for you, the Imperial run a civil engineering course that women can attend and have been able to do so since 1898.’

  She expects me to think that’s a marvellous achievement, Evelyn thought. But she concluded that the universities, the Government and the institutions that limited half of the workforce should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves.

  When she left, she had a new membership card for the year, so she felt as if the journey had not been wasted. But that had put a dent in her dosh for the week, so there was no possibility of paying for either Cambridge or the Imperial if by any chance they would consider her. Perhaps there would be something at the Employment Exchange for an old construction hand like her; if not, she would have to take whatever was going.

  But there was nothing on offer in the way of building or engineering and Evelyn thought it beggared belief when every street had taken at least one hit and many were more hits than street. Surely they needed experienced workers like her? The best they could come up with was a job as a relief library assistant working wherever she was needed in London, so she took that.

  *

  The cinema outing had, in Evelyn’s estimation, been much more successful and such a good laugh. The more Evelyn got to know Alice, the more impressed she was with her attitude and good, common sense. She smiled when she recalled Alice telling her about the hostel where she lived and her landlady, who had never married and had devoted her whole life to her elderly mother, who she still called ‘Mummy’. Over a drink, Evelyn had said that it all sounded a bit stifling.

  ‘I can see why you thinks that.’ Alice nodded. ‘But they has been like a family to me.’

  Evelyn left it at that. She knew not everyone had a Dad or Sylvie or Uncle Bert to rely on.

  Now Alice was expected for tea and Evelyn was setting out bread, butter, a bit of jam roly-poly, thin custard and cups. Churchill was on the wireless talking about how they were pushing forward on all fronts and telling them to keep strong as this was the last little bit. Evelyn looked outside and smiled; blossom was in bloom, daffodils swayed in the warm breeze, a woman walking her dog was wearing a light jacket and no scarf. The weather was reacting to the prime minister’s edict by bucking up to a lovely, cheerful spring.

  Alice arrived and she was her usual sunny self. She shook her curls and greeted Evelyn with a kiss on the cheek. Two spots of colour shone through the patina of face powder on her cheeks.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Evelyn said, taking her coat. ‘Are you going on somewhere special afterwards?’

  ‘We are,’ Alice said, following Evelyn through to the sitting room.

  Evelyn thought she might have forgotten an arrangement they’d made last time they met and hoped that if she had, it was dancing. She and Sylvie had never had that last night out that they’d promised themselves. No – she shook her head – she would have remembered that. ‘Are we?’ Evelyn asked.

  ‘That’s if you doesn’t have any other plans,’ Alice said.

  ‘No,’ Evelyn answered. ‘But what were you thinking of?’

  ‘Listening to Joan’s jazz group perform.’ Alice twisted her hair around her finger and looked hopeful.

  ‘I don’t really like jazz,’ Evelyn said, thinking about the endless pieces of noise that sounded no more like music to her than cutlery being thrown on the floor.

  ‘I doesn’t either,’ Alice said. ‘But I thought it would be something to do. And not many people go to listen to Joan. You know, just for her.’

  Evelyn felt as if she was being bulldozed into something she didn’t really want to do, but she couldn’t say no now. She cut the roly-poly and poured the tea. ‘You’re right, Alice,’ she said. ‘If nothing else it will be something different to do.’

  Alice beamed one her smiles that pushed up her already round cheeks and Evelyn could tell that Dad was taken.

  *

  At last a letter from Sylvie. Dad and Evelyn jostled to tear the envelope open, then both stood back not wanting to ruin the precious letter inside. They read it together in silence, then took it in turns to read it aloud to each other.

  7th April 1945

  Dear Evelyn and Dad,

  I’m writing this sitting in what used to be the lounge area of the Nellie Wallace when she was a cruise liner. That’s not what she’s actually called, but the crew refer to her by that name with real fondness in their voices, like they’re talking about a sweetheart or young child. So it’s caught on. The name of the ship is the MS Nea Hellas and we embarked from Glasgow on the 3rd of April bound for Halifax. We were each given a passenger list, along with the number of our berth, and I panicked when I couldn’t find my name on it. I was only looking under Draper, wasn’t I! Then I found myself as I’ll be known from now on: Mrs A
lexander G. Buchan. Mr A.G.B. himself is on a ship full of injured soldiers travelling in convoy with us.

  I can hear the squally sea smacking the window, but we’re blacked out here, too, in the middle of the Atlantic, so I can’t see it. But during drill this morning the froth on the greeny-grey waves was hitting the deck next to me. No point in doing your hair before drill, just pull on a headscarf, bridge-style and try to undo the mess later.

  So much has happened already since I said goodbye to you both. It’s difficult to describe how much I miss you, although I’m very excited about the journey and starting proper married life. There are hundreds of us all in the same boat (ha ha) on this ship. I’ve palled up with two or three girls, one of them going all the way to Saskatchewan, like me. Her name is Irene and she’s expecting in five months’ time. A lot of the girls have babies and children so drying napkins are draped everywhere. There’s a nursery on board manned by Red Cross nurses, and I might volunteer my help to give some poor woman a break and to get ready for the houseful Alec wants. (I hope you approve, Dad.)

  I can hear the dinner triangle announcing the first sitting so I will write more later.

  8th April 1945

  We’ve been told our journey is going to take much longer than the usual five days as we’re crisscrossing the Atlantic. So, as there’s no way of posting anything until we disembark in Halifax, I’ll spin this letter out until then.

  I’m not sure where we are as all I can see when on deck is water. Once or twice I’ve glimpsed another of the convoy ships through the sea mist, but can’t make out if it’s Alec’s or not. I thought travelling in convoy meant staying close together. I do wish I could see him, but I can only imagine him looking out across the waves for me as I look for him.

  Thank goodness for Rene. We seem to be almost the only ones left not heaving with seasickness. In the next cabin there are four women, four babies in carrying cots and a two-year-old. All the grown-ups are sick. We can hear them through the thin walls and it’s not pleasant. I suppose they were too unwell to attend drill today, but that didn’t stop two of the ship’s officers rapping on their door and demanding to know why they weren’t on port or starboard or wherever for lifeboat practice. Seems we’re under army orders and have to comply. I’m sure it’s for the best anyway. I carry the tot up the slippery steps now, although she wriggles and squirms looking for her mum. Poor little thing.

  10th April 1945

  I’m afraid I succumbed to the dreaded motion sickness. All I could manage was to sit up in my bunk, two pillows behind me, and try to hold my pen steady. I wish I could describe it to you; it’s nothing like anything I’ve had before. Serves me right. Rene and I were in the habit of pooh-poohing all the women staggering about with paper bags in their hands, looking as ashen and washed-out as the underside of a boat, even though we could see how ill they were. I felt so bad that instead of going to all the trouble of avoiding torpedoes, I wished the captain would locate a few and steer straight for them. Put us all out of our misery. I felt a bit better after boat drill but came straight back to bed and then felt worse than ever.

  Next thing I knew, Rene came to my cabin. I thought I was robust, but she must be made of stern stuff to be up and about on this sea in her condition. She pushed past me and came right in, making herself comfortable on my bunk. ‘Put these on,’ she ordered, handing me my skirt and jumper. I tried to take them from her but fell back onto the bed instead. She pulled me forward and helped me drag on my clothes. ‘The thing about seasickness,’ she said, ‘is if you give in to it you feel worse. It’s the deck for you.’

  She steadied me through the corridors and walkways and do you know? She was right. After I’d heaved up my guts over the rail, fodder for King Neptune Rene called it, I did feel better and have spent most of my time up here during the day either walking or sitting on the deck with a blanket around my shoulders. I’ve been able to keep a bit of food down, but nothing like I could before this sickness set in. And it’s heart-breaking – the food is wonderful and there’s plenty of it. White bread and lovely jam. And bananas. Yes, Evelyn, we have some bananas today! Do as I say and get yourself a Canuck this very minute. I want you to have some of this handsome nosh, too.

  14th April 1945

  Yesterday morning was lovely and warm. Someone said we were sailing near the Azores, wherever they are. They do sound exotic though, don’t they? I’ll ask Alec about them when we’re together again and let you know. Today, though, when we came up for drill, icicles were hanging off the rails. No idea where we could be now.

  Rene started a lottery for a bit of a laugh. Put in half a bob and guess the time of day we’ll dock, not the date as there are too many of us to make that work. I guessed 11:47 a.m. I don’t know why, I just thought of it and it stuck.

  Books are handed around back and forth among the girls. Nursery World, Woman, Picture Post, Woman’s Weekly. And of course, we all have our personal, dog-eared copies of Welcome to War Brides. We play cards sometimes; Rene’s teaching me Bridge. That’s a bit toffee-nosed for me, love, I told her. We play Newmarket at home. Someone organised a game of Bingo, which was great fun. One of the girls has a first-rate voice and when she sings lullabies to her little ones it puts us all to sleep.

  16th April 1945

  Rene’s got the hang of Newmarket, but I’m still struggling with Bridge. There’s a lot of guesswork going on about Canada, especially now we’re getting closer. Some say it’s hot and humid, others freezing cold with inches of snow on the ground most of the year round. One of the girls said there are a lot of shops and, of course, no rations to worry about. Someone else said if you’re not lucky enough to live in one of the big cities then you’d have to find a way of getting the hundreds of miles to the nearest shops as there aren’t any buses or Tubes or even roads, in some places. When I’m on deck, I look out over wave after churning, grey wave and think about what’s been said. England seems a long way away.

  17th April 1945

  We’re docking tomorrow and everyone is getting very excited but in a rather subdued, relieved kind of way. All the girls are packing up their things, exchanging addresses, pinching their cheeks to put some colour in them, topping and tailing babies with extra care and trying to smooth the creases out of skirts and blouses. I can’t wait to see the back of this ship. When the gangplank is lowered and we’re given the okay to disembark, I shall be the first in line off the bloody thing. Five days wouldn’t have been too bad, but nearly two weeks feels like a prison sentence. The sailor’s life is not for me.

  Between the three of us, I do feel a bit nervy about what’s next. I don’t think I’ll see Alec as he’ll probably be put straight on a troop train to his barracks and I’ll have to board another for a two-day journey to where Mr and Mrs Buchan will be waiting for me. Fiona and Hugh, they want me to call them, but I think I’ll wait until they tell me to do so face to face. Alec always calls Dad Mr Draper, or sir, so I think I should pay his parents the same respect. The thing I’m looking forward to the most about arriving in Saskatoon is reading a letter from you, which I know you will have written and sent by now.

  Well, dear Dad and Evelyn, I must try to get some sleep now so I don’t look like a ghoul when I first set eyes on Canada. I’m going to seal this letter and as soon as possible tomorrow I will post it. I can picture your faces when you see the Halifax postmark and know it’s from me.

  With all my love,

  Sylvie

  ‘The journey sounds hellish,’ Evelyn said. ‘I didn’t know seasickness could be so awful.’

  Dad held his stomach. ‘I feel off-balance just thinking about it. But the food… Unbelievable. What are we having for tea?’

  Evelyn didn’t take her eyes off her sister’s writing. ‘Rabbit and swede stew with dumplings,’ she said.

  Dad groaned. ‘Now I really do feel sick.’

  ‘Afraid it’s take it or leave it,’ Evelyn said. ‘Rene sounds nice. I’m glad Sylvie’s found a friend.’
r />   ‘I hate to think of her lonely, too, love.’

  ‘I know,’ Evelyn said. ‘Our letters will be waiting for her in Saskatoon, won’t they?’

  ‘I’m sure of it, given how long it’s taken her to get there. But Bridge?’ Dad shook his head. ‘I’ll stick to Newmarket.’

  Evelyn looked at her dad. ‘Could you make the sea passage?’

  ‘Not next to a cabin full of crying babies. I’ve had my fill of all that.’

  Evelyn left the letter on the kitchen table so she and Dad could pick it up and reread it any time they wanted to. Later she would throw away all of Ron’s letters, something she should have done ages ago, and use Mum’s old writing box to store Sylvie’s letters in.

  She thought continuously about all the things Sylvie had written about and wondered if her own news was enough to hold Sylvie’s attention after everything she had experienced already. She wrote about her job in the libraries in and around London; she had been given a season ticket for the bus and Tube and a bit extra in her pay packet for lunch. It was exciting to wonder each morning where she would be posted that day and was surprised at how different from each other areas in London seemed to be. Some libraries were on wide, leafy streets, others crammed in amongst narrow shops and pubs. One was lending from a cordoned-off corner of a newsagent, another from the ground floor foyer of a block of flats.

  The people were at odds, too, and spoke with more dialects than Evelyn had heard before; some enunciated their words with clipped tones and some with long vowels. Not to mention the various tastes in clothes, shoes and hats. It was all very interesting, but not something that Evelyn thought she could stick at for long.

  *

  19th April 1945

  Dear Evelyn,

  I will try to describe Canada through a train window to you. Big. There’s no other word for it. Well, I suppose there are a few. Vast, huge, enormous, gigantic. The list could go on but all the words would mean the same thing. We’re puffing away from the coast through what the stewards call the interior, heading towards the prairies.