Triumph of the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  Making her way back across the yard, Polly took off her turban and let her hair free. She always thought of Tommy when she let her hair down. He had told her he loved the feel of her hair brushing his face when they made love. Polly looked up to the sky. It was still light. The start of her second trimester had coincided with the beginning of spring, and today, for the first time, it felt like spring. The air was warmer and the winds had dropped.

  Suddenly, Polly changed direction and instead of heading to the main gates, she veered off to the right.

  She might have stopped feeling sick this past week or so, but when she needed to go, she needed to go.

  Helen was applying her new Victory Red lipstick and carefully pinning back her hair into a neat French roll.

  She had put on the blue dress she had worn for Brutus’s launch as well as the Chinese Prince’s. John hadn’t seen her in it before. If he said she looked done up, she could say she’d had an important meeting. She didn’t want it to be too obvious that she was viewing this evening as an actual date, but at the same time she also wanted to look her best.

  Snapping her little mirror compact shut, she took a deep breath.

  God, calm down!

  She felt her heart beating like a drum.

  Just be yourself!

  She tried to remind herself of the advice Gloria had given her, but she’d forgotten it. Something about simply relaxing, enjoying herself.

  Gloria seemed certain that John was keen on her – and not merely as a friend. When Helen had asked if she was sure, Gloria just shook her head and laughed.

  Glancing up at the time, she saw it was nearly six o’clock.

  He’d be here any moment.

  Helen took out a cigarette. Perhaps she’d just have a quick one before he arrived. Scrabbling around for her lighter in the top drawer of her desk, she jumped when she heard the clash of the door downstairs.

  Putting the lighter in her bag and straightening her dress, she brushed away non-existent bits of fluff before walking over to her office door. She would greet John with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek, which somehow she would do in a way that wasn’t completely chaste.

  She heard the main door open and smiled to hide her nerves.

  A few seconds later her face dropped as soon as she saw that it wasn’t John walking through the door – but Polly.

  Her face was ash-grey and her hand was holding her stomach protectively.

  ‘Oh my God, Polly!’ Helen rushed forward.

  ‘I didn’t know where else to go,’ Polly mumbled.

  She looked in shock.

  ‘I thought Bel might be here … working late.’

  ‘Come here,’ Helen said, guiding Polly over to the nearest desk and sitting her down on the chair. ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded. ‘You look terrible.’

  ‘I’ve just been to the lav,’ Polly began. There were tears in her eyes. But it was the fear Helen saw in them that gave her a shiver down her spine. She had a flash of her own miscarriage. The pain, the blood, then the darkness.

  ‘What’s happened? Are you bleeding?’ she asked, staring at Polly’s face, trying to read her thoughts.

  Polly shook her head.

  ‘No, water. Quite a bit of water,’ she said.

  ‘Water?’ Helen asked, puzzled. ‘I don’t understand.’

  And then the penny dropped.

  Polly’s waters were breaking.

  She was going into an early labour.

  A very early labour.

  ‘Have you had any contractions?’ Helen asked.

  ‘No,’ Polly said. She thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know. I might have had a few twinges. But I thought that was normal.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, it probably is.’ Helen forced herself to sound reassuring when inwardly she was filled with the most terrible dread.

  No, not again!

  They both turned on hearing the door swing open.

  Dr Parker came striding into the main office door, heading towards Helen’s office.

  ‘John! Over here!’ Helen shouted.

  Dr Parker turned and saw Helen crouched down next to Polly. He didn’t know who looked the most distressed.

  ‘What’s happened?’ He bounded over to the two women and bobbed down so that he was facing Polly.

  ‘She’s just been to the toilet,’ Helen said.

  ‘Are you bleeding?’ Dr Parker asked.

  ‘No,’ Polly said, her voice trembling. ‘I don’t know what’s happening. I needed the loo and then all this water came out.’ She looked down at her overalls. They looked wet.

  Dr Parker’s face was grave.

  ‘We need to get you to the hospital.’

  He looked at Helen.

  ‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ she said, standing up. ‘Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine.’ Helen squeezed Polly’s hand before hurrying to her office.

  Stomping over to her desk, she snatched up the receiver and dialled the operator.

  And waited.

  For God’s sake, answer the phone!

  Still no answer.

  Finally.

  ‘Good evening. This is the operator speaking,’ the sing-song voice sounded out down the receiver.

  ‘Ambulance. I need an ambulance!’ Helen barked down the phone.

  ‘Ah, right.’ The voice immediately became panicked. ‘Yes … right … please, just hold on while I try to connect you—’

  Then the line went dead.

  The operator had unintentionally cut her off.

  ‘Nooo!’ Helen shouted into the receiver.

  She looked up to see Dr Parker sitting next to Polly. He was taking her pulse and had his hand on her forehead, checking her temperature.

  His face, though, said it all.

  This was serious.

  Helen dialled the operator again. This time it was engaged.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Helen spat the words out.

  Banging the phone down, she stomped out of the office and over to the main window. She flung it open and craned her neck.

  ‘Thank God for small mercies,’ she muttered.

  The St John’s ambulance was still here.

  She looked at Dr Parker and then at Polly, whose face showed that the enormity of what might well be happening had hit home.

  Helen saw Polly grab hold of Dr Parker’s hand.

  ‘Please tell me I’m not losing my baby?’

  Helen stopped still.

  Dr Parker avoided the question.

  ‘For some reason it would appear that your waters have broken. We need to get you to hospital to see what’s going on.’

  Tears had started to drip down Polly’s face.

  ‘This is all my fault,’ she said bitterly.

  Helen could see anger starting to break through the fear.

  ‘I should have taken it easier.’ Polly looked at Dr Parker and then at Helen. ‘Like everyone’s been telling me.’

  She stared at them both.

  ‘I can’t lose this baby. I just can’t!’

  ‘Don’t you worry.’ Helen hurried over, bent down and took hold of her hands.

  ‘John and I aren’t going to let you lose this baby, are we?’ Helen said, looking at Dr Parker with pleading eyes.

  ‘Of course we’re not. Now, let’s get going,’ he said, easing Polly into a standing position. ‘Are you all right to walk?’

  Polly nodded as Dr Parker grabbed her arm and guided her to the door.

  Helen hurried ahead and held the door wide before clomping down the stairs in her high heels and yanking open the main door.

  As soon as Polly and Dr Parker had made it out into the yard, Helen ran as best she could, cursing the fact she had worn a dress that only allowed the shortest of strides. When she got to the ambulance, she flung the driver’s door open. There was no one there.

  Damn!

  Her eyes darted to the ignition. They’d left the keys.

  Thank God.

  She tottered round to the bac
k of the van.

  Dr Parker was helping Polly into the back.

  ‘I’ll drive,’ Dr Parker said.

  ‘No, you stay with Polly. She needs you. I’ll drive.’

  ‘Can you drive?’ Dr Parker asked, surprised.

  Helen hurried off without answering.

  ‘How hard can it be?’ she muttered to herself as she jogged round to the driver’s side. ‘Been watching people drive me around my whole life …’ She opened the driver’s door. ‘Nothing to it …’

  She tried to climb up into the front seat but the tightness of her dress was restricting her movement.

  ‘Argh!’ She voiced her frustration, before bending over and ripping the bottom of her dress.

  Hauling herself up, she got herself settled in the driver’s seat. Looking at the footwell, she put her foot down on the clutch, looked up again and turned the ignition key. Putting her other foot on the accelerator, she revved the engine.

  Taking a deep breath, she rammed the gearstick into first and lifted her foot off the clutch. A little too quickly. The ambulance juddered forward, but didn’t stall. She kept the revs high and drove through the main gates and up the embankment. Seeing there was no oncoming traffic, she pulled the steering wheel round and swung into Dame Dorothy Street.

  She kept going, crunching through gears, muttering a silent prayer of thanks it was still relatively light and she could see where she was going.

  Crossing the Wearmouth Bridge, she had a sudden flash of the day she had walked over this very bridge, heading to the same hospital, booked to have a termination. She had walked back over the bridge just hours later, having changed her mind at the last minute.

  As she drove through the town centre, tears came into her eyes.

  But she’d lost the baby anyway, hadn’t she?

  She felt a wave of sorrow and bitterness almost as strong as the day she’d woken up in the hospital to learn that her baby was dead.

  John had saved her life that day, but not the life of her baby girl.

  Please, God, don’t let the same happen to Polly.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The rest of the journey took another five minutes. Drawing up outside the Royal, Helen slammed on the brakes and stalled for the first time. Pulling on the handbrake, she jumped out of the driver’s seat.

  Dr Parker was already helping Polly out of the back.

  Helen ran ahead, up the main steps, and marched straight over to the receptionist.

  ‘Call Dr Billingham. Tell him it’s an emergency.’

  The young receptionist recognised Helen, although she had never seen her look so dishevelled. Her mascara was smudged. And was that a huge rip up her dress?

  ‘Tell him it’s Miss Crawford – Charles’s daughter – and that I’ve a friend who needs urgent care.’ Helen turned around to see Dr Parker and Polly making their way into the main foyer.

  Helen looked at Polly. One hand was gripping John’s arm, the other was splayed out on her stomach. She had what could only be described as a fierce look on her face.

  ‘Where are you going to take her?’ Helen shouted out to Dr Parker.

  ‘Straight to theatre.’ He nodded ahead.

  ‘I’m getting Dr Billingham. I’ll tell him to meet you down there,’ Helen said before turning back to the receptionist, who was in the middle of relaying verbatim what she had been told to say.

  Helen snatched the phone off her.

  ‘Dr Billingham. Helen Crawford here. Listen, I need you to drop everything and get down to theatre. I’ve a friend there. She’s about three months gone.’

  She listened for a moment.

  ‘No bleeding, but it sounds like her waters broke. John’s with her.’

  She gave the phone back to the receptionist.

  ‘You all right, miss?’ the receptionist asked.

  ‘Course I’m all right,’ Helen snapped.

  She stood and thought for a moment.

  ‘Get me an outside line,’ she demanded.

  The receptionist flicked a switch and handed her the receiver.

  Helen leant over the counter and dialled.

  ‘Hello, Eddy? Is Grandfather in? Good, good, so the car’s there? Good. Listen, I need you to do me a favour. Is the driver still there? Can you tell him to go to 34 Tatham Street in the east end and pick up Mrs Agnes Elliot and her daughter-in-law Miss Isabelle Elliot. Tell them there’s been a bit of an emergency and that Mrs Elliot’s daughter, Polly, has been taken to the Royal. But please tell them not to panic. I’m sure everything’s going to be OK.’ Helen crossed her fingers. She was anything but sure.

  Handing back the phone, Helen forced out a civil ‘Thank you’ to the receptionist and went to sit down on one of the chairs in the reception area.

  Suddenly, she felt exhausted.

  When Mr Havelock’s black Jaguar pulled up outside the Elliot household, all the neighbours came to their doors to find out what the occasion was. Seeing the look on Agnes’s face after opening the door and speaking to the smartly dressed chauffeur, they went back inside. This was not a celebratory visit from some bigwig.

  Most watched from behind curtains as Agnes and Bel hurried out of the house.

  Joe stood in the doorway with Lucille next to him. Both sombre.

  The car was just pulling away when Pearl came hurrying out of the Tatham.

  She spoke briefly to her daughter before stepping back and watching the car drive off.

  Seeing the back of her daughter’s head through the Jaguar’s small rear window, Pearl felt sick to the pit of her stomach. If Isabelle hadn’t been with Agnes, and there wasn’t an emergency, she would have pulled her daughter out of the vehicle with her own bare hands.

  Pearl shook her head, trying to rid herself of the sickening thought that by getting into the car belonging to that man, Isabelle was being taken away from her.

  And for the first time, Pearl worried about the safety of her daughter should Charles Havelock ever find out about her. His illegitimate child. A child who was proof of the monster he really was.

  ‘She’s going to be all right, Agnes.’ Bel held her mother-in-law’s hand tightly. ‘Trust me. I know Polly and she’s a fighter. She’s tougher than everyone thinks.’

  Agnes looked at Bel. ‘Do yer think so?’ She shook her head. ‘I think the girl puts on a good show, but underneath it all, she’s as soft as clarts.’

  She turned and stared out of the window. She recalled her daughter’s words from the other day – that having Tommy’s baby made her feel as if she could really keep on going if anything happened to him.

  The words had jarred then; now they were clanging loud and clear in her head. The worry she had pushed under the carpet was leaping back up at her. If Polly lost Tommy’s baby – and he himself never made it back – would her daughter really have the will to carry on? Agnes knew her daughter inside out, but on this score, she was not so sure.

  Agnes turned her attention to the driver.

  ‘Miss Crawford didn’t tell yer anything else?’ she demanded.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, no, she didn’t.’ The chauffeur kept his eyes on the road.

  ‘This is my fault,’ Agnes mumbled. ‘I should have made her stop working at that bloody yard. I knew it was too much. I should have put my foot down.’

  Bel looked at Agnes. It was pointless reminding her mother-in-law that even if she had tried harder to get Polly to stop work, she wouldn’t have succeeded. Polly was her own woman. She always had been.

  ‘Can yer not go any faster?’ Agnes leant forward so that she was practically cheek to cheek with the driver.

  ‘Agnes.’ Bel gently pulled her back onto the seat.

  ‘I should never have had that bleedin’ tea party,’ Agnes said. ‘It’s brought bad luck.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Bel said. ‘Pol was saying how lovely it was, just you two, mother and daughter, chatting. Your tea together did good – not bad.’

  Agnes didn’t answer, just stared out
of the car window.

  As they drove up Toward Road she saw yet another bombsite – it was as if the town was infested with giant molehills.

  ‘Bloody madman!’ Agnes suddenly spat out. ‘It’s his soddin’ fault.’

  Bel looked at Agnes. It was rare to hear her swear.

  ‘The poor girl’s been running to ’n from the shelter at all hours of the night … She’s been worried sick about Tommy. Even if she doesn’t show it …’ Her face was pure fury. ‘And as for the poor bab – scared stiff before it’s even born.’

  Bel took hold of Agnes’s hand again, knowing she just needed to be allowed to rant, to get it all out as she always told them to do whenever they were angry or upset.

  Afterwards, as they sat in a tense silence, Bel had to admit to herself that she too felt terribly guilty. She had been jealous of Polly for the first time in all the years they had known one another. Or rather, she’d been jealous of Polly’s pregnancy. Now this had happened, she somehow felt culpable.

  Logically, Bel knew she was being irrational. Being jealous couldn’t cause Polly to miscarry. But, she wondered as the car trundled towards the hospital, if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own selfish thoughts about her failure to fall pregnant, she might have seen the warning signs that something was amiss.

  ‘Mrs Elliot … Bel.’ Helen hurried over to meet them both as they ran into the main foyer.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Agnes demanded.

  ‘Yes, yes, Polly’s going to be all right,’ Helen said.

  ‘And the baby?’ Bel asked. ‘Is the baby all right?’

  ‘That’s something I’m not so sure about,’ Helen admitted. ‘It looks as though Polly’s waters broke.’

  ‘What do yer mean, her waters broke? That doesn’t make sense. It’s too early. Far too early,’ Agnes said.

  Helen looked from Agnes to Bel, her expression equally perplexed.

  ‘I know. I’ve no idea. All I know is that Dr Parker was on hand as soon as she became unwell and we managed to get her to the hospital straight away and they took her down to theatre to see if they could see what’s wrong.’