Wedding Bells on the Home Front Page 6

  It was now that he bunched his hands in his overall pockets and rose on his toes as he always used to when vexed. This time, though, he whipped out his hand and pointed at Mr Gaines. ‘You, my good man, might be an investigative security officer from London’s Head Office, but I am foreman and responsible for the care of these women, and of the product. Product without which the war will not be won. You can sling yer hook if you are rude to my girls, you hear. I’m not having any more jumped-up arses taking my best workers to some ungodly Scottish site and sending them home hurt. Neither am I having jumped-up arses telling me my bliddy business here, in my own sector. You’ve got that, have you? For if you haven’t, you joyless lump of Head Office namby-pamby, I’ll find some written notes and stick them up your bliddy arse.’

  There was utter silence. Mr Swinton shoved his hand back into his pocket, Mrs Oborne stepped back, nodding, probably thinking, guessed Beth, that she couldn’t have put it better herself. Miss Ellington drew in a deep breath as Mr Gaines’s colour changed from brick red to white. She coughed, then said, ‘Time for the rules, I think, Mr Swinton. We don’t want to keep the night shift waiting for this fore shift to take over.’ She nodded at the clock.

  Mr Gaines turned on his heel, swishing out, only to be called back by Miss Ellington. ‘I think not, Mr Gaines. While the rules are repeated, we will need to continue checking that the lasses have missed nothing that will impinge on their safety. That is our job, even if one of us is an investigative security officer and the other is not. What think you?’

  Their foreman cleared his throat and ran through the rules, which everyone knew by heart; for safety had become second nature to them all.

  ‘Any coughing, step away from the bench. Felt shoes for the detonator section. No metal, no silk or nylon either, anywhere. Concentration, absolute obedience. We’ve covered singing and the tannoy. No gossiping around the neighbourhood, no loose talk.’ On went Mr Swinton, and at the end they all clapped. Mr Swinton looked surprised, as well he might, but, thought Beth, there was a first time for everything.

  Mr Gaines and Miss Ellington continued their search. Mr Gaines had taken the left-hand side of the room, poking his fingers through the girls’ hair, checking their legs for nylons.

  Mrs Oborne looked down at Mr Gaines as he lifted her hem. ‘No touching me pins, mind,’ she said. ‘Any of that, and you’ll get me foot in your face, or your arse, whichever’s to hand. If it’s your arse it’ll be right busy, what with Mr Swinton’s notes paying a visit too.’

  Gaines straightened, scarlet, his greying hair so short you could see that his scalp had blushed too. ‘It’s my job,’ he said, strutting around everyone, then making for the front of the room.

  ‘Right,’ said Mr Swinton, ‘these are the stations for today, ladies. Mostly, the same as last week, but Fran, Beth, Sarah – to the pellets. You’re sure your strapped arm is up to it, Fran?’ Beth groaned at the thought of the sticky chemicals as Fran nodded. Mr Swinton went on. ‘Viola, sewing section.’

  He was ushering Gaines and Miss Ellington before him into the corridor. The women followed, but headed to their various workshops as Mr Swinton said, ‘Mr Gaines, you are going to Mr Bolton’s office with Miss Ellington as escort. I want this fracas reported. Once I’ve set up the shift, I will be along.’

  As Sarah and Fran passed the poster calling on them all to Be Like Dad – Keep Mum, they heard Gaines’s voice, high-pitched with fury. ‘Yes, and we’ll find out then, just who is in charge.’

  Surely he can’t be?’ said Fran. ‘Not after Mr Swinton has worked so hard, and is now so reasonable?’ They looked at Swinton, striding past them. Sarah shook her head. ‘It’s a madhouse.’

  Beth muttered, pulling on her turban, just as the others were doing. ‘Pellets and Mr Gaines. What a bliddy start to married life, our Sarah, eh. But it’s worth it, just to have heard Mr Swinton, and Mrs Oborne.’

  They walked on past the propaganda posters, towards the pellet section. The tannoy was playing music quietly as they headed for the workbenches. Dora raised her eyebrows, sighed and stepped back from the bench. ‘By, am I glad to see you. Met our ray of sunshine, Mr bliddy Gaines, have you, with a mouth like a sparrow’s bum? He joined yesterday. Jumped-up little squirt. He’s been drafted here after the “incidents” to check we’re all up to scratch. I reckon we’re stuck with the beggar for a while, but not for ever, I hope. Still, it’s a living, till we’re blown up.’

  They laughed as Dora led the night shift out into the corridor, then they stepped up to the workbench, ready to wrap the inch-long fuse pellets designed to charge detonators and send shells and bullets on their way. Beth smiled and whispered, ‘Aye, well, she’s right, it is a living. Plus, I have Bob’s navy allotment, and Stan’ll help with his mam and you, Sarah. Fran, you’ll soon have Davey’s help with your mam and Ben, so as long as we work in the dangerous sections, the expenses are more’n paid.’

  Fran whispered in return, ‘The singing bookings will build, and the co-op’s proggy rugs bring in a bit, so we’ll all be right. Then we can all start to put some aside for our das’ headstones.’

  Sarah leaned forward. ‘And your mam’s little Betty’s, Fran.’

  ‘It Had to Be You’ was playing over the tannoy as Mr Swinton handed over to Patrick, the deputy foreman, and removed himself from the workshop. Fran muttered, ‘While Viola’s in the sewing section she won’t be getting as much, but it doesn’t matter, for we can all chip in for owt she needs, and at least there’s no rent to pay.’

  The girls agreed, and on they all worked, pasting the fluted paper pellets. They tried to ignore the chemical mixture coating their fingertips, knowing that by the end of the shift their fingers would be a deep yellow, and that the chemicals would seep deep into their skin, and aggravate the rashes that covered their bodies. But howay, that was part of their lives now.

  They pasted another, and another, blessing the mams’ sphagnum-moss dressings that soothed and prevented the rashes from becoming septic if they scratched too hard. On the whole, though, they preferred the lavender grease because it smelled good, and helped them sleep. But the key was to keep drinking water whenever they could.

  ‘I can almost feel the rash getting worse,’ grumbled Sarah.

  ‘Aye well,’ called Maisie, ‘your Stan can scratch it for you, but don’t let it go to pus. Nowt pretty about pus.’

  Beth placed a pasted pellet in the stand on the workbench. ‘Aye, well, that’s just put me off me dinner – please will everyone stop talking about pus. Bad enough on the bus yesterday, and here we are, at it again.’ She looked up at the clock. Seven o’clock, was that all? ‘All I can say is it’s as well my Bob’s busy elsewhere and not about to have a rummage once we get to bed, for it’ll make it worse.’

  The girls laughed. The Factory Girls’ song ‘All or Nothing at All’ was now playing over the tannoy. Perhaps it would be too much for Viola to play the saxophone, even for a little bit, at Stevie’s? What date was it? Beth couldn’t remember. As she wrapped the pellet she asked the others.

  ‘It’s the fourteenth,’ replied Fran, ‘which is a Saturday.’

  ‘Aye,’ Sarah agreed. ‘By, I hope Stan’s not on shift. I want him to come.’

  Beth wished Bob could be there and hated that he’d had to leave last night. They had stood together by the telephone box, and he’d wanted her to go back to the hall while he waited for Tommy, but she wouldn’t. ‘Every moment I can be with you, I will,’ she’d said.

  He’d touched her cheek in the cold. ‘Look, Beth, war is difficult. I—’ He’d sounded so serious.

  She’d kissed him, stopping his words, wanting his arms around her. She’d said against his mouth, ‘Aye, I know, you keep saying that, but ’tis the same for everyone. That’s why, when we can, I want us to be together.’ He’d held her away, looking at her in the darkness. She’d smelled the beer on his breath and the cigarettes.

  He’d given her a bit of a shake. ‘We’ll always do what we ca
n for one another, though, won’t we? Everything we’ve had counts for something, eh?’

  ‘Aye, of course,’ she’d said. She could feel the strength of his grasp even now, and tears threatened. She went to wipe her eyes.

  Fran shouted: ‘Beth. No.’

  Gaines was by her side then, his lips thinned, his voice tight. ‘Well trained, are you? Wiping your eyes is a classic beginner’s mistake. So much for safety procedures.’

  Beth knew he was right. ‘But Fran warned me,’ she said. ‘So the safety procedures work. We look after one another, see.’ She resumed pasting, feeling the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck because he was standing too close. His nose whistled as he breathed. She hated that and placed the wrapped pellet on the stand, then moved the stand on the conveyor belt. She began a new box of pellets and ignored him, continuing to paste, wishing she’d seen him enter. He moved on. She and Fran looked at one another.

  ‘So, who won in Bolton’s office?’ murmured Fran.

  They looked around. Patrick was walking along Valerie’s row, and Gaines was heading to the door. He turned, standing with his back to it, his eyes darting everywhere, but there was no sign of Mr Swinton or Miss Ellington.

  ‘Surely they haven’t been sacked?’ Fran whispered. Mrs Oborne was looking along the workbench at them, frowning. Fran shook her head, then shrugged. Mrs Oborne nodded, and went back to pasting.

  Even at the dinner break it was Mr Gaines strutting up and down the canteen, his white coat glistening and stiff as a packet of starch. Somehow it withstood the steamy, cabbage-smelling atmosphere ‘How …?’ said Viola as she ate the watery grey rabbit stew. ‘How is it so white when he’s been all over the place today, familiarising himself, or so he’s said?’

  It was only when the break was over that they saw Mr Swinton and Miss Ellington enter. From their frowns it looked as though their headaches were still throbbing, or maybe they’d had bad news? Perhaps both? A flurry of worry went around the canteen as all the girls filed out into the corridor to be back at their posts for one o’clock. Ahead, the detonator fillers in their soundless felt shoes turned off to their workshop while Fran, Beth and Sarah continued on to the pellet workshop. Beth heard hurrying footsteps catching them up. It was Miss Ellington. ‘Well?’

  Miss Ellington moved alongside, sighing. ‘Gaines is kingpin, it seems. Sent by London to sharpen up security after the break-in and establish some proper regard to safety – Bolton’s words, though he looked sick as a parrot.’

  The women walked on, but Beth had been thinking. ‘If he’s kingpin, Cyn, surely he can’t be spending all his time in one sector? What about the underground shell-filling?’

  Miss Ellington grimaced. ‘He’s to give everyone the once-over in turn. We have the privilege of being first, while clearly he still has a build-up of energy. He has the power to transfer or sack anyone, and Mr Bolton has just informed us that, thanks to Gaines, Mr Swinton and I are on a warning.’

  Beth’s headache worsened. Fran and Sarah cursed.

  ‘What about Mrs Oborne?’ asked Fran.

  ‘I’m to have a quiet but firm word,’ said Miss Ellington. ‘I will also warn everyone to stay sharp, no mistakes if possible, and to curb tongues or risk their jobs.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Fran called after Miss Ellington. The only reply was a wave.

  ‘The man’s mad,’ muttered Beth. ‘He must see that the war needs every trained person.’ She stopped. ‘Well, I suppose I didn’t help, nearly wiping my eye.’

  Sarah sighed. ‘Every factory has incidents, ours fewer than most, or that’s what the foreman told us in Scotland. He also told us that we were the best-trained girls he’d had.’

  Fran nodded, thinking it was true, for she was the only one who had almost seen the grip in time. There, Ralph, she thought. What about that for a change of attitude, eh? Fran linked arms with Beth as they approached the door to the pellet workshop. ‘Aye, you can say that again.’ Sarah did, but it was automatic, and no one even smiled.

  The end of the shift couldn’t come quickly enough, and at two, when the aft shift took their places, the women hurried to the changing rooms, gulping water from their bottles, picking up all their belongings, desperate to be away from the Factory. They were checked for contraband as they left the changing rooms by Miss Ellington and Mrs Raydon, who’d come back from the shell-filling sector, just for today. Then hurried into the cold fresh air and approached the gate.

  Fran said, gripping Sarah’s arm, ‘Oh no.’ There stood Gaines, alongside the guards, the wind tugging at his overalls, which were still untouched by dirt.

  ‘He looks as though he’s a sail,’ muttered Sarah. ‘Perhaps he’ll take off.’

  He was rechecking the fore-shift and Barry’s face told a story. The girls reached the guard post behind Valerie, Sandra and Mrs Seaton, and waited as Maisie’s bag was searched by Gaines, and Marjorie’s by Barry. They heard Barry say, ‘You telling us we’re not doing our jobs, Mr Gaines?’

  Gaines continued to poke around Maisie’s bag. ‘You might have noticed I’m not saying anything. So, best just do what you’re paid to do, and get on with your job.’

  Barry checked Valerie, Sandra and Mrs Seaton’s bags and pockets while Harry lifted the red and white pole. Fran was next. She opened her bag for Barry, who was swearing under his breath. He checked her pockets. She moved on, but Mr Gaines called her back.

  ‘I’ve just been checked leaving the changing room and again by Barry, and I have no pellets,’ said Fran. ‘Why would I take them?’

  ‘Lavatory rolls get taken too.’ He was looking at her as though he was about to catch her red-handed.

  ‘Oh dear,’ whispered Mrs Oborne, who had come up behind Beth.

  Fran looked at him and said, slowly and clearly, ‘I wipe my bum with my own toilet paper in my own netty, thank you, as I expect you do, Mr Gaines.’

  She pulled her bag on to her shoulder and barged past him. He started to shout, ‘Just—’

  Beth had been checked by Barry and slid out after Fran, calling back to Gaines, ‘Morale-building is as important as checking for toilet paper, Mr Gaines. Did they not teach you that at “I’m a little Hitler” school?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Mrs Oborne said again, as she joined the queue of women intent on shoving past him. All the girls destined for Bert’s bus heard Gaines’s cry of pain as Tilly Oborne’s immodest weight found his right foot.

  They heard her call, ‘Boots with hard toecaps are good for safety, Mr Gaines. You might do well to consider that. Not steel, of course. Don’t want you going up in a blaze of glory, eh?’

  As they headed for home, the bus was full of chatter, outrage and worry over Miss Ellington and Mr Swinton.

  ‘Gaines can’t last,’ decided Sarah finally.

  ‘Why not?’ answered Viola. ‘His sort somehow have a way of hanging about.’

  ‘Aye,’ Maisie said. ‘Like a bad smell.’

  After a while the bus quietened and the women sat back, some almost asleep, as the girls on the back seat whispered that it was bad enough having to fight a bliddy war, without having a bliddy overzealous official. What’s more, one who made a virtue of rudeness. They wondered if perhaps shaking them up was all part of the investigation, or did Gaines think one of them was in cahoots with those who’d tried to break in?

  ‘He might think it’ll panic us,’ called Maisie, ‘make us confess to breaking down the fence when it were the wind that took it down, for heaven’s sake.’

  Fran murmured, between sips of her water, ‘Who knows? He’s staying at the Rising Sun, believe it or not. Bet Mildred is right put out having such a ray of sunshine, but it’s a bit of money in the till. Maybe Stevie will take his photograph and ask him to smile?’

  Mrs Oborne called, ‘Well, he’ll have to wait a bliddy long time before he gets one out of the miserable old beggar, and when he does it’ll crack the lens.’ She called down to Bert then. ‘You hear that, Bert? Another misery guts has landed, but one who�
�s worse than you, believe it or not. And why’re you crawling along? We want to get home sometime this week.’

  The bus fell quiet as they waited for Bert’s reply. It took a while coming, which wasn’t like him. Finally, he said, steering steadily round a bend in the road, ‘You be quiet, our Tilly. This bliddy tyre is getting worse, so I’m taking it real slow, lass. Don’t want to have to walk home, do you? The depot are fitting a new one when I get back.’

  The bus chatter was muted now, and everyone seemed conscious of how slowly they really were going, noticing how the bus seemed to be slipping a little as Bert steered around corners.

  ‘Bliddy hell,’ groaned Maisie, ‘the bairn’ll be home from school and Mam’s alone in the shop. Still, the lad can help her weigh up something or other. Be good for his arithmetic …’ She stopped and looked out of the window.

  Fran followed her gaze and saw that snowdrops could be seen where the drifts had been. It would be daffodils, then bluebells soon. Next to her, Viola muttered, ‘So, we’ve Gaines who’s a beggar, and Swinton who isn’t any more, and Ralph isn’t either, you say. So, what was the lad like before he improved?’

  Beth called across Fran to Viola, ‘If he’s improved. He was horrid, now he’s nice. He’ll stay nice, or he won’t, so divint fret yourself, lass.’

  Viola grinned. ‘Maybe he and Gaines went to the same school.’

  ‘Aye,’ called Maisie. ‘Could be the school of bad manners, eh?’ But she sounded preoccupied, her eyes now fixed on Bert.

  Fran suddenly sat bolt upright. She could feel the bus had slipped, and now it was drifting across the road, swaying from one side to the other, and the back was sliding. Silence had fallen. Fran shouted, ‘Bert, Bert, what’s happening?’

  Some of the women were standing craning over those still sitting down, staring out of the windows, then to the front.

  ‘What the—’ shouted Bert. A deer bounded over a wall, straight in front of the bus. There was a squeal of brakes, and Bert struggled with the steering wheel. The deer bounded on. Fran saw its face, uncaring, unaware. It was soon gone, over the far hedge. Its rear leg caught on a branch, but was then released. The bus juddered, lurched forward, the front dipping on the right, and there was a screech of metal on tarmac, sparks flying up from the road. The bus seemed to tip, before righting itself. Beth was thrown to the floor as the back of the bus whipped round, and they heard Bert’s panicked voice.