These boys won’t be out of their apprenticeship till 1940,’ said the accountant, sorting documents on his desk.
‘Doesn’t it sound sad,’ commented Miss Trueman.
‘All work is sad,’ said Mary pensively.
The accountant, looking at her asked, ‘Have you ever been out of work, Mary?’
‘No. Never.’
‘We may all be looking for a job soon,’ warned the accountant. ‘I have had instructions to reduce the office staff.’
‘Will I have to go first?’ asked Mary quickly.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Oo!’
‘It may not be for some weeks yet, but in the meantime keep your eyes open for a job. When you are put off, it will be without warning.’
‘I like working here,’ said Mary with a break in her voice.
‘And we like having you,’ said the accountant, kindly. ‘Perhaps, if things brighten up, we may be able to put you on again later.’
‘Would you?’ exclaimed Mary eagerly.
‘Sure,’ said the accountant. ‘Now run out and tell Mr Clynes I want him, will you?’
‘Right-o.’
‘I like your bedside manner,’ said Miss Trueman, when the door had closed. ‘You pass sentence of death well. Now, what about me?’
‘Yes, you,’ said the accountant, smiling. He laid down his pen and looking at the picture of the Duke of Gloucester. ‘I’ve thought quite a lot about your case, Miss Trueman. I’m still in doubt whether to sack you or not.’
‘Remove your mind of all doubt,’ said Miss Trueman. ‘Don’t sack me.’
‘I appreciate that advice, Miss Trueman,’ said the accountant with mock earnestness. ‘I will certainly take it.’
‘Always come to me when you want any advice like that,’ said Miss Trueman. ‘I like helping you.’
‘Do you want me?’ asked Clynes, entering.
‘These dockets …’ said the accountant, sitting upright.
‘Huh!’ Clynes got a chair and sat down beside him. ‘What’s wrong.’
‘We will never pull out with losses like this.’ He handed him a pile of dockets.
Clynes laid them on the table.
‘Now you’ve heard me say our only chance is to specialise. I put it up to the big fellow a year ago. And what did he do? He didn’t do anything. The fancy lines we sell in the shops, we should buy from the manufacturers who specialise in them. We should concentrate on the plain, cheaper lines. Wiley and Hale buy out, and they have their own shops. I knew all this years ago. If they had only taken notice of me we would be making money now. But what can I do? My hands are tied. What with her running the place …’
‘What would you do if you were given complete control?’ asked the accountant.
‘I’d cut out the lines that are not bringing us anything. I wouldn’t make any more sandals. This cut-out work runs us a loss on every pair we make.’
‘That’s true.’
‘They’re all the time yelling for “output”. That’s all right, but you have to sacrifice quality. They want both. Yet the big chap says to me, “Quantity first, then quality”. What the hell does he want? I’m always at the men. There’s Martin, now. He put 550 through on the pounder yesterday. He should do 600. I told him he would have to make up the extra fifty today or out he goes. He says it gets him in the back and shoulders. I told him he was doing them too good. He’s too careful. We will have to get another man there. There’s Dick been away sick for three days. I had to advertise for another man to take his job and that takes time. It meant a day wasted. These things always crop up and knock the dockets rotten. But the foremen will have to put more through their rooms. I’ll talk to them today. I roared Bert up this morning. He had his coat on after the bell went. I told him, I said “You should set an example to your men, Bert.” The foremen talk to each other, you know. We’ll have to stop that. There is too much collusion going on. They try and shield one another.’
Clynes drummed the table with his finger.
‘How do you think we’re going? Do you think we’ll go out?’
‘It is quite likely.’
‘God! It is going to go hard with me. I’m not young any longer.’
‘It will be hard for us all,’ said the accountant.
A smartly dressed man walked through the office and passed into the factory.
Clynes leant towards the accountant.
‘Do you know who that is?’
‘No.’
‘That’s Wilby, the manager of British Oil. He’s a personal friend of mine.’
‘Now Mable has raked up a quid, too,’ said Sadie. ‘Did you get three?’
‘Yes,’ said Leila weakly.
‘Well, that makes the fiver.’
‘Put it in your bag,’ suggested Mabel.
‘No. I think Leila should keep it,’ said Sadie. ‘She will have to do the paying. You keep it, Leila.’
She handed Leila the notes. Leila put them in her bag.
‘When do I have to pay,’ she asked. ‘Do I pay when I go in?’
‘As soon as she says she will do you,’ explained Sadie.
‘She will do me straight away, though, won’t she?’ asked Leila anxiously.
‘Not all in one night. You will have to go again, I think,’ explained Sadie. ‘You get rid of it yourself, like.’
‘I’m frightened.’
‘Hundreds go through it,’ said Mabel. ‘It won’t be so bad.’
They were waiting for a tram. The rails began to sing. The tram rocked round a curve spearing light from its windows. Brakes grated. It stopped. Escaping air hissed from behind its wheels.
The girls clambered in.
‘Well, we are on our way,’ said Sadie, settling herself.
The nurse’s house hid beyond trees. It was silent and sullen, and squatted in darkness.
The three girls stood close together 011 the verandah. Sadie pushed the button. There was no sound of a ringing bell.
‘It is one of those bells that ring in a back room,’ said Mabel.
Leila pressed her closed forefinger against her top teeth. She pressed and released it nervously.
A light flashed on in the hall behind the glass-panelled door. The door opened.
The nurse had a fat, round face. In the centre of her cheek was a small, brown mole. Three long black hairs grew out of the mole. She had thick lips that met with a firm softness. She opened her lips and four words escaped.
‘What do you want?’
‘We want to see you for a moment,’ said Sadie.
‘What about?’ demanded the woman.
Sadie nodded her head towards Leila.
‘She is in trouble.’
The nurse looked at Leila suspiciously. Leila’s fingers twined one within the other.
‘Come inside,’ said the nurse standing aside to let them in.
Sadie and Mabel waited in a room guarded by an aspidistra. On one end of the mantelpiece above the cast-iron grate, was a framed photograph of a little girl nursing a doll. On the other end was a photograph of a baby. The baby was laughing. It was naked and had a fat body. In the centre of the mantlepiece was a black, marble clock. The clock ticked and the sound of it seemed very loud in the room. There was no other sound in the house.
‘I don’t like the smell of this place,’ said Sadie, sniffing.
‘Neither do I,’ said Mabel. ‘But no place smells as nice as your home.’
‘This doesn’t smell like a home,’ said Sadie. ‘You smell it. It smells like a hospital.’
They both sniffed.
‘Yes. It is a bit like a hospital,’ Mabel agreed.
‘I wonder what she is doing to Leila now,’ asked Sadie.
‘Poor Leila,’ said Mabel. ‘Won’t it be awful if she faints or something?’
‘We could get into a lot of trouble for this, you know.’
‘Yes, I know. I wish they’d hurry. The quicker I get out of this place the better I’ll like it.’
‘Les would look if he saw you coming out of here,’ Sadie giggled.
‘Oo! wouldn’t it be awful to be seen by anybody?’
‘Have you found out whether Les is married?’
‘No,’ replied Mabel shortly.
‘You watch him. We don’t want you coming here, too.’
‘Is it very awful?’
‘Yes, it’s terrible. It hurts like anything, and sometimes it takes days, and you are always frightened of something happening. Then you come back to them and they finish you. Do you remember little Nora Smith?’
‘No. Who was she?’
‘She must have worked at the Modern before you started there. It happened to her one day when she was working. It was awful. They carried her home in the boss’s car. She got the sack over it.
‘What about Leila? She has got to work.’
‘Yes. We will have to watch her tomorrow.’
‘If her old man found out he would kick her out. Her mother would take a fit, Leila reckons.’
‘They won’t find out,’ Sadie assured her.
The nurse entered. Leila followed behind her. Her face was white. The marks of tears were on her cheeks. She smiled at them valiantly.
‘Up there!’ said Sadie, returning the smile.
‘Tomorrow night at nine,’ said the nurse addressing Leila.
‘Yes.’
She showed them out to the dark verandah. They escaped from her through the trees. On the street they drew deep breaths.
‘God!’ Mabel blew through her lips.
Leila’s machine tore at the leather. She watched the row of stitching fleeing from the needle’s darting point … Following the prick marks put on in the clicking room. Lifting, stitching and putting down … Lifting, stitching and putting down … Upper after upper …
Her teeth were set. Waves of giddiness made panic grip her heart. Then into a backwash of weakness and the slow inevitability of her pain.
She sat with her knees pressed close together, hardly daring to move. Her mind waited with a painful intensity for signs of her body’s approaching distress, waited defiantly, prepared to dispute the control of this painful occupant who wished her prostrate before her room-mates.
Upper after upper … (‘Remember, Leila, any machinist worth her salt will machine fifty pair of plain shoes a day.’) Upper after upper …
Every little while Sadie raised her head and looked at Leila. During these glances the b-r-r-r of her speeding machine did not falter. Sadie was a star.
Mabel often passed Leila’s bench on her way to the lavatory. (‘I have the runs today, Miss Richards.’) Mabel was a star.
Sometimes during the afternoon Leila had to hold on to her machine. Sadie glanced at her more often.
‘Miss Richards, don’t you think Leila should lie down for a few minutes? She doesn’t look well.’
‘What in the devil is the matter with that girl!’
‘Are you sick, Leila? Perhaps you had better lie down for a few minutes.’
The couch on which the girls ‘lay down’ was in the lavatory. It confronted the cubicles. Girls seated therein spoke to Leila.
‘God! you look white. What’s wrong?’
‘What you want is a good, stiff gin.’
‘Snap out of it, Leila.’
In twenty minutes she was back at her bench.
Lifting, stitching and putting down … Upper after upper …
At five o’clock Sadie helped her down the stairs.
‘Atta boy!’ she said. ‘Tomorrow you will be sparking on all six. Mabel and I will meet you tonight at the same place.’
At eleven o’clock they helped her outside. Her face was white and sunken.
‘My baby is gone,’ she whispered, and they said, ‘Don’t talk about it. Put your arms around our waists.’
‘My baby is gone,’ she whispered, and they said, ‘Don’t talk about it, Leila. It is over now.’
She sobbed in the shadow of trees while they stood sheltering her.
‘I would have had a baby — and it is gone.’