Rosie, Dorothy, Angie and M1artha were standing around their five-gallon barrel fire.
Rosie looked around the yard at the various squads of platers, riveters, caulkers and general labourers, then up at the yard clock, just about visible through the dirt and grime. It was only a few minutes to go until the klaxon sounded out the start of the morning shift.
‘It’s not like Gloria and Polly to be late.’ Martha said what Rosie was thinking.
‘They might have got held up with Hope – or baby Artie,’ said Angie.
‘Or the twins,’ Dorothy said. ‘They’ve probably spent too much time fussing over them and made themselves late. They’re so gorgeous, you can’t help it.’
‘That’s if they’re not screaming their lungs off,’ Angie said. The twins could be the most perfect babies one minute, all sweetness and light, smiles and gurgles, the next minute the worst, screeching and shrieking with all their might.
‘Yeah,’ Martha chuckled, showing her gapped front teeth, ‘they’re worse than any air raid siren, that’s for sure.’
‘Is that why yer never give them a cuddle?’ Angie asked.
‘I’m always frightened I’ll hold them the wrong way and hurt them,’ Martha confessed.
‘I think babies are pretty robust,’ Rosie reassured her, thinking that Martha herself was a prime example, her birth mother having tried to poison her.
‘Yeah, providing you don’t drop them on their head,’ said Angie.
‘Like your mam did with you,’ quipped Dorothy.
Angie was just about to bat back a reply when Gloria and Polly came hurrying through the main gates, quickly grabbing their clocking-on cards from Davey, the young timekeeper, and breaking into a jog to make it over to their workplace by the quayside.
‘Glor doesn’t look too happy,’ said Dorothy.
‘She doesn’t, does she,’ Angie agreed.
‘I hope nothing’s wrong,’ Martha worried.
‘Everything all right?’ asked Rosie as soon as they were within earshot.
Polly’s face looked grim.
‘Yes ’n no,’ Gloria said, puffing as she reached them and dropping her haversack on the ground. ‘It’s my Bobby. He’s been injured.’
‘Oh my God!’ Dorothy said, going over to her friend.
Even though none of the women had ever met Gloria’s sons, they all felt as though they knew them, especially as Gloria often brought their letters and postcards to work and read them out. The loud blare of the yard’s horn suddenly sounded out, making any more talk impossible as the noise of the shipyard instantly started up.
‘You all right to work?’ Rosie shouted into Gloria’s ear as a nearby worker turned on his pneumatic drill.
Gloria nodded.
‘Bobby’ll be fine,’ she shouted back, more to convince herself than anyone else.
At half-past ten Rosie made the sign of a T and they all downed tools. Seeing her grab her haversack, they all did the same, following her across the main deck of the ship they’d been welding, to the tip of the bow. It was far enough away from the other workers, most of whom had also stopped for a break, to allow a modicum of conversation.
‘So, what’s happened?’ Rosie said as they all sat down with their backs to the railings.
Thankfully, the wind had dropped and the temperature had risen to just about bearable.
‘He’s suffered some kind of head injury,’ Gloria said, her face full of concern.
Dorothy made a gasping sound and was instantly glowered at by the rest of the women.
‘But he’s not too bad from what I can tell.’ Gloria forced a smile and looked at Dorothy. ‘He’s not been made a vegetable or anything. He managed to write to me, which says a lot.’ Gloria fished around in her bag and pulled out his letter.
‘His writing looks a bit ropy,’ Dorothy said, looking over her shoulder.
‘That’s because he’s out at sea,’ Martha said.
‘Yeah,’ Angie laughed out loud, ‘yer writing would be ropy if yer were having to write while yer ship was gannin up and down like a bleedin’ seesaw.’
Polly looked at Rosie and rolled her eyes.
‘So, what exactly does he say?’ Polly asked as Rosie handed Gloria a cup of tea from her flask.
‘Thanks,’ Gloria said, taking a sip.
‘Give her one of yer mam’s flapjacks,’ Angie commanded Martha. ‘She needs sugar. She’s had a shock.’
Martha did as she was told, offering them around, as Angie had hoped.
‘So, come on, what does it say?’ Dorothy said impatiently, her eyes darting down to the page. Bobby’s writing was small and spidery, making it impossible for Dorothy to read from where she was sitting.
‘He says,’ Gloria straightened out the letter, ‘that he and Gordon didn’t want to worry me, but during the “tussle they had with Jerry a few weeks back—”’
‘Does he mean the Battle of the North Cape?’ Dorothy interrupted.
‘I guess so,’ Gloria said.
‘Why doesn’t he just say the Battle of the North Cape?’ Dorothy said. ‘I mean, it’s not as if it’s a secret. All the papers were full of it.’
‘Bobby’s like that,’ Gloria said. ‘He can be a bit vague sometimes.’
‘Or it’s his head injury,’ Dorothy suggested.
‘Or he’s not wanted to worry his mother,’ Rosie said, giving Dorothy the daggers.
‘’Cos a tussle makes it seem like it was nowt,’ Angie said. ‘A few fisticuffs ’n then they were on their way.’
‘Go on,’ Dorothy nudged Gloria. ‘What else does he say?’
‘He says, “the ship got hit, but not badly,” and at the same time he got hit on the head, “but not badly”.’
‘But badly enough for him to tell you.’ Dorothy said what the rest of the women were thinking.
‘He says,’ Gloria read from the letter, ‘that they’ve got him “sat twiddling my thumbs” until they give him the green light to get back to “thrashing Jerry’s backside”.’
‘Well, I think they’ve done a good job of that already,’ Rosie said. The sinking of Scharnhorst meant that for the first time in the war the Allies were free from the threat of German battleships raiding their convoys in both the Arctic and the Atlantic.
‘But there must be something wrong for whoever’s his boss’ – Dorothy was unsure of the naval pecking order – ‘to have him sat twiddling his thumbs?’
Gloria looked up. ‘He just says that he’s got a bit of an ear infection, and it’s taking time to clear up.’
Dorothy breathed a huge sigh of relief. She put her arm around her friend. ‘Eee, thank goodness it’s nothing serious, eh?’
Gloria smiled.
‘Exactly,’ she said, finally taking a bite of her flapjack.
As they all trudged across the yard at the end of the shift, too tired to rush to beat the crush at the timekeeper’s cabin like some of the young apprentices, Dorothy tapped Gloria on the shoulder.
‘You still all right with me and Ange coming round tonight before we go to the Ritz?’
‘Yeah, we understand if you want to just be on yer tod,’ Angie said.
‘Because of Bobby’s letter?’ Gloria smiled. She’d had the day to mull over her son’s letter and felt reassured that he really was fine. That there was nothing serious to worry about.
‘Aye,’ Angie said, wrapping a scarf Quentin had given her around her neck. It was soft wool and smelled of him.
‘We’d all love to see you,’ Gloria said. ‘Especially Hope.’
‘Great, we’ll bring her favourite sweeties,’ Dorothy said.
Gloria smiled. Her daughter was a lucky girl. She’d got her daddy back, a godmother who sacrificed her sweet ration for her, the best big sister anyone could want in Helen, and a bunch of unofficial aunties in the women welders. And one day soon – when this war was over – she’d also have two lovable big brothers who would totally adore her. Once they got over the shock, of course. Which they would. Hearing that Bobby had been injured had momentarily blindsided her, but it had also made her realise that she needed to tell them about her situation, about her divorce from Vinnie, and the fact that they now had a little sister. It wasn’t fair to keep them in the dark any longer. Like Jack said, they were grown men – brave men – they could deal with what she had to tell them.