When Anne and Irene returned from the Labour Exchange, they had very little good news. As expected, it didn’t matter how much workers were needed, a woman who had just lost her job for bringing children into a factory was not at the top of the list. The Female Vacancies Supervisor had asked Irene how she planned to look after her children if she did get a new job. It was a fair question she could not answer.
Irene was doing her best to put on a brave face, especially for Sheila, so Anne suggested that they all stay for the rest of the day. The children were having a lovely time and it would be a shame to break up the party. While Bunty ordered Irene to put her feet up, Anne and I headed off to Chandlers for what now felt an inappropriately cheery concert.
I was beginning to feel like an old hand as we arrived at the canteen and I was met by Mr. Adams, a tall, talkative, and not unpleasant Public Relations Manager. He stuck to me like glue and kept up an impressive running commentary about how wonderful everything was.
The ENSA concert had drawn a packed crowd, and as we watched a knockabout routine by a hardworking comic with very clicky false teeth, Mr. Adams nudged me with his elbow and pointed out how much everyone was enjoying themselves. “We’re going all out to get Tommy Trinder next,” said Mr. Adams. “Only the best for the Chandlers staff.”
His commitment to the factory’s propaganda effort was impressive but exhausting. I feigned a need for the lavatory to escape the enthusiastic prods and was just using the famous mirrors when Anne’s friend Betty sidled up.
“Anne says to ask if you don’t mind staying up late tonight?” she said in a whisper as if Mr. Adams had infiltrated the ladies’ conveniences. “She said you want to help to do something about Irene, so we thought we’d come round. It’ll be really late, as our shift ends at ten.”
“Of course,” I said.
“But don’t bring your new boyfriend,” added Betty.
I rolled my eyes. “Tragically, he only has eyes for his work,” I said. “And he’s probably waiting outside as we speak.”
I wasn’t wrong about that.
Twelve hours later, with Baby Tony safely tucked up in his cot, and all three girls somehow top and tailing in Ruby’s small bed, Anne arrived home with Betty, Violet, and Maeve. I stood back, waiting to introduce Bunty as they met Irene with an outpouring of sympathy and angry exclamations of how badly she had been treated.
As Irene put on one of the bravest fronts I’d ever seen, I felt uncomfortable. Betty, Maeve, and Vi still didn’t know that Irene’s husband was missing. Anne had said she probably shouldn’t have told me, and I knew I shouldn’t have told Bunts. It was easy to see how something confidential could suddenly become anything but.
It certainly was late, and they all looked tired after an eight-hour shift. I’d written two articles and drafted some replies for Yours Cheerfully, but had spent the evening playing with the children.
With everyone now crammed into the front room, where they were tucking into savoury sandwiches, Betty was giving us her own news from Chandlers.
“What exactly do they want you to do?” asked Maeve as Betty declined a square of dark chocolate.
“Well, this afternoon, Mr. Rice told me that Mr. Adams wants Chandlers to do a recruitment parade. I’ve been asked if I want to take part.”
“A what parade?” asked Maeve.
“Like on the newsreels?” said Anne. “We saw one the other day when I took Ruby to see Dumbo. There was this big procession in Birmingham with women sitting on the back of lorries pretending to work on bits of Spitfires, with big signs saying things like ‘Help us help our boys.’ ”
Betty nodded. “That’s almost word for word what he said. Apart from the part about Dumbo, which must have been where he got the idea. I told them it would be a good start if they didn’t go around getting rid of the workers they already had.” Betty looked at Irene. “I’m sorry, Irene. We came round to talk about you, not go on about me.”
“It’s all right,” said Irene. “It’s given me a boost just being here. And I’m interested in what they’ve come up with. Honestly, Betty, go on.”
Maeve licked a bit of potted meat off her finger. “But why did they ask you? And are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know why they picked me,” said Betty. “Diane Philpott was asked. And Marjorie and Jane Watson.”
Anne, Violet, and Maeve looked at one another.
“What is it?” I asked.
Maeve pushed her spectacles up on the bridge of her nose. “They’re all young and really pretty,” she said. “Even Betty.”
Betty said, “Oi,” at her, but looked quite pleased.
“They’ll look lovely on a carnival float,” said Anne. “You should have seen the girls in the newsreel.”
“That’s guff,” said Betty. “They could have picked any of us.”
“Not me,” said Maeve cheerfully. “I’m a right old four-eyes.”
“No you’re not,” said Vi loyally. “And you could always take your specs off once you were on the lorry. I’d get dizzy and fall off.”
“Rot!” said Anne and Betty at the same time, and the friends began to defend one another. It was exactly the sort of argument I would have with Bunty or Thelma and the girls at the fire station, with everyone refusing to let the other do themselves down.
Finally, and when they had convinced one another they should all have been asked to take part, I turned to Betty. “Have you decided if you’ll do it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Betty, sighing. “Everyone knows we need more workers. And I’ll look awful and unpatriotic if I don’t. It’s just…” She puffed out her cheeks and looked unimpressed.
“They’ve just sacked our friend,” said Anne.
“Exactly,” said Betty. “Irene’s looking for work and I’ll be lording it around in a parade.”
No one said anything. I could hear the rain outside.
Finally Irene spoke. “You mustn’t feel bad, Betty,” she said. “We know they need the workers.”
It was the most generous thing I had ever heard.
“Well, they’d better give us all signs saying, ‘But not if you’ve got children,’ then,” said Betty hotly. “It sticks in my craw.”
“You’re right,” said Maeve. “We’re always expected to work harder or faster when they need us to, and do weekends as a matter of course, but they don’t give a fig about the fact we still have to run homes, look after children, and all the rest. I notice they haven’t asked any of the women with kids to do the parade. No offence, Bet.”
“None taken,” said Betty. “You can’t go anywhere without being reminded the Government needs everyone to pitch in, and then look what’s happened to poor old Irene. I’m not going to just smile and wave and become a walking advert for factory work without telling the truth.”
I winced. I knew Betty hadn’t aimed her comments at me, but they stung. While I had sympathised with the women workers, and worried about the articles I had written, I had still got on with it. Betty, on the other hand, had the courage of her convictions and wasn’t afraid to make her point known.
I thought of the photographs we had run of them smiling at their machines. After only four weeks, Betty is an old hand at the lathe! Nineteen-year-old Violet says, “I’m doing this for my husband and the boys.”
If that wasn’t turning them into adverts, what was?
I wondered if other women felt the same way as Betty. Did readers see articles like mine and think, She doesn’t know the half of it?
The others continued to talk as I stared at the fire, thinking furiously. I had been so thrilled to be there when the Ministry of Information asked us to help with a crucial campaign, and I still felt proud to be part of that. But where were the calls for women to get better facilities so that they could do what was asked? The women sitting with me weren’t asking for special favours. They all wanted or needed to work.
How long would it be before the next person got into the same fix as Irene? Would it be Maeve or Anne or one of the other women on their shifts?
I thought of my own job. Everyone was doing their best to make the magazine helpful, entertaining, and even inspiring. Despite all our hard work, currently it didn’t feel as if we really were Woman’s Friend.
Betty saw the thoughtful look on my face. “Oh, crikey, I’m sorry, Emmy,” she said. “That came out wrong. I don’t mean the magazine. I loved having my picture in Woman’s Friend. My mum’s cut it out and put it in a frame, she’s that proud.”
“Don’t worry, Betty,” I said. “You’re right. I bowled in here, asking you all to put on a good front and be part of a campaign, but I haven’t been any help in return.”
“You tried to speak with Mr. Terry,” said Anne.
“I just made him cross,” I said. “And anyway, one of you would have found a way to him in the end. Is there anything I can do to properly help?”
“That’s very kind, Emmy, but I can’t see how,” said Anne. She sounded exhausted. “What we really want is for them to give Irene her job back.”
Irene gave her a brave smile. “There’s no point if I can’t find someone to look after the girls. That’s where I need the help.”
“We can all keep asking round,” said Vi. “See if anyone who can’t do factory work could help?”
“That’s what the woman at the Employment Exchange said,” replied Anne. “She said they wanted older women to step up.”
I listened closely. I’d read a Ministry press release saying exactly the same thing.
“That’s all very well,” said Maeve. “But are they going to take them in at five in the morning, or have them until this time of the night?”
“One of our neighbours already complains that I wake them up when I leave for work,” said Anne. She gave a hollow laugh. “Not everyone wants a job looking after babies.”
“Have you asked Mr. Rice about any of this?” I asked.
“Yes. I did ask him about getting a nursery,” said Irene. “But he said there weren’t any plans. And I asked about sharing shifts—not that that’s ideal, money-wise. But he said not to fix what wasn’t broken.”
“I asked my National Service Officer just to see what she thought,” said Betty. “She said things were being done as fast as they could, and people would just have to wait.”
“Mr. Terry isn’t bothered about families,” said Anne. “I expect they’re all used to having men working there who can leave everything to their wives.”
“Surely,” I said, concerned at the emptiness in her voice, “as Chandlers is an official Government supplier, there’s a strong case for getting a proper nursery set up.”
“But if Mr. Terry doesn’t think so—” began Maeve.
“Sucks to Mr. Terry,” I said rudely. “Let’s find a way to do it without him. You aren’t alone in wanting help. There was an article in Picture Post last month about needing more Government nurseries. I’ll try to find it when I get home. Irene, could you ask the Female Vacancies Supervisor if she knows who to speak to in your Local Authority?”
Irene nodded, but I noticed she was beginning to look overwhelmed. The strain she was under must have been unbearable.
“Well, I’ll happily write to anyone if it will help,” said Anne. “Hold on, I can hear crying. Is that Enid?”
“Yes, it is,” said Irene. “She’s probably woken up and doesn’t remember where she is.”
“We could ask around at work,” said Violet as Irene hurried out of the room. “To see who else might be interested in getting a nursery. I heard that Evelyn Bryant in the assembly shop has resigned. She said when she heard about Irene, she decided she’d rather jump than be pushed. The more of us involved, the better.”
Betty sat up straighter. “I might write to our MP,” she said. “He’s about a hundred and ten, but you never know. At least I’d feel as if I was doing something.”
“I can do that too,” said Violet.
“I’ll ask around at work to see if anyone knows people in the Labour or Health Ministries,” said Bunty. “You never know. Emmy, can you get Mr. Collins to ask some of the bigwigs he speaks to?”
It was easy to say yes to that, as I felt sure he would be happy to help, and I was keen for him to know about tonight’s meeting so that I was keeping everything above board. I wasn’t trying to start a revolution, but I wanted him to know what I was doing.
As I looked around the room, I saw that the mood had changed. With us all together and everyone chipping in ideas, it was as if we were a team. I felt my spirits rise, even when Maeve brought up a reluctant point of practicality.
“I hate to be a damp squib,” she said, lowering her voice. “But how is this going to help Irene? She’s still unemployed with no wages. I suppose she can’t even tell her husband as he’s at sea.”
I held my breath, but Anne didn’t turn a hair. “He is,” she said. “And that makes it even harder for her. The main thing is, we show her she isn’t on her own. Emmy said Sheila thinks it’s her fault Irene got the sack.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” said Betty.
“Poor love,” said Maeve.
“We’ll all pitch in,” said Violet hotly. “See if anyone knows of work. Ask around if there’s anything part time.”
“You’ll be lucky,” said Maeve. “Thank goodness she’s got his pay.”
Anne gave a tighter smile to that. “So you’re going to tell them no about the parade, then, Betty?” she said, changing the subject abruptly.
“I don’t want to do it,” said Betty. “But I don’t want to be unpatriotic either. They’re doing it in January, as they want it to be a New Year thing.”
“You could always hold that sign,” said Maeve. “Ask them for one that says, ‘Help us help our boys,’ and get out your lipstick and write, ‘And help my friends get a blooming factory nursery too,’ on the back!”
It raised a laugh.
Maeve looked at the small silver clock on the mantelpiece. “I really should go,” she said. “I’ve got my niece with the children and she’ll think I’ve skipped the country if I don’t get back soon.”
But I had one more idea. “You could always have your own parade,” I said.
They all looked at me.
“If you had some sort of march, you could write your own ‘Help us help our boys’ signs. Then Betty wouldn’t have to waste her best lipstick.”
I tried to sound jokey in case the others thought I was going too far. But they didn’t. Maeve sat back down.
“Are you serious?” said Anne.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” said Betty.
“Is it legal?” said Violet. “I don’t want to get arrested.”
“I think so,” I said.
“Definitely,” said Bunty. “As long as it’s not unpatriotic, which it wouldn’t be because you’re actually saying you want to do more. People are still allowed to say what they think. Em and I went to a rally in Trafalgar Square about equal injury compensation for women. Dr. Summerskill, the MP, did a speech. It was ever so good.” Bunty smiled. “Don’t worry, Anne, you haven’t left the children with A Radical.”
“Although Ruby now calls Baby Tony comrade.” I grinned.
“Shush, you two,” said Anne. She was perched on a kitchen stool, and while she still looked awfully tired, now her eyes were bright as a button. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. We’ll try all the other ideas as well, but if we did a parade, we might get more people on our side. We could walk around the marketplace. What do you think?”
“I think we’d all get the sack,” said Maeve.
“No, we won’t,” said Betty, up for a challenge. “We’ll be ever so nice and not angry or anything. It’ll just be a group of women on a walk.”
“You’d need to make sure that people see you’re trying to help, not be unpatriotic. That’s really important,” I added, feeling responsible for the idea. “It needs to be clear that you are doing this for the right reasons.”
“Can we ask other friends to come too?” said Maeve. “My cousin has a baby and she’s finding it hard. She’s at a different factory, though.”
“The more the merrier, I reckon,” said Betty.
“Mr. Terry or Mr. Rice might see us,” said Violet, not yet convinced. “We’d get in trouble.”
“Not if we’re nice about it,” said Anne. “And anyway, Emmy will get us into the papers saying we just want to work to help the war effort. It would make Mr. Terry look awful. You could do that, couldn’t you, Emmy?”
Anne’s faith in me was lovely, if overconfident, but the last thing I wanted to do was to dampen the enthusiasm. “I’ll give it a good go,” I said. “No one knows who I am, but I’ll try to get an article printed somewhere.”
The women all looked at me with interest. I wasn’t being modest. I really didn’t know if I would be able to. Certainly not in Woman’s Friend. But I could try one of the more political magazines where they encouraged discussions like this.
“Would you do that?” asked Anne. “You wouldn’t get into trouble at work?”
“Of course I’ll do it,” I said. “I need to make sure my boss knows, but I think he’ll understand. He might even know who I could send it to.”
“If you’re willing to do that for us,” said Anne, raising her chin, “then if you need to put real people in it, you can use my full name.”
“And mine,” said Betty.
Violet and Maeve looked at each other, then nodded and agreed. It was a brave move.
No one had looked at Irene since she came back from checking on Enid. She had enough on her plate. But Irene thought differently. “Can I come?” she said quietly. “Even though I’m not at Chandlers now, I’d like to join in. I’d like to try to make people listen.”
Anne reached over and took her hand. “You don’t need to ask, ’Rene,” she said gently. “You do whatever you want to do. Whatever is best for you.”
Irene smiled. “I’ll come,” she said.
“Thank you, everyone,” I said. “Now, the last thing I want is to get any of you into trouble, so perhaps before definitely having a parade, you should try Mr. Terry one more time. Just to make sure he can’t be convinced.”
“We could write him a letter,” said Anne. “Put down all the arguments. We could copy in the Labour Exchange and the Council too, so they see we’re trying to do things properly.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“Hang on,” said Maeve. “We should be making notes on all this.” She reached into her handbag and brought out a pencil and shopping list pad. “I was a flipping good secretary before I got married.”
“Just one thing,” said Anne. “Are you sure you’re all happy to make this about the children? There are lots of other things we could be asking about. Betty, you wanted to join the union. And then there was the point about us not getting paid as much as the men. And not all of you need nurseries.”
Maeve spoke first. “In my view,” she said, “we can’t fight for everything at once. We’ve seen what happened to Irene, and it could be you or me next.”
Anne went pale. “Oh, Maeve, don’t,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” said Maeve. “I’m sure it won’t be, but if we get somewhere on this, it would be a big step forward.”
“I agree,” said Violet. “It could be any of us. If my Cyril ever gets leave, I could be in the queue next.”
“Show-off,” said Maeve.
“Get you, Mae West,” said Betty, laughing.
Violet went red. “We know what you meant, Vi,” said Anne. “And you’re absolutely right. If we could do this, it will make life easier for lots of us.” She stifled a yawn. “Now then, shall we call it a night? Comrade Tony will wake up in about four hours and I really must get some sleep.”
The others readily agreed, but it was a different group of friends who parted now. With Maeve’s shorthand notes in her knitted bag, it felt as if there was a plan of attack. As the girls put on their coats, turning up collars and wrapping brightly coloured scarves around their necks, Betty started whistling a socialist song and had to be told to stop before Anne opened the door because of the neighbours.
After whispered goodbyes, Anne and Irene began gently arguing over who should sleep on the sofa, as it was now far too late to go home. Irene went to check on the children and Anne showed Bunty and me to her mum’s room, which we were going to share, and she thanked us for the hundredth time.
“Honestly, we haven’t done anything,” I said. “I just feel horrible for Irene. I didn’t want to say it in front of the others, but Sheila rather shook me today.”
“There but for the grace of God,” said Anne seriously. She shuddered.
“If you’re ever in a fix, please do say,” said Bunty. “I don’t want to be too forward, but if Irene gets into problems, there’s space with us at my granny’s house. Any of you can always come and stay. I know that doesn’t solve anything,” she added, looking self-conscious. “And you might not want to bring children into town.”
Bunty hated sounding like she was trying to be grand or showy, but I knew it was from the heart. The big old house was half empty.
“Thank you,” said Anne. “That’s the kindest thing ever. But we’ll be all right. You mustn’t worry about us. Everything is going to be fine.”