I was both buoyed and perturbed by the meeting, my head thoroughly stuffed with things to consider. I was thrilled to bits, of course, about Woman’s Friend being commended by Mr. Clough, which went down marvellously on my return to the office, but more than dismayed with Miss Eggerton and her lack of inclination to be of much help.
As Bunty put it, there are women who stick up for each other, and women who don’t.
Miss Eggerton was one of the don’ts. In fact, she didn’t even seem to think that women should be at work once they had children. I knew what my own mother would say in response to that, and it would probably start with “Granny didn’t chain herself to railings so that…”
I wondered what the point of Miss Eggerton’s being a spokeswoman for the Ministry of Labour and National Service was when she seemed to think that going to work was a matter of choice.
After all, it might have been highly unlikely that the Government would need every mother of young children to work, but she didn’t appear to realise that it wasn’t just about what the Government needed. What about the women themselves?
Miss Eggerton was letting them down.
As Anne and the women began organising a parade, it was time to redouble my efforts in terms of what I might be able to do. Mrs. Edwards had been right. I needed to take a different route.
While Anne and Betty tried again to get a response from the factory managers, as well as writing to their local authorities and making enquiries at the Labour Exchange, over the next week, Bunty and I made a list of anyone on a national level who might be able to help. Then we spent every minute we could writing letters and asking for advice.
With Mr. Collins away, I wrote to the Ministry of Health for information about the Government’s nurseries scheme, as we were planning a feature. It was entirely above board. I also wrote to all the news magazines asking if they were interested in an article about a women workers’ Patriotic Parade. This was above board as well, but I wrote to them from myself and not Woman’s Friend.
Bunty and I contacted our MP, and Bunts sent an impassioned letter to Dr. Summerskill, asking for her help. I wanted to write to Mr. Bevin, the Minister of Labour and National Service, himself, but Bunty said she would do that, as I’d just given Miss Eggerton the right pip and you never knew if my name was now on some sort of list.
We weren’t naive enough to think any of these people would actually have time to read our letters, but we carried on, nevertheless.
We kept each other updated as to whether we had made any headway or not. All of us had to go out and buy extra stamps.
Dear Anne,
Saturday 20 December sounds perfect for a parade. Bunty and I will come of course. Bunty is bringing her camera.
I spoke with someone at the M and I’m afraid they weren’t very helpful, but don’t worry, I shall find someone who is. Bunty is going to write to Mr. Bevin himself! If Betty doesn’t get any joy from writing to the union, perhaps she should too?
I’ll write more asap.
Love
Emmy x
Dear Emmy and Bunty,
The children are finally asleep, so I have five minutes to write. Thank you for your letters. We are all THRILLED you can come to the parade! As it is so close to Christmas, we hope the town will be busy (not that there’s anything to buy), and we’ve been told there will be a tree in the square, so that gives us something to march around. We have been trying to quietly spread the word and there’s been quite a good take-up by some of the other girls. We’ve asked everyone to keep it secret. I don’t trust you know who.
Some bad news. Mr. T refused to even meet us. Mr. R says it’s out of his hands and we reckon T has told everyone to close ranks. It’s just too mean of them all. I’m pleased we’re planning the other things.
The children are well but running rings around Mum—Ruby ran away again today. She only got as far as the next street when someone found her, but Mum was in bits.
Better go. I think Tony’s back teeth are finally coming through, poor love.
With love to you both,
Anne x
Dear Anne,
That’s rotten about Mr. T. I’m not enormously surprised, but still. Horrible.
But the plans for the 20th are wonderful. I have sent out letters about writing an article but have not put the specific details in yet. Do you think your local newspaper will be interested? I think leave it to very near the date to ask them, just in case.
Love,
E x
WOMAN’S FRIEND AT WORK
They’re Old Hands Now!
In the last of our series about women munitions workers, EMMELINE LAKE finds out how our New Recruits are doing after two months in the job.
We first met our friends several weeks ago when they were the new girls on the team. They were freshly trained and hard at work, but if that impressed you, you should see them all now!
MESSAGE—URGENT
To: Mrs. Mahoney & Miss Lake
From: Miss Hester Wilson
A quarter to eleven: The lady from The M called for Mr. Collins and said Mr. S. would like to speak to him URGENTLY. I said would Miss Lake do, but she said it has to be Mr. Collins. I didn’t say we don’t know where he is.
MESSAGE—URGENT
To: Miss Lake
From: Miss Wilson
Half past two: Miss Jackson from Lord Overton’s office asked if Mr. Collins is back yet. I said thank you very much but no he isn’t, and she asked when it might be, as Lord Overton would like to speak to him (Mr. Collins). I did ask, but like the other lady, she didn’t want you either.
Darling,
Thank you for your letter. It so cheered me up. You’d think I was in Timbuktu for the amount of time we get together.
I’m angling for a meeting in London so that I can try to see you, but let’s try to speak on the phone until then.
Not long ’til we’re married. I am counting the days!
All my love.
C xxx
Dear E&B,
Some good news: we think there may be up to twenty of us on the 20th! That’s good, isn’t it? And Betty has written to Mrs. Churchill because, Betty says, she is such a good sort and might listen. Ruby wanted her to ask Winston why barrage balloons don’t have faces drawn on, as they’d look funnier if they did. Betty told her she put it in as a PS!
Other things: Irene’s found a bit of cleaning work, so that has helped. She still hasn’t had any news.
Mum has a dicky tummy which she can’t shake off, but the rest of us are all right, so that’s a relief.
See you soon.
Anne x
It was good to feel we were all trying to do something that might help. Then two things happened that changed everything.
The first didn’t really affect anyone much, or at least no one outside of a small group of people, to whom it mattered more than anything. The second affected the whole world.
Both stopped us in our tracks.
As letters flowed between us all and out to the people we thought might have a sympathetic ear about helping women working in war work, news arrived from Anne. I supposed Bunty and I had half expected it, but it was no less awful when it came.
Dear Emmy and Bunty,
Irene has had the worst news about her husband, Douglas.
She is being very brave. We’re all trying to help.
She has taken the girls to Maeve’s. Enid doesn’t understand, but poor Sheila very much does.
I suppose at least now it is out in the open, but it’s shaken us all. Another one of our precious boys.
I hate this stupid, horrible war.
Anne xx
PS: Sorry—I should have called, but it’s just so dreadful and sad, and I didn’t want to cry on the phone.
Bunty and I sat in silence for ages after we’d read the letter. We hadn’t even met Douglas, and we’d only met Irene the once. But if anyone knew how she felt, it was Bunty. And if anyone knew how Irene’s friends felt, I had to say it was me.
As the war had gone on, I had found that sometimes concentrating on your own little part of the world could make things easier. I had always been an avid follower of the news, as we all were these days, and reading letters as part of my job meant I could never entirely ignore what was going on, even if I’d wanted to. But now and then, when it all felt as if everything was inch by inch getting too much, I would stop reading the newspapers for a couple of days, avoid the radio, and steer clear of discussing what was increasingly grim.
Perhaps I had thrown myself into concentrating on plans and letters about the parade partly to block out the news, especially if it was probable that Charles would go overseas at some point. Now it was right on our doorsteps again.
Bunty and I of course wrote to Irene, sending our sympathy and love, and telling her that if she could think of anything we could help with, to just say. We didn’t know her well enough to be much good, but we wanted her to know that we cared.
The second thing that happened could hardly have been farther away from us. On Sunday 7 December, the Japanese bombed an American naval base in Hawaii. It was the most awful attack and there was no question of wanting to avoid the news now. We were all glued to our radios as soon as we heard.
By Monday morning, the headline was the same on every front page. Japan had declared war on America and Britain. Now the whole world really was at war.
Charles hardly ever talked about what was said in the papers, and certainly nothing to do with his work, but now I was desperate to hear what he thought.
I rushed home from work, hoping he would call. When the phone rang, I snatched it up so quickly I nearly dropped it.
“Hello, darling,” said Charles from a phone box. “How are you?”
“I’m very well,” I said over-heartily. “Quite busy. How are you?”
“Jolly well too,” said Charles, sounding even more hale than me. “What’s the latest? I read your letter and I’m so sorry about Anne’s friend. How is she?”
“Anne says she is coping. It’s wretched, though.”
“I’m sorry,” said Charles again. “Tell me about work. How are things with Guy away?”
I didn’t really want to natter on about work, when the world seemed to be getting more dangerous by the minute, but I went along with him, for form’s sake.
“Absolutely fine. I’m a bit worried that both the people we can’t mention and Lord O. are trying to get hold of Guy. I keep thinking Miss E. may have complained. Other than that, nothing to report. I’ve finished writing the series on the factory. Bunty’s well and we’re writing letters to everyone we can think of.”
Everything tumbled out incoherently. It had been over a week since we last spoke, and Charles listened kindly as I whittered on.
“So, goodness, yes, that’s it,” I finished. “Have you frozen to death in the phone box while I’ve gone on?”
“Snug as a bug,” said Charles staunchly, which was probably untrue. “It’s what I’m here for, although I do wish I could be of some help. Do you really need to contact Guy?”
“Not for me, no, but I am rather worried about the important people. I wish he’d left a forwarding address or a number.”
“I’ll track him down,” said Charles. “Sorry if that sounds rather clandestine. He’s terrifically loyal to the chaps he was with in the army, but hardly talks about it. Things must be bleak, though, if he hasn’t been in touch. Leave it with me.”
I thanked him and Charles said it was a pleasure. Then, and unusually, there was a silence between us.
“Ooh,” I said brightly. “Nicer news—the vicar has confirmed that the choir can definitely do the wedding, which is lovely. And Mr. Bone says he knows a florist who can do some nice arrangements if we can supply the greenery. Bunty thinks if she and I can’t manage to go down ourselves to pick it all, her granny will find a way to get some sent up. Isn’t that kind of her?”
“Yes,” said Charles. He didn’t sound very excited by it. Then again, floristry possibly wasn’t his thing.
“And Roy and Fred from the station want to bring some sort of speaker and look after the music so everyone can dance afterwards.”
That was more up Charles’ street. “Very good,” he said.
His voice was flat as a pancake. I waited while there was another lull in the conversation.
“The thing is,” said Charles. “I’m so sorry, Em, but I think we may need to bring the wedding forward. I mean obviously I’m not sorry about getting married sooner. It’s just…”
The receiver felt heavy in my hand. I screwed up my eyes and waited.
“I think there’ll be a position for me overseas.”
If everything had seemed better two minutes ago, now it felt anything but. “Ah,” I said, playing for time so that I could get my voice in order before speaking. “Righto,” I managed. “That’s all right. What with the news and everything I had rather thought—”
“I’m so sorry, darling,” said Charles, sounding as wretched as I felt. “I’ve no idea yet what or where. It may have nothing to do with all that.”
I took a very deep breath and mustered every bit of miserable fortitude I could. “Not at all,” I said, as if someone had just apologised for taking the last seat on the bus. “So you can’t really tell me very much?”
“A bit,” said Charles. “Several of the medium-gun chaps need people, and they seem to think I might be the right sort. Possibly lining up to become a BC. It was rattling around before Hirohito’s lot did their party piece, so things may now have changed.” He went quiet. “Damn it, E, I’m so sorry. This has happened a lot faster than I thought.”
He sounded awful, but he should have been thrilled. He had hoped to become a Battery Commander at some point and he’d always said he loved being out in the field. This sounded like his chance.
It was my time to step up. I was marrying a career officer. He had been training for this since he was eighteen.
“Em, are you still there?” His concern was clear.
I cleared my throat and answered. “Of course, darling,” I said. “It sounds very exciting. Just your sort of thing, which really is awfully good.”
My knuckles were white as I gripped the telephone. When he answered, it sounded as if he knew it.
“It should be all right,” he said gently. “They’re all good bunches of men.”
“Of course,” I said again. I couldn’t stop saying of bloody course. “As if the Gunners would be anything else.” I tried to make a little joke of it, even managing to do a small laugh. “So you don’t know where you’ll be off to?”
Off to made it sound as if it would be quite the cheerful day out.
“I can’t say anything at the moment.” Silly question. “But I think it’ll be soon.”
He didn’t say when, but soon was enough for me.
“Will there be enough time?” I asked. “For the wedding?”
“We’ll make sure there is,” said Charles. “I’m not leaving until we’re married.”
It was one thing to keep hold of.
“But, darling, if you’re up for it, I think we should try to get married as soon as we possibly can. I’ll get onto the church and sort out a new date. Would that be all right, do you think?”
“I think that would be lovely,” I said. “And it’s a good thing, isn’t it? We’ve both been counting the days.”
I knew I didn’t sound anything like my usual self, but I was doing the best that I could, and Charles knew it.
“Bloody hell, I wish I wasn’t doing this on the phone,” he said. “You’re being terribly good about it.”
“I’m a lovely person,” I said, going for a spot of humour.
Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I hoped he couldn’t hear them in my voice.
“That I know,” said Charles. He sounded awful. “I’ll contact Reverend Lovell and see if he can change the date. I’ll sort a special licence if we need one and put in for emergency leave. I will make this work. I promise.”
There was no way I would let him hear me cry.
“Thank you.” I didn’t know whether I wanted to stay on the phone forever or just get up and run. “That would be super.”
“I love you, E.”
I couldn’t bear this.
“I love you too,” I said.
The pips started going at the end of the line.
Everything was just getting worse every day.
“I love you too,” I said again. Then as I knew Charles would be putting more pennies into the slot, I put down the receiver and sobbed.