‘Mrs Nicholson, how would you like to become manageress of one of the shops in the city that Mr Hawke left me?’
Ruth’s mouth dropped open. ‘Me? Oh – I – er – don’t know. Aren’t you happy with the work I’m doing now? I thought . . .’
‘More than happy. But there are so many men out of work in the city, I thought I could employ one of them – one who can drive, of course – to do what you’re doing. But a woman’s touch would be best in a shop selling household goods. Don’t you agree?’
‘Well, yes, but I don’t know anything about selling, Emily.’
Emily beamed. ‘You can learn. And you’re good with paperwork and figures. I saw that for myself when you were the buffer missus at Waterfall’s.’
‘It’d be rather nice, I have to admit.’ Ruth was warming to the idea. ‘And if I might make a suggestion . . . ?’
‘What is it?’
‘There’s a nice young man who lives in the court now in your old home. He has a wife and two young children and they’ve hit hard times, Emily. He used to be a delivery driver, but he was laid off four months ago. Would you interview him?’
‘Of course. I’ll ask George to sit in with me. He’s so good at weighing folk up very quickly.’
When the young man presented himself at Ryan’s workshop in Rockingham Street, he was obviously very nervous. His jacket and trousers were shabby, the cuffs of his shirt frayed, but he was clean-shaven and his light brown hair was neatly cut.
‘Please come into the office, Mr Wragg. This is Mr Bayes.’
Suddenly, Alan Wragg smiled. ‘I know Mr Bayes. How are you, sir?’ He held out his hand to George, who shook it and smiled broadly.
‘Mrs Trippet didn’t tell me the name of the applicant, so I didn’t know it was you.’ He turned to Emily. ‘Alan’s family lived next door but one to Muriel and me. I’ve known him since he was a nipper.’
‘Ah . . . I see,’ Emily said, and couldn’t keep the note of doubt from her tone. She was not prepared to employ someone just because George had known him as a child.
Sensing her hesitation, George, ever tactful, said, ‘Perhaps I should withdraw from the interview . . .’
‘No, no,’ Emily said swiftly, ‘that won’t be necessary, but I would like to know what you’ve done as a job, Mr Wragg, in recent years.’
So the three of them sat down and the interview, though searching, was more like a friendly chat. When the questions and answers came to a natural end, Emily said, ‘Perhaps you’d wait outside whilst Mr Bayes and I have a little chat.’
As the door closed behind him, George said at once, ‘I’m sorry, Emily, I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position. If you don’t feel . . .’
‘On the contrary, I think he’d be perfect. He has a pleasant, deferential manner that I’m sure will go down well with our customers. I don’t want anyone too full of themselves. Actually, I think I’ve seen him before. I’m sure he and his wife and children have been to the soup kitchens.’ She sighed. ‘Poor things, they must be desperate. So, we’ll employ him and there’s something else we can do without hurting his feelings.’
Puzzled, George frowned. ‘What’s that?’
‘We can say he needs a uniform with the name “Ryan’s” on his jacket. That way, he’ll look smart without having to provide his own clothes, which he obviously can’t do at present.’
‘Oh Emily,’ George murmured softly, ‘you really are the most extraordinary young woman.’
Emily brushed aside his compliment. ‘I’m just thankful we’ve found someone without having to advertise. Did you hear about the firm that advertised for a warehouseman and over eighty men turned up to apply? It nearly caused a riot.’
George shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t know where it’s all going to end.’
‘Well,’ she said with a smile, ‘we’ll just have to keep battling on, won’t we?’
On Thursday, 11 May 1933, the same day that Emily opened her new shop in the city centre with Ruth Nicholson in charge, news came through that on the previous night huge bonfires in Berlin and Munich had destroyed thousands of books which were considered by the Nazis, as Hitler’s party was now being called, to be ‘un-German’.
‘They’re even brain-washing children,’ Trip said in disgust as he sat at the dinner table. They were holding a small dinner party to celebrate Emily’s latest venture. Constance, George, Richard and his mother, Belle, were their guests. The day had been a great success, despite the economic depression that was still gripping the whole country.
‘You’re helping to give people a feeling of optimism,’ Constance said, smiling at her daughter-in-law. She was very fond of Emily. ‘People may not be able to buy very much at the moment, but women love to window-shop and plan what they’d like when they can afford it. And many of the things you’re stocking are necessities with a few tempting luxuries thrown in for good measure.’
‘Our takings were quite good, we thought, for the first day.’
‘I bought a lovely tablecloth and matching napkins,’ Belle said. ‘You must all come to dinner so that I can have an excuse to use them. And I do like that wonderful canteen of cutlery you have as a centrepiece in your display, Emily. The one in the mahogany box and lined with red velvet. It’s magnificent.’
George smiled fondly across the table at Emily. ‘Mr Hawke would be very proud of you, my dear. You’re using his generous legacy wisely.’
‘Thank you, George. That means a lot to me.’
‘I just hope,’ he began and then he hesitated before adding, ‘you haven’t overstretched yourself. You’re doing so much to help others, but I worry for you. This Depression doesn’t seem likely to end in the near future.’
Trip reached out and touched Emily’s hand. ‘My wife is very shrewd and has even taught me the need for thriftiness.’ He glanced at his mother. ‘I was lucky enough to have been born into a wealthy family. I’ve never known real hardship, but Emily has and so, right from when she started her own buffing business, she’s saved. We live in this nice – but modest – house. We have two cars, I know, but we need them for our separate businesses and, yes, we eat well, but no grand houses or expensive holidays for us. We’ve always saved for the proverbial rainy day and now that a few rainy days are here, well, we’re all right at the moment.’
‘Be sure to let me know if you’re not, won’t you?’ Constance said. ‘The hotel is doing very well considering the circumstances and making a modest profit. I think most of our clientele are those who will always have money no matter what happens. And, following Lizzie’s wedding, we now offer the Riversdale Hotel as a venue for wedding receptions right from lavish affairs down to a modest event for those less well off. We have held several already and have more bookings.’
‘We’re holding our own at the factory,’ Richard put in. ‘Since we rented out a few of the unused workshops to little mesters or –’ he smiled across the table at Emily – ‘to enterprising women, we’re holding our own. We haven’t had to lay anyone else off yet.’
‘How’s Mr Arnold doing?’
Richard frowned. ‘All right as far as his work is concerned. He was glad to accept the offer I made him, but I have my suspicions that he’s a bit of an agitator amongst the employees. We’ll have to keep an eye on him. I think all that’s keeping him quiet is that he has reason to be grateful to the Trippet family on his own behalf and his daughter’s. I don’t think he would dare make waves – at least not at the moment. But it troubles me that he seems to admire what Hitler is doing in Germany. His favourite saying seems to be “they lost the war, but they’ll come out on top”.’
‘Well, I certainly don’t like what he’s doing,’ Trip said earnestly. ‘I’m all for patriotism, but Hitler’s taking it a bit far to my mind. Burning books you don’t agree with and replacing them on the shelves with your own seems egotistical in the extreme to me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Emily asked.
‘He wrote a book in the twenties called Mein Kampf, which means “my struggle”, outlining his political ideology and plans for the future of Germany. Evidently, he started writing it whilst imprisoned for political crimes in the mid-twenties.’
Emily laughed. ‘And that’s what’s replacing all the books being burned – his own?’
Solemnly, Trip nodded and then turned to Richard. ‘Perhaps someone should tell Percy Arnold that Hitler’s also trying to smash the trades union movement. His Storm Troopers have already seized files from their offices and arrested leaders.’
‘It sounds as if he – Hitler, I mean – is trying to stifle free thinking.’
‘He is.’
George shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to cast gloom on what is a celebration tonight, but I’m very much afraid the problems in Germany could escalate into war.’
There were startled gasps around the table, but no one could think of an answer to refute his fears.
Suddenly, Emily jumped to her feet. ‘Let’s not think about it just now. And talking of extravagances, I bought a bottle of champagne for tonight. It’s high time we opened it. Trip, will you do the honours?’
The evening ended merrily, but none of them forgot George’s dire warning.
There were no such worries in Ashford-in-the-Water. Life went on happily. Josh thrived as the manager of Riversdale and with his mother as one of the cooks and Amy helping out front-of-house whenever she could, it was a real family affair. Even those employed there, who were not actually related to the Ryans, felt as if they were part of the family. And when Harry, at twelve, began pestering to help out in any way he could to earn pocket money, his father found him a part-time job after school and at weekends helping Kirkland in the garden at Riversdale Hotel.
‘But you’re to finish your schooling. Education’s important to a lad – to anyone, if it come to that,’ he added, thinking of his enterprising sister.
Harry laughed. ‘You sound like Granny Ryan.’
Josh blinked and stared at the boy for a moment. And then he had the grace to laugh. ‘Aye, maybe she’s right – sometimes.’ Pausing for a moment, he put his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Whatever you want to do in life, I’ll support you, Harry.’
‘I want to join the RAF, Dad. I want to be a pilot.’
For a moment, the image of Harry’s attic bedroom was in Josh’s mind. The ceiling was strung with dangling model aeroplanes, lovingly and carefully crafted by Harry’s own hands with a little help from his two grandfathers over the tricky bits. And any spare pocket money he’d earned was spent on aircraft magazines, all neatly stacked under his bed. He should have guessed, Josh thought. Harry’s interest went much deeper than a boyish hobby.
‘Aye, well, that’s a long time off, lad. See how you feel when you’re old enough, eh?’
Harry’s face was solemn as he said quietly, ‘I won’t change my mind, Dad.’
Josh felt a tremor of apprehension. Though he said very little to his family, he followed the news as keenly as his brother-in-law, Trip, and if the newspapers were to be believed, the political situation in Europe was looking decidedly shaky. If there was to be another war, the last place he wanted his son was in the RAF.