‘And what in God’s name are you wearing, my girl?’
As Bill’s voice carried up the hallway at Grove Road, Mum and Annie peered around the scullery door to see what all the fuss was about.
Elsie was standing by the front door, ready to go out to work at the munitions factory, dressed in a pair of blue dungarees, with a headscarf knotted around her head.
‘You can’t go out looking like that!’ cried Bill. ‘People’ll think you are a blooming communist!’
‘Dad,’ said Elsie, with her hands on her hips. ‘Dungarees are utility workwear. All the girls are wearing them these days. They are practical, comfortable and stylish. The War Office says so.’ She turned on her heel and slammed the front door shut.
‘Well,’ said Bill, muttering to himself as he made his way into the scullery for a reviving cup of tea. ‘I haven’t seen anything like it in all my born days . . .’
‘Oh, don’t be so hard on her,’ said Mum, popping little Anita into a high chair for some porridge while Annie cradled her youngest, John, who was coming up to three months old now. ‘She’s working hard down that factory and I think she looks lovely.’ What’s more, Elsie was bringing in two pounds and five shillings a week and although she kept some for herself, she was generous with it, putting more than half into the old tea caddy which served as a household kitty.
‘Looks like a bleeding fella in those overalls, if you ask me,’ said Bill, chewing on a crust of toast. Mum tutted at him.
‘I don’t think there’s any mistaking Elsie for a bloke,’ Annie laughed. Her youngest sister had blossomed into an extraordinarily good-looking young woman and you only had to walk up Churchfield Road beside her to see heads turning.
The government had passed an order which meant all single women aged nineteen to thirty had to register for war work. A lot of married women were helping out in the factories too, even if it was just in the canteens, and Annie had started to get itchy feet staying at home all day. She just felt she should be helping the war effort, especially since George was now over in North Africa fighting.
He’d taken part in the successful attack on the German-held fortress of Tobruk with the Eighth Army, but luckily was already in Egypt when it was taken back by the German commander Rommel earlier in the summer. That defeat was a crushing blow to morale, with so many soldiers taken prisoner. George sent postcards for Anita, just as he promised he would, and letters for Mum which didn’t say very much other than that it was blooming hot and the flies were purgatory. He was proud to be one of Field Marshall Montgomery’s Desert Rats and said that they should not give up hope of winning the war.
Annie confided in Mum about her plans, who rolled her eyes at the very thought of Annie leaving the children and going out to work. ‘Oh, you’re worse than your friend Esther! I saw her down on the High Street doing a flag day to raise money for War Weapons Week. It’s all well and good but who’s looking after her kids? They’ll be getting up to no good without their mother to keep an eye on them, you mark my words.’
It was true, Esther was always out volunteering but her children seemed perfectly well mannered and her eldest, Leonard, was out of London at the weekends with the Scouts and he was always helping out down at the Women’s Voluntary Service, lugging bags of clothing donations about or setting out chairs for meetings in the church hall. Annie couldn’t help thinking Mum was still a bit cross about Elsie commandeering half her cooking pots to give to Esther for scrap metal drives; she’d taken to hiding her best stockpot in the pantry every time Esther set foot in the house.
‘I don’t know,’ said Annie, wiping the baby’s mouth with the edge of a tea towel. ‘I just feel I could do a bit more, if you could help out with the kids a bit? Or I could always put them in a nursery. There’s a new one opening down on the High Street so that mothers can go out to work.’
‘Oh, over my dead body will my grandchildren go into a nursery!’ Mum cried, snatching John from Annie’s arms. ‘How could you even suggest it? Look at his little face! As long as there’s breath in my body, I will help out, of course I will. But it just seems daft to volunteer when you’ve got so much on, Annie. What will Harry say?’
‘Oh, he’ll be fine about it, I’m sure,’ said Annie, going over towards the sink to wash up. She turned away so that Mum wouldn’t see the sadness in her eyes. Harry didn’t seem to say much to her these days. He was exhausted by the factory shifts and his ARP duties, but his nightmares had been getting worse and Annie found he preferred sleeping in a rocking chair in the kitchen whenever they were at home. He’d tell her that he hadn’t wanted to disturb her by coming to bed, but it had put a distance between them and with every day that passed, the gap was growing wider. She could feel it.
‘Well, Ivy’s got a little one and she doesn’t feel the need to go out working,’ said Mum matter-of-factly. That was true but even having Charlie on a different continent fighting with the army wouldn’t stop her being under his thumb. If the truth be told, they were all a bit wary about what exactly was going on behind closed doors. Mum and Annie talked about it a lot, in hushed tones, when they were making do and mending in the scullery. Ivy hadn’t said anything about it and they didn’t want to pry, but she was slimmer now than before she’d had her baby and Mum couldn’t persuade her to eat so much as a fairy cake, even as a special treat, because ‘Charlie wouldn’t like it.’
Now Mum was giving Annie one of her concerned looks, the type she normally reserved for Ivy.
‘Love, is everything all right indoors?’ Mum said, laying a hand gently on Annie’s shoulder.
‘Of course it is! Why wouldn’t it be?’ she said airily. Annie didn’t want to tell her mum about it. It wasn’t as if they were having problems, it was just that Harry seemed quite affected by everything he’d seen in the Blitz, that’s all. ‘I just want to do my bit for the country, like everybody else.’
‘Well, if it means that much to you, Annie, of course I can take the babies for you during the day, but you need to think carefully about it before you start offering too much work-wise. You’ve only got one pair of hands.’
Annie nodded and gave Mum a little smile.
She understood what her mum was getting at, but at least if she had some war work to keep her occupied, it might help Harry see that they were both in this together. She’d hoped that having another baby would bring them closer but they were both so tired and worried about the way the war was going, it hadn’t turned out that way. He was more distant than ever and she didn’t want to grumble about that because it wasn’t her way, but she wanted him to talk to her about things more. Some nights, she’d lie there on her own and wonder if this was what the rest of her life was going to be like. It was like living with a stranger. If she could get a job, perhaps then he might see her differently. That might encourage him to share whatever was on his mind.
‘Why don’t you invite your sister, Kitty, down here for a visit?’ said Annie brightly the next morning, as she mixed up some powdered eggs for Harry’s breakfast.
Harry kept his head buried in last night’s Evening News. ‘Annie, pet, there’s a war on and she’s looking after my mother, who’s not been in the best of health. She can’t just leave her, you know. Newcastle is a long way away.’
‘Well, I know that,’ said Annie, whisking some milk in to try to make the mixture look as appetizing as possible – which was no mean feat with powdered egg. ‘I just thought it might be nice for her to see the children and perhaps it might lift your mood a bit.’
Harry flicked the newspaper closed and glared at her.
‘What’s wrong with my mood? Not to your liking, is it?’
‘Don’t be like that, Harry,’ said Annie, laying some toast in front of him. The floorboards above creaked as their neighbours came into their kitchen upstairs. She lowered her voice because she didn’t want the embarrassment of people overhearing their private conversations. ‘It’s just that you haven’t been yourself lately, with all the air raids, and I thought maybe it might help to talk to Kitty. From what you say she’s a—’
‘She’s a very forceful woman, our Kitty,’ Harry cut in. ‘Opinionated. You might not get on with her.’
‘But she’s family!’ said Annie, throwing up her hands in exasperation. ‘I have had your kids and I haven’t even met her.’
‘Well, we’ve got Herr Hitler to thank for that, haven’t we?’ said Harry, picking up his newspaper again. He spoke to the pages in front of him, rather than looking her in the eye. ‘Kitty would start meddling in our affairs. She’d want the bairns out of London and living up there in Newcastle with her, you mark my words.’
‘What?’ said Annie. ‘She couldn’t come down here and take my children; I was only suggesting that she could come and visit.’
‘Oh, you just watch her. She’s a force of nature. She’d persuade you to it, Annie. Trust me, she’s my sister and I have known her all my life. She’s got a man’s brain in her head and she won’t take no for an answer. You know she’s cleverer than I am. She can outwit anyone, our Kitty can.’
‘But—’
‘Just leave it, will you?’ he said, getting up and grabbing his coat and flat cap. ‘She’s not coming down here and we are not going up there and that’s the end of the matter. Now, I’m going out.’
Annie turned around just in time to see the eggs burning in the pan on the stove. As she scraped them into the bin, something inside her snapped.
She didn’t need his permission and she wasn’t going to ask it, not after the way he spoke to her this morning.
Annie stood at the gates of Acton Works with her handbag on her arm and her heart in her mouth as she watched a steady stream of women walking in and out, nattering to each other as they went.
She didn’t dare turn up at C.A.V., the factory where Harry worked, because word would get around to him straight away. At least this way, she stood a chance of signing up for a war job and then it would be too late for him to do anything about it.
As she made her way up to the entrance, a fella on a bicycle wobbled past and gave her a low wolf whistle. She buttoned her coat and strengthened her resolve. Another bloke in a pair of overalls, carrying a ladder, stopped and asked her if she needed to find the way to the canteen.
‘No,’ she said politely, ‘I’m here to see the manager. I want to volunteer.’
‘Righto,’ he said, gesturing through a set of double doors.
It was a vast space, stretching as far as the eye could see. There were railway carriages being built down at one end and the noise of machines on the shop floor was a bit overwhelming. Women clad in the same dungarees that Elsie wore were working away on the heavy machinery, turning lathes, finishing off complicated bits of metalwork.
Annie found her way to the manager’s office in the corner, taking in the nameplate on the door – Mr D. Pritchard – and tapped lightly.
A grey-haired gentleman with eyebrows like two black caterpillars looked up at her as she entered. He had a kind of warmth to his face and he broke into a smile. ‘Well, what can we do for you today?’
Annie cleared her throat because for some reason there appeared to be a frog sitting in it at that very moment. ‘I’ve come to volunteer for some war work. I’ve got experience of working as a machine hand, but that was down at C.A.V. a while back, with the diesel engines. People say I have got a good eye for detail. I can sew as well, if you need some help with upholstery in the carriages you’re making.’ She knew she was gabbling but she couldn’t help herself. Her nerves had got the better of her.
‘Well, that all sounds wonderful! I’m sure we can make good use of you,’ he said.
He sucked in a breath and sat back in his chair for a moment, flashing her a perfect set of white teeth. Annie couldn’t help thinking he was a bit like one of those ventriloquist’s dummies she’d seen down at the varieties at the Chiswick Empire. There was something relentlessly cheery about him, although that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, with all the doom and gloom of the war.
He extended a hand to her. ‘I’m Mr Pritchard, but you can call me Dennis. And you are?’
‘Annie,’ she said. ‘I should tell you, I can only really do three shifts a week at the moment because I have little ones at home, but my mum will be minding them for me.’
‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘You can see how you get on. What about your husband; away with the forces, is he?’
‘No,’ said Annie. ‘He’s working down at C.A.V. and does nights with the ARP too.’
He flicked some imaginary dust from his trouser leg before glancing up at her. ‘And does he mind that you’re coming out to work?’
‘No, not at all,’ Annie said, clasping her handbag a little more tightly. ‘He feels it’s my patriotic duty.’
‘Does he? Good fella. Well, you can start on Monday morning then.’
‘You’ve gone and done what?’
Harry’s eyes were molten with anger.
‘Harry, please, keep your voice down. You’ll wake the children and the neighbours will hear us rowing. You know I don’t like a fuss.’
‘Well, you should have thought twice before going to volunteer like that! Who’s going to be running the house and looking after the bairns?’
‘I will, and Mum will help me with the children,’ said Annie, smoothing her hands down over her apron. She rarely argued with Harry and his words cut her like a knife, but she had signed up for war work now and there was no going back, they both knew that. ‘It’s only three shifts a week but it will bring more money in and at least I can hold my head up and say I’m doing my bit. Plenty of women are helping. Even Vera is in the ARP.’
‘Well, not for much longer the way things are looking,’ said Harry matter-of-factly.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Annie.
Harry sighed and ran his hands through his hair. ‘There’s a lot of talk about food going missing from the canteen and people think Vera’s behind it.’
Annie swallowed hard. She remembered what Bessie had told her about Vera hanging around with Herbie, the local spiv. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had been more than gossip, after all.
‘Has anyone got any evidence?’
‘Not yet,’ said Harry. ‘But if they do, she’ll be out on her ear and if she’s profiting from it by selling things on, that could be very serious indeed.’
‘But she’s a good worker, isn’t she?’ said Annie, desperate to stick up for her friend.
‘Fearless,’ said Harry, standing up and pulling on the black woollen jacket of his air-raid warden uniform. ‘There’ll be incendiary bombs raining down on us and Vera won’t shirk from her duties. I’ve seen her stick two fingers up to the sky as they’re coming down. She’s cut from a different cloth, that girl.’
Annie smiled to herself. ‘That sounds like Vera, all right. Do you want me to try to have a word?’
‘Be my guest,’ said Harry. He pulled her to him. ‘Look, Annie, I didn’t mean to lose my temper, but I just wish you’d discussed getting a job with me first, that’s all. I wouldn’t have stood in your way, you know.’
She gazed up at him as his eyes searched her face.
‘Are you happy, Annie?’
‘I don’t think any of us are happy at the moment, with the war and everything,’ said Annie, shrugging her shoulders. ‘I feel happier knowing I can do my bit, but you and the children are my priority, you mustn’t doubt that.’
He leaned forward and kissed her, their first proper kiss in what seemed like forever. She buttoned up his jacket for him and he put his tin hat on his head, ready to go out for the night watch. He did look handsome.
‘I know I’m not always easy to live with, Annie, but I do love you and the bairns, don’t ever forget that,’ he said.
He smiled at her and gave a little wave, just as he always did when he was going out with the ARP, and as she watched his back departing, Annie realized that she was crying.
A hush fell over the Acton Works canteen as the BBC announcer’s voice carried over the airwaves: ‘This is Godfrey Talbot reporting in the desert. It’s been a cold night, a night when a man takes every opportunity to lie as snug as he can in his foxhole in the sand.
‘I watched as hundreds of guns opened up, launching thousands of shells, a demon racket, which shook the ground. All the sky was alive with flashes and with that and the moon, there wasn’t much darkness.
‘Infantry and sappers were at work, fighting bravely; they are engaging now, we await more news . . .’
Knives and forks clattered onto plates and spam fritters were left untouched as everyone crowded around the wireless.
‘The tanks are moving now and each tank as it goes past churns up a great cloud of dust and sand . . .’
‘My brother’s over there,’ whispered Annie to Mavis, who worked shifts on the lathe with her. Acton was so far from El Alamein, but she wanted to reach through the wireless and dig through the sand with her bare hands until she could touch George, just to know that he was safe.
She felt someone touch her lightly on her shoulder and spun around to find herself gazing up at Dennis, the foreman.
When he smiled, it was as if he was spreading happiness as wide as the grin on his face. Everyone liked him. It wasn’t just that he was a fair boss, he was a decent bloke with it and his door was always open to anyone who needed to chat.
Annie loved being there, the whole camaraderie of the shop floor, listening to Music While You Work and singing along to her favourites, ‘The Lambeth Walk’ and ‘We’ll Meet Again’ and ‘Run Rabbit Run’. When they were all pulling together, it made her feel invincible. Every shell case that was turned, every rivet that was hammered in, everything helped to fight the Nazis and she was part of it.
‘Now, now, don’t get worried. I read the paper this morning and they were saying that Monty’s got Rommel on the run! His tanks are shot to pieces. It’s the best news we’ve had in ages,’ said Dennis.
The assembled crowd gave a little cheer at that.
‘So, let’s eat up and get back to it, shall we?’
He gave Annie a wink and it seemed in that moment that the war would go their way and a light in her world shone a little brighter.