Helen stood looking out of the main office window of Thompson’s on the first floor of the administration building. It was a typical, overcast November morning. The wooden venetian blinds had been pulled right up so that she could see what was happening in the yard below, as well as on the river, which, as always, was filled with an array of half-built ships, cargo vessels, trawlers and punts, all overshadowed by a northern sky that since the declaration of war had been punctuated with huge torpedo-shaped barrage balloons.
Helen never got tired of looking at this view. She had been on day trips and holidays, both further down south and in Scotland, and she had admired the stunning beauty of the lush green countryside and picture-perfect villages that seemed untainted by time or technology – but those views had never kept her attention like the one she was looking at now.
This urban landscape could not have been more different and Helen loved it with a passion. She loved the expanse of metal and concrete, and she loved the noise, the sounds of men and machinery working – creating – together.
Perhaps, she wondered, as her eyes sought out the women welders who today were working in the dry basin, what she loved most about this view, or indeed any view of the River Wear, was the fact that it was never the same from one day to the next. And that out of the constant chaos that seemed to fill the winding banks of the river rose the most magnificent beasts of steel. Metal monsters that rode the waves across hundreds of thousands of miles of oceans and seas. Warriors against the elements of God and Nature. And now warriors against Hitler and his army.
As a child, Helen had listened to her father talk about how Sunderland had become ‘The Biggest Shipbuilding Town in the World’, and how ships used to be made from wood and sail, carrying huge quantities of coal, glass and pottery around the world. She was always begging her father to take her to the yard – it had been something her mother had fought vehemently against, but it had been one of the few battles she had lost as Jack had taken his daughter to Thompson’s as often as he could.
‘Miss Crawford?’ Helen heard a polite voice call out and she turned to see one of the secretaries standing a few yards away from her, clutching what looked like an order form.
‘Can you check and sign this off, Miss Crawford, please?’ The young girl was clearly nervous about approaching her boss.
Without speaking, Helen took the piece of thick white paper that was embossed with big bold black lettering: J.L. Thompson & Sons – Shipbuilders – Ship Repairer, North Sands Yard, Sunderland. She took a few minutes to scrutinise the order, checking quantities and pricing, before taking the pen and signing her name at the bottom. She returned the form and pen to the secretary without saying a word, then turned back to the view of the yard.
Her eyes picked out Rosie and her squad, all working on a large patch of the ship’s decking, and she felt a familiar twinge of envy. Was it because they were a part of this massive army of workers building ships with their bare hands? Or because the squad of women welders were such good friends, who always had each other’s backs?
It had made her mad earlier on in the year when she had tried – unsuccessfully – to divide them. She had been so furious with Polly for stealing Tommy from right under her nose, and then she’d found out that it had been the young, dippy one called Dorothy who had told Ned the plater’s wife that Helen had been spreading false rumours about Polly seeing her husband. God, she’d never forget how the wife came waddling into the yard, showing off her huge bump, before publicly humiliating her in front of the whole workforce.
At the time she had felt as though that was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. But so much had changed in such a short period. After what her father had been through, her own humiliation seemed almost pitiful. When her father’s ship went down, her whole outlook on life had changed. Those few days thinking that he was dead had been the worst ever, followed by the painstaking wait to see if he would come out of his coma – and praying that if he did, he would be the father she had always loved and adored and not some shell of a man, unable even to feed himself.
Helen looked at her watch just as the klaxon sounded out the break for lunch. Behind her she heard chairs scrape back as the two dozen secretaries, clerical staff and comptometer operators made good their escape from their monotonous labour. Not that they themselves particularly saw it as boring work, but Helen had done the kind of typing, filing and note-taking required of the basic office worker when she’d first started at the yard and the tedium of it had driven her to distraction.
Helen remained standing by the window as everyone hurried out of the large, open-plan office. As usual, her personal secretary, Marie-Anne, a ginger-haired girl with a wealth of freckles covering her pale face, asked Helen if she wanted anything for her lunch; as usual, Helen simply shook her head, not even deigning to look at the girl, whom she had employed not just because of her efficiency and incredibly speedy shorthand, but also for her plain Jane appearance.
Helen had been intending to go and spend her lunch break with her father over at Crown’s, but he had told her that he was meeting up with Arthur again.
The rain was starting to come down more heavily now and Helen could see the mass of flat caps hurrying to the canteen. The headwear of the mainly male workforce made it easier for Helen to pick out the women welders, for in place of tweed caps, they were wearing headscarves. Everyone, that was, apart from Big Martha, who didn’t need one as her trim bowl haircut was short enough not to get in the way or to risk being singed by the heat of a weld.
Helen felt her stomach rumble and she regretted telling Mrs Westley that she didn’t want a packed lunch today. She had decided her mother was right and that she had put on weight. Her aunty did make the best potato pancakes – even better than Mrs Westley’s, which was some feat – and Helen knew she’d been a bit of a pig when she was there.
Putting her hand on her stomach, Helen kept her eyes on the women as they all switched off their machines and started hurrying across the yard to the canteen.
Bet you they’re going to have a nice hot mince and onion pie and gravy, Helen thought with a mixture of irritation and envy. Martha would probably be having double helpings. The woman must eat her parents out of house and home. And then there was Gloria, who still looked like she was eating for two.
Just then Helen’s attention was diverted by what looked like a child dodging the rivet catchers and sidestepping heaps of chains and the five-barrel fires that were now burning more or less constantly to provide some respite from the bitter cold.
Of course, Helen thought, who else could it be but Hannah? Her short black bob made her appear much younger than her age. Now that was someone who really did look like she needed a good feed. The girl was all skin and bone.
‘Ooh,’ Helen exclaimed to the empty office as she saw Hannah trip over and fall flat on her face. If there was one person who was really not suited to working in a shipyard, it was Hannah.
Helen leant down to pick up her prized Schiaparelli handbag, from which she retrieved a packet of recently acquired Pall Mall cigarettes and a chrome Ronson lighter. If she was going to start smoking, she had decided she would do it with style. She’d read that a lot of the stunning and very slim French actresses lived off coffee and Gauloises, so that was exactly what she was going to do.
She lit her cigarette and suppressed a cough as she inhaled, then with her free hand picked up the gold-framed photo of her parents from the top of the desk.
Helen looked for a long time at the photograph of the two people who appeared so handsome and so happy, but although it was an image of a true moment in time, it was by no means a reflection of the truth. The photograph, like most of the others her mother had dotted around the house, was a lie – a mask hiding the fact that her mother and father, as far as she could remember, had never been happy, or in love.
Helen knew her mother had worked hard to snag her father when they were younger, but her carefully laid plans had come to nothing, for he hadn’t turned into the husband she’d wanted.
Now, however, Miriam had been given an extra chance. Another throw of the dice. And it looked as though she had just rolled a double six, because her father had no memory of his past life and her mother could paint whatever picture she chose onto the blank canvas she had been handed. She could finally have the husband she had always wanted.
As Helen carefully tapped the end of her cigarette on the side of the metal ashtray, she thought about her father’s luncheon date with Arthur Watts. If her mother found out, she wouldn’t be happy.
Not one little bit.
‘All right, you lot! I’m off now!’ Gloria shouted through the rain that had gone from a light shower to looking as though it was going to turn into a full-on downpour. ‘I’ll see you in an hour!’
Rosie, Polly, Dorothy, Angie and Martha squinted through the dense drizzle and gave Gloria a wave.
‘Hope it goes well,’ Rosie shouted out. They all stood for a moment as they watched their workmate hurry across the yard, battling her way against the tide of workers who were heading for the warmth of the canteen.
‘Come on, then! Let’s gerrout of this blasted rain!’ Angie said, looking at everyone’s doleful faces as they watched Gloria disappear from view. None of the women had to say anything as they hurried across to the cafeteria, but they all felt for Gloria. Not one of them would have liked to swap places with her. She had told them earlier on during their short tea break that after the christening on Saturday, she and Jack had talked and she had persuaded him to go back to Miriam and carry on as normal – or as normal as could be – just until they’d worked out what to do for the best.
‘Hey!’
The women all turned as they heard Hannah’s distinctive chirping voice. She had broken into a jog to catch them up, having just come out of the drawing office.
As the women waited, Hannah tripped on the edge of a large metal plate that was jutting out from a huge stack piled up by one of the cranes. She immediately went sprawling.
‘You all right?’ Martha said, stomping across to see to her friend.
Hannah had managed to get back on her feet by the time Martha arrived.
‘Any damage?’ Martha asked earnestly, putting her two big hands on both of Hannah’s skinny shoulders and looking her up and down.
Hannah wiped dirt off her skirt.
‘No damage, Martha,’ she said, letting out an embarrassed laugh. ‘Just me being, how do you say? A clumsy clot?’
Five minutes later the women had settled down at their table in the canteen, which was now full of smoke and the smell of sweat, and were chattering away between mouthfuls of meat and potato pie.
‘Did Bel and Joe enjoy the Grand?’ Angie asked Polly, adding, ‘Or is that a stupid question?’ She chuckled and Dorothy nudged her. Sometimes Angie didn’t realise when she was overstepping the mark. The two women got on well with Polly, but compared to them their workmate was very straight-laced.
‘Yes,’ Polly said, ignoring Angie’s innuendos, ‘they both came back happy as Larry, though Joe had to go straight back out to meet with Major Black to organise some kind of all-night exercise for their squad.’ Joe had been discharged from the army on medical grounds due to what he referred to as his ‘gammy’ leg, but it hadn’t stopped him joining the Home Guard.
‘Bet you the food there was amazing,’ Martha said, scraping her plate and looking behind her at the counter as if deliberating whether to get second helpings.
Polly laughed. ‘Yes, Joe said he almost forgot there was rationing, it was so nice. He had all our mouths watering describing just about every morsel he ate!’
Martha pushed back her chair and headed over to see the dinner ladies.
‘So, Pol, you heard owt from lover boy?’ Angie’s question precipitated another nudge from Dorothy. Angie turned to look at her friend. ‘You not got enough room there, Dor?’
Dorothy glared at her. Tommy’s well-being was a sensitive subject at the moment, particularly after the sinking of the Ark Royal and with Gibraltar being a thorn in Hitler’s backside due to the fact that the British were able to control virtually all naval traffic into and out of the Mediterranean.
Polly, however, wasn’t put out by Angie’s insensitivity. She knew the most recent recruit to their squad meant well and that she was always full of it and in good spirits after she’d been staying over at Dorothy’s.
‘Just a postcard telling me he was all right and not to worry,’ Polly said, subconsciously touching the left-hand pocket of her overalls, where she kept her engagement ring. By keeping it close to her heart, she felt that at least a part of Tommy was always with her.
‘He said he’d write a longer letter as soon as he could,’ Polly added, thinking of the postcard now propped up on her bedside cabinet. Every night before she switched her light off she reread her fiancé’s words and smiled at the secret code he always used to tell her that he loved her. ‘ILYFE’ – Tommy’s way of telling her ‘I Love You For Ever’ – was printed in bold capitals alongside his name and a kiss.
‘Talking about “lover boys”,’ Dorothy said, focusing her gaze on Hannah, who was, as usual, spending more time pushing her food around her plate than actually eating it, ‘how’s young Olly?’
‘I don’t know why you keep calling him “young”,’ Hannah said. ‘He’s the same age as me. Actually, a bit older. He’s going to be twenty soon.’ There was a pause as she shuffled over to make room for Martha, who was carrying a bowlful of rhubarb crumble and custard. ‘But as you are asking,’ she continued, ‘he is fine, thank you.’
‘He’s doing voluntary ARP duty now,’ Martha added, causing Rosie, Polly, Dorothy and Angie to look at her in surprise.
‘Yes,’ Hannah said, ‘Olly and Martha often end up working together.’
Everyone knew that Martha spent most of her evenings out with the town’s civil defence unit. Her pure physical strength had proved invaluable to the town’s rescue services, who were involved in getting the dead and injured out of bombed premises. It was an area women weren’t normally allowed to work in, but an exception had been made when Martha volunteered.
‘Eee, well that’s a turn-up for the books, isn’t it!’ Angie said what everyone was thinking. Not so long ago Martha and Olly had barely been on speaking terms. It had been clear Martha had felt left out by Hannah after she’d been moved to the drawing office, even more so after Hannah became chummy with her new ‘friend boy’, which was how Hannah liked to describe him. Rosie had had a subtle word with Hannah and afterwards the group’s little bird had made sure Martha felt involved and not cast aside in favour of Olly.
‘Anyway, what about you two?’ Rosie asked. ‘What have you been up to this weekend?’ She paused. ‘Or do we really want to know!’
Everyone started laughing as Dorothy gleefully took centre stage and told the women about their Saturday night out on the town and how they had gone to the Rink and danced the night away before being treated by two high-ranking officers from the Admiralty to a hot potato from the tattie man on Bedford Street.
Rosie listened and chuckled at Dorothy’s and Angie’s shenanigans, but her mind kept wandering back to her own weekend – to her lovemaking with Peter on Saturday after he had surprised her following the christening. Then, yesterday, they had enjoyed a special, low-key date at Vera’s café. This time they had openly held hands across the table while they chatted and Peter had told her about his mother and father, who were both now dead, and how his French mother had moved to England after meeting his father.
Rosie had commented that this explained his dark looks and she had jokingly asked him to speak a few words of French to her, which, much to her surprise, he had. Apparently, his mother’s English had never been brilliant so Peter had been brought up to be bi-lingual.
Rosie, in turn, had told Peter a little about her own parents and, of course, Charlotte. She had shown him a letter she had received the day before that he had read with interest, then asked if perhaps he could meet her sometime in the not too distant future.
‘ … they were staying in the Grand, funnily enough.’
Dorothy’s voice cut through Rosie’s thoughts and she forced herself to concentrate on the conversation. She surmised that ‘they’ were the lucky officers who had gained her two very pretty welders’ attention for the evening.
‘Some of the Admiralty have been billeted there, apparently,’ Dorothy explained. ‘Actually, it sounds like they’ve taken over half the hotel.’
‘But we didn’t go back for a nightcap,’ Angie said, looking at Polly, ‘just in case we saw Bel and Joe.’
‘Yeah,’ said Dorothy, ‘the last thing they needed was for their honeymoon to be spoilt – again.’
‘Not that we would have spoilt it,’ Angie said in their defence.
‘Well, that’s quite the sacrifice,’ Rosie joked, ‘hot potatoes out in the cold rather than a port in the warmth of the Grand.’
Polly joined in the banter. ‘I’ll be sure to tell Bel and Joe. I think they owe you one!’
‘Nah, dinnit worry,’ Angie said in all seriousness. ‘We met them there last night instead.’
Dorothy gave her friend yet another jab with her elbow.
The women’s faces all revealed their surprised curiosity.
‘Eee,’ Dorothy said, looking at a non-existent watch on her wrist and pushing back her chair so she could stand up. ‘Lunch break’s over. We best get back!’
Rosie and Polly exchanged amused looks and shook their heads. But as they all made their way back out into the rain and the wind, which was now picking up, judging by the rattling of the canteen’s windowpanes, Polly snuck another look at their boss. Rosie was certainly living up to her name today. She had never seen her so jovial and relaxed. It was certainly a marked change from last week when she’d had that anxious, gaunt look that usually meant something was on her mind.
Well, whatever it was, Polly thought as they all shouted their goodbyes to Hannah as she headed back to the drawing office, it’s certainly not bothering her any more. That’s for sure.
‘Oh, God, the bitch is back!’ Angie hollered across to the other women after she caught a glimpse of Helen standing by an open window on the first floor of the admin offices. She was holding a cigarette, blowing out smoke and looking every bit as glamorous as a silver-screen starlet.
‘Oh, bloody Nora! Watch your backs everyone!’ Dorothy warned, although she was speaking more to herself as she knew that Helen realised it was Dorothy who had grassed her up to Ned’s wife. Dorothy knew women like Helen never forgot – or forgave.
‘She can’t hurt us, you know,’ Martha said adamantly, but none of the other women were quite so sure and there was not a single murmur of agreement.
‘I think we’re going to have to get used to the idea that she’s here to stay – Harold told me she’s going to remain yard manager for the foreseeable future,’ Rosie warned. ‘I think we’re stuck with her, which means, I hate to say this and I know you’re not going to like it, but we’re going to have to try and make it work. For all of our sakes.’
Polly recalled her short exchange with Helen on Saturday when they’d bumped into each other at Crown’s and thought that this might be easier said than done.
‘Hey! Gloria, you’re back!’ Rosie shouted out as Gloria reached them just as the horn sounded out the start of the afternoon shift.
All the women looked at their workmate and tried to gauge whether it had been a successful meeting with Jack. Or more of a stressful one. They had all wondered about how it must feel to be with someone who had no memory of their past, never mind of the love they had shared.
As Rosie told the women to gather round so she could give them their instructions for the afternoon, she looked across at Gloria and mouthed, ‘All right?’ Gloria nodded, but it was hard to tell whether her nod meant a yes or a no.
At the end of the shift, Dorothy and Angie sang out in unison, ‘Admiral?’
‘I’ve got to do ARP duties as soon as I get back,’ Martha said, swinging her boxed-up gas mask across her broad shoulders. ‘And Hannah said she had to help her aunty Rina out with something to do with her work.’ Hannah’s aunty worked as a credit draper in the town’s Jewish quarter, which, from what the women could tell, meant selling clothes and goods on tick.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a rain check tonight as well. Sorry.’ Rosie was all ready to leave with Gloria, who was eager to get back and collect Hope from Aggie’s nursery. No one asked the reason for Rosie’s ‘rain check’. They never did. Rosie was the only one of their team they didn’t feel comfortable quizzing about her private life.
‘Looks like it’s just Polly, Ange and me then!’ Dorothy said.
Polly smiled. She wasn’t massively keen to go to the Admiral, but she needed distracting. Whenever she was home she felt like she was hanging on every word coming out of Arthur’s wireless, waiting to hear any updates from the BBC Home Service, and praying there were none about Gibraltar.
At least Dorothy and Angie would take her mind off it all.
‘How was he?’ They were the first words Rosie asked Gloria. She didn’t want to beat about the bush as they only had their journey back over to the south side to chat, and even then they had to be careful about what they said in case there was anyone earwigging in on their conversation.
‘Ah, he’s all right,’ Gloria sighed. ‘It’s just so bloody hard. My mind’s all over the shop, wondering the best thing to do and say, and all the time I can see this awful look of confusion on Jack’s face.’
They both stopped chatting for a moment as they handed in their board cards to the timekeeper.
‘It must be incredibly frustrating,’ Rosie tried to empathise, but really she couldn’t begin to imagine for one moment what it must be like.
‘He’s admitted it’s a living hell,’ Gloria said. ‘He said he knows he loves me, but that it’s so “damned frustrating”, in his words, not being able to remember anything. But he did say that he’s glad he knows the truth, that he’d felt from the start that something just didn’t feel right about his marriage to Miriam.’
‘Sounds like he can have more confidence in his feelings and his intuition, if not his mind,’ Rosie mused.
‘Yes,’ Gloria enthused, ‘that’s exactly what he said. That he can “trust his gut” now.’ Her words, though, were followed by a weary sigh. ‘I’m just tired of keeping everything a secret. I feel like I’ve been this one big ball of secrets for so long now I don’t know any different.’
‘I know a bit about keeping secrets,’ Rosie laughed a little sadly. ‘And I know it doesn’t do you any good, but sometimes you don’t have a choice.’ She gave her friend a sidelong glance. ‘Actually, I have a bit of a secret to tell you.’
Gloria swung round. ‘Now that sounds intriguing. And I’m guessing by the look on your face, it’s not an altogether bad one?’
Rosie paused for a moment. ‘You know, Gloria, I don’t think it is … I hope not anyway,’ she added, with a slightly nervous laugh.
‘Go on, then!’ Gloria demanded. She had thought something seemed a little different about her boss today.
‘Well,’ Rosie said, ‘put it this way, I don’t have to worry about Lily’s any more.’
Gloria’s face lit up. ‘Oh, that’s fantastic news! How come? What’s happened?’
Rosie was unsure what to say. She was so unused to confiding in people. Just having friends, and ones that she could trust, was something of an anomaly for her.
‘Well, after I left the party at Agnes’s on Saturday, I was walking up Borough Road, the rain had just stopped and I was thinking about you and Jack and baby Hope and everything that had been said by the vicar at the christening …’
‘And?’ Gloria said, nudging Rosie on, knowing that it was hard for her to speak about anything personal.
‘Well, I was nearly back home when I saw Peter.’
‘Really!’ Gloria took a deep intake of breath.
‘Mm,’ Rosie hesitated again, unsure of how to tell Gloria that Peter had walked over to her and that neither of them had said anything to each other, but had simply kissed.
‘Well,’ Rosie hesitated. ‘I guess you could say we made up.’
‘Oh, Rosie,’ Gloria said, ‘this is wonderful news. So, does this mean …?’
‘Yes,’ Rosie said, ‘it means no more worries about the business. We can get back to normal.’
‘And does this mean that you and Peter are going to be together?’
‘It certainly looks that way,’ Rosie said with a shy smile. ‘But, you know, I’m just taking it easy. One day at a time. Everything’s happened so quickly. To be honest, it all feels a little unreal.’
Gloria smiled. She knew that feeling. That wonderful feeling of falling in love.
‘You just enjoy it,’ she said. ‘Enjoy every minute and every second.’
Rosie smiled back at her friend.
‘But there’s another reason I’m subjecting you to the ins and outs of my love life,’ she said, looking across at Gloria, who now had a worried frown on her face.
‘Why am I getting a bad feeling?’ she asked.
‘Well, I guess it’s kind of good and bad news.’ Rosie was keen not to worry Gloria. ‘You see, Peter told me that Vinnie had tried to go to Hope’s christening.’
Gloria felt herself tense. ‘I thought it was odd he hadn’t heard about it. Bet you it was that Muriel and her big gob.’ Muriel was one of the dinner ladies at Thompson’s who was a barrel of laughs, but an incorrigible gossip. It didn’t matter how quietly the women talked, Muriel still seemed to get to know all their business.
‘I don’t know about Vinnie, but Peter knew about the christening because I’d mentioned it to him that awful night I took him Agnes’s pie to say thank you for helping to look for Pearl.’
Gloria nodded, her face solemn. She knew all about the terrible falling-out that had followed Peter’s revelation that he knew about Lily’s.
‘Peter guessed,’ Rosie said, ‘Vinnie would try and gatecrash the christening. Luckily he caught him before he made it to the church.’
‘What?’ Gloria asked, intrigued. ‘Did he arrest him?’
‘Yes,’ Rosie nodded, ‘banged him up in the cells overnight.’
Gloria let out a big sigh. ‘Thank God he did. Can you imagine if both Jack and Vinnie had turned up on Saturday?’
Rosie nodded again, a grim look on her face.
‘Oh, Rosie, you must thank Peter for me. I don’t know what to say. Is there anything I can do to show him how much I appreciate what he’s done for me?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘I don’t think he would have said anything, but he thinks – and I agreed with him – that you should know what’s gone on.’ Rosie hesitated. ‘Just so you can be on your guard.’
Rosie didn’t need to say any more; Peter might have been able to avert a nasty scene at the weekend, but it was by no means a solution to the problem of Vinnie.
His overnight incarceration was just a temporary fix.