Chapter Twenty-Three

A few days later, on the second Friday of the month, the William Doxford & Sons shipyard in Pallion, on the south side of the River Wear, was abuzz with excitement, and for once, the atmosphere of joyful anticipation was not because of a launch.

‘Helen! So glad you could make it!’ Matthew kissed Helen on the cheek and had to hold back from gathering her in his arms and kissing her properly. God, when was she going to give in to his charms?

‘Why, Matthew, you seem in a particularly good mood?’ Helen said, taking a step back. For a moment there she’d thought he was going to kiss her full on the lips.

‘Of course!’ Matthew laughed. ‘It’s not every day you have Henry Hall and His Orchestra playing in the work canteen!’

Helen smiled. She had said the same herself when she had called Rosie to her office and told her that as a sign of appreciation for the work the women were doing in the yard, she was allowing all women shipyard workers to go to the show at Doxford’s that was being recorded for the BBC’s Break for Music show. If any of the men complained, she would tell them that it was to make up for the fact that the women were being paid less to do the same hours and work as the men.

Hearing a tap on the door, Helen turned round to see Dahlia standing in the office doorway.

‘Can I get you anything else, Matthew?’ she asked.

It always surprised Helen that Matthew allowed his secretary to address him by his first name. She looked at Dahlia. Her Swedish looks were always striking. Her long mane of corn-coloured hair was perfectly cut and came to rest on pert breasts. Helen thought she must be wearing one of the new Gossard bras she’d seen advertised.

‘No, get yourself off, Dahlia – you’ll miss all the action,’ Matthew said, immediately turning his attention back to Helen.

‘So, all well with you?’ he asked, looking into Helen’s emerald eyes. Eyes that bewitched him.

‘Yes, yes, busy as always,’ Helen said, aware that Dahlia was taking her time leaving the main office.

‘Dahlia tells me you’re now helping to organise some Christmas party up at the Ryhope?’ Matthew asked.

‘That’s right,’ Helen said, looking across as Dahlia finally departed. ‘Your secretary and my personal assistant are going to do some kind of duet, I believe.’

Matthew laughed. ‘Why is it Dahlia is a secretary and Marie-Anne a personal assistant?’

‘Because,’ Helen said, ‘Marie-Anne’s job far exceeds that of a mere secretary. As do her skills.’ Helen realised she sounded a little bitchy but couldn’t help it. Matthew’s secretary had that effect on her.

Matthew chuckled and put out his arm. ‘Let’s go and enjoy the show.’

As she and Matthew made their way to the canteen, their hands occasionally brushed against each other.

‘Just in time,’ Matthew said as they walked into the crowded cafeteria.

A well-known presenter called Bryan Michie was warming up the crowd and doing the introductions. The place was heaving. It wasn’t every day ENSA came to entertain the war workers in this neck of the woods. Matthew started trying to make his way to the front, but Helen put her hand on his arm and stopped him.

‘Let’s just watch from here,’ she said.

Matthew smiled, took her hand from his arm and squeezed it gently.

‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘Come in front of me, so you don’t get jostled from behind.’

As the orchestra started playing its most popular song, ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’, the crowd clapped and cheered.

For the next half hour, Helen lost herself in the music and the atmosphere. She looked about the crowded canteen and spotted a few of the women shipyard workers from Thompson’s, but she couldn’t see Rosie and her squad. Her mind wandered to Henrietta. It bothered her that her grandmother seemed determined to blame herself for her husband’s actions. Perhaps, in time, she could persuade her otherwise. Seeing a photographer from the Echo at the front of the makeshift stage, she wondered how Georgina was getting along with the job she’d assigned her to do.

It was only near the end of the show that Helen felt herself being pushed by a swell of over-enthusiastic workers who had started to dance. Matthew’s hand gently went to her waist to steady her. He kept it there and was heartened when Helen didn’t object, allowing him to hold her for a moment or two longer than necessary.

After the show ended, Helen hurried back to work. As soon as she walked through the door to her office, she headed for the phone. Whilst listening to the band, she’d come up with an idea. Dialling the four-digit number she knew by heart, it didn’t take long before it was answered.

‘Hi, Aunty Margaret. How are you and Uncle Angus?’

‘Helen, darling, lovely to hear from you. We’re just fine. Thank you for asking. How are you?’ That’s what Helen liked about her aunt – she was the complete opposite of her mother. She actually genuinely cared about her. Genuinely wanted to know about her life and how she was doing. It seemed so unfair that her aunt had not been able to have children while her mother, who did not possess a maternal bone in her body, had.

Helen told her aunt about work and the Henry Hall concert she’d just been to, and then the conversation drifted to the news that Sunderland had been named as one of the seven most badly bombed towns in the country due to Hitler’s determination to destroy the shipyards and collieries. Margaret mentioned that more troops had been sent to bolster the battle for Metz in north-east France and they both agreed that the end of the war was near was justified.

Hearing the doorbell sound out in the background, Helen quickly told her aunt why she was calling.

‘Actually, Aunty, I’m after the name of the sanatorium Mother was at.’

Helen listened as her aunt gave her the name and address. She wrote it all down and drew a line under it.

‘Any particular reason?’ Margaret asked.

Helen could hear voices in the background.

‘Oh, I was after a copy of the bill. I’m just sorting out the accounts. I want Grandfather to pay for it. There’s no reason why you and Uncle Angus should have shelled out for it.’

‘We don’t mind,’ Margaret said. ‘But if Father is going to pay for it, then that seems fair enough. I’m pretty sure he was the cause of Miriam ending up there. He might as well pay for some of the damage he’s done in his life.’ Helen heard her aunt’s voice go unusually hard. And it was then that she realised Margaret knew about what had happened on Christmas Day – and that, unlike her sister, she believed her father guilty of everything he had been accused of.

‘Actually, darling, we’ve got a report here from the sanatorium as well – from the doctor who treated Miriam. I can send that down to you – along with the bill?’

‘Yes, please, Aunty, that would be great. Thanks.’

Hearing laughter in the background, Helen told her aunt to enjoy her company and rang off.

Resting the receiver back on its cradle, Helen looked down at Winston purring in his basket. She wondered if he’d picked up on her good mood. For this was good news. Very good news indeed.