Chapter Twenty-Four

Just under a fortnight later, on a Thursday afternoon, shipyard workers at Thompson’s on the north side of the Wear crammed into their canteen. This time, though, it was a government minister rather than a big-band entertainer who was due to address the assembled crowd. The women welders, along with Hannah and Olly, were among the crush. Word had gone round that the joint parliamentary secretary to the Ministry of Labour and National Service, Mr Malcolm McCorquodale, was due to arrive in the next few minutes. He had been going round most of the Wearside shipyards giving speeches on behalf of the government.

‘Will it ever stop raining?’ Dorothy moaned, taking off her headscarf and shaking it out. Her dark hair fell free and she twisted it back to keep it out of her face. She caught Bobby’s eye and scowled – not because she was in any way angry with him, but because it had become a habit; in fact, it could probably now be seen in the same way as a normal woman giving a loving smile to her sweetheart.

Bobby, who was chatting with his squad, smiled back.

‘It’s not stopped all week,’ Hannah said, looking at the canteen windows, which were a blur of running water.

‘The Echo said nearly four inches has fallen over the past month,’ Olly chipped in.

‘I’ve never understood how they measure that,’ said Angie.

‘Me neither,’ Polly agreed.

‘Here she is,’ Martha said, turning and seeing Rosie making her way through the tightly packed throng of workers. She had just been to see Helen, who was waiting to greet Mr McCorquodale and bring him to the canteen.

The place was now crammed, and the women were all squashed together.

‘Any more news on the divorce?’ Rosie asked Gloria as they waited.

Gloria gave a weary sigh. ‘It all appears to be very complicated. And, of course, Miriam being Miriam, she’s using every trick in the book to make the whole process go at a snail’s pace. She’s already stalled by claiming not to have received the original papers, so another load had to be sent to her.’

‘But couldn’t she say the same again? That she didn’t get them?’ Polly asked.

‘Yes,’ said Gloria, ‘which is why the second lot were handed to her personally. She’s now got a week to either send them back signed or declare that she intends to defend the divorce.’

The women all looked at each other. Their ‘mother hen’ sounded downhearted and beaten.

‘I dinnit understand how yer can defend a divorce,’ Angie said.

Gloria gave a sad smile. ‘You ’n me both, Ange.’

‘So, if she does defend the divorce,’ Hannah asked, ‘what happens then?’

‘A court case,’ Gloria said simply.

The women all groaned.

‘I’m guessing that won’t happen until next year.’

‘Exactly,’ said Gloria. ‘Jack’s solicitor predicts she will use all the usual reasons to adjourn the case.’

‘Like what?’ Martha asked.

‘Being unwell is the main one,’ said Gloria. ‘And I don’t think there’s any doubt Miriam will be able to pay the family doctor a decent wad to say she’s suffering from some kind of illness that prevents her going to court.’

‘Blimey,’ said Angie, ‘money gets yer owt.’

‘It certainly does.’

‘But I still don’t get how a person can fight getting divorced,’ Polly said, confused.

‘Beats me too,’ Gloria said, ‘but it’s like Angie says, if yer’ve got the money to get a top-notch lawyer, they’ll find a way. They can argue black is white, by all accounts.’

All of a sudden, the noise of the canteen dropped and everyone looked over to the main counter, in front of which Muriel was placing a solid wooden box. They could see a dark grey suit appear through the doorway from the main kitchen. The whole cafeteria was now quiet, apart from the occasional cough. When Mr McCorquodale arrived from around the counter, the workers started to clap. Climbing up on the box, Mr McCorquodale waved his arm to show his audience that he did not want their applause.

‘It is you,’ his voice boomed out, ‘that needs the applause!’

It was a good start and immediately caught everyone’s interest.

‘I could not leave Sunderland without speaking of the splendid record of the Sunderland shipyard workers,’ he said loudly and clearly, ‘as good as, if not better than, any group of workers in the country for production.’

Every shipyard worker in the canteen listened avidly as Mr McCorquodale told his audience that, once it was possible to relate the full story of the Wear shipbuilding production, they would have the satisfaction of knowing that their work would be hailed as second to none among the great shipbuilding centres in this country – and abroad.

‘This town’s record for the absence of industrial strife and industrial disputes,’ he continued, ‘is the finest in the country.’

Rosie nudged Gloria and whispered, ‘Helen said he would bring that up. They’re terrified of more strikes, by the sounds of it.’

‘Do yer reckon that’s why he’s buttering us all up?’ she whispered back.

Rosie raised her eyebrows.

Mr McCorquodale continued his impassioned oration, his voice getting louder as he approached the end of his speech. ‘Mr Bevin asked me specifically to congratulate you, and say that there is no doubt, but for the fact that the women of this country were prepared to come forward in our hour of need – and do work which had always been supposedly too hard for them – we should not be in so good a position as we are today.’

The women all looked at each other and beamed. Other groups of women in the canteen were also looking as proud as Punch, smiling at each other. Some were blushing, having suddenly and unexpectedly found themselves the centre of attention.

‘We men owe more than we can say to the magnificent way the women of this country, of this town, and of this firm, have come forward and done such good work.’

As the canteen erupted into applause, Dorothy looked over at Bobby and gave him a self-satisfied smile. His return smile was as wide as it was proud.

The women watched as Mr McCorquodale, whom they had not heard of before, but who was now a demigod in their eyes, stepped off his wooden box and was accompanied out of the canteen by Helen and Harold. Leaving by the main entrance, he shook hands with both the men and the women.

When Mr McCorquodale had gone, Rosie and her squad made their way to their usual table while Polly went to stand in the queue and get them all a pot of tea. She didn’t mind as she knew once the chatter about what the MP had said ended, Dorothy would steer the conversation to the Christmas Extravaganza.

She was right. A few minutes after sitting down, Dorothy looked at Gloria.

‘So, Glor, you won’t forget to ask Helen to ask Dr Parker what he thinks the men would want for presents?’

‘I won’t,’ Gloria said.

‘Just that now we’ve got the money for the ring, we can start buying.’

‘That’s if there’s anything to buy,’ Martha said.

‘I was reading the other day that steel can now be used in manufacturing items for domestic requirement,’ said Hannah.

‘Like wringers and kettles and stuff,’ said Olly.

Angie laughed. ‘Olly, I dinnit think one of our injured soldiers will be jumping up and down in excitement if he gets a kettle for Christmas.’

‘Don’t be cruel, Ange,’ said Rosie. ‘Olly’s got a point. There might be a few of his men who might be going back home and want to take something back with them.’

‘I thought we were saving our steel for the ships?’ Martha asked.

‘It would seem we can spare a little for other necessities now,’ said Hannah.

‘Which is another sign that we are well on our way to victory,’ said Polly, catching the tail end of the conversation. She set the tea tray down in the middle of the table.

Angie put the cups and saucers out and Gloria started pouring.

They all supped in silence for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the tea. The rain might mean they had to work under cover, or in the bulkheads where it was dry, but it was still bitterly cold.

‘Ask Joe what he thinks our injured soldiers might want – and the Major as well,’ Dorothy said. ‘They’ll have a good idea.’

Polly nodded as she took a biscuit from a packet Martha was offering round. She was sure her brother and his Home Guard unit commander, Major Black, would come up with some good suggestions.

‘Peter says he thinks the men will just be happy to have some female company,’ Rosie said. She thought it was endearing that Dorothy and Angie had started to call the men ‘our injured soldiers’.

‘Well, they’re gonna get an eyeful when Dahlia gets up and does her turn,’ Dorothy said. She wished she’d never agreed to her doing a song. She’d forgotten how she’d been all over Bobby at Pearl and Bill’s wedding reception. Talk about putting it on a plate.

‘What about if any of the injured soldiers are Jewish?’ Olly asked. They all knew he was learning about Judaism from Hannah’s rabbi. Just as they all knew that if he wanted to ask for Hannah’s hand in marriage, he would have to convert.

‘They can still have fun, can’t they?’ Dorothy said. ‘They don’t have to agree to celebrate Christmas as such.’ Hannah had explained to them that the Jews viewed Christ as a false prophet.

‘Yeah, like they’ve just been invited to a party,’ Angie chipped in.

‘After what they’ve been through,’ Gloria said, ‘I think they’ll just be celebrating still being alive.’

They all mumbled their agreement.

When the klaxon sounded out the end of the shift, Dorothy and Angie were the first to switch off their machines and put away their welding rods. They were clearly eager to leave on time.

‘You two are in a hurry,’ said Rosie.

‘Double date,’ Dorothy explained.

The women looked at Angie.

‘Quentin’s got a twenty-four-hour pass,’ Angie elaborated, ‘and Dor has insisted it be spent with her and Bobby as we’ve not all been out together.’

Polly raised her eyebrows. She knew that when she was dating Tommy, she’d never wanted to share him with anyone. She’d have been even worse if, like Angie, she’d only been able to see him very occasionally.

‘Won’t Quentin just want to be with you?’ asked Martha. ‘He doesn’t get up here much these days, does he?’

‘That might be true, Martha, but Quentin has to learn that he can’t always have Ange all to himself,’ Dorothy butted in.

Everyone looked at Angie, who had clearly had no say in the matter.

‘But don’t worry, I won’t hog her all night,’ Dorothy conceded, seeing her workmates’ looks. ‘Ange and Quentin just need to have a few drinks and a bit of a natter and then they can go back to the flat at around nine.’

‘That’s so kind of yer, Dor,’ Gloria said, giving Angie a sympathetic look.

An hour and a half later, Dorothy and Angie, both done up to the nines, were hurrying up Fawcett Street to see Bobby and Quentin, whom they had arranged to meet in the Grand as a special treat. Dorothy had been worried that it might be expensive for Bobby, so she and Angie had agreed they were just going to stay for one drink and then suggest going to a cosy – cheaper – bar round the corner in High Street West.

‘My hair’s gonna be ruined,’ Angie complained as they crossed the road and continued onto Bridge Street. They were walking squashed together under an umbrella that Dorothy was holding. The wind was coming at them from all directions and forcing the rain underneath their partial cover.

‘Here,’ Dorothy said, giving her friend the Sunderland Echo. They had just bought it from a little newspaper boy who had been soaked through to the skin as he was keeping his wares dry under the overhang of the town hall at the expense of himself.

‘Stick this over your head,’ Dorothy ordered.

‘But the article?’ Angie objected. They had bought the late edition, having been told there would be a report about Mr McCorquodale’s visit. Someone had said there had been a journalist tailing him on his shipyard visits.

‘Sod the article!’ Dorothy said. ‘Your hair’s more important.’

Angie had to laugh. She loved being with Dorothy. She was glad they were all going out together. It would be great if the men they were courting got on and if, like her and Dor, the difference in their class didn’t get in the way of a friendship.

As they reached the huge five-storey building that was the Grand Hotel, they saw a familiar face sheltering under a stone archway next to the main entrance. The rain was pouring down in front of her, occasionally catching the wide-brimmed hat she was wearing.

‘Georgina!’ Dorothy called out.

‘What are yer deeing here?’ Angie asked, surprised Georgina didn’t look at all wet.

‘I’m just waiting for a friend,’ Georgina lied. ‘Didn’t think it’d be this bad.’ She looked up at the dark, wet skies.

‘We’re meeting Bobby and Quentin inside – why don’t you come and join us? You can keep checking to see if your friend’s arrived,’ Dorothy suggested.

‘No, honestly, I’m fine here,’ said Georgina. ‘I wouldn’t want to miss her.’

‘OK, but if you change your mind, come and find us,’ said Dorothy.

‘Thanks, I will,’ said Georgina, although she had no intention whatsoever of taking one step into the hotel. She had the perfect vantage point where she was.

‘Come to the flicks with us all next time, eh?’ said Angie.

Georgina nodded.

‘And you’re still up for doing the photos for the Christmas Extravaganza?’ Dorothy asked.

‘Yes, of course!’ said Georgina.

Angie tugged her away, rolling her eyes at Georgina and making her chuckle.

‘Obsessed, she is,’ she said as they waved their goodbyes and hurried towards the broad, canopied entrance, the weight of the collected rainwater now making the awning bow.

Georgina only had to wait another few minutes before the person she was really waiting for turned up. There was no wave of greeting, but rather a stealth-like move out of her hidey-hole as she pressed the button of her little Brownie, keeping her fingers crossed that the street lamp by the entrance and the light coming through the glass doors of the Grand would afford enough exposure to get her the snatched shot she needed. If her contact working in the laundry had given her good information, she would not have to return to the hotel until the early hours of the morning, when it would be much easier to get a clear image of a dishevelled Miriam leaving, having spent the night there.

Georgina continued to walk on with purpose. Reaching the end of Bridge Street, she turned right into West Wear Street. She was lucky she lived within spitting distance of the Grand. And luckier still that her work at the Sunderland Echo had enabled her to siphon off enough developer and fixer to allow her to set up her own little darkroom at home. Her father hadn’t minded – had minded even less when she’d told him the exact nature of the job Helen had commissioned her to do.

As she turned right into Bedford Street, Georgina thought about the secrets that she herself had found out about Dorothy’s mother and Angie’s mam – and, of course, about Martha’s monster of a mother. She had thought often about the consequences should those secrets ever be exposed. And every time she did, she felt a huge wave of guilt. A guilt that hadn’t lessened with time but only grown. At first, when Miriam had asked for dirt on the women welders, Georgina had not cared too much – she and her father needed the money – but when she’d realised that one of those women was Rosie Thornton, the daughter of her mother’s friend, someone she had met when she was young, before both their mothers had been taken from them, then it had not been so easy to be so distant – so detached. She had withheld what she had found out about Rosie’s ‘other’ life, but had dished up the dirt on the rest of the women. What had made matters worse, though, was that it would now seem that it wasn’t just Miriam who was privy to the information she had unearthed, but Charles Havelock too. And he was far more of a worry.

Having reached High Street West, Georgina crossed the road and hurried to the doorway of the building where she and her father lived. She took off her coat and shook it out with one arm, keeping her Brownie protected. Doing this one last job went some way to righting a wrong. At least she was snooping on a person who deserved everything she got – and it wasn’t as if she would suffer much. The only real hardship she would have to endure would be knowing that Jack could marry the woman he loved, that Gloria would no longer have to endure any more vile comments, and that poor little Hope would never again be ostracised by any more nurseries.

Pushing her key into the door and stepping into the hallway, Georgina could hear the violin-playing of the music teacher, Mr Brown. She was glad he was playing and not one of his students. Walking towards her own front door, she again worried that her friends would find out that it had been she whom Miriam had hired. Whenever she was with the women, she felt like a wolf in sheep’s clothing – a Judas. If they found out, would they spurn her? Blame her? They had become friends – good friends – since Rosie had introduced her to them. And now she was even part of their Christmas Extravaganza, which she was over the moon about, despite what Angie might think.

It would break her heart if they found out the truth and turned their backs on her.

Dorothy and Angie were sitting at their table for four in the Grand. Quentin and Bobby were at the bar, getting the drinks in.

‘Bobby keeps mentioning meeting my parents,’ Dorothy said with a glum expression.

‘Well, if you want to put him off you,’ Angie joked, ‘that’s the way to do it.’

Neither woman was in any doubt as to how Dorothy’s parents would react to her going out with a shipyard worker. They had accepted Toby purely because he was a lieutenant in the British army. And for no other reason.

‘I know,’ Dorothy said. ‘That’s the irony of it all. At first, I wanted to put hurdles in the way of us courting – to test him.’

‘Tests he’s passed,’ Angie said.

‘He has …’ Dorothy hesitated. ‘But now … well, now—’

‘Now yer dinnit want any obstacles in yer path,’ said Angie.

‘Exactly,’ said Dorothy. ‘Now, I’m afraid he might decide he doesn’t want me after all.’

‘What? ’Cos of yer family? Yer really think he’ll meet yer mam and Frank and then run a mile?’ Angie gave her friend a look of pure incredulity. ‘Honestly, Dor, I thought yer were meant to be the intelligent one, but yer can’t half be thick as two short planks sometimes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Bobby’s crazy about you – ’n I really dinnit think anything’s going to change that. He’s gannin out with you – not with yer family.’

They both looked at their boyfriends chatting away at the crowded bar. Quentin was shouting into Bobby’s right ear, aware of his lack of hearing in his left.

‘Why don’t yer just stomach it,’ Angie said. ‘Gerrit over with. Like me ’n Quentin are gonna dee.’

Dorothy looked surprised.

‘We’re just gonna gan round to my mam ’n dad’s house, say hello, have a cup of tea ’n be done with it,’ Angie explained.

‘Really?’ said Dorothy.

Angie nodded. ‘We have both accepted that my mam ’n dad will dislike Quentin for been a stuck-up snob ’cos of the way he speaks, ’n his will be horrified their only son is seeing a coal miner’s daughter – ’n one that works as a welder in the shipyards. But it doesn’t matter, does it? It’s what we think about each other that counts.’

Dorothy knew Angie was right. It was what she had told her a year ago when Angie had been fighting her feelings for Quentin – worried that the differences in their backgrounds and class would be fatal to any hopes of a proper courtship. It seemed the tables had turned.

But just as she knew Angie was right, Dorothy also knew taking Bobby to meet her own parents would be an outright disaster.