When Rosie woke up and realised what day of the week it was, she felt her heart sink. Normally on a Wednesday morning, as soon as she stirred from her slumber, she would be hit by an instant buzz of nervous excitement; a flutter of anticipation about meeting Peter.
But today she wouldn’t be going to Vera’s after work for her weekly rendezvous with the detective. Nor would she be going there ever again. Could not go.
Last week he had revealed his intentions and desire to her; his feelings had been made quite clear. He had given her no other choice than to call it a day. Now, all that she hoped for was that he would not think she had strung him along – because she hadn’t, not for one moment. If anything she had tried unsuccessfully to cheat herself. She hoped he wouldn’t hate her for it; hoped that he would know she cared an awful lot for him, but that it just could not go any further.
As Rosie got ready and headed out of the door for work, she started to imagine bumping into Peter, that he would tell her it was just fine and dandy for them to stay the way they were – to continue their very peculiar courtship of tea, chatter and the holding of hands.
Damn it! Stop it! Rosie cursed inwardly.
This is painful enough as it is.
As she headed down to the south dock that, as always, was swarming with workers, she told herself she should be hoping that she would never bump into the detective again.
So why did that prospect cause her heart to feel even heavier than it already was?
As Rosie looked up the river, trying not to seek out the Dock Police cabin on the river bend by the lock, she berated herself for inflicting this pain and mental torture upon herself. In hindsight it was as if, when she had first started meeting up with the detective, she had seen a burning building and walked straight into it – regardless of the consequences.
Why had she caused herself this upset when she had known all along there could only ever be one outcome?
Was she some kind of masochist at heart?
She must be, otherwise why had she kept on seeing him, got to know him, become closer to him? Why hadn’t she just nipped this addiction in the bud from the start? Instead of feeding it? Making her want more. And now she had stopped, she was so hungry her belly ached.
As Rosie walked up to the giant iron gates of the yard, jostling shoulder to shoulder with the other workers, she forced her mind to let go of her obsessive thoughts about the detective; it was exhausting her and draining her of her energy.
She took her white clocking-on card from the outstretched hand of the young timekeeper and forced her mind to concentrate on the here and now – for today was going to be a very busy day, in all ways.
‘Morning, miss!’
It was Angie. She was always in bright and early. Rosie counted her blessings that Dorothy had convinced her to swap jobs with Gloria, as she was turning out to be a good little worker. She never complained; just got on with it. And she was always on time. Sometimes, like today, she was even in before Rosie. She had joked, saying that it was because her father, a miner at one of the local collieries, was always up at the crack of dawn, and when he was up, the whole house had to get up. Whatever the reason, though, Angie never seemed to like being at home much. If she wasn’t working, she would be out with Dorothy, either on the pull in town, or going to the cinema to see the latest film. They were both united in their determination to have as much fun as possible. The pair of them were – quite simply – not going to take life seriously, not one jot.
‘Miss, the bitch is coming over,’ Rosie heard Angie’s voice hiss over to her in a whisper.
‘What was that, Angela?’ Helen said in her most hoity-toity voice.
‘Just telling miss I had a stitch coming on – cos I ran to work,’ she said, sticking her hand on her hip and pulling her face into a grimace.
Rosie had to smile. Angie could barely read or write, but there was nothing wrong with her brain – the girl was as sharp as a pin.
‘Mm,’ Helen said, unconvinced, but prepared to give Rosie’s new welder the benefit of the doubt; she had other things on her mind.
‘Rosie, I need Martha again today with the riveters.’
There was no ‘please’ or ‘I’m awfully sorry but …’
Helen was on full throttle. Her father was due back in just a few weeks. Her time was running out. There was no time for false niceties. The gloves were off.
The two women stared at each other – if they had been two dogs, their hackles would have risen.
Angie, who had been watching the women’s standoff, pretended to busy herself.
‘Fine,’ Rosie said, before abruptly turning around and stomping over to the welding machines.
Helen glowered at Rosie’s back before herself marching off.
When Martha and Hannah arrived at the welder’s work area, Rosie called them over. ‘Martha, you and I are going to the Admiral at lunchtime. We need to have a chat, and there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
Martha nodded solemnly.
‘And, Hannah,’ Rosie continued, ‘come and grab a cuppa with me in the canteen. I’m parched and I want to put something to you.’
Angie’s ears had pricked up. She could not wait for Dorothy to turn up. Today was going to be better than a trip to the flicks.
‘I may have a solution to your problem.’
Rosie was sitting opposite Hannah in the canteen. It was relatively quiet, as the day’s shift had just started. She had wanted some peace and quiet in which to chat to Hannah, instead of having to shout over the intense clattering and clanging in the yard, so had come to the cafeteria knowing it would be more or less empty.
Hannah was sitting with both her hands jammed between her knees, as if she were trying to keep them from shooting up into the air. She had a cup of black coffee in front of her. Hannah’s almond-shaped dark brown eyes widened.
‘Really?’ She sounded the tiniest bit hopeful.
Rosie took a sip of tea and began explaining her possible ‘solution’.
‘A vacancy has come up for a trainee draughtsman. I remembered you saying how you used to love to draw when you were back home. And I’ve seen some of the sketches you’ve done here on bits of paper during breaks. They are very good.’
A slight blush crept across Hannah’s face. ‘Oh, they’re just – what do you call them – doodles?’
‘Well, they look like good doodles to me, Hannah. Anyway, I went to see the head draughtsman a little while ago.’
Hannah cast her mind back and recalled Angie and Dorothy chatting, wondering what Rosie had been up to when they had seen her come out of the drawing office.
‘I told him about you,’ Rosie continued, ‘and asked him to give me a shout if anything came up. And, now it has!’
Hannah’s face lit up.
‘Oh, Rosie! And he’s happy to have me? How does he know I’ll be any good?’
Rosie chuckled. ‘Well, I have to confess, I pinched one of your “doodles” of the ship by the quayside. He was quite impressed. He said he could not believe how exact and precise your drawing was. I think he used the word “technical”. You’re just what he’s looking for – someone who has a natural artistic flare and also knows the ins and outs of how a ship is built.’
Rosie looked at Hannah, who was now beaming from ear to ear.
Rosie smiled, feeling good that she was at least making someone happy. ‘But,’ she explained, ‘if you don’t take to it, or you don’t like it, you can leave.’
‘Oh, I think I am going to like it. How exciting!’
‘And, best of all,’ Rosie added, ‘there’ll be no more welding.’
Hannah looked a little embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been much good at that. I feel I’ve dragged everyone back,’ she said.
‘Rubbish,’ Rosie reprimanded her. ‘Welding is just not for you. Like Dorothy said when we were all out for a drink that day, it’s time for you to ditch the Guinness and start drinking something you actually like … If anything, it was my fault; I should have done something about it earlier. I just became a bit obsessed with keeping my entire squad together – regardless of anything else.’
As the news started to really sink in, Hannah became more animated and seemed so much happier than she had been for months.
‘I can’t wait to tell the girls! No more Helen breathing down my neck. And I’ll still be able to see you all – like Gloria does – at breaks and lunches.’
‘Exactly, Hannah, you’ll always be one of us. And I’ll always be here for you, regardless of wherever you work … Now, shall we go and tell Helen? I’m sure she’s going to be over the moon.’
Rosie’s acid sarcasm made Hannah grin.
‘And then we can go and meet your new boss!’
Hannah’s hands sprang free from the hold they were in, and she clamped her hands together and held them to her chest, her excitement struggling to be contained.
‘Oh, yes please! Thank you, Rosie. You are the best!’
As soon as the hooter sounded out for the lunch break, Martha came marching over to Rosie. She had no idea what was in store for her, but she sensed they were about to do battle, and she was happy to follow her general into the war zone.
Ten minutes later, while the women welders were all tucking into a pie and pea lunch at the canteen to celebrate Hannah’s new job, Rosie and Martha were heading over to the Admiral Inn, where it had been arranged they were to meet Mr Archibald Pike, one of the yard’s union representatives from the United Society of Boilermakers and Iron and Steel Shipbuilders. The odd-looking trio greeted each other with a brisk shake of hands and sat themselves round one of the small wooden tables.
The slightly plump, fleshy-faced, middle-aged Mr Pike, who was dressed in a cheap but well-pressed shiny brown suit, had already got himself a pint. He started chatting earnestly to Martha, occasionally looking across at Rosie. He then pulled out a number of official-looking forms from his battered briefcase. Between mouthfuls of frothy beer he took his time explaining various points.
Throughout their meeting, Martha wore a serious, slightly apprehensive look on her round, candid face, and either nodded in understanding, or interjected with a question when she was unsure of something.
After Mr Pike had talked for a while longer, Rosie then asked a few questions, which the man answered as concisely and as comprehensively as possible.
The two women then stood up, shook hands with Mr Pike in turn, and left him to his drink. They went back to the yard but, rather than head over to their work area, the pair walked straight across to the administration building.
‘You again!’ Helen sneered on seeing Rosie at her office door. As usual she completely ignored Martha.
‘Have you come to tell me you’re letting another one of your squad go? You won’t have anyone left at this rate.’ Rosie could almost see Helen’s mind working overtime, wondering if she would be able to disband them sooner than anticipated if there were just the three women welders left under her charge.
‘No chance, Helen. You don’t think I’d make it that easy for you, do you?’
This really was brewing up to be a bare-knuckled fight.
‘In case you haven’t noticed, there is also someone else here in your office,’ Rosie said, looking up at Martha, who seemed even larger in the confines of the small office.
Rosie took a deep breath and mentally crossed her fingers.
‘Martha here has something she’d like to impart to you,’ Rosie added, stepping aside a little to allow her workmate to take centre stage.
You can do it, Martha, Rosie prayed.
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Well, come on then, I’ve not got all day, you know!’ Helen spat out.
Rosie’s bile rose to the back of her mouth, but this was Martha’s skirmish and she had to come out of it on top. Thankfully Helen’s sharp words seemed to snap Martha into action.
‘Here …’ Martha said, pulling out the documentation given to her by Mr Pike, ‘… is my work contract.’
She lumbered forward, and Helen automatically took a step back, even though her desk was shielding her from the two women welders.
Helen stuck her arm out and tentatively took the papers from Martha’s huge, man-sized hand.
‘Page six,’ Martha commanded.
Helen flicked through to the appropriate page.
‘Please read,’ she instructed.
Rosie could feel the euphoria rise in her.
Martha was doing it!
It took Helen a few minutes to read through the contractual jargon, but Rosie could tell by the look of pure venom spreading across her enemy’s face that she had understood the basic gist of it all. When she reached the end of the page, she glared at Martha. Rosie thought it was the first time Helen had actually looked her in the eye.
‘No more riveting.’ Martha said simply.
‘Exactly.’ Rosie stepped forward. ‘As I’m sure you’ve read Helen, Martha was contracted to work as a welder at Thompson’s. If you continue to order her to work with Jimmy and his crew of riveters, you’ll be in blatant breach of her contract. The only exemption to that is if her welding is below par, which we both know is never going to be the case – you’ve even said yourself that she’s already handling twice the workload of a male welder.’
Rosie looked at Martha, who was standing expressionless, looking straight ahead of her as if she was a soldier on parade. She then turned her attention back to Helen.
‘Well, that’s all for today. We won’t be taking up any more of your time, Helen. Good day.’ And with that Rosie turned to walk out of the office, with Martha falling in behind her.
As the pair made their way out of the office and back into the afternoon sun and the fresh air, Rosie looked up at the woman who had just saved her squad of female welders.
‘Well done, Martha! Well done!’
And with that Martha allowed a big, gap-toothed smile to overtake her chubby, childlike face.