Authors: Pamela Evans
‘If he is, he’s got the best possible man in charge,’ said one of the clerks when they were discussing it in the office. ‘General Montgomery, or Monty as they call him. They reckon he’s a marvellous soldier.’
‘Mm,’ said May, not at all comforted. ‘I suppose the worst part is not knowing what’s going on. He doesn’t say anything about the war in his letters.’
‘I think you might worry more if you did know what was going on,’ suggested someone. ‘At least we are spared the gory details.’
‘There is that, I suppose,’ May agreed, before her part in the conversation was terminated by every line on the switchboard lighting up and buzzing at the same time.
Flo and May were still delivering the papers, as they hadn’t yet found any suitable boys for the job. May’s round took her past the Pavilion bomb site, which was already covered in stinging nettles and rosebay willow herb. She assumed it would stay like this for the rest of the war, because any sort of private building or redevelopment was prohibited.
The mornings were cold now as the year headed towards winter, but May still took the time to linger awhile here, something she often did when passing, and said a silent prayer for George and Betty. The only remaining landmark was the old horse chestnut tree nearby, from where they had gathered conkers as children. Everywhere was silent at this time of the morning and the air was imbued with the damp mist of autumn.
Into the stillness of her mind came the sound of children’s voices: George, Betty and herself. This small area had once been vibrant and cheerful; kids playing, adults going to the Pavilion and chatting over a cup of tea. Now it was dead and sad; just another piece of waste ground created by the bombing.
One day it would be rejuvenated and returned to its former glory, she resolved as she went on her way to deliver the rest of the newspapers before going home for breakfast, her heavy bag slung over her shoulder.
Although the gossip and speculation about the silk stealing at the factory had abated, no one had forgotten it and until the culprit was named anyone was potentially a suspect. It was a moment of carelessness on May’s part that finally solved the mystery and put her in a very difficult position.
The switchboard was busy that morning and May was working flat out. A familiar voice asked for Mr Saxon, and when she enquired ‘Who’s calling?’ – a standard part of her duties – the reply came in the usual supercilious manner, ‘It’s a personal call.’
May put the call through and carried on working with her plugs and wires, connecting and disconnecting, being polite to callers, some of whom liked to remark on the weather or the war or anything at all. She must have accidentally nudged a lever, because she suddenly found herself listening on her headphones to Mr Saxon’s conversation, something that was absolutely forbidden.
Before she had a chance to put the matter right, the subject under discussion made such compulsive listening that she stayed on the line, freezing with horror at what she heard.
‘This is a very awkward situation you’ve put us in, Miss Stubbs,’ said Miss Palmer when May told her what she’d heard. ‘You’ve broken the terms of your employment here at Websters by listening in to the private conversation of a senior member of management. And, even worse, repeating it.’
May stared at her in disbelief. ‘But they were talking about stealing silk, so I considered it my duty to listen for the sake of the company,’ she said.
‘I’m not sure if members of the hierarchy will see it like that,’ said Miss Palmer.
‘It was Mr Saxon all along doing the thieving, so surely he must be brought to justice,’ pronounced May. ‘The caller is obviously his black market contact; he was asking Mr Saxon about getting more material to him.’
The older woman mulled this over. ‘You’d better tell me exactly what was said,’ she said eventually. ‘Verbatim if you can remember, please.’
‘Mr Saxon said he couldn’t risk getting more silk for him at the moment because the other stuff had been noticed. The caller asked how that could be because the silk was delivered direct to him on the way to the factory, one or two rolls per delivery. It never even went through the factory, which is why no one saw it go. It was never here.’
Miss Palmer bit her lip worriedly. ‘Yes, that does add up. The thefts were only noticed because the number of finished parachutes didn’t match up with the amount of silk ordered,’ she explained. ‘Mr Saxon must have had an accomplice in Goods Inwards, who check deliveries with orders to make sure it’s all there.’
‘Anyway, the caller said that wasn’t good enough because they had a firm agreement and he was supposed to get a regular supply and he had customers waiting,’ said May. ‘He wasn’t happy and he sounded a bit threatening.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Miss Palmer.
‘Mr Saxon said there would be more as soon as he thought it was safe to get it to him and the caller said he had better not leave it too long. So there you have it. We know who the culprit is, so he can be named and all the speculation can stop.’
‘Hmm, it won’t be quite as easy as that,’ Miss Palmer said thoughtfully. ‘This is a tricky one.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Mr Saxon is a highly respected member of the management, and you are just the switchboard girl,’ stated the older woman.
‘What difference does that make?’ asked May naively. ‘He’s a thief whatever class bracket he’s in.’
‘It will be your word against his, and apart from anything else, you will be in trouble for making the accusation,’ Miss Palmer explained.
‘I’d sooner lose my job than let him get away with it, especially as the machinists are all under suspicion,’ May told her.
‘That’s all very well, my dear, but things could get very unpleasant indeed for you, and as the head of the department it’s my job to protect you.’
‘I don’t want protecting, I want justice,’ declared May. ‘Anyway, it isn’t just an accusation. It’s true. I heard it loud and clear. The man is a thief and he’ll do it again as soon as he thinks it’s safe.’
‘But it is all just hearsay,’ said Miss Palmer. ‘We have no evidence and Mr Saxon will deny it if challenged to save his own skin.’
‘Surely you are going to report it to someone on the management, Miss Palmer,’ said May.
The other woman mulled it over. ‘I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it at the moment. Leave it with me.’
‘If you don’t tell someone at the top, I will,’ said May in a determined manner.
‘Don’t threaten me please, my dear,’ said Miss Palmer in that way she had of making a point without raising her voice; a kind of polite determination with a hint of admonition. ‘And don’t tell anyone else about this. No one at all for the moment.’
‘Oh, but—’
‘Absolutely no one, and that includes your friend from the factory who is staying with you,’ she repeated. ‘Now get along back to the switchboard and relieve whoever is covering for you. I’ll let you know what’s going to happen.’
Clearly nothing, thought May crossly as she went back to her place at the switchboard. Talk about one rule for the management and another for the workers. If that had been a machinist she had overheard, they would have been sacked instantly and probably reported to the police.
The desert moon was so brilliant it was almost like daylight. Some men chatted, others preferred to sit in quiet contemplation smoking; some prayed. Most were nervous because soon they would be forging ahead again in the battle for El Alamein, which was proving to be the most brutal experience of George’s life, a graveyard for both sides.
War dehumanised people as far as George could make out. He himself had become almost immune to death, having seen so much of it. He’d seen mates drop beside him; others lose limbs and lie screaming with pain in the sand. The Allies were making headway, but at what price?
Anyone who said they weren’t afraid was lying in George’s opinion. He himself was paralysed with fear at times. But still he went on, because there was no choice. In the midst of battle you stopped feeling and relied on instinct and the will to stay alive.
In this quiet time before battle commenced again, he thought of home and the bomb sites he’d seen on that last leave, and of Betty killed before she was even twenty-one, and he reminded himself that he wasn’t the only one suffering.
He’d had some leave in Cairo a while ago, which had been a welcome break from the fighting. Most of the men had made a beeline for the bars; female company too had been high on many of the lads’ agendas.
George had enjoyed the respite, but it was a poor substitute for home leave. He was beginning to feel completely distanced from home and a normal way of life. It seemed like another world, a world he didn’t know if he would ever see again. He wasn’t much of a churchgoer, but these days he often prayed, and he did so now.
Contrary to May’s suspicions, the conversation she’d had with Miss Palmer wasn’t the end of the matter as regarded Mr Saxon and the silk stealing.
‘I want you to call me to the switchboard when Mr Saxon’s contact comes through again,’ the older woman said, speaking to May in a confidential manner at her desk. ‘I need to listen in.’
‘He might not ring up again,’ suggested May.
‘If he’s putting pressure on Mr Saxon for more material, as you say he is, he’ll call again.’
‘But I’ve told you what was said. Why can’t you take my word for it?’ asked May, impatient for the matter to progress and slightly miffed that her account of the conversation wasn’t to be trusted.
‘I need to hear what is said before I take things further,’ Miss Palmer explained. ‘It’s a very serious matter and I have to make sure that the people at the top take notice. If I have actually heard it for myself, I can speak to them with more confidence.’
‘You’ll be breaking the rules by listening in deliberately, though,’ May pointed out.
‘Needs must when the devil drives, my dear.’
‘Why will they believe it if you have heard it rather than me?’ asked May.
‘Obviously because I am a senior member of staff and an employee of very long standing,’ she explained in a forthright manner. ‘I was working here long before they started making parachutes, whereas you are a mere girl and a newcomer. It is no reflection on you personally, but on your word alone they might dismiss the whole thing and you along with it for eavesdropping.’
‘But you could be in deep trouble if you are going to listen in,’ May reminded her worriedly.
‘If that happens, then so be it,’ she said. ‘Justice must be done, as you have said. So if that certain gentleman calls again, delay the connection until I am there. If I am not around, then find me.’
‘Yes, Miss Palmer,’ said May obediently.
Several weeks passed before Mr Saxon’s ‘friend’ telephoned again and May was beginning to think they had heard the last of him. When he did finally get in touch, their plan was foiled, because although May delayed the connection until Miss Palmer was in place with the headphones on, Mr Saxon wasn’t in his office and couldn’t be found. The caller refused the offer of a call back and said he would telephone Mr Saxon at some other time.
‘We’ll just have to hope he doesn’t ring him at home, won’t we?’ said May.
‘Indeed,’ the other woman agreed.
He came through again the next day, however, and this time things did go according to plan.
‘Gotcha,’ said Miss Palmer, returning the headphones to May when she had heard enough. ‘It’s time I went to visit our managing director, I think.’ She paused. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. I will take full responsibility for our eavesdropping.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ May assured her. ‘I’m willing to shoulder the blame if things turn nasty. So long as Mr Saxon gets his due and the machinists are off the hook, I’ll take my chances.’
But there were no repercussions. The matter was dealt with quietly and promptly. Mr Saxon left the company immediately and a memo was circulated to all departments to that effect. His dishonesty was mentioned but not how it was discovered. The factory was buzzing with it.
‘That’s a turn-up for the books, old Saxon getting the sack,’ remarked Connie when she and May were waiting for the bus after work. ‘It was him all along who was nicking the material; the thieving old devil.’
‘Mm,’ muttered May vaguely.
‘I wonder how they found out,’ Connie mused.
‘Yeah,’ said May innocently. She was still sworn to secrecy over the matter. Her part in it was crucial but the method used had been unethical to say the least, so Miss Palmer deemed it wise to keep it quiet in case of later repercussions. ‘Still, as long as they’ve got the right person, it doesn’t really matter, does it?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Connie as they got on the bus.
May smiled, pleased that justice had been done.
There was a big day in the Bailey home in the spring of the following year, because Joe was to start school. So important was it judged to be that May took a day’s leave so that she could go with his grandmother to the school to offer some moral support. Joe was gleaming with cleanliness, every one of his curly hairs combed into place, and enthusiastic about this new adventure, though he didn’t seem to have quite grasped the rules. ‘I shall come home if I don’t like it,’ he announced chirpily.
As it was his first day, they were allowed to take him into the school and hand him over to the care of the teacher, but any tendency to linger was firmly discouraged as were any attempts to inform the teacher of a child’s personal needs.
‘He’ll be fine,’ said May to Dot as they walked across the playground on their way out.
‘Course he will,’ agreed Dot, wet eyed.
‘He’ll have a lovely time, I bet,’ remarked May.
‘I’m not so sure about us, though,’ said Dot. ‘I think we’d better have a cup o’ tea at my place to keep us going. It’s a long time until we can collect him.’
‘I’ll go along with that,’ agreed May.
‘He’s only gone to school; he hasn’t been sent out to clean chimneys or anything,’ said Sheila, who was home on leave and in the kitchen in her pyjamas when Dot and May got back, both of them close to tears.
‘It’s a big thing, Sheila, a new era,’ said Dot emotionally. ‘He’ll never be quite the same again.’