‘Well whatever spurred her decision I’m pleased for you Alice; you can leave those forms with me, I will see Mr Whitman gets them.’
‘I ain’t come to hand them in, not yet.’ Beneath the turban scarf tied about her head, Alice blushed an embarrassed pink. ‘There be some questions I don’t be too sure how to answer and I thought . . .’ she swallowed, obviously finding it hard to admit the rest, ‘. . . I thought you with your grammar school education . . . well I hoped you’d help.’
Katrin’s smile revealed none of her pleasure at having the girl who had called her a cheat ask for help. Would it feel even more pleasurable to refuse? No. She took the paper from the other girl’s hand. There was more enjoyment yet to be got.
‘Of course.’ She laid the document on the desk. ‘Glad to do anything I can. I don’t have time to go through it right now, is it all right for me to take it home?’
‘Thanks, Kate.’ Alice beamed. ‘I won’t forget, and if there be anything I can do for you then you need only ask.’
Katrin’s smile deepened. There was nothing that girl could ever do for her, and as for this – she slipped the paper into her bag – Alice Butler would certainly not forget.
9
‘I thought they would have explained all of that when you collected the application form.’
Katrin glanced at the crestfallen Alice. She had anticipated this moment from reading the forms the other girl had asked her to check over, but anticipation had not matched the satisfaction coursing through her at this moment, the sheer gratification of watching disappointment register on the oil-smudged face.
‘You see,’ she went on, elation expertly submerged beneath the parody of sympathy, ‘to join the WRNS requires you hold certain qualifications and you do not have them. I’m sorry Alice, truly I am.’
Truly! Katrin disguised her glee with a rueful smile. Nothing could be further from the truth.
‘What qualifications might they be then? Oh don’t bother to tell me.’ Alice rejected her own question. ‘If I ain’t got them then I ain’t. I should have known it took more of an education than I had, thanks anyway Kate, but . . .’ she hesitated, ‘if I don’t have the necessary for to join the WRNS, then mebbe’s I should try for the WAAF.’
‘You can try, of course.’ Katrin nodded, ‘But it seems they also have certain requirements.’
Alice shrugged resignedly. ‘I suppose the ATS don’t be any different.’
She could leave it there, let Alice Butler walk back to the workshop; but that would be to curtail the pleasure, and why would she do that?
Katrin watched the figure turn to leave then said, ‘The ATS does have some exceptions, there are two branches of that Service which require no qualifications.’
‘What branches do they be?’
Delight transformed the other girl’s face, delight which Katrin Hawley could dampen at a stroke.
‘They may not be quite what you wanted, Alice, they call for volunteers for Orderly Duties.’
‘Orderly Duties!’ Alice’s features registered disillusion. ‘Does that mean what I take it to mean? They’re asking for folk to go cleaning up after others?’
‘I think it would incorporate that, possibly along with kitchen work.’
‘You mean skivvying! Cooking and bloody cleaning!’ Alice’s turbaned head swung side to side. ‘I get that at home, no need to go running off to find it, but there again Kate, at home I get my mother grumbling at everythin’ I do. At least Orderly Duties ain’t going to include looking after kids.’
‘Does that mean you wish to apply? I left the forms blank just in case.’
‘Too bloody true I wish. Thanks, Kate, you be a real friend.’
A real friend! Katrin’s glance dropped to the papers in her hand. Then it was to be hoped Alice Butler did not meet with a false one.
Venom hidden with that expertise years of custom had bestowed, she glanced again at the girl she could so easily deceive, her smile a continuation of duplicity.
‘Do I take it, then, I should go ahead and fill these in, or would you rather do that yourself?’
‘You do it Kate, please, you’re better at that sort of thing than I am.’
‘The ATS it is then, Miss Butler. I will have these done for you as soon as I can.’
Not that time would make the slightest difference. With her help Alice Butler would most definitely
not
be joining any of the Women’s Auxiliary Forces, in fact she would never get to the asking point.
Alice had regaled Becky and herself with complaints about her mother a dozen times over. Now she would discover parental consent was not all that was needed; Katrin had noted the relevant paragraph and it had brought a genuine smile.
‘. . . where the applicant could be released from present employ . . .’
The government had made it so easy. That one stipulation provided a way of retribution which could in no way reflect upon her.
Smiling down at the papers Katrin took up a pen.
This was the weapon with which she would strike.
She had trodden the path carefully. Her first act had been to make a count of male employees due for conscription within the month. Then she had looked up the number of youngsters having applied for employment with the end of the school year and discovered one in no way compensated for the other. She had rung the Labour Exchange Office asking did they have notice of men or boys needing employment? The answer being no had added beneficially to her plan yet she had continued those enquiries directing them at the various schools throughout the town and again fortune had smiled. There were no pupils of an age to leave education who were without firm promise of a situation within industry.
Looking at the figures she had recorded, Katrin’s inner glow was that of congratulation. Deficit between men being called to the forces and the availability to replace them was an ever widening gap, a gap which must be filled by women.
Sure now she had overlooked nothing, she tapped at the door of Arthur Whitman’s private office.
‘The new intake, pass them along to Isaac Eldon.’
Katrin felt a moment’s irritation.
‘Of course, Mr Whitman.’ She replied smoothly not allowing vexation to colour her answer. ‘But then he will need refer back, so I thought showing these to you beforehand might save time.’
‘Oh? Let’s see them then.’
He scanned the results then threw the papers down with a short breath of exasperation.
‘How the hell am I expected to keep up production when I continue to lose manpower? Do they think I can manufacture workers the way I manufacture armaments? Twelve men going,’ he dropped his head into his hands, ‘and eight to take on their jobs and no lad older than fourteen, they can’t possibly manage the heavier machinery! What do I do? Without folk to work then we will have machines lying idle.’
‘I realised that problem when getting the numbers ready for Mr Eldon, which is why I ventured to ask your decision on another issue before handing those papers on to him.’
‘
Another
issue, well why not?’ Arthur Whitman’s laugh was pure dejection. ‘The barrel will always take one more apple.’
‘One of the girls is applying to join the Auxiliary Services, she needs employer consent.’
‘One more leaving the sinking ship!’
‘Very probably more than one, Mr Whitman.’ Katrin launched the first of the reserve of lies she had drawn up. ‘There are several others of the same mind, I have heard them discussing it.’
‘These others, who are they?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Whitman, do not ask me to reveal names, it would be a breach of confidence, I would feel I was letting friends down. However, I can tell what Mister Eldon will corroborate: all the girls of an age to join the Forces are employed in the production of the heavier armaments.’
‘I appreciate your not wishing to name your friends Katrin, it is to your credit . . .’
He had taken to using her Christian name. One more step in the direction she determined to lead him!
‘. . . but the fact remains, the more labour drained from the factory the less equipment we can provide for use at the Front. Those women wanting to leave must surely see they are paying Peter by robbing Paul; no matter what they may be called upon to do, it cannot possibly compare in importance to what they do here: the Army can’t fire bullets they don’t have, Naval guns are useless without shells and the same applies to the Air Force, they can fly their planes but without ammunition how can they attack or defend? No!’ He slammed a hand onto the desk. ‘We have to get our priorities right and if that means refusing to release women from the factory then so be it!’
He had refused. So much for Alice Butler and her dreams.
Katrin took the papers to the general office, handing them to a junior clerk with the instruction they go to Isaac Eldon. He could be the one to pass on the disappointing news.
Freda Evans and Alice Butler. Two she had dealt with. But one yet remained.
It had been this way for over a week. Miriam Carson threw on her coat, buttoning it as she ran.
There had been virtually no let up, no respite from the threat of planes throbbing overhead, of the thud of bombs which seemed to shake the very earth and through it all the constant harrowing fear for the safety of loved ones.
Reuben! She drew a ragged breath, tasting smoke from a burning building. He would have been at home when the alert sounded, alone in the house; a boy of scarcely twelve years old alone while hell broke loose around him. She fought back a sob. Why did it have to be like this? A mother should be with her child in time of danger.
She flinched as a distant thud echoed across the night. War was the reason, war was the culprit and people its victims; men who had no choice but to fight, mothers who had no option but to leave their children to the care of others, as she was forced to leave her son.
‘Get off the street, get into a shelter!’
Ignoring the ARP warden, Miriam sped on. She would take shelter when she had Reuben safe in her arms.
Would he have done as he was told when the sirens warned of a raid? Would he have joined next door in their garden shelter?
Yes, yes Reuben would be with neighbours. Forced to slow to a walk by the stitch snatching at her ribs, Miriam felt a moment’s comfort. Her son was a sensible boy.
But what if Reuben were not home? He had taken to visiting the library after school, spending hours there working on some project. She had questioned why he could not work at home the same way he had always done his homework.
‘
Can’t mum
.’ He had smiled his father’s smile, that gentle half grin. ‘
Not for this. The books I have to look at can only be used for reference, they can’t be taken out. But that’s okay, I quite like working in the library
.’
But that meant he would have been made to evacuate the building when the alarm was given. Had he decided to head for home? Was he somewhere out on the streets, was he maybe . . . ?
‘You oughtn’t to be on the street.’
The policeman turned away, the brittle clang of fire engines and crashing masonry calling his attention.
Fire! Buildings falling in on people, bombs screaming at them from the skies, horror they could hear, terrors they could not see; only pain . . . pain to leave them maimed, death reaching for them in the darkness.
‘Oh God!’ Miriam cried aloud, ‘not for Reuben, not for Reu . . .’
A sudden mind-shattering explosion ripped the air like no thunderstorm she had ever witnessed, and the blast hurled her to the ground.
Winded, her senses reeling and her ears ringing, Miriam felt herself being lifted to her feet.
‘You’ll be all right, no bones broken, but best you be taken to a First Aid Post.’
Miriam frowned. Was it her father speaking?
‘Come on,’ the voice said again, ‘better have you looked at, could be a bit of concussion.’
Not her father. Tom then, was it Tom?
‘That were a big one.’ The attempt to reassure, to comfort continued. ‘Seems the Gerries have got wind of the steel foundries and heavy munitions factories, that’s what them bombers be after, knock them out and it leaves this country worse off than ever. But I reckon they scored a blank with that one.’
Miriam found herself walking, though her limbs seemed made of water. Not Tom. Miriam’s mind fingered the darkness hovering over it. Reuben, it must be . . .
Reuben! Mind and body flashing together in unison she shook off the supporting hands. She had to get to Reuben! It had been a bomb! A bomb so near it had thrown her off her feet! But where had it struck?
Then she knew.
Anguish tearing the soul of her she stared.
Ahead, in the direction she must go, a great vivid sheet of orange flame ripped along the skyline.