‘Anyway, this was goin’ on fer about six months or more, an’ somebody shopped ’im ter Gladys, ’is wife. One day we was all workin’ away when there was a right commotion. We looks round an’ there’s Gladys, wiv all ’er Gawd ferbids in tow, marchin’ along the factory floor. “Where’s the poxy knockin’ shop?” she shouts out. Well, I tell yer, if you could ’ave seen ’er face. Scarlet wiv rage it was. There was the kids cryin’, an’’er pushin’ ’er way down the aisle. Joe Cooper’s tryin’ ter keep a straight face. ’E’s twigged it right away. “Turn left at the bottom an’ go right in,” ’e ses. Well, Gladys storms in, kids an’ all, an’ she walks up ter Dora an’ ses, “Yer got me meal ticket, yer better feed ’em.” Wiv that she smacks Dora round the chops an’ walks out, leavin’ the kids standin’ there. Dora was snivellin’ an’ the kids was all bawlin’ their ’eads off. Proper turn out it was.’
‘Tell ’er what ’appened next,’ Mary prompted.
Joyce was enjoying her role as storyteller. ‘Well, Gladys marches up the gangway wiv ’er Jake followin’ ’er. ’E ’ad the little mites trailin’ be’ind ’im an’ ’e was pleadin’ wiv ’er ter take the kids back ’ome. We was all standin’ there watchin’. Suddenly she stops in ’er tracks an’ ses to Jake, “On yer knees then.” True, Liz. She made ’im beg there an’ then. ’Course, she took ’im ’an the kids back but both Jake an’ Dora got the sack. Gladys an’ Jake are like a couple o’ lovebirds now, an’ Dora ended up marryin’ a bloke a lot older than ’er. I see ’er only a few weeks ago. Right scruffy cow she’s turned out ter be. Jus’ goes ter show yer, don’t it?’
Lizzie picked up her handbag as the factory whistle sounded. ‘I’ll take the chance of a bit o’ trouble if that young Robert gives me the eye,’ she grinned. ‘My ole man would prob’ly come up an shake ’im by the ’and fer ’elpin’ ’im out!’
Chapter Ten
Bright spring days with lengthening hours of warm light helped to bring a little cheer to the backstreet folk. Even Ironmonger Street looked less ugly and off-putting when the sun lit up the terraced houses and penetrated the gloomy tenement block. The street dwellers were convinced that the factory owner had been affected by the sunshine when they saw the painters arrive and start work cleaning up the old rusting gates. Within a few days the iron entrance to the factory wore a bold green covering of paint and ladders were going up all around the red brick building. Even the factory sign was being scraped clean and the local wags made capital out of the renovations.
‘’E’s gorn mad! Stark ravin’ mad!’ Bill Mullins said to his pal Terry. ‘All that money ’e’s earnin’ ’as gorn to ’is ’ead. If those workers of ’is ain’t careful they’ll find themselves gettin’ a rise.’
‘’E’s sellin’ the gaff,’ Terry decided. ‘Marie Lloyd’s buyin’ it off ’im. She’s gonna turn it into a music ’all.’
‘What, in Ironmonger Street? Yer wouldn’t get those music’all stars ter do a turn round ’ere. They’d be frightened o’ the reception they’d get.’
‘Not ’alf. All the kids would be standin’ outside sellin’ rotten fruit.’
The factory was looking much less forbidding in its new coat of paint and Peter Armitage was happy. The Ministry officials would be visiting the premises very soon to see how their contract was being implemented. I must remember to talk to Robert about new overalls for the machine-floor workers, he thought. We can’t let the officials see the ones they’re wearing at present, it wouldn’t do. And they might ask to see the canteen. I must talk to the manageress. Maybe she could put a few more items on the menu. My office could do with a bit of a spruce-up too. I’d better have a word with Miss Jones. Perhaps she can get a few flowers or some pot plants.
Miss Jones was somewhat taken aback by the suggestion. ‘Well I never did,’ she remarked to her friend Mabel Southwick from the accounts office. ‘I’m sure the man’s verging on a nervous breakdown. If he’s not pacing that office of his he’s mumbling to himself. Now he wants me to get him flowers and pot plants, would you believe? I tell you, Mabel. If old Mr Armitage was alive he’d have a fit.’
Mabel giggled. ‘You be careful. He might be thinking of doing some after-hours entertaining. It wouldn’t be the first time a boss has made up to his secretary.’
Miss Jones straightened her blouse and snorted. ‘Don’t be silly, Mabel. Mr Peter is a respectable married man and, besides, I’m old enough to be his mother.’
‘Well he must have some reason for doing what he’s doing, Alice.’
Miss Jones pondered the mystery and came to the conclusion that it was probably his age. After all, men got those funny urges in middle life. She had recently read about the traumas of middle-aged men. She had discovered lots about the opposite sex in her life, mostly from books. In her younger days she had taken up with an older man who had tried desperately to lure her between the sheets. Miss Jones had found out in the nick of time that her romantic and persuasive companion was in fact a married man with two young children. Her world of romance was shattered and she decided that men were little more than animals with just one thought in their heads. She would not become anyone’s chattel, and so Alice Jones remained celibate.
She had no regrets, except for the one time when old Armitage was alive. Her liking for George Armitage had clouded her usually clear judgement when, during a marital crisis, the factory owner had decided to seek the opinion of his loyal and trusted secretary. Alice Jones remembered the incident very well. He had been quiet and thoughtful for some time and one evening, just before the factory closed, he called her into his office and asked her to sit down. He had in fact wanted to know whether or not he should take home a bunch of flowers as a peace offering. He thought that maybe his wife might see the gesture as a sign of guilt and was seeking female advice about the problem. George Armitage broached the subject by saying first that it was very personal, and then he went on to ask if it would be correct to assume that a bunch of flowers was the right sort of gift to give to someone who was feeling neglected and not appreciated. Miss Jones was, of course, totally unaware of her boss’s marital crisis and reacted by saying that flowers were unnecessary if there was true feeling between two people, secretly hoping he would ignore her advice. Armitage senior had grunted and was about to say something when he changed his mind and dismissed his secretary. Alice Jones was sure that he would overcome his lack of resolve, and she resigned herself to being patient. The aggrieved Mrs Armitage did not receive any flowers, and the loyal secretary to the factory owner waited in vain for her gift.
It was in the spring, too, that Molly Bartlett went into hospital for treatment to her spine. Her parents had already been told by the specialist that Molly’s condition was a permanent one and that curvature of the spine was all too common amongst children in working-class areas; her natural growth and development would be impeded, and her breathing would become even more laboured. Both Helen and Matthew knew that there was little they could do except to make sure their daughter kept the six-monthly appointment at the hospital, and it was during the last visit that arrangements were made for Molly to be admitted for tests.
The doctors had said that she might benefit from a medical corset and that the support would make it easier for her to get about. Helen and Matthew were happy that there was a chance their daughter could be helped. Molly had been depressed and ill-tempered recently, which her parents put down to her worsening condition. She had almost stopped growing, and Connie was now head and shoulders taller than her ailing cousin. Even Connie was finding it difficult to communicate with Molly. When she had first told her, excitedly, about the date with Michael she had shown no interest and Connie felt it wiser not to talk any more about her boyfriend. When Michael’s letter arrived from Gibraltar she decided not to say anything, but it troubled Connie that she had to keep part of herself from Molly. And it made her very sad to realise that, quite possibly, her cousin would never be fortunate enough to experience the same excitement.
When Molly went into hospital Helen informed her employers and requested that her cards be sent home. Molly’s condition had become such that the journey to and from the factory was now getting to be too much of a strain. Helen realised that after the hospital Molly would have to find some other, less strenuous occupation. Connie herself was becoming bored with the dull routine of the factory and she, too, decided it was time to look around for some other type of work. It was Helen who suggested the Ironmonger Street factory.
‘I was talkin’ ter Mary Brown only yesterday,’ she told her. ‘She reckons there might be a job goin’ in the Armitage canteen. She got it from one of the workers there. It might be worth yer while poppin’ in an’ askin’, Con. At least yer wouldn’t ’ave that walk every mornin’.’
Connie didn’t feel very enthusiastic about serving meals in the factory canteen, but she was aware that there were not too many jobs available to her and it was very convenient, so she decided to give it a try. After all, what have I got to lose? she asked herself.
It was mid May when Connie went over to the factory and saw Dot Temple, the canteen manageress. The buxom Dot liked the look of the young girl and she decided to give her a chance.
‘Yer’ll ’ave ter be quick on the servin’, me girl. That bleedin’ load o’ savages we’ve got workin’ ’ere won’t wait a minute. Don’t take no ole truck from ’em though. If yer get any problems come ter me an’ I’ll give ’em what for.’
Connie felt ridiculous in her white apron and hat as she served up the sausage and mash, and meat and two veg. But quite a few of the factory workers knew her and their friendly welcomes helped her through the first awkward days. The management had their own private section and after one week Dot Temple felt her new worker was confident enough to begin serving there. It was strange at first, and the curious glances directed towards her made Connie feel uncomfortable. She was especially shy and nervous when it came to serving the young man in the smart blue suit who sat at the end of the long table. His mild curiosity made her feel clumsy and when he casually passed the time of day with her or just gave her a friendly smile Connie felt her face redden. The young man’s continued show of interest slowly began to have a strange effect upon her and it was something that she did not quite understand. She took to glancing in the mirror and checking that her hair was tidy and her canteen uniform was properly adjusted before she began her duties. And, during the mornings when she had to help to prepare the food and lay the table in the management section, Connie found herself looking longingly at the clock. A feeling of excitement at the prospect of seeing the young man would grow as the morning went on. She was struggling to become more self-assured at serving times and found herself responding to his smile. On certain days, when the young man was absent, Connie felt disappointed, and when he appeared once more she perked up and felt contented for the rest of the day.
Connie quickly settled into the job and she soon became less nervous. The management were now calling her by her Christian name, and she liked the way the young man spoke it. She particularly liked his easy smile and casual manner. He was tall and fair-haired, with ice-blue eyes that seemed to bore into her. His face was lean, with an expressive mouth and a small straight nose. His voice was soft and cultured and had a humorous ring to it. Connie realised she was thinking more and more about him as the days went by and it worried her. She was getting regular letters from Michael and he had indicated in his last letter that he would be coming home on leave at the end of June. The excitement at the prospect of seeing her sailor lad once more was becoming tempered by her growing interest in Robert Armitage.
It was Dot who told Connie all about the new manager. ‘That young Robert’s a nice young man,’ she gushed. ’E’s really polite and friendly, not like the rest of ’em. ’E’s bin ter college. Oxford, I fink it was. I ’eard ’e’s trainin’ ter take over from ’is ole man. ’E’s only twenty-two but ’e’s got it up there,’ she said, pointing to her forehead. ‘I mean, yer gotta be clever ter go to a place like Oxford ain’t yer?’
Connie listened with guarded interest. She feigned indifference but secretly hung on to every word. Robert Armitage was invading her thoughts to such an extent that it frightened her. Nothing good would come of it, Connie told herself. He was educated, cultured and older than her. His interest in her was probably innocent and here she was weaving romantic dreams around him. He most likely had lots of girl friends, she mused. Why should he be bothered with a girl from Ironmonger Street whose Cockney accent would surely embarrass him if he ever introduced her to his friends? She was being foolish to allow her thoughts to wander so. She must keep some distance and not appear too eager to cultivate a friendship that would surely spell disaster.
The days had become routine, and she spent most evenings reading or listening to the wireless. When Molly came out of hospital towards the end of June she was in some discomfort with her new spinal corset, and Connie sat with her whenever she could in the Bartletts’ flat and attempted to cheer her up. Every other weekend Connie visited her mother at the sanatorium and she noticed each time the increased deterioration in her condition. Most of the time the conversation was strained and forced, and there were times when the two of them sat in complete silence, Kate Morgan staring blankly and Connie biting her lip in anguish and sorrow. It hurt her to see her mother getting weaker, and it was always a relief when she was on the train heading back to London. The sanatorium depressed and frightened her. It was a place of stifled despair. Many of the patients were slowly wasting away, sitting around for long periods with blankets draped over their shoulders, staring dulleyed into the distance, wrecked by the cruel pain of tuberculosis.
At the factory canteen Connie tried to ignore Robert’s smiles and asides, and she avoided meeting his eyes as much as possible. But, try as she might not to encourage him, he became even more attentive.