Twisted Strands (17 page)

As Jake turned, she saw the smirk on his face. ‘So you’re the new . . .’ he began and then she saw his jaw drop as he recognized her. ‘Mrs Stokes? You?’

‘Yes. Me. You, Jake, are going to teach me all there is to know about bobbin winding, changing the bobbins, stripping and how to look after the machine when you want a few minutes’
break.’ Her smile widened. ‘And anything else I’m capable of doing to help you. I had an excellent teacher years ago, Jake, so mind you’re as good as Luke
Manning.’

‘But – but . . .’ the young man blustered, ‘it ain’t right. I mean, what will Mr Porter say?’

‘You heard what he said last night, Jake. That if I prove to him a woman can do the job as well as a man, then he’ll have to change his mind.’ She smiled winningly at him.
‘So, Jake, who better to prove him wrong than me?’

‘I’ll be a laughing stock amongst me mates, missis,’ Jake grumbled.

Eveleen put her head on one side and said quietly, ‘Would another penny a rack whilst you’re training me, and others, help you to deal with your workmates’ teasing?’

A rack was the measure of cloth by which the twist-hands were paid. On average they received sixpence a rack and could produce four racks an hour.

‘What about mi butty?’ Jake was quick to ask, referring to the twisthand who operated this same machine on the alternate shift.

‘If he agrees to train someone else on his shift, then yes, he’d be paid the same,’ Eveleen agreed. ‘I propose to pay any man who undertakes to train women workers
– properly, mind – the same.’

Jake’s face cleared and for the first time he smiled. ‘Right you are then, missis. Now, we’d better get started else we’ll have the foreman after us.’

‘You can’t do it, Mrs Stokes. We’ll have a strike on our hands.’

At the end of her first shift Eveleen took off her overall and cap, smoothed her hair and put on her costume jacket as she faced Bob Porter’s red and angry face across her desk.
Immediately she became the employer, no longer the employee.

‘Are you referring to me working as an auxiliary or to the extra money I mean to pay those who undertake to train women?’ Eveleen found it difficult to hide her smile as she
remembered again the look on Bob Porter’s face as he had walked through the machine shop that morning and seen her at Jake’s side. Like Jake, he had not recognized her immediately, but
when he had, his face was a picture; one that Eveleen would never forget.

‘Both. You’ll have the rest of the men up in arms.’

‘Who is the union man in the factory? I’ll talk to him.’

‘Charlie Allen, but he’ll do as I say. He took over from me when I took Josh Carpenter’s place.’

Her mouth tight, Eveleen said, ‘I see.’ It seemed that despite being promoted to a management position, Bob Porter had not left behind his strong union affiliation. ‘Right
then. Sit down, Bob, and we’ll get this matter sorted out here and now.’

‘There’s nowt to sort out, missis. It won’t work and that’s all there is to it.’

‘Why? Just tell me why.’

‘Women can’t work machines. They haven’t got the right kind of brain. They’re mothers. That’s what nature intended.’

He couldn’t know how much his words wounded her. Eveleen swallowed hard and managed not to let the hurt show in her expression.

‘I’m not suggesting that they can become twisthands,’ she snapped. ‘Few women would be physically strong enough, I know that. But your remark about the inability to learn
is insulting. Besides, single women, at least, surely ought to have the right to earn their own living.’

Bob’s lip curled. ‘Oh aye, until they catch a feller to provide for ’em.’

Pointedly she glared at him. ‘Sadly there may not be many left for them to catch.’ She regarded him steadily. Bob Porter was a very bitter man. She could hear it in his tone, but she
had no idea what had caused his seeming resentment against all women.

‘Are you married, Bob?’ she asked suddenly.

His head jerked up. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Nothing,’ she said mildly. ‘I just wondered.’

He gave a grunt and there was a silence between them before he said morosely, ‘I was, but she upped and left. Ran off with another feller.’

‘I’m sorry.’ There was no doubting the sincerity in Eveleen’s voice, even Bob Porter could hear it. ‘Betrayal is very hurtful.’

Bob stared at her. ‘I shouldn’t think you can begin to know what it feels like, missis. I don’t reckon Mr Richard would ever . . .’

Eveleen shook her head, ‘Oh no.’ Her voice broke a little at the mention of his name. ‘No, Mr Richard is a wonderful husband, but before I knew him, when I was very young,
there was someone who hurt me very badly. I was naive and foolish.’ Suddenly the memory of warm summer days and the excitement of her clandestine meetings with Stephen Dunsmore in Bernby
Covert was so strong that she could almost hear the rustle of the leaves above them and feel his arms about her . . .

She drew in a sharp breath, hating herself for even thinking about Stephen when her beloved husband might, at this very moment, be facing death.

‘I’m very sorry, Bob, truly. But you shouldn’t let it colour your whole view of women. We – we’re not all like that.’

Now he sat down heavily in the chair on the opposite side of the desk and for a moment the fight seemed to drain out of him. It was as if her genuine sympathy had actually touched him for a
brief moment. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Aye, well, mebbe you’re right, but I still don’t reckon women’s place is in a factory. They should be at home looking after their
husbands and bairns.’

‘We’re only going to employ single women or married women with no children whose husbands have gone to war.’

‘Oh aye.’ Bob was disbelieving. ‘That’s what you say now, but it’ll be the thin end of the wedge. As time goes on, you’ll say . . .’ He mimicked a
woman’s voice, high-pitched and whining. ‘There’s Mrs So-an’-So. Her husband’s been killed and she’s three bairns to support. Can’t we find her a
job?’

Eveleen laughed and was honest enough to admit, ‘You may well be right, Bob. I can’t deny it.’ Then her expression sobered and she sighed. ‘Bob, if this war goes on for
any length of time, there’s going to be a real shortage of men. More and more are going to go. There’s talk already of bringing in conscription.’

A look of fear crossed the man’s face. ‘What age?’ he asked sharply.

‘Men between nineteen and thirty-five. I think I read somewhere that was likely to be the age range.’

Bob Porter relaxed visibly. ‘Thank God I’m forty, then,’ he said with a tinge of humour though the sentiment was heartfelt.

Eveleen could not resist the opportunity to say, ‘It depends how desperate they get, Bob.’

He grunted and then realized that she was teasing him and had the grace to smile. He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Well, missis, I can’t support you in this. I never will, but
you’re the boss and since Mr Brinsley is on your side an’ all, there’s not a lot I can do about it, is there?’ He stood above her, looking down at her. ‘But I wish
you’d stop this nonsense with Jake. You’re making me look a fool in front of the fellers.’

Eveleen pursed her mouth and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Bob, but I mean to carry on. I’ve something to prove. And not just to you. Oh, I admit when I first thought about it,
it was just to prove you wrong, but now I’ve actually started I can see that I’m proving it to everyone. You, the other men, and even the women themselves.’ She stood up and faced
him. ‘The only person who’s going to look a fool, Bob, if I can’t do it, is me.’

A fleeting expression crossed his face that said: And I hope you can’t. But it was masked in an instant and instead he growled, ‘Well, I still reckon you’re stacking up a lot
of trouble for yourself. That’s all.’

Then he turned and left the room.

‘I do wish you’d discussed it with me first, Eveleen. You’ve been very impulsive, my dear. I know your motives are admirable, but it’s not really the
place for a director of the company, is it?’

To Eveleen’s disappointment, Brinsley disapproved of her action. He was sitting behind the desk in her office, his brow creased in a worried frown.

‘I’m sorry, but don’t you see, if I can prove that a woman can do the work . . .’ She broke off suddenly. Brinsley had put his hand to his chest and his face was
distorted with pain. Eveleen hurried round the desk to him.

‘Oh, what is it? What’s the matter?’

‘It’s nothing. Just – just a little indigestion. That’s all.’

‘I’ll get Fred Martin to take you home. You must rest.’

Whilst Eveleen now drove Richard’s motor car, Fred Martin, Win’s husband, had learnt to drive too and often ran errands for Eveleen, using the motor for the company, including
driving Brinsley to and from the factory.

‘I can’t. If you’re set on this madcap scheme, then I shall have to take on the administrative work.’

‘No.’ Eveleen spoke harshly. She was suddenly very frightened that Brinsley could be suffering a heart attack. Was this how her own poor father had died in the beck? Had he been
suddenly overcome with dreadful pain and there had been no-one there to help him?

‘I’m getting Fred to drive you home and sending a message to the doctor to come at once.’

‘Don’t fuss, my dear. It’s only indigestion . . .’

‘Well, the doctor will tell us,’ Eveleen argued. ‘But you’re not to worry any more about the factory. Leave it to me. I’ll cope.’

She would not allow it to be said that her actions had caused Brinsley to be unwell. She refused to carry that guilt too.

‘Come along, let’s get you home,’ she said firmly and it was indicative of how ill he must be feeling that Brinsley did not argue.

As the days turned into weeks and Christmas came and went, the nation realized that the war was not going to be over in a few months. In January a new threat came from the air.
A Zeppelin, a huge, bulbous monstrosity making a terrifying burring sound, dropped bombs on the Norfolk towns of Great Yarmouth and King’s Lynn, killing civilians.

By March even the government was making urgent appeals for the women of Britain to serve their country by doing vital jobs, so releasing men for fighting. Now Eveleen felt vindicated. Surely not
even Bob Porter could argue with the government.

Leave for Richard and Andrew was promised and then cancelled as the war intensified, but letters came regularly from them.

We are still all together
, Richard wrote.
And everyone is fine. Sid is with us too. That was a stroke of luck, wasn’t it? The whole brigade had a big inspection the other day by
a general, no less!

Eveleen and Bridie wrote every week. Eveleen, after working all day at the factory, often sat writing far into the night, sometimes falling asleep in Richard’s study, her arms spread
across his desk.

Brinsley had had no reoccurrence of the chest pains and the doctor had merely suggested more rest. Now Brinsley only came to the factory two or three times a week and never stayed very long. He
did not even offer to attend to the paperwork. Eveleen had the uncomfortable feeling that, because he had not fully approved of her action in working in the machine shop, her father-in-law was
tacitly refusing to help her.

Eveleen said nothing in her letters to Richard about her problems at home. Grimly determined, she soldiered on alone, learning the hard way. She felt as if she had been thrown bodily into a
fast-flowing river and had to learn how to swim in order to survive. Daily she was forced to bite back sharp retorts in answer to Bob’s scathing remarks. She needed him. She needed to draw on
his knowledge as factory manager.

Reluctantly Eveleen had to admit that she could not manage without Bob Porter. And because of that she would have to put up with whatever he said or did.

At least, for the time being.

In April the news came of a desperate battle being waged near the town of Ypres. At the same time a new and terrible weapon was being launched by the enemy on the Western
Front. An insidious, silent, greenish-yellow vapour drifted across from the enemy lines and crept into the Allied trenches. Without proper masks, the soldiers, choking and half-blinded, could only
hold wet cloths to their faces as an inadequate protection against the chlorine gas.

On one of the occasions, all too rare nowadays, when she visited Win Martin in Foundry Yard, Eveleen felt weariness overwhelm her. ‘Where is it all going to end, Win?’ she asked her
old friend.

‘I don’t know.’ Win’s cheerful smile was missing these days and there were dark shadows of worry beneath her eyes. ‘Our Elsie’s bairn’s sick. He’s
wheezy. You know?’ She tapped her own chest. ‘It’s the damp in these houses.’ Win glanced around her own cosy home. The back-to-back houses in the narrow streets and yards
of Narrow Marsh had not all had the loving care spent on them that Fred Martin and his wife had lavished upon theirs.

‘I like it here,’ Win said. ‘I wouldn’t think of leaving. I like the folks, but not everyone’s as lucky as us.’

‘Not everyone’s as hardworking as you and Fred.’

‘Aye well, that’s as maybe. Our Elsie’s Sid was all set to do up their place, but then he went and got caught up in the war.’

‘How is he? Richard told me in one of his letters that Sid’s in their company too. Have you heard from him?’

Win shook her head. ‘He’s not much of a letter writer, our Sid.’

Eveleen was appalled. ‘You mean – you mean that Elsie doesn’t hear from him?’

‘Just now and then. He fills in one of them cards. Y’know, puts a tick to show he’s well and then just signs his name at the bottom.’

How awful, Eveleen was thinking. She couldn’t bear to think of life without Richard’s reassuring letters.

‘Can we go to Flawford this Sunday?’

‘What? Oh, I’ll have to see. Don’t worry me now. I have these orders to look through.’

It was late and Bridie had been about to go to bed when she put her head round the door of Richard’s study to see her aunt sorting through a mound of paperwork on the desk.

‘The number of orders coming in is dropping off alarmingly. One after another of our outlets seems to be closing.’ Eveleen sighed, as Bridie stepped into the room and stood beside
her. ‘I suppose it’s to be expected. Our exports have virtually stopped. At this rate there won’t be a factory for the men to come back to after it’s all over.’