Читать книгу Peace In My Heart - Freda Lightfoot, Freda Lightfoot - Страница 10

Chapter Five

It was a Friday afternoon when Evie and several of her women colleagues were instructed to visit the boss in his office. She happily went arm in arm with two of her friends, Enid Wilson and Lizzie Parkin. ‘We may be granted a rise in pay now the war is over,’ she said.

Enid gave a grin. ‘Let’s hope so. We definitely deserve that after all the work we’ve done.’

‘And Mr Eccles is generally a pleasant man, though a bit depressed having lost his brother and son,’ Lizzie whispered.

Seated at his desk, Mr Eccles failed to meet their happy smiles by keeping his gaze fixed upon his clasped hands. ‘I do thank all you ladies for the excellent work you’ve done throughout the war. I must now release you from these labours in order to give preference to our returning soldiers. Your task is over so you are free to retire, being no longer required to do your bit.’

Panic reverberated through Evie. Blast and damn this mill owner, such a goddam-son-of-a-bitch. He probably cared more about men than women now the war was truly over. Her friends stood frozen in silence, no doubt aware they had no right to object to these soldiers being sorely in need of a job. But they too badly required an income, as did she. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Why would they sack her, considering the problems she was facing? Evie suspected that when Donald arrived home he would not be fit enough to work and she would still have three children to protect and care for, or so she hoped. How on earth would she manage that without an income coming in? ‘You surely can’t be serious,’ she sternly remarked.

Finally meeting her furious gaze with a sympathetic smile, he said, ‘This war is over, so you dear ladies must now concentrate upon your domestic duties. The textile industry is not doing particularly well at the moment but soldiers, sailors and airmen on their way home will obviously require their old jobs back. You can work to the end of this month then must collect your final wages and card when you depart. I can but apologize for reality.’ He then ordered them to return to their looms.

As they all walked unsteadily out of the office, Evie heard some of the women start to grumble to each other, some weeping, others looking shocked and dismayed. They did very little in the way of weaving for the rest of that day, as they kept sharing the worry of where else they might find employment. According to the general conservation buzzing around throughout the day, it was clear that other factories had also laid off women workers, so new jobs would not be easy to find considering the high number of unemployed and the return of so many men from the war.

When their shift ended and Evie walked home with her two friends, Enid said, ‘How on earth can I continue to pay the rent without a wage coming in?’

Evie informed them that her niece too had lost her job at the tyre factory. ‘She’s sought jobs at various shops, warehouses and factories, explaining her skills and experience as a result of the war, but so far has received no offer anywhere. I can but hope that if we look hard enough we will succeed, bearing in mind we too have considerable experience after all these years of hard work we’ve done.’

‘I do hope so,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘I’ve lost my husband but not my childer, so need to keep earning a living.’

‘Me too,’ Evie said. ‘Although my husband will be home soon, he won’t be at all well.’

‘We should have seen this coming as many of those brave soldiers do deserve their jobs back,’ Enid muttered. ‘I’d never got around to thinking how that might affect us. Nor did I expect it to happen so quickly.’

Listening to her two friends, Evie felt a sickness soak within her, not convinced she would succeed in finding employment. She felt entirely numb and stormed back to her one-bedroomed flat in a fine old temper. She slammed the door closed, flung her coat on the floor in a veritable rage. Clenching her fists, she drummed them against the kitchen wall, feeling absolute despair. One minute she’d been celebrating the end of this war, now she felt apprehension ricocheting through her at the prospect of a woeful future.

Over the next few days, whenever Evie’s shift was over she went in search of employment, initially striving to find work in another factory, warehouse or mill, which she would prefer. No one was interested in taking her on, being a mere woman, even though Evie had worked hard all her life in various cotton mills. She’d always started at seven each morning, involved with Egyptian cotton and testing it with her thumb. Some of it was often a bit rough and invested with fleas. After being spun and woven they’d be washed out in the bleaching process. Now the textile industry was in a slump. Knitting, sewing and lacemaking were also hobbies she enjoyed doing, having been taught by her mother when she was a young girl. It crossed Evie’s mind that working for herself might prove to be less of a hassle. But would it earn her sufficient money? Probably not. With a sigh, she went on to search for alternative jobs in shops and department stores, including Kendal Milne, Lipton’s and Maypole grocers, as had Cathie and Brenda. She failed to receive an offer from any of them. Even young men returning from the war were struggling to find employment, the state of the country not being in a good condition. Post-war life seemed to be falling apart.

As well as searching for a job, she was also desperately in need of a home suitable for her family. Not that finding a property here in war-torn Manchester would be easy either. An absolute nightmare. As a consequence of the 1940 Christmas Blitz and enemy bombers coming night after night, Hardman Street, Lower Byrom Street, a part of Duke Street, Piccadilly and many others had been attacked and were now pretty derelict, houses burned out by incendiary bombs. There was little sign of much in the way of repairs being done yet, let alone any new builds.

It came to Evie one day that the solution could be to ask the tackler in charge of the looms in her part of the mill if he could help to get her old job back. Harold Mullins was not an easy man but would surely understand the difficulties she was facing. Tragically his wife Jane, once a friend of hers, had been killed early in the war, no doubt as a result of the bombing. His son Willie had been evacuated with Danny, since they’d both attended the same school when they were young. Surely Harold Mullins was a great believer in the cotton industry, as was she, despite the hard times they were facing? Calling to see him back at the mill, Evie asked if they could have a word. ‘I’m sorely in a quandary over how to resolve my problem of finding a new job, so wondered if you could help me get this one back or offer me some advice.’

Giving her a blink of interest, he agreed. ‘Aye, we could ’appen meet up at the Dog and Duck at seven this evening. I’m not against that.’

This was not at all what she’d expected, assuming they could just talk here at the mill, but it didn’t seem appropriate to refuse to meet him there.

Evie arrived early and, sitting in this public house near Potato Wharf, ordered herself a glass of shandy, all too aware of the disapproving glances from the men standing at the bar. Women were not supposed to attend pubs on their own so would Mullins, the gaffer, actually arrive and be willing to help her? He hadn’t sounded too convincing but then he never did, always a man more obsessed with himself. Gazing out of the window, she saw a bustle of people hurrying along the street, rain splashing over their unwary legs, car horns hooting at them if they attempted to rush across the road. The weather seemed to suit the bad news she’d received in losing her job and the brickwork looked battered and black with smoke, as a result of the dreadful bombing that Manchester had suffered over these last six years.

She recalled how much lovelier the Dog and Duck had been when she was a young girl and used to come here with Donald. Being her boyfriend, they’d sit, cuddled together, to enjoy a drink or a little snack. In those days she’d had clear skin, honey-gold hair, brown eyes as rich and dark as velvet with long, curling lashes. Now she felt wrinkled and worn out, with a core of anxiety she was doing her utmost to hide. What state would Donald be in when he finally came home? Would he still be the gentle, quiet man she’d fallen in love with and happily married, or listless and with health difficulties as a consequence of the anguish of war and his years held as a prisoner? He certainly wouldn’t be well enough to work – a fact she must make clear to Mullins.

She was aware that in addition to the war issue of employing ex-soldiers, the mill owner was concerned that the textile industry could be going downhill because of foreign competition. Generally, yarn or cotton was sold through merchants who visited Manchester for that specific purpose. They’d as soon go to Liverpool or India for their product, with not a jot of commitment or loyalty in their bones, their task being to get the best deal they could for their clients. Having failed to find any other job, Evie had done quite a bit of thinking, attempting to pay attention to how well other mills operated, compared to this one. Did it need to update its looms, or increase and strengthen its markets by selling more products abroad than in England? And maybe change what they produced, now that the war was over.

Whether any of this would be the right thing for her to say to Harold Mullins was very difficult to decide. His temperament was indeed self-obsessed. He used to storm through the mill finding fault with everything women did and then return later all syrup and smiles, probably because he’d gone off to get himself a glass of whisky. He would then call them ‘dear gels’, his tone attempting to be complimentary. But not an easy man. Were it not for the difficulty she was in, she wouldn’t attempt to seek his assistance.

‘So you’ve getten problems. It don’t surprise me in the least.’ She heard him snort as he sat down beside her nursing a glass of beer, which made her jerk with shock, not having seen him enter the pub. ‘Ye can’t trust a woman as far as you can throw her.’

Evie stared at the fleshiness that sagged his jawline, the dark receding hair, his eyes slightly bloodshot, indicating a liking of far too much alcohol. She noticed a harshness and an arrogance in the twisted smile he gave her. Gathering her courage, she quickly explained her situation and failure to find the employment she was in desperate need of. She’d brought a list of all the factories, shops and offices, etc. that she’d called upon and explained how she’d failed to receive a single offer from any of them.

Giving a snort of laughter, he told her how he’d once changed jobs, not having seen eye to eye with his previous employer and had ended up with this lucrative post as a foreman. ‘I can quite see you’ll have problems with your husband and childer when they finally return home. My son Willie should be arriving soon. No doubt he’ll miss his mum, but can’t say I’m broken-hearted over losing my wife.’ He moved on to speak of how she’d been prone to hysterics and unnatural jealousy, calling her a slut of a wife who had found herself a fancy man. ‘The bloody pair of ’em med a fool of me.’

Poor Jane, once such a good friend of hers, had claimed her husband had never been faithful to her so she had indeed found herself a new man. How could he blame her for that? Evie began to feel slightly uncomfortable, this not at all being a subject she wished to discuss. ‘I’m so sorry she died in the war, despite whatever problems you had. My issue, however, is that I must be the breadwinner, at least until my husband fully recovers from having been a PoW. So I desperately feel I should be allowed to continue working at the mill. You must appreciate my concern to care for my son and daughters and make their lives good. I doubt it will be easy, considering how long it is since I last saw them. And, as you know, Danny and your son Willie have been friends since their early school days.’

He pricked up his ears, frowning in concentration. ‘I’d forgotten that. It’s good to hear about the friendship of our sons and weren’t you and I friends once too?’

A wrench of memory cringed within her as Evie recalled having a date with this difficult man when she’d been barely sixteen. He’d tried to attract her in such an obsessive way, it had completely killed their so-called friendship, so far as she was concerned. Thankfully, he’d had no objection when she’d refused his next offer of a date and started courting her friend Jane instead. Since being the tackler in charge of their part of the mill, and she needed his help to retain her job, this was a reality she had to face. ‘We were friends once,’ she blithely admitted, giving him a polite smile.

‘So what could you offer exactly, in order to keep this job?’

Taking a breath, Evie said, ‘I’m aware that the owner fears the mill is going downhill now that we’re post war and in danger of closing. It’s been embroiled in weaving parachutes but it could move on to make good quality shirts to supply to large stores like Kendal Milne, or perhaps lace for pretty dresses and curtains.’

Harold showed little interest in these suggestions. ‘I very much doubt Mr Eccles would be interested in employing women to make lace or owt, for that matter. It’s the chaps we should employ now.’

‘I appreciate some women will happily step down to make way for returning soldiers, but those of us still in need of an income should surely be allowed to keep working. Many are well qualified, as am I.’ In Evie’s opinion women must remain strong, not become weak as babes. She felt a strong desire to resolve her own problems as well as gain the respect of Mr Eccles for all the other women needing to keep their job. Had she said the right thing to persuade Harold Mullins to help this come about?

‘I have some sympathy over your personal problems, which can’t be easy to deal with. Unfortunately, there’s no possibility of you getting yer job back.’

Her heart sank. ‘Really? Are you sure? That sounds disastrous.’

‘The fact is that Mr Eccles, the mill owner, has suffered the loss of his brother who was largely the one who ran the mill, and his son. He now has little desire to continue working there himself, being quite old. Nor has he much hope of selling it as the textile industry is starting to decline. If a mill goes bump it’s generally because it’s bankrupt, and he does plan to retire, possibly before that happens.’ Leaning closer, he gave her a grin, revealing a couple of broken teeth. ‘However, as a matter of fact I could offer you employment in a little business I run.’

Startled by this offer, Evie gave a puzzled frown. ‘I didn’t realize you owned a business. What sort is it?’

Tapping his plump nose, he gave a chuckle. ‘Whatever I tell you, don’t reveal details to anyone. Putting it bluntly, I accept bets from clients who are keen on gambling. I’m aware it’s not legal but it’s still popular and considered an important part of life for many. I like to keep a close eye on my clients, meking sure I get paid whatever they choose to invest. At this stage there’s allus summat going on to liven me up. Considering I’m still busily engaged at the mill you could assist me to build it up into a more lucrative business. That would be useful, bearing in mind folk are more likely to appreciate a pretty woman dealing with this issue, rather than a chap. Eventually I too will lose my job, once that mill closes down.’

‘I . . . I’m open to suggestions,’ she stuttered, feeling slightly alarmed by the way his puckered face was mere inches from her own, the smell of alcohol on his breath most foul.

‘Quite. What have you got to lose? It would only be a part-time job but you could earn a reasonably decent wage, so long as you make the necessary collections of debts from my clients.’

Evie felt a flicker of doubt that she’d any wish to be involved in this weird job offer he was making, not at all the kind of work she’d hoped for. ‘I’m not certain I’d be any good at that.’

‘’Course you will, being a strong, determined lady. And as an employee I could permit you to rent one of the houses I own. How about that?’

She was stunned by this possibility and gazed at him in amazement. She was undoubtedly desperate for a home for her family as well as an income. Maybe she shouldn’t fuss about this job even if it was only part-time and had to be kept secret. ‘Are you making me an actual offer?’

‘Aye, if yer willing to do what I ask.’

‘I very much appreciate your generosity, Mr Mullins. I badly need to find a house to rent and shall do my best to oblige you,’ she told him politely.

‘That’s good to hear. You can call me Harold, as we were once friends.’

‘That was a long time ago and now I’ll simply be your employee. I am, of course, expecting my husband to arrive home any time soon. I expect you were friendly with him too, so he’ll be happy to know that you’re willing to help us,’ she tactfully pointed out.

‘Aye, well, you’ll need to keep this agreement under yer hat and say nowt about whatever I ask of you, in view of the authorities’ attitude towards betting. They’ll come round to changing these daft rules eventually. And since I’ll be carrying on working at the mill till it closes down, I’ll keep tabs on yer and see how you get on wi’ this job. Any folk who are neglectful will have to be contacted time and again to make ’em pay up. Just remember that them what don’t work, don’t eat. Now, do you fancy a refill?’ he said, giving her a glittering wink.

Evie noticed how his gaze slid over her, his fingers flickering as if feeling the urge to touch her. Feeling desperate to escape this possibility she politely declined his offer. ‘No thanks, I haven’t yet finished this glass of shandy, not at all a good drinker.’ Taking a quick sip, she went on to say, ‘I would like to know where that house is, please, what the rent will be and when I could move in? Then I can get it ready for the arrival of my family.’

He gave her details of the address and the cost of the rent he demanded, not cheap but reasonably acceptable. ‘It might require a bit of cleaning and painting, but you’re welcome to do that and can move in right away,’ he said, handing over the key.

Thanking him profusely, Evie’s heart pounded with relief and excitement. Eager to visit this house and discover what attention it needed, she gave him a nod and a smile, jumped to her feet and scurried away. It was then that it came to her she hadn’t properly understood all he’d said about the work she was expected to do for his business. Nor had he offered any proof if and when the mill would close down. Had she done the wrong thing by asking for his assistance? Should she have gone to speak again to Mr Eccles, the mill owner? Probably that would have been a complete waste of time, having been dismissed along with other women and that poor man had lost two members of his family. He’d be unlikely to take any of them back, particularly now he intended to ultimately close the mill down. She could but hope she’d done the right thing by accepting Mullins’s offer. Finding a job, whatever it was, and a new home for her family, was surely all that mattered.