Home Front Girls (2 page)

The start of this war, a mere twenty-one years after the ‘War to end all Wars’, was causing sales to drop off alarmingly due to petrol rationing and, as far as he was concerned, it was time for them all to pull their belts in – especially Annabelle. Money dripped through that one’s fingers like water, which was why he had ordered his wife to have words with her.

Miranda had been very good about it and was happy to let the charlady and daily help go and to tackle the chores herself, even though she had never had to do so before. But then she had a totally different nature from Annabelle – kind and thoughtful despite having enjoyed a very privileged upbringing. Richard could still remember the look of horror on Mrs Hamilton Gower’s face when Miranda had first introduced him to her. At that time, he had just bought the business and was painfully aware that he, with his oilstained hands, was not at all the sort of chap Miranda’s parents had planned for her. Even so, because he was their daughter’s choice they had grudgingly accepted him, and that had spurred him on to work even harder to prove to them that he could give her the sort of lifestyle she was accustomed to. He had even changed his name from Smith to Smythe as Miranda’s mother felt it had a better ring to it. He had known that what she
really
meant was that Smith was too ‘common’ for her daughter, but eager to be accepted, he had gone along with it.

They had married eventually and the wedding had been a lavish affair paid for by the bride’s father. The newly-weds had been ecstatically happy and planned to have a large family straight away, but then years of heartache had followed as Miranda sobbed each month when she found that she was not pregnant. At last, after five long years, Annabelle had come along – and finally Richard could do no wrong; his in-laws had even come to admire him, especially as his business grew and they saw that he genuinely loved their daughter. Sadly, Annabelle was destined to be their only child, so she had been shamelessly spoiled by both her parents and grandparents. But now all that was going to have to stop. Things were, in fact, even worse than Miranda knew. Richard had tried to keep the bad news from his wife for as long as possible, but now it was time to make some serious economies or he could see them losing not only his business but the house as well – and then where would they be?

‘Try not to worry too much, darling,’ his wife said softly. ‘This war cannot last forever and Annabelle will survive. She might even enjoy working, once she gets used to it. She is often very bored stuck at home when she has nothing to entertain her, and at least she can look around for a job that she wants to do. Most girls her age are working in munitions factories now.’

‘Hm, well, I’d like to think you’re right – but I can’t see it myself,’ he replied glumly as she took his glass and went to refill it.

Miranda handed him the glass back and then they both sat down on the velvet upholstered settee as they waited for Annabelle to put in an appearance, which they were confident she would, given time.

Half an hour later, Annabelle breezed into the room in a waft of expensive French perfume, looking as if she had just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. She was wearing the outfit that she had bought the day before – a very pretty red pleated cocktail dress that was cinched in at the waist by a broad belt, which showed off her slim figure. On her feet were her new high-heeled court shoes, and her face was made up to perfection.

‘How do I look then? Do I pass muster, Daddy?’ She twirled in front of him before bending to plant a kiss on his cheek. A little display of affection never usually failed to melt him; he was like putty in her hands. But she was quick to note this wasn’t the case tonight.

Frowning slightly, he eyed her up and down before asking, ‘And how did you manage to buy all this, miss?’

‘With my allowance, of course. At the moment there are still some nice outfits in the shops, but once these stupid clothes coupons come into force there will be nothing decent left to buy,’ she answered, trying not to sound resentful. ‘How are we expected to look smart if we can’t just go out and buy what we need? Half of the shops don’t have anything worth buying in them any more!’

‘It’s a case of make do and mend at the moment,’ her father answered, uncharacteristically sharply. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, there is a war on. Even as we speak, young men are being killed. And here you are, Annabelle, worrying about the lack of choice of clothes in the shops. Why, if you didn’t buy another single thing, you would have enough to last most people for the next ten years. I happen to know that your wardrobe is bulging at the seams.’

‘But I just had to have a new outfit for tonight,’ Annabelle said resentfully. ‘It’s Jessica’s birthday party and you wouldn’t want me to go looking a mess, would you?’

When her father didn’t respond as he usually did, Annabelle looked towards her mother for support, but for the first time in her life she didn’t find it. Deciding to try a different tack she lowered her head and said quietly, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think. But don’t worry – I’ll be really careful from now on, honestly I will. You’re quite right – I don’t need any more new clothes and I won’t buy anything else for ages.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it, because as your mother has informed you, things are going to have to change around here for the foreseeable future.’

‘I know, but you didn’t really mean what Mummy said, did you? About me getting a job?’

‘I’m afraid I did,’ Richard said firmly. ‘And I suggest you go about it as soon as possible, because as from now, I am stopping your allowance. I have no choice, I’m sorry.’

Annabelle’s mouth gaped open. Things were not going at all as she had planned, but she guessed that she would only annoy her father more if she pursued it now, so she swallowed her temper and asked instead, ‘Could you give me a lift to the party, please, Daddy?’

‘No, I can’t, dear. Petrol is getting very hard to obtain and Jessica only lives ten minutes’ walk away.’

‘But I can’t be expected to walk there in
these
shoes,’ Annabelle gasped. ‘And it’s so dark outside.’

‘Then stay in. It’s not wise to go out after dark at the moment anyway. And if you must go, don’t forget to take your gas mask.’

Her new resolution forgotten, Annabelle stamped her daintily shod foot. ‘Now you’re just being mean!’

‘No, I am not. It’s called being sensible. And if the air-raid sirens go off before you get to Jessica’s, make sure that you head for the nearest shelter.’

Annabelle had never seen her father in this mood before, and realising that for now at least he was not going to be swayed, she turned on her heel and marched off to fetch her new coat and the hated gas mask. She detested having to carry it everywhere with her and saw little point in it anyway. Word had it that the Germans would be targeting the factories on the other side of the city, so she didn’t see why she should have to lug the damn thing everywhere. For a moment, a sense of the enormity of what was happening to them all overwhelmed her in a wave of fear about the future. Then she pulled herself together and brushed her feelings to one side.

Blasted war – I’ll be glad when it’s over and things can get back to normal, she thought, and in no time at all she had slammed the door and was making her way through the icy, darkened streets.

‘Come along, Miss Kent. Get this lot tidied away now. An untidy counter will not do, now will it?’

‘No, Mrs Broadstairs,’ the mousy-haired girl muttered as she hastily shuffled the gloves the customer had tried on into pairs. The woman had been difficult to say the very least, trying on nearly every pair of gloves available and then leaving without even buying any – a fact of which Mrs Broadstairs was acutely aware. Not that she was surprised. Dorothy Kent was a timid little thing, hardly suited to serving the public in her opinion, with barely any social graces at all, but then if Mr Bradley felt that Miss Kent was up to serving, who was she to argue?

Percival Bradley, the manager, ruled his shop like a sergeant-major – not that he could do any wrong in Mrs Broadstairs’s eyes. She had been in awe of the man, and more than a little enamoured of him, ever since the day she had started at Owen Owen as his assistant. Unfortunately, he never seemed to notice her – which was a shame as she’d been widowed for the last four years and now felt ready to look for a suitable replacement – and Mr Bradley more than fitted the bill. As far as she was aware, he had never been married, although she couldn’t understand how he’d managed to escape the net. Nearing sixty, he was still a fine figure of a man, and seeing as she wasn’t far behind him in age, her chances of finding a new husband were narrowing significantly, although she prided herself on being as smart as a new pin. Unfortunately, up to now, all her best attempts at flirtation had come to nothing, and each time this happened she tended to take her frustrations out on the shop girls – as she was doing now with young Dorothy.

As well as being Mr Bradley’s assistant, Mrs Broadstairs was also responsible for deciding which girls would work in which departments, especially the new employees. It was a task at which she excelled. Usually she could tell within minutes which department a particular girl would be best suited to. Not that it always worked out as she would have liked any more. Now that they were so short-staffed, the girls had to go where they were most needed for much of the time.

The girl was fumbling in her haste to tidy the counter and after tutting, Mrs Broadstairs swept away.

Dotty, as she was known, sighed with relief. This was only her second month at Owen Owen and she was still doing her best to fit in. It was her first job and although there was an element of excitement in working for a living, it was still all rather strange too. Dotty had had a lot of adjusting to do over the last few months. She had been dumped in an orphanage on the other side of the city by her mother when she was a very new baby, and had stayed there until just before her eighteenth birthday. Her welfare worker had then found her lodgings in King Edward Road in Hillfields, and had also helped her to get this job so that she could become independent and pay her own way.

Dotty could clearly remember how excited she had been when her welfare worker had told her about the room, but when she took her along to see it, Dotty’s first glimpse had been somewhat of a disappointment, to say the very least. It was an attic room situated in a large Victorian terraced house that had been divided into three floors, and it was barely big enough to swing a cat around in, consisting of a small bedsitting room and a kitchenette that housed a sink and two grimy gas-rings. A grubby settee pulled out to make into a bed at night with the addition of pillows and an eider-down, but then she had consoled herself; at least the place would be all hers and she wouldn’t have to share it with anyone, which was a first for Dotty. To get to the attic meant a long climb up a number of steep stairs. The bathroom, which was shared by all the residents, was on the second floor, but after one glance inside, Dotty knew that she would rather die than ever use it. She would make do with a good strip wash each night and then visit the public baths once a week.

Dotty had always shared a dormitory with other girls and she had become used to keeping herself to herself, so she’d decided that she would look at ‘going it alone’ as an adventure. The only person she had ever been remotely close to was Miss Timms, a gentle woman who had worked at the orphanage for as long as Dotty could remember. Miss Timms had been a great favourite there, especially with the younger children, for she would read to them at bedtime and sit them on her lap and rock them when they were feeling unwell. In actual fact, Dotty realised that Miss Timms was the only person she would really miss, although the woman had promised to visit her often, which had made the parting bearable. And the fact that the room was so rundown would give her something to do each night after work, Dotty told herself. She would buy some paint and brighten it up no end, and it was quite exciting to think that she could choose any colour she wanted –
if
she could get hold of the paint, that was. Everything was suddenly in short supply since the war had broken out.

The next big step had been when Miss Wood, the welfare worker, had taken her along for an interview at Owen Owen. Dotty had been quaking in her shoes and sure that she would never get the job in such a posh department store. All the other shop girls they passed on the way to the office looked so pretty and so smart that she didn’t think she stood a chance. But much to her amazement she had got the job, although she did wonder if it was because many of the shop girls had now gone into munitions factories, where they were paid better money.

Miss Timms had taken her shopping to purchase two black skirts and two white blouses as well as a pair of sensible black shoes that would be suitable for work, and in no time at all she had been deposited in the flat. For the first time in her life she was truly alone and it was more than a little daunting. Dotty had become institutionalised over the years and was used to following a strict routine. Admittedly, the staff at the orphanage had never been cruel to her, but apart from Miss Timms the rest of them had been too busy to give any one particular child any special attention, and so she had become used to doing as she was told and obeying orders. And now suddenly here she was, free as a bird to do whatever she chose and it was taking some getting used to.

Up until now, the other girls she worked with had more or less ignored her, although Dotty would find them huddled in small groups, smoking and chatting about what film they had been to see or what music they liked, in the staff dining room at break. She herself had never been to the cinema and longed to go but was too afraid to venture into a picturehouse on her own. The other girls would glance at her and smile but rarely tried to include her in their conversations, for on the few occasions that they had, Dotty had blushed furiously and become tongue-tied. And so she would sit and watch enviously, wondering how they managed to get their hair looking so nice and their make-up so perfect, painfully aware that she was a real plain Jane. Her hair was as straight as a poker, as Miss Timms had used to tease her, and she was so slim that she was almost boyish.