Regret to Inform You... (35 page)

Towards the end of 1915, Eleanor and Arthur had been amazed at Liz's news. ‘Well, Mary and I have made a decision. We need to do our bit for the war effort and Fred would want me to do that, too. So we've decided to go and work at the munitions factory just beyond a place called Epping. They need lots of workers and we've heard from a lady who's got two spare rooms and we'll stay there.' That had been seven months earlier.

‘Eleanor, I need to see Liz as quickly as possible. Jack Mansfield has often said that if I've got a real emergency away from the village to let him know and he'll drive me there. I'm sure he will if he can. I guess it's around sixty miles and it shouldn't be too difficult to find the factory. Liz told me that there were over 3,000 people working there so anyone near Epping should know.'

‘That's the best idea, Arthur. You bicycle round to Spinney Farm and I'll go round to Liz's house and collect the letter that Peter delivered on Monday. I know she keeps the key round the back in a pot.'

Fifteen minutes later Arthur arrived at the forecourt to Spinney Farm, spotting young Doris Groves carrying a basket full of washing. ‘Oh Doris, can you please tell me where Mr Mansfield is? I need to see him urgently.'

‘Ay. Master is indoors as I just saw him coming back from sheep field.' Arthur thanked her and in answer to his knock, was delighted to see Jack Mansfield.

‘Why Arthur, it's good to see you,' but realised from Arthur's expression that this was not just a social visit. ‘What is it?'

Arthur
explained, knowing that the farmer would maintain confidence; they had a high regard for each other. ‘Of course I can take you, Arthur. It can only be around fifty miles so we can easily get there and back today. Poor lady, let's just hope it's not the worst news, but from what you've told me it certainly sounds bad. Just give me ten minutes and I'll be ready.'

Fifteen minutes later, Eleanor and Arthur were in the back of Jack Mansfield's Phoenix leaving Rusfield. Eleanor had asked that she and Arthur sit together in the back so they could discuss their approach to Liz Smith; letter and telegram were both safe in her shoulder bag. On her way back from Liz Smith's cottage she had called on Robert Berry and explained they would have to postpone their meeting about vegetable growing. Arthur was much relieved to have Eleanor with him for he knew how much better she was at choosing the best words in any difficult situation.

The day was fine and the journey passed without difficulty. As they went through Braintree around half past twelve, Jack Mansfield thought of the previous occasion when he had driven through this Essex market town taking Abraham to his running success at Crystal Palace. Would he ever see that splendid young man race again?

They had seen a little of Epping Forest and twenty minutes later turned off a minor road to confront a heavily-fenced area, fronted by two imposing iron gates. This was no ordinary estate, as there were two soldiers, both with rifles, one at each gate. Arthur explained the reason for the visit and they were told to wait. The corporal went through a small opening to the left of the main gates and disappeared into the nearby building. After a call through to the main office he reappeared and said he would accompany them to a senior manager.

‘I'll come back in an hour to an hour and a half; don't worry if you're longer,' Jack Mansfield said to Eleanor and Arthur. ‘One other thing: Liz and Mary Smith are doing a very important job, but I'm sure it's not well paid, so if they want to
go
back to Rusfield straight away I can easily find someone in the town to drive them back.' He smiled, reversed the car and drove off.

‘Come on then, love,' Eleanor said as she turned to her husband. ‘This is a wretched task, but it's the least we can do for Liz.' A strong smell had been evident which became even more noticeable as they walked along the wide drive. ‘Chemicals of some kind,' Arthur quietly suggested.

As they turned from the well-treed avenue, dozens of buildings, most single level but a cluster with high-pitched roofs, emerged. It was only later they learnt the factory had been built to supply gunpowder in Napoleon's time, but many additions had been made in response to the threat from Germany. Some buildings, heavily marked from a variety of discharged materials, were over a hundred yards long, with the occasional second storey breaking up the grey roofing of the lower levels. The stench became stronger, accompanied by increasing noise; a loud hammering causing the ground to shake. A narrow gauge railway line with small engines ran in many directions, conveying the many materials required in making gunpowder and shells, others to move the completed articles on their first stage to France. Huge grey pipes a few feet above the ground, most with a diameter around two feet, ran between the buildings.

It was now a warm day, but waves of additional heat greeted them as they passed the pipes. Eleanor nudged Arthur and nodded towards an area where hundreds of bicycles were stored. There were workers everywhere, scurrying from building to building, many dressed in long outer garments which Arthur assumed to be protective clothing. There were many women working at a high mound of coal which had been off-loaded from barges arriving via a narrow canal, shovelling it in to barrows. A queue of women waited to take the laden barrows to what must be the source of the steam power generating machinery.

Cranes
of all sizes dominated the area to their left, together with trucks, handcarts and a number of metal machines for which Arthur could not even guess a purpose. The smell, the sounds, the steam and all the machinery demonstrated a momentous activity being carried out in this unlikely part of the countryside. Eleanor shuddered; she had never seen anything like it. They had walked in silence until the corporal spoke: ‘Take care where you walk, please follow me.' As they went through a door she noticed the thickness of the walls; perhaps to resist explosions. Inside was a red, two-wheeled handcart attached to a larger contraption filled with water; clearly a fire engine, although Arthur doubted its efficiency in an emergency.

They ascended the stone steps to a door bearing the legend that only named officials could enter. The corporal knocked and almost immediately the door was opened to reveal a fifty-year-old man, tall, grey-moustached, wearing a light brown overall. He smiled. ‘I'm Colonel Woodfull, senior supervisor of this establishment and I've been given a brief idea of the purpose of your visit. The unusual circumstances cause me to break our normal code of practice and allow you on to the site. It all sounds grim. Please come in.'

Eleanor and Arthur found they were in a room running the whole width of the factory; an enclosed balcony to a vast auditorium. Opposite the door through which they had entered and facing the main part of the factory was a brick wall with a narrow band of glass at eye level. This was around sixty feet wide and two feet high; divided into small sections separated by thick brick columns. They guessed it to be for observation. The loathsome smell, the din, the shaking and steam all filtered into this office; voices had to be raised. There was another man in the room.

The colonel gave his undivided attention as Arthur and Eleanor explained their mission. ‘So, in summary we have a poor lady who lives in your village, working here with her sister,
and
following a letter delivered on Monday, a telegram arrived this morning which you believe contains bad news.' Arthur and Eleanor both nodded. ‘You had no way of contacting her quickly other than to come here. I must say, Reverend, that I admire the compassion you and your wife have shown. Major Spottiswoode over there,' he nodded in the direction of the man poring over clusters of papers, ‘is checking through our records. We have nearly 6,000 people working at this National Filling Factory on two separate shifts, so let's hope Mrs Smith is here now. Whilst the name Smith is common, I'm sure we shall quickly find the detail, but in the meantime let me show you something. I'm sure you will treat what you see with discretion.' Eleanor felt she could thank Arthur's clerical collar and attire for gaining such a favour. They followed the colonel to the observation point; the scene that greeted them was to remain with them for a long while. Never could they have imagined anything that so awfully represented the jaws of destruction and Eleanor and Arthur later agreed that the word “hell” had immediately come to mind as they looked down on the scene stretching out below.

Arthur now adjudged the building to be nearer 200 yards long, its width well over half that distance. It had a high roof, supported by heavy metal stanchions which broke up the factory floor into aisles; from the high roof dozens of electric lights were suspended; clearly good lighting was needed in this grim building. The entire floor space in this vast interior was covered by identical shells; among them were dozens of workers, overwhelmingly women, checking or making last minute adjustments to these fearsome projectiles. The shells, all pointing upwards, created a huge mouthful of angry teeth; each stood waist high to the workers. Neither Eleanor nor Arthur had any idea of the number of shells, but knew that they could only be measured in thousands, many thousands. They realised why the establishment was called a filling factory. Eleanor's mind was filled with the death and destruction for
which
these shells were intended. In Germany there must be similar factories from which shells had caused the death of Jammy Carey and other Rusfield lads.

Their thoughts were interrupted by the colonel after his conversation with Major Spottiswoode. ‘Well, we now know that the lady you seek is in the cartridge factory. Please come with me.'

Having given their thanks to the major, Eleanor and Arthur followed the colonel and whilst the air outside was still contaminated by chemical smells, both were pleased at getting away from the shell building. Outside, Arthur noticed three cranes controlled by women. ‘May I ask, Colonel,' Arthur broke into the silence, ‘about those buildings over there? They appear to be built partly underground and almost look like ice houses.' He pointed to five low, dome-shaped structures, windowless and surrounded by a low wall.

‘They are where the most dangerous chemicals are made and mixed: nitroglycerin and other hazardous materials. I sometimes wonder what kind of world we have created.' By now the sun was strong, but for Eleanor a cold air of greyness and nightmarish quality was felt. ‘The workers have a short break every three hours, that's why you see some out here enjoying what we dare call fresh air.' They saw four young women sitting on the grass who had momentarily taken off their caps which highlighted the unnatural colour of their faces: an orange-yellow. The colonel noted the direction of the visitors' glance. ‘I'm afraid that what you see is a result of working with very unpleasant materials. It's been known for a while that working here over a long period can cause the skin to change colour. They are vulgarly called “canary girls”. Now we are moving the girls around more in the hope that it reduces the effect and last week we provided small masks which must now be worn when they are mixing these chemicals; I just hope it helps these poor girls who work long and dangerous hours, yet just get on with the job. Without them the war would be lost.'

By
now they had reached a heavy green door which gave access to a smaller and lower building than the shell centre they had just left. The colonel held the door open for his visitors then led the way up another set of stone stairs to the observation centre. A younger man, a civilian Arthur assumed, came across as they entered. He was introduced by the colonel as Mr Glover; handshakes were exchanged.

‘Mr Glover,' began Colonel Woodfull, ‘I won't take up your time by explaining the whole story, but it is imperative that the Reverend Windle sees one of your workers immediately. Briefly, and tragically, he has news for the lady that her son may have been killed. Mrs Elizabeth Smith and, indeed, her sister Miss Mary Smith both work here in the cartridge inspection team. Please bring them up here and we will allow them to be alone with our two guests who have come on this sad mission.'

The supervisor made a note of the names and disappeared. The colonel led the way over to the observation area where the scene was a little less fearsome than the one they had just left; shells were substituted by thousands of small cartridges. Running the length of this building were around thirty continuous rows of tables, on both sides of which hundreds of women were sitting shoulder to shoulder with piles of cartridges, each some five inches long. They were closely examining the cartridges and then placing them upright in a flat holder which had holes to take twenty of them. Eleanor noticed a few women who were carrying the full holders to another series of tables to the left; another worker moved cartridges which had been separately placed on the table into a large wooden box behind where they were sitting. Arthur assumed these were cartridges that had failed examination.

Arthur had turned away, his senses found the scene almost too hard to bear, when the door opened. Dressed in grey overalls, Liz and Mary Smith came in, their looks of total surprise instant. ‘Vicar, Mrs Windle, what are you doing here?'
The
look of surprise, even of a slight smile in seeing familiar faces, rapidly turned to anxiety. ‘It's something bad, isn't it?' The colonel and supervisor had quietly left and Arthur beckoned the sisters to sit down. Eleanor unfastened her bag and took out two envelopes.

‘Liz, you must be prepared for bad news. On Monday Peter delivered a letter to your home; today he brought a telegram. Knowing you might not go back to Rusfield for some time, Eleanor and I felt it right to bring them to you. Would you like me to read them to you?'

Liz nodded, her face the colour of chalk. She may not be able to read fluently, but she understood only too well what the letter and telegram might say. ‘Please do. Somehow, I knew the poor lad would never come back.'