Survivor (20 page)

Mariette went through the side entrance
and up the stairs to the first-floor workroom. The noise of thirty or so sewing
machines all going at once was deafening. Blasts of steam were coming from the
pressing area, and the smell of machine oil, damp wool, sweat and cheap scent was
overpowering.

The first time she’d come here,
she thought a person could easily go mad in such an environment, especially as the
women shouted to each other over the noise of the machines. But they seemed unfazed
by it.

She found Solly Freilich, the manager,
in his office. She liked Solly. He was perhaps fifty-five, small and thin with a
hangdog expression, but his dark eyes were full of merriment, and she knew from the
staff that he was a fair man. She handed him the notes from Mr Greville, and
explained that he’d said she was to talk to the workforce.

‘I wish you luck,’ he said,
his dark eyes twinkling. ‘They will heckle you! But take no notice.’

Coming out of his office with her, Solly
blew a whistle to get everyone’s attention and asked them to turn off their
sewing machines.

Mariette’s legs turned to jelly as
the big room went quiet and everyone looked up expectantly. There were around thirty
female machinists, their ages ranging from eighteen to fifty. The male cutters had
all been called up and their places taken by some of the older women, who had worked
for Greville for years and quickly adapted to being cutters. There were only four
men other than Solly. Two were in their fifties,
too old for call-up, the third was a young lad of
fifteen or so, and the fourth man appeared to be in his early twenties, with dark
curly hair. She hadn’t seen him before, but he was looking at her
appraisingly.

‘Mr Greville has sent Miss Carrera
over to have a few words with you,’ Solly announced. ‘Please pay
attention and don’t interrupt.’

All the women wore the same dark green
overalls and had a scarf tied turban-style around their heads. Mariette had spoken
to many of them in the past and found them to be welcoming and interested in her
because she came from the other side of the world. But now, guessing that she had
been sent here with bad news, they folded their arms across their chests and
glowered at her in an intimidating manner.

Mariette had a strong desire to just run
from the building. But she knew, if she did, she’d lose her job.

‘Today we received a very large
order for more uniforms –’ she began.

‘And you want us to work harder to
get them out?’ a woman shouted from the back. This created a wave of
indignation and intimidated Mariette still further. But she was determined to give
as good as she got.

‘Is your name Gypsy Rose
Lee?’ Mariette called back to the woman, a bleached blonde who she knew often
stirred up trouble. ‘I think it must be, as you’ve obviously been
looking in your crystal ball.’

A ripple of gentle laughter went through
the workforce, and she knew then they were prepared to listen.

‘Well, Gypsy Rose Lee’s
prediction is correct,’ she went on. ‘The message from Mr Greville is
that he wants you all to work longer and harder to get this new, big order
completed.’

As she expected, there was dissent.
Someone shouted out that Greville could stick working longer hours unless he was
offering to pay them extra. Several
women got to their feet as if to walk out, while another woman yelled out that
Greville was lily-livered to send a mere girl to do his dirty work.

‘Please sit down and hear me
out,’ Mariette shouted over the raised voices. ‘I haven’t been
told anything about extra pay. And I know that asking you to work longer hours when
so many of you have children who need you at home is going to cause difficulties.
But there is a very good reason why you should all push yourselves a bit harder.
Hands up all of you who have a husband, sweetheart or brothers who have
enlisted!’

Almost everyone put their hand up.

‘And I bet you were all really
proud to see them in their uniform?’

There was a general nod of
agreement.

‘Well, every one of those uniforms
was sewn by women like you,’ she said, letting her eyes travel along the rows
of workers. ‘Here in Shoreditch it’s very hard to imagine what our men
are facing, and I’m sure most of you are afraid that those you love
won’t come back to you. But those who have already enlisted and are now in
France are just a small part of the army that England needs so we can win the war.
Each day, thousands more join up. And that means thousands more uniforms.

‘I’m asking you to work
faster and longer so that every one of those men can look smart and feel confident
in his new uniform. A confident man will make a better soldier. And the better our
soldiers feel, the more likely we are to win this war.’

She paused for just a second, letting
that sink in.

‘But that’s not all I
ask,’ she went on, and raised her voice a little. ‘I’m asking you
to sew love into each seam, and to send your good wishes for the safety of the man
who will
wear the uniform. You will
never know the name of the man who will be wearing it, but it could be one of your
husbands, brothers or sweethearts. Here in this factory none of you will ever face
bullets and tanks. But the men wearing the uniforms will. So is it too much to ask
that each of you gives a few extra hours a week so those brave men of ours look
their best? You may not get rewarded in money, but when the war is over and your men
come back, you too can be proud that you did your bit to help.’

There was silence for a moment, then
suddenly they all applauded very loudly. She even saw a couple of women wiping tears
from their eyes. Not one of them stood up to demand more money.

Solly came forward then to address the
women. ‘Back to work now,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to you about
the rota for extra hours tomorrow.’

As the machines were switched on again,
Solly took Mariette’s elbow to show her the way out.

‘I didn’t really know what
to say,’ Mariette admitted once they had reached a quieter area where Solly
could hear her. ‘I mean, looking smart in a uniform won’t protect our
boys from bullets or mines.’

Solly clapped her on the shoulder.
‘No, it won’t. But you made the women think about the men who will be
wearing the uniforms, and that is enough motivation for them. You know, you were
born for public speaking, Miss Carrera! When you told me what Mr Greville wanted you
to achieve, I half expected a riot. But instead they took your words to heart.
Let’s just hope they don’t get the idea of sewing love letters into the
seams.’

Mariette laughed; she was so relieved it
was over. ‘I think people need reminding of the importance of a job they are
doing, and then it seems more worthwhile.’

‘My
father and my grandfather before him were tailors,’ Solly said. ‘I was
taught to take pride in how good the gentlemen looked in the suits I made for them.
In hard times, all I had was that pride. I think you have given the machinists that
same idea. But I think you must also try to influence Mr Greville, persuade him to
offer the workers some kind of bonus too. Pride in your work alone does not put food
on the table.’

Mariette nodded in agreement. She
didn’t know how Greville had the cheek to expect the women to work longer
hours without extra pay, while he was making a fortune.

‘I’ll suggest it as soon as
he gets back from Yorkshire,’ she said.

As she left the building and was walking
to the gate, the dark-haired man she’d seen inside the factory came up to
her.

‘You’ve got the gift of the
gab,’ he said with a wide grin. ‘I was fully expecting them to throw
things at you, but you charmed them.’

He had a fascinating face, with very
green eyes and sharp cheekbones. His were not matinee idol looks, by any means, but
the kind anyone would look at a second time.

‘To tell the truth, I was
expecting trouble,’ she admitted. ‘It wasn’t as if I had anything
to sweeten the bitter pill.’

‘Well, you did good. They all know
what a mean cove Greville is and what a packet he’ll be making from the
war.’

Mariette couldn’t openly agree
with him, it might get back to Greville. ‘The war is getting closer and
closer, everyone will need to do their bit and make a few sacrifices,’ she
said. ‘But what’s your job here?’

‘Jack of all trades, that’s
me,’ he grinned. ‘Mechanic when the machines break down, driver, packer,
floor sweeper and tea maker.’

‘How come you haven’t joined
up?’ she asked.

‘Reserved
occupation,’ he said. Seeing her look of surprise, he laughed. ‘Not jack
of all trades! I mean the Fire Brigade. I just help out here in my time off.
I’m Greville’s nephew, John Abbott, his sister’s son.’

‘Good to meet you, Mr
Abbott,’ she said.

‘Johnny to everyone,’ he
said. ‘Come and have a cup of tea with me, there’s a café round the
corner.’

‘I have to get back to the
office,’ she said, but she found herself looking into his green eyes and
feeling tempted.

‘Solly is bound to ring my uncle
and tell him what a marvel you are, so if you’re a bit late back he’s
not going to fire you.’

‘He’s gone to Yorkshire, so
he won’t know anyway,’ she said. ‘And I could do with a
drink.’

The café was grubby, with broken lino on
the floor, and a pall of cigarette smoke hung in the air from a dozen or so people
who all appeared to have taken root. The oilcloth-covered tables needed a good wipe
down, and the red-haired woman behind the counter looked half asleep. But Johnny
grabbed the table by the window, then told her to sit down while he got the tea.

‘It’s a bit of a
dive,’ he whispered when he got back with two mugs of tea. ‘But, believe
it or not, they do the best bacon sandwiches you’ve ever tasted. Funny,
really, because the owner is Jewish and they don’t eat pork.’

Johnny, it seemed, knew quite a bit
about Mariette already – that she had just turned twenty, was from New Zealand and
living with her uncle and aunt in St John’s Wood. He said his uncle was
impressed at her secretarial skills and claimed she was the best he’d ever
had. ‘Mind you, he’s had some old trouts in the past,’ he laughed.
‘And he’s bowled over that you can speak French. What made you work for
him, Miss Carrera? Surely, with your looks and brains, you could have found a better
job?’

‘I had to
get some secretarial experience somewhere, and the office is only a short walk from
home,’ she said. ‘But I’ve grown to like it there. And do call me
Mari – that’s short for Mariette.’

‘Mar-i-ette,’ he said,
sounding each of the syllables. ‘A very pretty name, and very
ooh la
la
!’

She smiled. ‘It means
“Little Rebel”. But I haven’t done any rebelling since I arrived
in England.’

‘Does that mean you were a rebel
back home?’

‘I suppose I was,’ she
agreed. ‘But it was a sleepy little town with nothing much to do. There
weren’t many opportunities, and my folks thought coming here would be good for
me.’

‘Are you walking out with
anyone?’

She was a little surprised by such a
point-blank question. ‘That’s a really silly expression.’ She
giggled. ‘It’s so very English, implying that the relationship is one
that only involves walks.’

‘Well, how about I ask you if you
have a sweetheart? That implies kissing and cuddling.’

‘No one serious,’ she said.
‘I have a couple of men friends I’m writing to while they are away. One
is in the army, the other in the RAF. What about you?’

‘There are girls I see now and
then, but no one special. The way I see it, this war is going to offer
opportunities. I’m not sure exactly what shape they’ll take, but I want
to be unattached when the moment comes.’

That remark made her feel a little
uncomfortable, but she didn’t know why.

‘When the bombing starts,
you’ll be kept very busy with fires,’ she said reproachfully. She could
see he was what Rose called a ‘Jack the Lad’, a bit too cocksure,
someone who wouldn’t hesitate to bend the rules or break the law, if the price
was right.

‘That’s true,’ he sighed. ‘I almost wish it would start, and
then we could get it over with. All this hanging around waiting for something to
happen wears me down.’

‘That’s a terrible thing to
say,’ she exclaimed, but she couldn’t help but smile. It did seem like
the whole of London was holding its breath.

She had to go then, but as they stood
outside the café he took hold of her hand.

‘Can we meet up again?’ he
asked, looking right into her eyes. ‘I could take you to a club, dancing,
whatever you like. Just have some fun, nothing serious. And very little
walking.’

‘I’ll have to give that some
thought,’ she said, and began to walk away.

But she couldn’t resist looking
back over her shoulder. He was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets,
watching her. There was something about his stance, and the way he was looking at
her, that made her think he could be fun.

‘Ring me at the office,’ she
called back.

Just three days later, it was announced
that Winston Churchill had been signed in as head of the wartime coalition
government. Not a minute too soon as the Germans were thundering their way through
Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg. That frightening news drove Johnny from
Mariette’s mind.

The Dutch Army surrendered a few days
later, and it was said that the British and French troops were retreating to the
French coast.

She hadn’t heard from Morgan, but
when she and Rose went to the cinema to see
Gone with the Wind
, the Pathé
newsreel of what had happened in the Low Countries was very alarming. Columns of
massed German tanks backed by motorized infantry and preceded by accurate aerial
bombing
smashed through outmoded
defences in Antwerp and Brussels. They saw on the screen the smoking ruins of what
had once been homes, churches and schools. Thousands of people, many with babies and
young children, were taking to the roads to try to reach some place of safety.