The Woolworths Girls Read online

  Elaine Everest

  The Woolworths Girls

  PAN BOOKS

  To my husband, Michael,

  for having the patience to live with a writer xx

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  Playlist for The Woolworths Girls

  Reading Group Questions

  Prologue

  Sarah Caselton reached into her handbag and pulled out a small leather purse. Ignoring the biting-cold wind from the river, she searched for a couple of pennies, then dropped them into the carol singers’ collection tin. ‘Silent Night’ had always been her favourite Christmas song. For a few moments she stood with her eyes closed and let the rich tones of the choir wash over her, taking her back to when she had performed this much-loved carol at her school’s nativity play. Without thinking, she joined in with the final chorus, her sweet voice soaring high and clear above the bass tones of the men: ‘. . . sleep in heavenly peace.’

  ‘God bless you, love – and a merry Christmas.’

  Sarah thought the choir were very brave to stand outside singing on such a chilly day. The sky was threatening snow too. If it hadn’t been for an interview for a sales assistant position at Woolworths, she’d have stayed home with Nan. A weather-worn man, a row of medals across the chest of his overcoat, patted her arm. He was the one who’d held the collection tin in front of her as she stopped amid the bustle of Christmas shoppers.

  ‘For melting an old man’s heart on such a bitter day, you can pick the next carol. What do you fancy?’

  Sarah considered his question, warming her hands by a brazier set in front of the motley collection of choir members. The glowing embers were most inviting on that cold December day. The snow was now falling steadily, starting to deaden the footsteps of passing shoppers in the busy riverside town of Erith. Sarah shuddered and pulled her knitted scarf closer to her ears. Erith was such a pretty place in the summer, with the gardens down by the river where you could sit and watch the world go by. Who’d have thought that just up the River Thames was the bustling city of London and the other way down the river were the seaside towns of north Kent? No wonder her dear old nan never wanted to move away from her beloved Erith.

  As Sarah thought about which carol to choose, she noticed that the choir was made up only of men: one in a wheelchair, another leaning heavily on a wooden crutch and a few in old overcoats that had seen much better days. A sign propped against the tobacconist’s shop showed them to be from the Seamen’s Mission. Her granddad had loved his life at sea and had been a merchant seaman in the Great War. He may even have known some of these ex-sailors. A tear threatened to fall on her cheek. This wouldn’t do, she thought to herself. Nan Ruby was always saying he’d had a good innings and went without too much pain. And after all, if Nan hadn’t been alone, Sarah might not have had the chance to escape her life in Devon to come and live with her here in Erith.

  ‘Why the glum face, love? You look as though you’ve lost a shilling and found a penny. You’ve gotta make the most of life and be happy. After all, we could be at war by next year, going by what the papers keep telling us. No one believes all that talk from Chamberlain and his “peace in our time” nonsense.’

  Sarah shrugged her shoulders. She couldn’t tell this brave old sailor why she was sad. ‘I’m fine. Just a bit cold.’ She grinned.

  ‘So how about that song? What’ll it be?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. How about “The Twelve Days of Christmas”?’

  The old sailor turned to a comrade who was holding an accordion. ‘’Ere, Ernie, can you play “The Twelve Days of Christmas”?’

  His mate pulled a face and laughed. Resting the musical instrument on his knee, he delved into the pocket of his coat and fished out a hip flask with his free hand. ‘I might have been able to a while ago, but after knocking back this to keep out the cold, I ain’t so sure I can remember all the words.’

  Sarah laughed. They were certainly a cheerful bunch. She checked her watch. ‘My goodness, just look at the time. I must dash.’

  ‘Going somewhere nice, love?’ he asked, taking another swig from the flask.

  Sarah gave a nervous smile. ‘An interview for a sales assistant job.’ She nodded towards the glass-fronted shop nearby. ‘In Woolworths.’

  ‘Where everything costs a tanner,’ Ernie called out.

  Sarah was puzzled. Whatever was he talking about? ‘I’m sorry – I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s a fact. You tell her, Fred.’

  The man with the collection tin nodded. ‘He’s right. There was a time when everything cost thruppence or a tanner in all their shops – and there are plenty of them. Come from America they did. They’ve got shops the length and breadth of the land.’ He nodded wisely.

  ‘A tanner?’

  ‘Sixpence to you, love.’

  ‘Ah yes, that’s what Nan calls a sixpence, come to think of it.’

  ‘Mind you, prices are not so good now. They started charging sixpence a shoe when prices went up. So you remember that if they put you on the shoe counter,’ Fred said, giving her a nudge with his elbow.

  Sarah giggled. It sounded so funny. ‘I’ll try to remember it, but I have to get the job first.’

  ‘Well, you just give them one of your lovely smiles and you’ll be running the place before the day is out.’

  She laughed and waved goodbye to the carol singers. She stopped for a moment to gaze at the building where hopefully she would soon be working. Gleaming windows set either side of dark mahogany double doors were crammed full of toys and gifts, enticing customers to enter and stock up for Christmas. Through the doors she could see female sales staff busy serving customers from behind high counters. Each was dressed identically in a smart maroon overall that buttoned up to the neck and had full sleeves with tiny cuffs. It looked like a lovely place to work, Sarah thought, filled with excitement, as she headed towards a side door marked, ‘Staff only’, following a group of women into the dark interior of the F. W. Woolworth Company. As the heavy wooden door closed behind her, Sarah could hear Fred and his mates burst into ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’.

  Sarah removed her woolly hat. Pulling a comb from her handbag, she ran it quickly through her shoulder-length dark brown hair before checking her face in a small powder compact. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, she thought.

  1

  Freda shivered, pulling her coat close to her body. The well-worn fabric did nothing to keep out the chill. If only she’d been able to wear her better coat, but then her stepfather would have known she was up to something. Not that the other coat was much better. It had only cost two bob on the second-hand stall down the market, but it was a little more presentable than the threadbare rag she was wearing now. At least she’d been able to put a few clothes in a battered suitcase she’d picked up cheap and hidden in the coal bunker until she made her getaway from home.

  She shuddered as she thought of the past week, trying to pretend that nothing was amiss. The morning the coppers came knocking on their door, she’d almost fainted with the shock. To be told her sixteen-year-old brother had run away from borstal was bad enough, but when the polic
e asked if she knew where he was, it put the fear of God into her. She’d never been in trouble in her life and there they were asking her about her brother and if she knew a chap called Jed Jones who had got away with him. As if she’d tell them anything!

  Thank goodness Lenny’s letter had arrived in the early post and her stepfather was still sleeping off the excesses of the night before. Freda pulled the letter from her pocket and scrutinized his words, looking for more clues as to where he could be. Lenny hadn’t said where he was, but the postmark on the letter said as clear as day, ‘Erith’. Freda had to go into the library and ask for help to find out where it was. The librarian had been very kind, pulling out a map of England and a couple of books that listed towns. She could see that it was on the shores of the Thames in Kent and was a busy area, with factories, pubs and lots of shops. It was when she saw how many pubs there were that she remembered him mentioning a cellmate named Jed whose father was the landlord of a pub called the Ship by the side of the Thames. If only Lenny had served his sentence of eight years, he could have started life anew.

  Freda and Lenny had always looked out for each other, so she had to find him. He was her junior by just thirteen months. Her mum still cursed that he’d taken her by surprise arriving so soon after his sister. Not that she bothered much with either of them once they could fend for themselves. She was soon off down the pub carrying on with her job as a barmaid. Her dad had always had time for them, even though he worked long hours at the foundry. She knew she shouldn’t think such things, but sometimes she wished that her mum had perished in the flu outbreak and not her dad. He wasn’t cold in his grave before Mum took up with the man they now called their stepfather. She couldn’t remember the wedding. Being only ten at the time, her memory was a little sketchy about things back then. In fact, she could hardly recall her dad’s features at all. If she closed her eyes and emptied her mind of her life as it was now, she could just about remember him. The oily smell of the overalls he wore home from work each night and the distinctive pipe tobacco that he used. Yes, she could remember them if she tried hard. She only had to sniff a bar of carbolic soap to be reminded of times he’d dragged the tin bath in from outside and had his bath in front of the fire. Her dad liked to be alone then, reading the racing news while he had a good soak. It was always fun to help him empty the bath water in the backyard afterwards. Freda smiled to herself. They were good times.

  Freda wondered if Lenny was with Jed. Perhaps his pub was in Erith. She’d traced the blue line of the Thames as it twisted towards the estuary and the open seas, recognizing seaside towns such as Margate and Whitstable. The trains ran from London as well and Freda knew that she could get to the capital city from her home in the Midlands. She would go to Erith, look for Lenny and stay there until she knew he was safe. The librarian had told her the names of some shops and factories, and Freda thought it would be easy to find work and lodgings once she arrived. After all, jobs were ten a penny where she came from, and it shouldn’t be any different in a town so near to London, especially with it being close to Christmas too. Perhaps once the warmer weather came along and she had a few shillings to her name, she could catch a train to the seaside or even go on a charabanc trip. That would be exciting.

  The train jolted to a halt at Woolwich Dockyard, letting out a stream of early morning workers. Freda scrubbed the yellow, smoke-covered window with the cuff of her coat and peered through the clear hole. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she’d see Lenny. He had to be somewhere in the area. He may have found work here, as it was on the train line from Erith. She knew he’d find work and lodgings to try and keep his head above water. Then again, perhaps Woolwich was too far from Erith. The porter at Charing Cross Station had told her how many stops there were to Erith. No point in looking for Lenny just yet, then.

  Freda yawned. It had been a long time since she left home and caught the milk train to London. She wondered what Erith was like. Too bad if it was a rotten place: she’d burnt her bridges and had to see things through now. Until she found Lenny, that was, and made sure he was safe. Her stepfather would never have her back in the house once he knew she’d pinched that five bob out of his pocket when he’d come home drunk again. No, she’d get a belt round the ear for that, at the very least.

  As long as she was brave and stuck to her plan, she’d soon find Lenny, sort him out and things would be fine. She frowned as she looked at his words on the crumpled page.

  Sorry, Freda, I couldn’t stick it a minute longer. I took me chance and legged it along with another bloke while we was on gardening duty. I just wanted you to know I was doing all right. Once the coppers get Tommy Whiffen, I’ll be a free man. Take care of yourself.

  Free man? She snorted to herself. He’s no more than a kid with silly ideas, and it was his silly ideas that got him in with the wrong crowd to begin with and now look at him. Would she always have to go through life sorting out her little brother’s problems? She’d have to stop worrying about Lenny until she had a bed to sleep in and had found herself a job. The few bob in her pocket wouldn’t last long.

  Her eyelids started to feel heavy as she sank down into her seat, resting her head on the edge of the window. The steam train chugged on towards Erith and her new life. Flakes of snow started to fall. She could see a dusting of white as it settled on the high banks of the railway line. Oh good, it might be a white Christmas, she thought, as her eyes closed.

  ‘The next station’s Erith, sweetheart. Do you want some help getting your suitcase down from the rack?’

  Freda stretched her arms and yawned. The older woman sitting opposite her had been a big help when Freda had climbed aboard the train, not sure if she was heading in the right direction. ‘Thank you, I think I can reach it, but mind your head.’ She tugged at the case and it slid to the seat below with a thud.

  A porter took her case as she climbed down from the carriage.

  ‘Thank you. Where can I find the High Street?’

  ‘Straight out the door, miss, and walk up the pathway over there. You’ll see the start of the shops across the road.’

  ‘Will there be somewhere I can buy a local paper?’

  ‘At the top of the path. There’s a newsagent’s shop and a bit of a cafe as well. They do a good sausage sandwich if you’re peckish.’

  Freda thanked the porter and headed towards the town. She could do with a bite to eat but had to be careful with her money until she’d found herself a job and had her first pay packet.

  Tall, elegant Victorian buildings appeared as she reached the top of the pathway. Shops of all kinds stood side by side with banks and other important-looking offices, their names etched into the glass windows of impressive-looking facades. Rows of houses faced onto the railway line with ornate tiled footpaths, their steps leading up to large front doors with polished brass door knockers. Even through the swirling snow and smoke from a passing steam train Freda could see it was a mite posher than where she’d come from. As long as that didn’t mean lodgings were expensive. She crossed her fingers that there was a poorer area of the town that would suit her pocket. It was nice to look at, but the likes of her couldn’t afford posh houses with brass door knockers. She hoped she’d made the right decision in coming to Erith.

  In the end, she did go to the cafe. She’d managed to pick up a copy of the Erith Observer and needed somewhere to study the rooms to let as well as the job columns. The place was almost deserted, which suited Freda, as she felt scruffy and untidy for such a fine-looking town. However, looking around at the shabby cafe, with its nicotine-stained walls and scuffed tables, perhaps she would be more welcome than she imagined. The woman who’d served her was slowly wiping tables to pass the time.

  ‘I’ve not seen you in here before. New to Eariff, are yer?’

  Freda smiled to herself. So that’s how the locals pronounced ‘Erith’. It did sound strange.

  ‘I’ve just arrived by train. I’ve never been here before. It looks like a nice place to live.’
/>   ‘There’s bits of good and bits of bad. You just has to know where to look,’ the woman said, wiping her hands down her grubby apron. ‘What can I get you, love? A bit of breakfast?’

  Freda checked the coins in her purse and then peered at a few words chalked on a board behind the counter. ‘I’ll just have a mug of tea, please.’

  The woman looked at the skinny girl in front of her. ‘How’s about a bit of bread and scrape? Tasty and filling – and on the house. Though it’s on the stale side. I was about to make some bread pudding with it. I can spare a slice.’

  Freda wrinkled her nose. ‘“Scrape”?’

  ‘Yeah, dripping. You don’t know what that is? I’ve just roasted a lump of beef; it’s the gravy and fat out of the tin.’

  Freda smiled. She knew well the rich juices and fat from the roasting pan that her mum saved in an enamel bowl. They had it on toast with a liberal sprinkling of salt each Monday for their tea. Her tummy rumbled loudly. ‘Oh yes, I know. We call it “bread and dripping” where I come from. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Well, you sit yourself down and I’ll bring it on over to you.’

  Freda took off her coat. It wasn’t that warm in the cafe, but she knew she’d never feel the benefit of the extra clothing when she went out into the fast-falling snow if she kept it on while she had her meal.

  When the woman came over with the hot tea and a plate of bread and scrape, she peered at the page of the newspaper that Freda was carefully studying. ‘Are you looking for somewhere to stay, love?’ she asked, putting the food on the table.

  Freda, confused by all the unfamiliar street names, nodded her head. Her mouth watered as she looked at the food. ‘Yes, but I can’t afford a lot of money.’

  ‘Who can, love? But I knows just the place. Not far from here. There’s a lady who lets rooms in Queens Road. Cheap enough.’

  Freda scribbled down the address as the woman gave it to her. ‘Is it clean?’