A Gift From Woolworths Read online

  For the many readers who have taken

  my girls to their hearts x

  Contents

  Prologue: December 1945

  1: February 1945

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10: April 1945

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16: July 1945

  17

  18: October 1945

  19

  20: December 1945

  21: Christmas Day 1945

  Acknowledgements

  A Letter from Elaine

  The Teashop Girls

  The People’s Friend

  Prologue

  December 1945

  Betty Billington stared at the tall bowed windows of the Erith branch of Woolworths. Even now, with the war over, she could see marks where the crisscross of sticky tape had covered the glass to save the windows from the blast of exploding bombs. She’d need to have a word with the cleaning staff, as standards seemed to have slipped.

  A Christmas tree displayed in one of the windows, adorned with paper chains more a faded pink colour than red, no doubt due to the winter sunshine, glinted brightly even though the air was crisp and cold. Betty tutted as she leant her head sideways: no, that tree was not standing straight. Whatever had become of her cherished store?

  Pushing open the heavy wood-framed door, Betty joined the busy throng of shoppers pushing and shoving their way to the counters. The store would be closing soon and even now customers were keen to make purchases. There was still two weeks to Christmas Day, the first peacetime Christmas since 1938, which now seemed so long ago that it was hard to remember. Betty knew she should be happy and gay, but her heart felt heavy and sad.

  ‘Cheer up, love, it might not ’appen,’ a cheeky man said as he passed her by. The problem was that it already had, Betty thought to herself as she headed towards the staircase that would take her up to the private staff area.

  ‘Betty, we’re in here,’ Freda called out, popping her head round the door of the canteen. ‘Come and take a look at what Sarah has done.’

  Betty gave the young woman a nod and followed her into the large room. Just inside the door she stopped and gasped. ‘You’ve certainly transformed the room – well done, Sarah,’ she said, looking at the brightly coloured table covers, and bunting looped along the walls. ‘Where did all this come from?’

  ‘It was a case of beg, steal or borrow. These came from Nan’s loft. They were made for the VE celebrations. I wanted to brighten up the canteen for the old soldiers’ party, but they don’t seem very festive,’ she added wistfully.

  Betty gazed at the red, white and blue bunting fluttering in the slight breeze of the open window in the kitchen area. ‘You’ve done a good job, Sarah. Well done indeed.’ She gave her friend a weak smile, but Sarah simply nodded her head and went off to direct staff who were moving a piano into the corner of the room.

  ‘Cup of tea, Mrs Billington?’ Maureen Gilbert called from the counter, where she was lining up row upon row of green cups and saucers.

  ‘Here, let me help you,’ Betty said as she hurried over.

  ‘Bless you, there’s no need. We have everything in hand. Why don’t you take a cuppa and one of my iced buns, and rest your feet? You must be run ragged at the moment.’

  Betty nodded and took the plate Maureen was holding out. ‘I must admit I’ve been rather busy lately.’

  ‘That’s the ticket,’ Maureen said absent-mindedly, as she turned to call out instructions to a woman who was washing up in a stone sink. ‘It’s time to change that water, Mavis. The cups will be coming out dirtier than they went in.’

  Betty looked round the room as she nibbled on the cake. Perhaps she could help someone else? Maisie was teetering on a wooden chair, pinning the last of the bunting to a window frame. As Betty moved to help hold the chair she was beaten to it by a young warehouseman in a Woolworth brown overall. ‘It’s all right, love, I’ll get this,’ he said as he pushed in front of Betty to get to the chair. She could see he was more interested in Maisie’s long stocking-clad legs than in helping with the task of pinning up bunting, and was about to reprimand him for talking to her as he had when she realized the lad had no idea who she was.

  Feeling surplus to requirements, Betty headed towards the door. She’d take a walk round the shop floor. The bells had just rung to alert staff and customers that the store was about to close. This was always the time she liked best, when the busy Woolworths store fell quiet as the staff covered the counters and headed towards the stairs to the private area to collect their coats before going home. Today being the annual old soldiers’ party, some of the girls would be staying on to help out. It was always a joyful affair, and Betty had yet to miss one in all the years she’d worked for Woolworths.

  ‘Excuse me, ducks, you shouldn’t be in the shop now, we’re closing up for the night,’ a shop assistant called out to her. ‘You’d best get cracking or you’ll be locked in and have to join us for the party,’ she giggled as she looped her arm through a fellow worker’s and headed to the door marked ‘staff only’.

  Betty frowned. ‘You don’t understand . . . I’m Mrs Betty Billington . . .’

  One of the girls nudged the other and sniggered. ‘You could be Charlie’s Aunt for all I care, but the shop’s closed and you shouldn’t be in here.’

  Betty nodded, feeling old and tired, watching as the young women disappeared through the door. The lights had been dimmed, and apart from a warehouseman jangling a bunch of keys as he chatted to a young shop assistant standing by a side door, Betty was alone.

  She slowly walked the length of the store. Stopping to look at a cracked glass tile that decorated one of the pillars between the counters, she smiled to herself, remembering the first air raid. They’d hurried shoppers and staff down to the cellars, only just making it in time before the whole building shook as a bomb exploded close to the riverside docks. A few broken windows and patches of plaster coming down from the ceiling in an upstairs storeroom had been the only damage, apart from this crack. She ran her finger across the scar. We all carry our scars from this war, she thought as she strolled on, deep in thought, before stopping at the end of a counter in the middle of the store. She struggled with her memories and smiled as she recalled the day her friend Sarah had received a proposal of marriage on this very spot. It had been such a joyous day, and so long ago . . .

  ‘Betty . . . ? Thank goodness. We thought you’d gone home,’ Freda said as she hurried across the shop floor, followed by Sarah and Maisie.

  ‘Reliving memories of good times and bad,’ she said as the girls hugged her.

  ‘Blimey, we’ve ’ad a right old time here, ’aven’t we?’ Maisie said as she looked around her. ‘Mind you, it’s a bit on the creepy side wiv only a few lights on,’ she added. ‘Some of the staff say Woolies is haunted.’

  Freda shuddered. ‘Please don’t talk about ghosts. It gives me the creeps. What do you think, Sarah?’

  Sarah Gilbert put her arm round the youngest of her friends. ‘It’s just an old building, and old buildings hold many memories. Well, that’s what my nan always says. There’s nothing to be afraid of. We should be happy that the war is over and we’re all looking forward to our first Christmas in peacetime.’

  ‘You should remember that as well,’ Maisie said. ‘You’ve been as miserable as sin these past weeks. It’s time you pinned a smile on yer face and looked forward to the future, Sarah.’

  Sarah ignored the comment. ‘Come on, we’d best be cracking on or our guests will be here before we’ve finished
preparing their welcome. Are you coming upstairs, Betty?’ she asked as they made a move towards the staff door.

  ‘I’ll be with you shortly,’ Betty said, as she thought about the girls’ words. What did she have to look forward to? Her life had changed immeasurably in the past year, and in ways that she wasn’t enjoying as she should. She gazed around the dimly lit store, taking in the polished wood counters covered up for the night, and breathed in the faint aroma of lavender floor polish. Apart from the wounds of war, Woolies was carrying on as usual. She wished she could say the same for herself. Yes, she was a lucky woman in so many ways, but she so missed her old life and her chums. Her future felt bleak, and she couldn’t help feeling she had somehow taken the wrong path in life. ‘You’re a fool, Betty Billington, a bloody, bloody fool,’ she muttered to herself. ‘And there’s no way of going back to the life you loved.’

  1

  February 1945

  ‘Come on, lovey, you can’t give up now,’ Maisie urged her friend Sarah.

  Sarah flopped back against the pillow and took a shuddering breath. ‘Why is it taking so long? Georgina was with us in a couple of hours. Do you . . . do you think there’s something wrong?’ She asked, as another pain took hold and she gripped Maisie’s hand so tightly both women’s fingers turned white.

  There was a quiet tap on the bedroom door and Ruby entered. ‘How’s my favourite granddaughter doing?’ she asked with a concerned look towards Maisie, who was rubbing her hand to bring some life back into it.

  ‘I think there’s something wrong,’ Sarah whispered. ‘Nan, I’m going to lose the baby,’ she added as large tears dripped onto her cheeks. ‘Please help me.’

  ‘Now what’s all this about?’ Ruby fussed, as she dipped a flannel into a bowl of cold water and wrung it out before wiping Sarah’s face and bending close to give her cheek a kiss. ‘What you could do with is to get yourself up on your feet and have a little walk around. Lying on your back never did any good to no one. Why, your dad popped out like a bullet out of a gun after I took meself off for a brisk walk round the town. It frightened your granddad when your dad appeared before the midwife did, I can tell you. I think I’ll change your sheets as well. They’re all a tangle where you’ve been tossing and turning. Maisie, you help her to her feet while I go get some fresh sheets from Maureen downstairs and put the kettle on. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a strong, hot cup of tea with a couple of sugars in it. All this waiting for a baby to arrive fair whacks me out,’ she added, giving Sarah a grin as she wiped a stray hair from her forehead and gave Maisie a discreet nudge to follow her out of the door.

  ‘I’ll collect the sheets for you,’ Maisie said by way of an excuse to leave the room. ‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ she added as she noticed Sarah’s worried look. ‘It’s a shame we don’t ’ave an air raid, cos we could all get into yer nan’s shelter and repeat what ’appened when Georgina came into the world.’

  ‘No fear,’ Sarah tried to laugh, thinking back to her first child’s appearance during an air raid. ‘I’d not wish Hitler sending his bombers for all the tea in China,’ she said as she struggled to sit up.

  ‘Stay there until I get back, then I’ll give you a hand,’ Maisie said, trying to keep a cheerful grin on her face. ‘I’ll see if there’s a slice of Maureen’s seed cake ter go with that cuppa. I don’t know about you but I’m starving.’

  Maisie hurried down the narrow, steep stairs of Maureen Gilbert’s house into the front room, where Ruby carefully closed the door. ‘Truth be told, I’m starting to get worried,’ she said to the two women in the room.

  ‘Oh dear, I do wish I could do more,’ Sarah’s mother-in-law said from where she was sitting in a cosy armchair. ‘I’ll be glad when I’m well enough to get up and around properly. It’s so frustrating.’

  ‘You’re not ter worry, Maureen,’ Maisie said. ‘You do more than enough as it is. It’s not been ten weeks since the accident. If you go being daft now, you’ll end up back in hospital, and then where would we be?’

  The three women fell silent as they thought of the V2 rocket that had landed on the Woolworths store in New Cross and killed so many adults and children. Amongst them had been Sarah’s mother, Irene.

  Maisie looked up to the ceiling above, where Sarah was trying to bring her second child into the world; a child that would never meet one of its grandmothers. ‘Where the hell has that midwife got ter? She’s been gone hours.’

  Maureen leant over and switched off the wireless, giving a shudder as she did so. ‘There’s us here wanting to bring one child into the world while our own air force are murdering young kiddies over in Dresden. It makes you think, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It’s war, Maureen, and we need to bring it ter an end before too many more people get killed. What the RAF is doing may seem wrong, but the boot could so easily be on the other foot.’

  Ruby looked sad. ‘I’d like to go over there and bump off that bloody Hitler.’

  ‘At least my Alan’s not flying over to Germany with those bombs in a plane,’ Maureen added.

  Maisie raised her pencilled eyebrows. She knew that Alan Gilbert was training the pilots who would no doubt be playing a large part in what was being relayed by the newsreader on the wireless.

  They all jumped at a sharp tap on the front door behind them. Maureen’s home was a cosy two-up, two-down and the front room led straight onto Crayford Road, with just a small scrap of garden between the house and pavement.

  ‘P’raps it’s the midwife,’ Maisie said as she quickly pulled back the curtain that covered the door and swung it open onto a sharp, cold morning. She was dismayed to see a young lad shivering on the doorstep and cuffing his nose with the back of his hand.

  ‘Nurse Rose asked me to bring this to you, missus,’ he said, shoving a piece of paper into her hand and backing away to where a group of his mates were waiting.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Maisie said as she read the few words before reaching for her handbag, which lay on the arm of the one empty armchair. ‘Here, ’ave this fer being a good kid. But I want you ter go back ter the nurse and tell her that Mrs Gilbert is not doing well, and we are going ter call the doctor. Do you understand me?’

  The boy nodded his head solemnly as his eyes grew wider. ‘Is she going to die, Missus?’

  ‘Not if we can ’elp it. Now, hurry up and deliver the message. And don’t stop ter play on the way,’ she added sternly, closing the door on the cold day.

  ‘I take it she’s held up somewhere?’ Ruby asked as she came downstairs to see what the commotion was about.

  ‘Yes, she’s over the other side of town and will be another hour at least. I’m going ter run over ter the doctor’s house and get some ’elp. The poor girl’s exhausted and I don’t like the look of her one little bit.’

  ‘No, I’ll go,’ Ruby said, pulling Maisie away from the door. ‘You’ll be more help upstairs until the doctor arrives, what with not long having kids yourself. I know I’ll go all soft on her and be of no use at all. I think she’s giving up after what happened to her mum. I want you to tell her what you told me . . .’

  ‘But I’ve not told another living soul, not even me old man.’

  ‘It could help Sarah get her fighting spirit back,’ Ruby said, as the two women stood looking at each other.

  ‘I wish I knew what the pair of you were going on about,’ Maureen said. ‘But while you are doing all that, I can at least put the kettle on and make some hot tea,’ she went on, slowly pulling herself onto her feet and leaning heavily on a walking stick. ‘Did I hear you wanted some clean sheets?’

  Maisie gave Maureen a quick hug. ‘I’ll get the sheets, and as fer the other thing, I’ll fill you in about it later.’

  Racing back up the stairs, Maisie charged into the bedroom that Sarah shared with her husband, Alan, when he was home and off duty. She threw back the curtain and blinked. ‘It’s going ter be a beautiful day, and even more beautiful as by the end of it we’ll hav
e another baby in the family,’ she grinned at Sarah.

  ‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’ Sarah half whispered as she took a deep breath and then shuddered. ‘It was nothing like this when I had Georgina. Will you do something for me, Maisie?’

  ‘Whatever you want me ter do you’ve only ter shout,’ Maisie said as she sat down by her friend’s side. ‘If it’s tea you’re after Maureen’s got the kettle on right now. She’ll be shouting “tea up” before we know it.’

  ‘No . . . I want you to get Alan before it’s too late. I don’t think I’m going to be here for much longer.’

  ‘Don’t talk so bloody daft,’ Maisie said as she squeezed Sarah’s arm. ‘I felt the same as you when I had the twins. Imagine that? I had twice as much work ter do as you.’

  ‘Did you feel as though you were dying?’ Sarah asked, looking her friend directly in the eyes. ‘Did you?’

  Maisie sighed. The time had come to tell her friend something she had not planned to share with a living soul; that was, until Ruby wheedled it out of her. ‘Ter be honest, I thought it would never end. I lost all sense of time and just wanted ter sleep and never wake up.’

  Sarah winced before nodding her head. ‘Then you know . . .’

  Maisie nodded her head. ‘I do, but there is something else. Sarah, something happened on the day I was in labour with the twins. You may think me daft, but I swear yer mum was sitting in the hospital urging me not ter give up. She was really annoying. I remember giving her a few choice words and telling her ter sod off, but she just wouldn’t go away.’

  Sarah rubbed her eyes and stared at her friend. ‘But . . . but Mum died the day you had the twins. If you are trying to make me laugh, it isn’t working. This isn’t funny, Maisie. It’s not funny at all.’

  Maisie took her friend’s hand and gripped it tight. ‘I swear ter you, I’m not joking. I was tired ter the bone. So tired I just wanted ter give up, and didn’t care about the consequences. I wasn’t bothered about Ruby, Bessie or Claudette. Come ter that, I didn’t care if I ever saw David again, either. I just wanted it all ter stop so I could go ter sleep and never wake up. It was then that Irene came and sat by me side. You know how we never really saw eye ter eye, and I never cared much for her posh ways. Well, we had a right old ding-dong, and she just kept telling me ter get on wiv it and give birth, as I was needed ter take care of you. I told her that you had Alan and yer family in yer corner, and you weren’t short of supporters, so she could go and bugger off for all I cared. She told me she would once I saw sense. I was that annoyed with her, I gave it all I’d got ter deliver those little ones. By heck I’d show her, I thought ter meself. It was the next day that David told me about the V2 rocket, and that yer mum ’adn’t survived. I didn’t know what ter think,’ Maisie added, reaching for her cigarettes with shaking hands, then thought better of lighting up.