The Teashop Girls

  Elaine Everest

  The Teashop Girls

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  Acknowledgements

  A Letter from Elaine

  To all seaside landladies who,

  like Flora Neville, created such

  happy memories for so many families.

  Prologue

  September 1926

  Flora Neville pulled a pearl-tipped hatpin from her best black felt hat and placed both onto the bed. It had been a tense day, and she was glad to be home and back to work; there were sheets to bring in from the line, where they’d been hanging a good part of the day, and there was dinner to prepare for the guests. A quick glance at a dainty ormolu clock standing in the middle of the walnut tallboy reminded her Rose would be in from school shortly. Flora needed to be back in her work clothes with today’s events firmly locked away, so no one would know where she’d set off to when she boarded the first train up to London. Furthermore, the nature of the business that had her kitted out in her Sunday best on a Thursday, and her usual sunny disposition replaced with a sad, thoughtful expression, should be known only to her and never told to a living soul. Some things should be forgotten, she thought to herself. She wouldn’t deny, though, that it had been pleasant to stop for a cup of tea and a toasted teacake in a Lyons Corner House along the Strand after her appointment with the solicitor, Mr Bartholomew, and then catch a train from Charing Cross back to Ramsgate and home.

  For once she’d enjoyed being waited on by delightful waitresses who showed her to a vacant table and took her order. It made a change from being the one looking after her boarders at the Sea View guesthouse. She sat watching as the young women dashed here and there, taking orders and carrying heavy trays laden with food and drinks. They all had ready smiles and were so polite. However, she was surprised so many people would call out the word ‘Nippy’ to get their attention.

  ‘Why do they call you Nippy?’ she’d asked as her tea was brought to the table.

  ‘It’s our new name,’ the dark-haired young waitress explained. ‘It’s supposed to be because we nip about all over the place,’ she giggled.

  ‘How strange. Surely they could call you something more in keeping with your smart appearance?’ Flora said as she reached for the milk jug.

  The girl smiled. ‘I don’t mind it one little bit. They used to call us Gladys, and as that’s my old gorgon of an aunt’s name, I much prefer to be a Nippy.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Flora said as she poured her tea. ‘Who decided to make the name official?’

  ‘Lyons had a competition to find a new name, and that’s how we came to be Nippies.’

  Flora smiled back at the girl. ‘How interesting. Nippy is a much better name, and so memorable.’

  She thought about the busy Nippies as she sipped her tea. Hopefully the documents Flora now held in her black leather handbag would mean that her ten-year-old daughter, Rose, would never have to work as a waitress. When Rose grew up there would be money enough for her to train for a position in an office until the day came for her to marry and have a family to care for. Yes, that would be a very pleasing situation indeed.

  Flora shook herself from her thoughts as she ran a brush through her soft brown hair and frowned at a few grey threads running through the gentle curls. ‘Time waits for no one, especially you, Flora Neville,’ she muttered before twisting her hair back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck and fixing it with a tortoiseshell clip. ‘Now, what to do first?’ She smiled at the pleasantly rounded face staring back at her from the mirror.

  She hung her coat in the wardrobe and looked at an envelope she’d placed on the bed as she walked into the room. Kneeling down, she reached under the double bed and pulled out a battered suitcase. Opening the stubborn catches, swearing under her breath as one caught her fingernail, she delved inside and pulled out a smaller leather case. Taking a long chain from around her neck that held a delicate brass key, she unlocked the smaller case. She gently touched a pearl cameo brooch and a small ruby ring, stopping to think for a moment about the past and how different her life had been. Then she placed the envelope she’d collected from Mr Bartholomew inside. ‘At least he kept his promise,’ she whispered, before locking the case. Looking around the room, she put the chain and the key into a small porcelain jar on her dressing table and pushed her secret safely back under the bed.

  1

  January 1940

  Rose Neville shivered as she hurried up the street towards the Ramsgate branch of Lyons teashop, hugging the straps of her black leather handbag and gas mask holder close to her side in case they slipped off her shoulder and were lost in her haste. She dreaded the day she would need to use the ugly gas mask; like so many in the small Kent seaside town, she hoped the war would be over before they saw enemy action. So many people were using the words ‘phoney war’, but as her mum was fond of saying, she could feel it in her water that something would happen before too long, and she wanted to be prepared.

  Rose wasn’t keen on the early morning starts, especially with a cold wind blowing off the nearby seafront and snow threatening to fall again. Her pert nose was frozen cold even though she’d wrapped a bright red knitted scarf across most of her pretty face. Waving to an old school friend who was opening up the doors of a nearby cafe, she thanked God she was working for the prestigious Lyons teashop chain, who even had posh Corner Houses in London. So much better than the small cafe where staff did little more than fry eggs and serve mugs of tea all day long. Not only were Lyons staff taught how to serve food and be the best waitresses, but they wore smart uniforms and went by the name of Nippies. That couldn’t be said for any other waitresses, she thought, feeling proud. Why, she’d even been trained in London, just as other Nippies had.

  ‘Hey,’ a voice shouted from close behind her. ‘Didn’t you hear me calling for you to wait?’

  Rose stopped suddenly and turned as her friend Lily barrelled into her. ‘Oops, sorry, I can’t hear a thing wrapped up in this scarf. Aren’t you cold?’ she asked, seeing Lily’s coat flapping open and her hair flowing free while she held a green felt hat in her hand.

  ‘I was late getting up and I’ve run all the way. My hat blew off back at the corner. I’ve lost my hatpin,’ she added, seeing Rose shake her head in despair.

  ‘Again? You’d lose your head if it was loose,’ Rose said. ‘Now stand still while I do up your coat, or you’ll catch your death . . .’ She froze as the words came tumbling out. What an idiot she was. ‘I’m sorry, Lily. That was thoughtless of me.’

  Lily brushed a tear away that had been threatening to fall. ‘Don’t be daft. You didn’t mean anything by it, and my mum would have said the same if she’d been here. In fact, she’d have made sure I was out of bed on time and had some breakfast inside me before I set off for work. And she’d have told me off for not getting dressed properly,’ she added, giving Rose a quick hug. ‘Tell me off as much as you want. No doubt I deserve it. Now, let’s get to work before the old dragon reprimands us both for being late.’ She grabbed hold of Rose’s arm and hurried her along the street.

  ‘All the same, I should be more thoughtful,’ Rose said as she trotted along, trying to keep up with her friend. ‘It’s only been three months since your mum . . .’

  ‘. . . Died?’ Lily finished Rose’s sentence. ‘It’s been two months, three weeks and four days,’ she said, stopping by t
he door of a shoe shop and turning to give an over-bright smile to Rose. ‘But who’s counting?’

  Rose felt awful. Lily’s mother had been taken ill so quickly and faded away almost before their eyes. Apart from a stepfather, her friend didn’t have any relatives to turn to, and she had been determined to carry out her mother’s last wishes to keep a roof over her husband’s head and care for him as best she could. Rose didn’t care much for Lily’s stepfather, but she knew that her friend would do her very best for him, just as she too would have carried out the wishes of her own mother. Not for one moment could Rose imagine losing her mum, Flora, who meant the world to her – but if it should happen, she would honour her mum’s memory and follow her wishes until her dying breath. It would be all she could do for the woman who had brought her up single-handedly since Rose was ten years of age and who had never once complained. Flora had never spoken of her past life, but Rose had a feeling that she had worked in London, as she seemed to know streets and buildings there when they were mentioned by visitors to the Sea View guesthouse. However, if anyone asked about her early life Flora would say very little, and would quickly change the subject.

  Rose was shaken from her reverie as the Lyons teashop came into view and she spotted someone on the doorstep. ‘Surely Miss Butterworth hasn’t got someone outside cleaning windows in this weather?’ she said as they hurried closer.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ Lily huffed. The early morning shift hadn’t started yet, but they both knew the grumpy woman who managed the Ramsgate branch would stop at nothing to keep her Nippies working hard. ‘She’s a dragon! She had me cleaning the shop front five minutes before I was due to clock off. I swear it’s because she heard me telling Katie how much I was looking forward to our trip to the pictures.’

  ‘You got there by the skin of your teeth,’ Rose commiserated. ‘At least you managed to see Johnny Johnson in that Clive Danvers B movie. I hope they make a third film, as Johnny is such a good actor.’

  Lily grinned. ‘He’s easy on the eye, too.’

  ‘Why, Lily Douglas, what a thing to say,’ Rose exclaimed, although she agreed with her friend. ‘Oh look, I do believe that girl outside the teashop isn’t cleaning at all. Come on – let’s go see what’s happening.’ She started to hurry, ignoring the flurry of icy snow now stinging her eyes. Lily had no choice but to keep up.

  As they reached the grand facade of the teashop, Rose could see that the young woman was leaning against its glass window. She was shivering, and had tears running down her face. ‘My goodness, whatever is the matter?’ Rose asked with concern. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  The young woman shook her head, causing auburn curls to tumble from beneath a black beret, before cuffing her eyes with woollen mittens that had seen better days. ‘I’m just being daft, and I’m freezing cold,’ she said, giving Rose a brief smile. ‘I have an interview with the manageress at nine o’clock and I left earlier than I should. Now I’m too afraid to go inside.’

  ‘Your nerves got the better of you, and now you’re half frozen as well,’ Rose said as she took charge. ‘What you need is a hot cup of tea and a chance to warm up before you meet the Dra . . . before you meet Miss Butterworth,’ she corrected herself, not wanting to frighten the young woman even more before she’d as much as stepped over the threshold of the smart-looking Lyons premises.

  ‘I can’t sit in there drinking like a customer. I’m not dressed . . .’ The girl faltered, looking down at her coat that had seen better days. ‘I’ve done the best I can for my interview, but as for sitting with posh people, I’m just not sure. Besides, I’ve only got a few coppers to last us until my husband gets paid.’

  ‘You’re married?’ Lily said, looking shocked.

  The girl jutted out her chin and glared at Lily. ‘I’m seventeen, and old enough to be a wife. My mum said it’s better than being an old maid.’

  Rose felt her face start to twitch. She suddenly felt quite ancient, even though she was only six years older than the girl. ‘You can come into the staffroom for your cuppa. You don’t have to pay,’ she added, seeing a shadow fall over the girl’s face.

  ‘And Lyons isn’t posh,’ Lily added as she pushed open the door to be met with a cloud of warm air. ‘It’s a friendly place for one and all.’

  Rose ushered the girl into the teashop and through to the staff quarters, where she sat her down with a cup of tea poured from a large brown china pot kept under a red tea cosy. She placed a bun onto a tea plate and put both in front of the girl. ‘The bun may be a little stale as it’s left over from yesterday, and before you ask, you don’t have to pay a penny. Eat up while I get changed into my uniform, and then I’ll let Miss Butterworth know you are here.’ Her tone made it clear that she didn’t expect any arguments. ‘I’ve not seen you around the town before, and I’ve lived here all my life,’ she added.

  ‘We came down here to live with my husband’s mum. I’m from the East End of London,’ said the girl proudly. ‘I’ve brought me mum an’ little brother with me. We was told it would be safer down here once the war kicked off, which it’s bound to do before too long.’

  ‘Well, I hope you will like living here,’ Rose said, thinking how brave it was of the girl to up sticks and move from the capital down to the other side of Kent. ‘I’ve always found everyone friendly around here.’

  The girl gave her a grin. ‘I like living by the seaside. Me mum’s tickled pink to be able to walk along the front and take in the sea air – she says she feels like one of those toffs that used to come down here when it was the posh thing to do. It’s supposed to be good for you, so hopefully it’ll help Mum’s bronchials.’

  ‘I do hope it helps your mum. Yes, Ramsgate used to be very popular for the upper classes to visit to take the air. We aren’t quite as popular these days, but holidaymakers still come down and until the war it was a busy town. Nowadays we see more soldiers than families. Now, drink your tea before it gets cold,’ Rose said before heading to the room where the girls changed their clothes and kept their coats and bags.

  ‘Blimey, married at her age. It makes you think, doesn’t it?’ Lily remarked as she stepped into her black waitress dress before checking her stocking seams were straight. ‘Do my shoes look clean? I should have given them a good going-over last night, but I fell asleep on my bed.’

  Rose stepped back and looked Lily over. ‘You look fine. And as for the girl out there – who’s to know if she didn’t have to get married on the quick, or that her husband’s not out of work? She looks frightened half to death, poor kid. She’ll need a bit more backbone if she wants Miss Butterworth to hire her. As for going to London to be trained . . .’

  ‘You’ve got a point there. I found it bad enough staying in that hostel for young women, even though the three of us were there together learning the ropes. By the way, where is Katie?’

  ‘She’s on a later shift today, so we’ll see her at midday.’ Rose said, checking her white cap was pinned on correctly, and that the Lyons badge was lined up correctly and not skew-whiff. It was something Miss Butterworth checked when she inspected her staff.

  ‘As long as she’s still coming to the dance with us this evening,’ Lily said as she dabbed lipstick onto her lips and gave a small smile into the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. ‘It will be good to go out and have some fun, and listen to you sing.’

  Rose grinned. ‘It will. Now, I must take that young girl to Miss Butterworth. I hope she gets taken on – it looks as though she could do with the job. I’ll see you at the coal face.’

  Lily laughed. ‘Not that we get much chance to chat, with my workstation being way across the tearoom from yours.’

  Rose went back to where the young girl was picking crumbs from her plate. ‘I’m just going to let Miss Butterworth know you are here, and then I’ll fetch you.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t recognize you in your uniform,’ the girl said. ‘You do look very smart.’

  Rose smiled. ‘If you are a
ccepted, then you will be wearing the same uniform – that’s unless you’re put to working the kitchens, or trained to be a Sally.’

  The girl giggled. ‘A Sally? Whatever are they?’

  ‘Did you see the women serving customers at the counter at the front of the teashop?’

  ‘I saw a lady selling teacakes and bread.’

  ‘Yes, well, they are Sallys. They do tend to be taller, though. It’s to do with reaching into the window display and across the counters, I suppose . . .’

  ‘There’s no chance I’ll be a Sally, then. I’m shorter than you.’

  Rose laughed. ‘That’s true. By the way, what is your name? I’ll need to tell Miss Butterworth who is waiting to see her.’

  ‘My name is Grace Gibbons,’ the girl said, holding out her hand.

  They shook hands, and Rose hurried out of the staffroom. She had her own workstation to get to once she’d notified the manager. Stepping into the teashop, which was already busy with early-morning customers, she felt a tinge of pride as she looked across the rows of tables dressed with crisp white tablecloths and set with silver cutlery. Overhead, brass light fittings hung from chains, enhancing the polished tea urns and stainless-steel teapots lined up waiting to be filled with steaming hot tea.

  She felt the usual thrill run through her, knowing she worked for a chain of teashops that were held in such high esteem throughout the country. Joe Lyons may have had his grand restaurants and Corner Houses up in London, but down here on the very eastern tip of the county of Kent, the smaller teashops were just as important and equally impressive.

  Straightening her back, Rose tapped on the door to Miss Butterworth’s office and waited to be told to enter. Her mind wandered to the dance she was attending that evening, and the songs she hoped to sing when Silvano Caprice called her to the stage. If only her life had been different and she had been able to pursue her dream of singing with the big bands; perhaps even touring with them, and maybe one day her voice being heard on a 78 rpm record. However, things like that hardly ever happened to girls like her; and how could she even think of leaving Ramsgate and her mum? she thought, chastising herself. How would Flora cope running the Sea View guesthouse on her own if Rose were to go running off to pursue her dreams? No, she’d have to make the most of her life and just sing when invited. But a girl could dream, she thought sadly as a stern voice from inside the office called for her to enter.