The Woolworths Girl's Promise Read online

  Elaine Everest

  The Woolworths Girl’s Promise

  Contents

  A Letter from Elaine

  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

  28

  29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Keep in Touch

  This book is dedicated to the memory of my great-uncle Charles Sears, who perished at Ypres on 17 August 1917, aged thirty-one.

  I wanted to keep his name alive as he had no wife or children. I am the granddaughter of his younger brother, Edward Thomas Sears. The records show notification of Charles’ death went to his parents, George and Jane.

  If the name and date sound familiar it’s because Betty Billington’s fiancé, Charlie Sayers, also died on the same day at the same place. This is my way of remembering my brave family member.

  There is a reason I changed Charlie Sayers’ surname. Way back when he was born a few legal documents show the Sears name spelt as Sayers, a common error when census and registration documents were completed by hand, and so many people could not spell. In the area of Kent where I come from there are many Sears and Sayers families, with many distantly related.

  Thank you to all those who have fought and died for our country. We owe you so much.

  A Letter from Elaine

  Dear Reader,

  It doesn’t seem that long since I last sat down to write a letter to you. In fact, it is longer than usual due to a rather scary problem with my eye. Burst blood vessels close to the retina meant I could hardly see with my right eye and trying to type, let alone read, was nigh on impossible. I honestly tried to write and have never known such frustration in my life. I tried all forms of dictation which made my storytelling worse – so much gobbledegook. My lovely agent, Caroline, stepped in and after discussions with my editor, Wayne, I was told not to worry about the next book deadline and to rest as much as possible. This is where decent sunglasses and Audible book downloads came into their own. Even so I was for ever squinting just to try and clear the constant fog. Of course, this mean The Woolworths Girl’s Promise missed its October 2022 publication date, and for that I apologize. At this point I must thank you all for the constant stream of get-well messages, and to my friends for nagging me not to write.

  Apart from my health problem, 2022 was a very special year as my husband Michael and I celebrated our golden wedding anniversary. I’m not sure how this happened, as I swear we’ve not been married that long – the years have shot by! I will claim to still be thirty-six though! We decided ages ago not to have a party but to fit in as many holidays as possible, something we have never done before. Henry went into his dog kennels where he was spoilt rotten, and we set off for Switzerland armed with maps and a good phone signal. In fact, we had such a good time we returned a few months later, this time booking with a rail-travel company – but came back with covid . . . We managed to fit in a trip with Henry to Cornwall and finished off the year with a short break in Bruges. It has been blissful! I count myself very lucky not only to have my husband still with me, but to have been able to celebrate such a wonderful anniversary. Some of my friends and family have not been fortunate enough to be able to celebrate such an occasion, and my heart goes out to you all.

  With my eyesight eighty per cent better I’m raring to get back to my storytelling, and already there is another Woolworths novel completed for the autumn of 2023.

  Thank you all for your support during what has been an unusual year.

  Sending my love,

  Elaine xx

  Prologue

  December 1938

  Betty Billington looked up as trainee under-manager Alan Gilbert knocked on her office door before taking a step over the threshold.

  ‘They’re here, Miss Billington, and quite a motley crew, if I may say so. You may just find a few suitable Woolworths counter assistants to cover the Christmas period.’

  Betty smiled at the affable young man. Even though her stomach was churning, she did her best to appear calm. Alan was a cheerful lad, always keen to lend a hand around the store. He’d been a godsend ever since she’d moved to the Erith branch, explaining to her what went on in the town, set on the south shore of the Thames, as well as sharing snippets of information about the staff and their families.

  ‘Thank you, Alan. If you can give me five minutes, then show them in?’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ he smiled in return, stopping for a moment before turning back. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying it, but . . . don’t be nervous. We all think you are the best staff supervisor we’ve had here for a while. Oh, and Mum said she will send down a cup of tea shortly, along with a slice of her gypsy tart.’

  Betty thanked him. She could have jumped up and hugged him, but it wouldn’t be seemly now she was management, albeit junior management. She smoothed down her tweed skirt and straightened the lapels of the matching jacket. It felt strange not to be wearing a Woolworths overall, after all her years of working for the company. At least she was able to proudly wear the sweetheart brooch she had been given more than twenty years earlier by her beloved Charlie.

  How the years had flown by since she was an innocent seventeen-year-old. Would she do things differently, if she could live those days over again? Perhaps not act so irrationally, or walk so blindly into situations over which she had no control? Her thoughts drifted back to a time when life had seemed much simpler. By now she could have been happily married with a family of her own, not a spinster who needed to work for a living. She shocked herself with the thought that if things had turned out differently, she could even be a grandmother, and then chuckled at the idea of herself, Miss Betty Billington, with a family.

  Pulling herself up short, she reminded herself of the important position she held within the F. W. Woolworth company. It had been a struggle to reach this point and she had no intention of letting her employers down. She would treat her work seriously and not stand for any nonsense. Oh, yes, she knew what counter assistants and other members of staff could get up to; she’d learnt all the tricks while working her way up the ladder to where she was now.

  She patted her severe bun into place, knowing the silver threads in her hair reinforced the impression that she was a stern taskmaster. At least none of the young ladies waiting outside were aware that this was the first time she had ever advertised and interviewed staff at the Erith store. She would make Charlie proud of her and all that she’d achieved, she thought, fighting back the sudden tears that pricked her eyes. ‘Pull yourself together, Betty,’ she scolded herself, straightening the paperwork on her desk and picking up a fountain pen in readiness for making notes.

  ‘Are you ready, Miss Billington?’ Alan popped his head round the door again.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Alan, please show the candidates in. I will have a chat with the whole group before they take their tests.’

  She watched as the women entered silently, giving her wary glances. Most seemed to be wearing their best coats and hats. One was dressed like a starlet from the silver screen; whatever was she doing applying for a position as counter assistant? Another applicant appeared to be no more than a child, a scrap of a thing whose clothes were worn, shabby and tired; very much like her expression, as she gazed at Betty through frightened eyes circled with dark shadows. It made Betty think back to the day when her own life had changed so drastically – when her dream of becoming a Woolworths girl had come true.

  1

  Christmas Eve 1916

  ‘Oh, I’ve missed you so much,’ Elizabeth Billington said as she threw herself into the arms of a sandy-haired man who was wearing the uniform of a corporal in the Royal West Kent regiment. He swung her around before leading her behind a high wall beside the entrance to Charlton Park, where he was supposed to be guarding the gates. Even though it was late afternoon with hardly anyone around, he was wary of being caught while on guard duty – not to mention sullying his beloved’s reputation.

  ‘Let me look at you,’ he said, holding her at arms’ length. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, even in the twilight. Is this for me, Betty?’

  Elizabeth felt her cheeks start to burn. Only Charlie Sayers called her Betty; her mother would have a fit if she knew Charlie had shortened her name. Come to that, she would have a fit if she knew her seventeen-year-old daughter had slipped away from the house to meet a man the Billingtons had never been introduced to. Mrs Billington feared for Elizabeth’s virginity even more than she feared the danger of the Zeppelins.

  She gave a small curtsy and held her coat away from her body so he could see the shell-pink gown, threaded with silver stitching. ‘I chose it hoping you would remember me dressed in my finery; but it’s really meant for a New Year soirée I have to attend with my parents. If only you could come,’ she sighed.

  Charlie snorted his disgust and reached for his cigarettes, lighting one for Elizabeth. She didn’t like the taste and the smoke made her feel sick, but she wanted to share his love of smoking. In fact, she wan
ted to share everything he was interested in, including the way he worshipped the football team Charlton Athletic.

  ‘You’d not get me near one of those highfalutin affairs,’ he scoffed. ‘No one in their right mind wants to waste time rubbing shoulders with toffs. That lot hardly get their hands dirty to earn a living – they all prefer to live off dividends from family shares, or inheritances. None of ’em do an honest day’s work.’

  Elizabeth pulled away. ‘That’s my family and their friends you’re belittling,’ she admonished him, even though she knew he was right. Her father did something in the City, but she wasn’t sure exactly what it was – only that he left at eight o’clock each morning for the bank and always came home for dinner in a foul mood, before burying his head in his newspaper muttering about share prices and the state of the country. Perhaps Charlie had a point.

  ‘Let’s not fall out,’ he begged. ‘This’ll be the last time we see each other for God knows how long. I don’t want us to part at loggerheads so that you go running off with some other chap because you think I’m a miserable so-and-so.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie – I’d never think of you like that, and I’d never even look at another man. I’m yours forever,’ she sighed. She let her unwanted cigarette drop to the ground as he flicked his away, pulled her close and stopped her words with his lips.

  After a few minutes, she wriggled free of his embrace. ‘We ought to stop; you’re crushing my gown. Besides, too much of this and I’ll turn into one of those women waiting at the station for her man to return from the wars, holding a baby bundled in rags.’

  ‘That’s rather dramatic,’ Charlie laughed as he turned away to light another cigarette. Then he took her arm again, pulling her further along the wall to where they could hide behind some bushes.

  ‘Charlie, I don’t think . . .’

  ‘Sshhh. It’s not what you think; here, I’ve got something for you.’ He reached into the pocket of his khaki uniform and took out a small item wrapped in tissue paper. ‘It’s not a ring, but the chaps reckon it’s just as important to a woman.’

  Elizabeth unwrapped the tissue paper and squealed with excitement at the sight of a sweetheart brooch, the kind soldiers often gave to their loved ones. ‘I know what this is!’ she said delightedly, as she pinned the brooch to her coat. ‘And it has your regiment engraved around the edge . . . Here, I have something for you, too – although it’s nothing like your gift to me.’

  ‘I should hope not,’ he laughed as he took the wrapped packet she was offering. ‘I’d look silly wearing a brooch on my uniform, or any other time, come to that. Why, these are just what I need,’ he added, opening it to reveal a pair of knitted socks and a packet of tobacco. ‘Thank you, my love.’

  ‘And thank you again for my special brooch. I’ll treasure it forever.’

  ‘You know this officially makes you my girl,’ he told her, wrapping an arm round her shoulders.

  ‘I already was, Charlie. You didn’t need to go buying me presents to prove it,’ she said. She knew he liked to contribute as much to his family home as he possibly could.

  ‘It’ll do for now, until I get back and buy you that special ring. Then we can start to make our plans a reality. I just wish you’d let me ask your father for your hand in marriage before I leave for the front. I’d have something to remember you by,’ he murmured gently, brushing her cheek with his finger.

  Elizabeth knew that her father would not entertain Charlie’s request and would simply show him the door. ‘It’s best we wait a little longer,’ she said with a shiver as he ran his finger down her face and neck, stopping only at the neckline of her dress.

  ‘I’m not sure how long I can wait,’ he groaned before crushing her against the rough serge of his uniform.

  ‘Just hold on to our dream of our own little greengrocer’s shop,’ she sighed as he kissed her just below her earlobe. She stepped back a little, fearing she would give in to his kisses as they became more demanding. ‘Just hold on to that dream . . .’

  ‘Where we’ll live over the shop, until we make our fortune and can move to somewhere your parents would approve of.’

  ‘Let’s forget about them. Once we’re married, it will just be you and me against the world.’

  ‘Until the nippers come along, that is,’ he said, giving her a squeeze.

  Elizabeth was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see her cheeks burning with embarrassment. ‘There’s time enough for that. I want to see you standing behind the counter of your own shop wearing a white apron and a straw boater, like they do in the food department at Harrods.’

  Charlie snorted with laughter. ‘I’d not know about that, love. You’ll never see the Sayers family doing their weekly shop in places like ’Arrods. Dad’s wages on the railway don’t stretch to us shopping up town, and neither did my pay packet when I was a crane driver. It was barely enough to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads, especially when my stepmum was ill.’ He hesitated, reaching again for the cigarettes. ‘That reminds me; I want you to visit Dad and my sisters while I’m away, and . . . and, well, if anything should happen, you’re not to be a stranger to their house, do you hear me?’ he added in a gruff voice.

  She clung to him. ‘Please don’t talk like that. You’ll come back and we will have our little shop, and . . .’ Her voice cracked, undermining her optimistic words. She’d seen the newspaper reports about what it was like over on the other side of the Channel, where Charlie had intimated he was about to be shipped off. Even though her parents forbade her from reading such things, she was aware of how terribly the war was affecting lives. There were houses in town with black wreaths hanging on their doors, denoting families that had recently lost loved ones. It was a common sight to see women in their widows’ weeds, while poorer people wore black armbands to show their respect.

  ‘We need to be sensible,’ he said as he shook her arm roughly. ‘Do you understand? I need to know everything is in place, in case I . . .’

  ‘I promise,’ she whispered. ‘I promise, I promise, I promise. I’m yours forever and don’t you forget it, Charlie Sayers. Don’t you go running off after those French mademoiselles, either.’

  ‘They don’t hold a light to you,’ he said, trying to keep his voice strong.

  ‘How would you know?’ she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

  ‘It’s only what the chaps have told me,’ he laughed.

  Elizabeth didn’t always know how to take Charlie; sometimes he made her want to answer back, to check his feelings for her. When they’d first met, she had been walking alone in the park; she’d dropped her bag and at first she’d thought he was going to steal it. But he’d handed it back with a charming smile and struck up a conversation, quickly convincing her that he was an upright citizen. He’d been so happy when she agreed to meet him the following week.

  ‘Who goes there?’ a voice boomed from nearby.

  ‘It’s only me, Sarge – Corporal Sayers. I was taking a piss. It’s nippy out here and a long walk to the latrines.’ Charlie pulled Elizabeth closer, signalling for her to be quiet.

  ‘Get your arse out here this minute, you lazy good-for-nothing! You’re supposed to be guarding the gates.’

  Giving her a quick kiss, he pushed her towards the footpath that would take her in the opposite direction. ‘I love you, Betty,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘Promise me you’ll live a good life.’

  ‘What a daft thing to say. I love you too, Charlie, and we will live that good life together,’ she whispered urgently, feeling tears sting her eyes. ‘Don’t forget me,’ she added, before hurrying away.

  ‘Goodbye, Betty Billington,’ he murmured as she disappeared into the night. ‘Please keep your promise . . .’

  2

  25 August 1917

  Elizabeth stormed out of the house. Blinded by angry tears, she slammed the heavy front door behind her and ran down the twelve steps to the pavement. Cuffing her eyes, she stopped for just a moment; which way should she go? She spotted a tram that would take her away from her parents’ grand house in Charlton to the centre of Woolwich. Checking her purse was in her bag, she ran to join the queue.