The Woolworths Girls Read online

  Alfie looked up at Maisie. ‘Is she having me on? No young man?’

  Maisie grinned at Sarah. ‘Not at the moment, Alfie, but I reckon there’s one who has set his cap for our Sarah.’

  The old man guffawed with laughter and Maisie joined in.

  Sarah tried hard not to join in with their mirth. But try as she might, she had to laugh.

  ‘Now, is there anything else you need? We will have to get upstairs to the canteen before too long or there won’t be any food left.’

  ‘Don’t you go worrying about me, my dear. I may not be able to walk that far, but with one of you young ladies on my arm and my faithful walking stick, stairs hold no fear for me.’

  Sarah smiled to herself. What a lovely man he was. It was a pleasure to help him. This evening was so much fun.

  Alfie took her hand as she bent to place his purchases in his bag. ‘Hark up, my love. You get yourself out and have some fun. If there’s a lad that sets your heart a-fluttering, then get him up that aisle and a ring on your finger as soon as you can. I don’t hold with all this talk of “peace in our time”. Mark my words, there’s gonna be another war and you youngsters are going to lose loved ones and miss growing up among family and friends just like the last generation did. I was lucky – my sons returned in one piece, just as I did when I served my country.’ He tapped his legs with his stick. ‘Even if me pins never worked proper afterwards, at least I came back. A lot didn’t. Grasp your happiness while you can, my love. While you can.’

  Alfie fell silent for a moment as a faraway look came into his eyes. ‘Now, enough of my ramblings. Let’s go have that food, shall we?’

  Sarah stood watching as Maisie pushed Alfie away. A sudden chill made her shiver as if something had walked over her grave.

  The party was in full swing when the girls pushed Alfie through the doors of the staff canteen. The shop manager, Mr Benfield, was dressed as Father Christmas, complete with a pillow stuffed inside his costume to enhance his already portly figure.

  Plates piled high with ham, pickles and crusty bread were being tucked into, while a large Christmas cake, in the centre of the table, was waiting to be sliced. Maureen, assisted by Freda, was busy pouring out cups of strong tea. The barrel of beer would be put to use soon afterwards when the entertainment started.

  Sarah could see Alan in the kitchen with a tea towel tied round his waist as he set to work on the already mountainous pile of washing-up. The ex-servicemen may be elderly but they could still put away an enormous amount of food, Sarah thought to herself. She was just thinking of going to help him when she spotted Miss Billington waving to her from where the piano had been positioned.

  ‘Sarah, would you be a dear and turn the pages as I play? It’s been a while and I’m all fingers and thumbs. Thankfully Maureen Gilbert will take over when she’s finished serving tea.’

  Sarah squeezed onto the long piano stool beside her boss. ‘Of course I will, Miss Billington.’

  ‘There’s no need to be so formal, Sarah. You may call me Betty as we aren’t at work.’

  ‘Thank you, M— Betty. That’s a pretty name.’

  Betty Billington smiled. ‘Thank you. It’s Elizabeth really, after my grandmother, who died long before the last war. But you know how names are shortened by family. I have vague recollections of her, but time does strange things with our memories. Shall we start with “By a Waterfall”? I’m rather partial to a Busby Berkeley tune.’

  It was the first time that Sarah had thought of her boss as a person who had likes and dislikes. Betty Billington was probably not more than forty years of age, but with her hair pulled back in a severe bun and her tweed suits, she looked much older.

  ‘That’s my favourite song as well.’ Sarah beamed and reached for the sheet of music, ready to turn the page when her boss indicated. Members of the party started to hum and tap their toes to the music. As the tables were cleared and cigars passed round, Mr Benfield made his appearance, sack over his shoulder and many ‘ho, ho, ho’s as he got into the part. He was the perfect Santa.

  Betty stopped playing so that Father Christmas could take centre stage, to much cheering and ribbing from his staff. He handed out a small parcel to every guest, who each tore it open with gusto, voicing their appreciation.

  Sarah watched with glee as the men showed their gratitude, shaking the hands of staff sitting nearby. ‘Is this the same every year?’ she asked Betty.

  ‘There’s always a party, but this year we’ve made it more special, as who knows what will be happening by next Christmas. These men know more than any what our country will face. It’s only right we show them some respect. Apart from the cigarettes and tobacco we’ve wrapped for each man, there’s also a small hamper of Christmas foods that will be delivered when we take our guests home. For some, this will be the only Christmas celebration they’ll have and here at F. W. Woolworth we feel that we should be saying thank you to these brave men.’

  Sarah found she couldn’t speak properly as her throat had tightened and tears had started to form. She was seeing another side to her boss, and the job she was beginning to enjoy, this evening. ‘I think it’s wonderful that we are able to treat these men to such a lovely party,’ she said eventually. ‘My nan has told me that she lost many friends and family in the last war. It must be awful for the older folk, as they know it could happen again. I couldn’t bear to think I’d lose family and loved ones to war.’ Her gaze drifted to where Alan was chatting to a group of old soldiers. She had known him for such a short time. It would be unbearable never to see Alan again under such circumstances. ‘How do women cope when they lose the love of their life?’ she murmured.

  ‘We carry on, Sarah. That’s all we can do, but we never forget.’

  Sarah could see that Betty’s hands were shaking. ‘I’ll get us a cup of tea. Would you like a slice of cake to go with it?’

  ‘Thank you. You’re a good girl, Sarah. I hope you aren’t faced with the sadness that my generation have had to bear.’

  Sarah slipped into the kitchen, where she found Freda and Maisie cutting cake and laying it out on a tray to hand round to the guests.

  Maisie licked the icing sugar from her fingers. ‘You’re getting a bit cosy with old Bossy Billington, aren’t you?’

  Sarah shrugged her shoulders. ‘She’s not so bad. She was getting a bit upset talking about the last war. I said I’d get her a cuppa to cheer her up. I think she must have lost someone close and it’s shaken her up seeing the old soldiers here tonight. It’s rather sad to think about, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose lots of women lose their loved ones during a war,’ Freda said as she continued to cut the cake, unaware of Maisie and Sarah, who had stopped work and were looking at each other in fear.

  ‘This could happen to us if Hitler has his way,’ Maisie whispered.

  ‘Please, God, no,’ was all Sarah could say.

  8

  ‘. . . down at the Old Bull and Bush, la, la, la, la, la . . .’

  ‘This is fun,’ Freda exclaimed as she stopped singing and sat down beside Sarah. ‘I’ve never heard so many old-time songs being sung before. The old soldiers seem to be enjoying themselves.’

  The barrel of beer had gone down well and many of the men were waving their pint pots as they joined in with the songs. Some had stood by the piano and sung a ditty. Alfie had performed an extremely long version of ‘The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo’, quickly followed by a rousing rendition of ‘Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty’.

  Maureen clapped her hands for everyone’s attention. ‘We’ve come to the part of the evening where the Woolies staff are going to entertain you. First we have Mrs Maisie Taylor, with her rendition of “Hello, Hello, Who’s Your Lady Friend?” A round of applause for Maisie, please.’

  Freda and Sarah clapped until their hands ached as Maisie performed her song, with much swishing of her feather boa and winks to the older men. They then giggled uncontrollably as Mr Benfield, red-faced in his Fat
her Christmas outfit, marched about the room booming out, slightly off-key, ‘On the Road to Mandalay’.

  Sarah cheered loudly when Maureen curtsied at the end of her version of ‘When Father Papered the Parlour’. ‘I must say everyone is being a great sport. I never thought the staff would all be singing a song.’

  Freda nudged her as Alan walked to the centre of the room, a large fake moustache stuck to his face.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, for your delectation I would like to dedicate this next song to all the beautiful women here today. And I will require the services of a certain young lady.’

  Alan stepped forward and took Sarah’s hand, leading her back to the centre of the room. Kneeling down, he invited her to sit on his knee. Maureen, at the piano, played a grand opening and he burst into song. ‘If you were the only girl in the world . . .’

  Sarah knew she should have been embarrassed. She wasn’t one for being the centre of attention. But here, sitting on Alan’s knee, his arms around her, she really did feel as though they were the only boy and girl in the world.

  All too soon the song came to an end and they both stood up. Sarah curtsied to the audience before Alan took her back to her seat, kissing her hand as he saluted her. Again the old soldiers cheered.

  Maisie leant over and whispered loudly into Sarah’s ear, the feather boa she still wore tickling Sarah’s cheek, ‘’Ere, I told you there was nothing to worry about. That Alan has fallen for you hook, line and sinker.’

  ‘I’ll say he has,’ Freda said, pretending to fan her face. ‘That was so romantic. I could swoon just thinking about it.’

  ‘It was romantic, wasn’t it? But best not get carried away . . . Let’s go help the men on with their coats. It looks as though the evening is over,’ she laughed. However, deep in her heart, Sarah held on to the thrill of being close to Alan as he showed his love for her. This had to be real. It just had to.

  Sarah found Alfie’s coat and helped him into it, making sure his scarf was wrapped securely round his neck. Snow was still falling outside and the air was freezing.

  Alfie tugged at her arm for her to lean close. ‘Now, take note of what I said earlier. Marry your young man before he goes off to war.’

  ‘Alfie, he’s not my young man. He’s just a friend.’ Sarah couldn’t explain that they hadn’t even been out together.

  ‘Don’t you go saying things like that, ’cos I know better. The two of you are made for each other – any fool can see that. I’m just saying don’t wait too long, that’s all, or you’ll regret it.’

  She kissed his cheek, wished him a happy Christmas and promised to visit him in the new year, before heading to the kitchen to help with the last of the washing-up. As she ran hot water and scattered soap flakes into a bowl, the kitchen door opened behind her. She was delighted to see Alan standing there.

  ‘Oh, Alan. I thought you were taking the old folk home?’

  Alan looked a little sheepish, with no hint of the bravado he’d had during his performance. ‘I am. I just wanted to give you this. You’ll have probably gone home by the time I get back.’ He held out a small, square box wrapped in green paper and tied with a red bow. ‘Don’t open it until Christmas Day. I won’t be in Erith over the holiday, as I’m taking Mum to see Dad’s family. It’s a long-standing invitation,’ he added by way of an apology.

  Sarah took the box. ‘Thank you. You didn’t have to. I’ve not got anything for you.’

  He held up his hand to silence her apology. ‘There’s no need. I hoped that you wouldn’t think too badly of me for not asking you out yet. I want to. I really do. Perhaps in January, when we aren’t working all hours?’

  Sarah smiled. ‘I’d really like that.’

  Alan stepped towards her. Sarah held her breath. Was he going to kiss her?

  At that moment the door flew open and Freda and Maisie burst in.

  ‘Oops! Sorry. Did we interrupt something?’ Maisie asked. ‘My hubby’s here. He said he’d walk us all home.’

  ‘No, I was just going,’ Alan said. ‘Have a lovely Christmas, girls. Don’t work too hard tomorrow.’

  Sarah slipped the small box into her pocket, hoping that the Christmas holidays would soon pass so she could be alone once more with Alan and truly be his girlfriend.

  Christmas Day passed in a flurry of visitors. Ruby always kept an open house for family and friends, and this year was no exception. Young Freda had stayed over after going straight to number thirteen after work on Christmas Eve. Both girls, tired after working until ten o’clock, had gratefully tucked into the sandwiches Ruby had ready for them and enjoyed the cocoa they all shared before retiring for the night.

  Sarah had hoped to see her parents over the short Christmas period, but it wasn’t to be. She’d rung her mother from the phone box at the end of the road during her lunch hour on Christmas Eve, hoping that by speaking to her mum she’d convince her either to come up by car or catch a train to Kent. But Irene Caselton had flatly refused to travel in such bad weather. Besides, there was a party at the golf club on Boxing Day and she couldn’t be seen to miss it. Sarah felt sad not to be seeing either of her parents, but her dad had assured her he’d be heading back to Erith for work early in January and had a pile of parcels with her name attached. She may have been twenty years old, but the thought of opening a parcel still gave her a thrill. She just couldn’t wait to open the gift from Alan. As she drifted off to sleep, she slipped her hand underneath her pillow to where she had placed the small box. A sigh of happiness passed her lips as she fell into a deep sleep.

  ‘Cor blimey, my feet are killing me,’ Ruby declared as she lowered herself onto the overstuffed sofa in the front room.

  ‘I’m not surprised, Nan. You’ve been on the go since early morning. How about I pour you a glass of stout, or would you prefer a port and lemon?’

  ‘Sarah, love, a glass of stout would go down a dream, along with a slice of Christmas cake. If we have any left? Those kids of Pat’s are like gannets. I’ve never seen so much grub cleared away in one sitting. I reckon the lot of ’em have got worms.’

  Sarah giggled. Nan always said what she thought. It was true. Her aunt Pat’s kids could pack away a fair amount of food. ‘I’ve hidden some in the pantry, along with the ham and the chicken left over from our Christmas dinner. So don’t worry – we won’t starve just yet.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to eat another bite for a week,’ Freda exclaimed as she tidied cushions and straightened the antimacassars on the armchairs. ‘You’re a great cook, Mrs Caselton. The roast chicken and plum pudding were the best I’ve ever tasted. I loved playing party games with the kiddies as well. How many grandchildren do you have?’

  ‘Seven. Sarah here and Pat’s six. Anyways, I think it’s six. They never stand still long enough for me to count them.’

  Freda nodded her head. ‘I think I counted six, unless one is hiding somewhere.’ She started to look behind the settee and under the table, which set Ruby laughing until her sides ached.

  ‘Freda, you’re a right tonic.’ She patted the empty seat next to her. ‘Come sit down here and tell me about your family. I assume a young thing like you still has parents alive?’

  Sarah held her breath. Both she and Maisie had given up asking questions of Freda, as she would duck and dive around whenever asked.

  Freda sat next to Ruby and wrung her hands together as she spoke. ‘I do have a family. A large one, as it happens, but if you don’t mind, I prefer not to talk about them. It’s best I don’t. It may seem ungrateful after the way you’ve been so good to me, all of you’ – she smiled at Sarah – ‘but for now I want to enjoy my present life and not think about the past. If that’s all right?’

  Ruby patted the young girl’s knee. ‘That’s all right by me, but do remember that you can turn to us anytime, night or day, if you need some help or just want to talk. Now, what about that slice of cake?’

  Freda jumped to her feet. ‘Thanks, Ruby. I’m lucky to have met you.
You too, Sarah. I’ll get that cake, shall I? Then I must go back to my lodgings. I don’t like to be away too long in case my landlady thinks I’ve run away and lets the room. I’ll only be a tick with that cake.’

  Ruby frowned as Freda left the room. ‘She wouldn’t kick the kid out, would she, Sarah?’

  ‘I dunno, Nan. It doesn’t seem that nice a place to live, from what she’s said. I tell you what, I’ll accompany her home; then I can tell you what it’s like. It’s not far. Just down Queens Road.’

  ‘There’s a good girl. I’ll pack up some bits and pieces for her to take for her dinner for Boxing Day tomorrow. I wish she’d stay here. At least until tomorrow. The kid’s stubborn. I’ve a mind to offer her the spare room. We could have a bed put in the front room for when your dad stays.’

  Sarah hugged Ruby. ‘You’re a diamond, Nan. I’ll try and convince her to come live with us.’

  ‘You know, Sarah, this is the first chance we’ve had to talk today, what with all the visitors. I thought Mrs Munro was going to stay until the sherry bottle was empty. That woman can put it away. I’ve been meaning to ask you about the pretty brooch you’re wearing. I’ve not seen it before. Was it a gift from your mum and dad?’

  Sarah ran her fingers over the small spray of flowers picked out in coloured glass that she’d pinned to her navy velvet dress. The stones sparkled in the light of the coal fire. She’d been delighted when she opened the small box and found the brooch nestling among a bed of cotton wool. ‘No, it’s a gift from a friend.’ She blushed as her nan raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Friends don’t usually make you blush like that. Was it from young Alan? Is he keen on you?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Yes, Alan gave it to me. Nan, he wants to take me out once Christmas is over. Do you think it’s OK?’

  Ruby thought for a moment. ‘You’re twenty, and he’s a good lad. I can’t see any problem with that. But think on what your mother will say, and don’t do anything to upset her, will you?’