When One Door Closes

by Joan Jonker

Genres: Family Life; Siblings; Friendship; World War II; Sagas

Synopsis

With the powerful aid of friendship, a young woman learns to love again after the tragedies of the Second World War. Joan Jonker's first instalment of the Eileen Gillmoss series, When One Door Closes, is a heart-warming saga of love and laughter in the direst of circumstances, and promises to be an unforgettable tale. Perfect for fans of Katie Flynn and Dilly Court. It's May 1941 and Liverpool is taking a hammering from the German bombers. For young Mary Bradshaw and her widowed mother life is full of rationing, blackouts and the wail of the air-raid siren. Despite the gloom, Mary's heart is light as she counts her blessings - she's got her loving mother and Bob, her soldier boyfriend whom she adores and hopes to marry soon. During the worst air raid Liverpool has ever suffered, fate deals Mary the first of many cruel blows it has in store for her. She is devastated as her whole world collapses. But Mary doesn't have to face the knocks alone. Her best friend Eileen has a heart and a sense of humour as big as her eighteen stone body - heaven help anyone who hurts her mate! Harry is the boy from up the road who's loved Mary since they were kids and he'll not desert her now. Soon Mary finds that when one door closes, another one really does open. What readers have been saying about When One Door Closes : 'This is the first Joan Jonker book I have read and it is one of the best books I have ever read. It is a warm-hearted story set in Liverpool during the blitz. The characters draw you in and you feel as if you know them' 'A warm hearted, captivating story of life in Liverpool during the blitz. You feel as though you are actually involved in the story, as the characters are so warm and friendly - a totally absorbing read'

Release date: May 24, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 452

Sample

Mary bent her head against the wind and wrapped her edge to edge coat more closely round her slim body. It was more like winter than spring, and her feet moved faster as she thought of the hot cup of tea waiting for her at home. And with a bit of luck her mam might have scrounged enough coal together to have a fire lit. How she hated this two to ten shift. Life was all bed and work.

It was pitch dark as Mary hurried along the maze of streets with their two-up-two-down houses, and her high heels tapping the paving stones were the only sound breaking the stillness. In rhythm with her feet her long blonde curls bounced up and down on her shoulders. A gust of wind blew strands of hair across her face and as Mary brushed it aside the strap of her gas mask fell from her shoulder. Blasted gas mask, she muttered, pulling it back. I wish me mam wouldn’t make me take it everywhere with me.

There were no street lights burning, nor were there any chinks of light through the drawn curtains of the houses. But Mary knew these streets like the back of her hand and could have walked home from the bus stop blindfolded. It was May 1941, and by now everyone was used to the blackout, the rationing and the wail of the air-raid siren. That was the one thing Mary dreaded most … the wail of the air-raid warning. Liverpool had been getting a hammering from the German bombers every night for weeks, but thank God none of the bombs had dropped near where she lived.

I hope there’s no raid tonight, Mary thought, as her long slim legs covered the ground quickly. I’m so tired I don’t think I’d even hear the siren. A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. Not that me mam would let me sleep through it. She’d drag me out of bed if she had to.

Reaching the small terraced house, Mary let herself into the tiny hall. She was closing the door behind her when a frown creased her forehead and her head cocked to one side. Voices? No, everywhere was quiet. It must have been next door’s wireless she heard.

Walking in from the darkness, Mary was blinded for a few seconds until her eyes became accustomed to the glare from the electric light. Then she smiled when she saw her mother sitting in her armchair at the side of the grate where a fire burned brightly. ‘Oh, Mam, that fire looks lovely! It’s so cold …’ Mary had turned to close the door when she saw the soldier sitting on the opposite side of the hearth. Her mouth gaped. ‘Bob! When did you get home?’

‘A few hours ago.’ Bob’s grin was wide. ‘You should see your face! You look as though you’ve seen a ghost!’

Without taking her eyes from him, Mary slipped out of her coat and threw it over the back of a chair. ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’ Bob’s eyes held hers briefly, then looked away. ‘How about making that cup of tea, Mrs B? I don’t half miss your tea when I’m away.’

‘Never mind the tea!’ Mary frowned. ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming home?’

‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Martha Bradshaw rose, smoothing down the front of her floral pinny. She smiled at her daughter. ‘You must be dying for a drink.’ With her snow-white hair, Martha looked much older than her forty-six years. The deep lines etched on her forehead and the sadness in her faded blue eyes told their story of suffering and heartache. It was hard to believe that only eight years ago Martha Bradshaw’s hair had been the same golden blonde as Mary’s. That the eyes had been the same vivid blue, and her pretty face had never been far from a smile. Her world had been so happy then, with a husband she adored and a daughter they both idolised. When George had come home from work one day saying he didn’t feel well, Martha had no idea it was the beginning of the end of her perfect world. She had nursed him for twelve desperate, nightmare months, before he died of TB at the age of thirty-eight. Within weeks Martha’s hair had turned white. During those first weeks all she had wanted to do was die herself. But it was Mary who made her carry on, and who kept her sane. Mary, who at fourteen couldn’t understand why her dad had been taken from them, needed all the love Martha could give. They had clung to one another then, and the strong bond between mother and daughter had never weakened.

On her way to the kitchen Martha laid her hand on Bob’s shoulder. ‘I’m making some toast, son, d’you want some?’

‘What do you think, Mrs B? Have you ever known me to refuse anything except blows?’

As soon as the kitchen door closed, Mary knelt in front of Bob. ‘What’s going on? I know there’s something up by me mam’s face.’

Bob West stared down at his clasped hands. ‘I’m on a twenty-four-hour pass, love, and I couldn’t let you know because I didn’t know meself until the very last minute.’ He rubbed his thumb gently over her slim fingers. ‘I’ve got to go back on the six o’clock train from Lime Street.’

‘But it’s time to go back before you get here!’

‘Our unit’s on stand-by,’ Bob said softly. ‘We’re being shipped out soon.’

‘Shipped out!’ Mary’s voice rose. ‘Shipped out where?’

‘I don’t know, love! They don’t tell us anything.’ There was no mirth in Bob’s laugh. ‘Being a poor private, I’m not in on the secret.’

Mary shivered. ‘You’re not going where the fighting is, are you?’

Bob stroked her face. ‘You look pale tonight.’

‘You mean I look a sight!’ Mary suddenly grinned. ‘If I’d known you were going to be here, I’d have combed me hair and put some lippy on.’

Bob fingered the golden hair before cupping her face between his hands and kissing her gently on the forehead. Seeing them together for the first time a stranger could easily take them for brother and sister. Their hair was the same blond colour and their eyes the same vivid blue. But while Bob’s face was square and rugged, Mary’s was heart shaped. She wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful. Her wide eyes were fringed with thick black lashes beneath perfectly arched eyebrows that needed no help from tweezers or eyebrow pencils. Her skin was flawless, and when she smiled she revealed a set of small, white, even teeth. While Bob was tall, over six foot, and thick set, Mary was five foot four and slim. She had a tiny waist that Bob could span with his hands, and a firm full bust. Every time he looked at her, Bob told himself he was the luckiest bloke alive that she’d chosen him when she could have had her pick of any of the lads in the neighbourhood.

Mary drew his hands from her face and held them tight. ‘They can’t just give you twenty-four hours embarkation leave … it’s not fair!’

‘Nothing is fair in war, love.’ Bob sighed. ‘All I know is there’s a lot of activity at the camp, and over the last few days several units have been shipped out.’

‘And when the war started everyone said it wouldn’t last long.’ Mary dropped her gaze. She felt frightened inside. What would she do if anything happened to Bob? She couldn’t imagine life without him because he’d been part of it for so long. His family only lived a few streets away and they’d played together as kids. They’d started school the same day, and left the same day to take up jobs locally. Mary had gone to work behind the counter in a sweet shop, while Bob started as an apprentice with a furniture manufacturer. They’d each had their own friends but would meet at dances at Barlows Lane or the Aintree Institute. One night Bob had asked her for the last waltz and as they were dancing he’d asked if he could walk her home. As they stood outside her house he’d suddenly bent forward and kissed her on the cheek before hurrying away, red faced with embarrassment. He’d been shy the next time they’d met, but when Mary treated him as she’d always done, he became bold and asked if he could take her home. That night his lips had brushed past her cheeks and landed, for a second, on her lips. Neither had spoken, but, as Bob walked away and Mary opened her front door, they both knew their relationship had changed. And a week later they started to date without their friends.

The kitchen door was pushed open and Martha bustled in. ‘I’ve made enough toast for both of you, so eat it before it gets cold.’ She smiled at Bob as she set the tray down. ‘No sugar I’m afraid, son! We’ve used all our ration till next week.’ Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, she looked at Mary. ‘I’m off to bed, I’m dead beat.’

‘It’s not that late, Mam!’ Mary jumped up. ‘Have a cup of tea first.’

‘No, I really am tired.’ After patting her daughter’s arm, Martha turned to Bob. ‘I won’t see you before you leave, then?’

‘Afraid not, Mrs B, I’ve got to be on that six o’clock train.’ Seeing the concern on the face of the woman who was like a second mother to him, Bob joked. ‘Can’t have them thinking I’ve gone AWOL, can we?’

Martha ruffled his hair. ‘Look after yourself.’ She gave a last smile before closing the door and mounting the narrow stairs. Twenty-two years of age and being sent off to war … it just wasn’t right! By God, that Hitler had a lot to answer for! She stopped on the top stair to catch her breath and sighed deeply. Surely there was enough sadness in the world without people fighting each other.

Mary stacked the dishes on the wooden draining board. Any other night she would have rinsed them through, but every second she could spend with Bob was precious. He was sitting on the floor in front of the fire when she ran back in the room, his back leaning against the couch. ‘Put the light out, love. It’s nice sitting in the firelight.’ He waited till Mary was nestled beside him then slipped an arm across her shoulders. ‘Now, let’s have all your news.’

‘Oh, I lead a very exciting life, and I don’t think!’ Mary pulled a face. ‘Unless you call sitting in next door’s air-raid shelter every night exciting.’ She snuggled closer. ‘Tell me what you do with yourself.’

‘Go for a pint with me mates. There’s quite a few lads from Liverpool in our unit, and we have a good laugh.’ Bob squeezed her shoulder. ‘That Spud Murphy from the Dingle is a real case; he’s always playing jokes on people and there’s never a dull moment when he’s around.’

‘You’ve got a flamin’ cheek, Bob West!’ Mary dug him in the ribs. ‘Going out every night and getting blotto, while I’m stuck in work or in next door’s shelter!’

It was cosy sitting in front of the fire holding hands, but as the minutes ticked by Mary could feel the nerves in her tummy tightening. ‘I wonder when we’ll be able to take the ferry across the Mersey again? Remember when we used to go to Seacombe and walk from there to New Brighton? We had some good times, didn’t we?’ There was a sob in Mary’s voice. ‘Are you sure you’re being sent overseas? Perhaps you’re just moving to another camp.’

‘No such luck, love! This is one of the camps where units are shipped out from. I knew as soon as we were sent there that it wouldn’t be long before we were on the move.’ Bob was silent for a few seconds. ‘You can understand all the secrecy though, because if they told us where and when we were going, they might just as well tell the Germans and they could have their subs ready and waiting to pick us off.’ He felt Mary’s shiver. ‘Don’t you worry about me, Mary Bradshaw! You won’t get rid of me that easy. I’ll be home before you know it, and I intend marrying you quick, before someone else snaps you up.’

‘You better had!’ Mary was running her fingers through his thick, coarse hair. ‘I’ve started me bottom drawer already. I went to Paddy’s market with Eileen last week and bought a tea set and some towels.’ Giving his hair a gentle pull, she laughed. ‘You should see the spivs down there. They look like gangsters with their trilby hats and long overcoats. I don’t know where they get the stuff from, but you can get anything from them if you’ve got the money. They’re making a packet out of the war.’

Bob took his arm from her shoulders to light a cigarette and Mary stared at the dying coals in the grate. He’ll be going soon, she thought, and God knows when I’ll see him again. When he’d first been called up he’d been stationed at Speke, which was only a few miles away, and he’d been able to get home a few times a week. Even when he was sent down South he’d been home every few weeks on leave. But now he was going overseas the war took on a new meaning to Mary. She’d seen pictures of the fighting on the Pathe News at the pictures, and the thought of Bob being in the thick of it terrified her.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Mary pulled Bob’s face down to hers and rained kisses on it. Suddenly they were locked in each other’s arms, straining to get as close as they could. ‘I love you, Mary Bradshaw,’ Bob whispered as he flicked his cigarette into the grate before easing her backwards until she was lying on the floor wrapped in his arms. He caressed her face and neck, and when his hand brushed accidentally against her breast a tingle, almost like an electric shock, ran through his body and passion raged high within him. What would he do if she met someone else while he was away? He looked down at the lovely face, the thick dark eyelashes fanning her cheeks, and his love for her overpowered him. His lips came down hard on hers as he moved sideways to tear at the buttons on his trousers. The coarse material of his uniform and his awkward position made it difficult and he pulled frantically, almost ripping the buttons off. It was as the last button gave way that a bomb seemed to explode in his head, clearing his mind. ‘What the hell am I doing?’ he whispered. He thought of her mother asleep upstairs, trusting him not to do anything to harm her daughter, and shame flooded his body. He mustn’t betray that trust. He bent to kiss Mary gently, but the second their lips met his love and his need surged like a tidal wave, and Martha was forgotten.

Bob’s hand up her dress sent warning signals to Mary’s brain. ‘No!’ Quickly her arm moved from his neck to push his hand away. ‘You mustn’t.’ But Bob was past the point of reason. All he could think of was going away and leaving her. It might be years before he held her in his arms again … if ever! ‘Please, Mary?’ His voice was thick with emotion. ‘I love you so much.’ Mary screwed her eyes up. What he wanted to do was a sin and against everything she’d ever been taught. But she loved him so much she couldn’t bear to refuse him. Sighing deeply, her arms went round his neck and she held him tight.

The fire had died down, sparing Bob the embarrassment of meeting Mary’s eyes. His hands trembling, he fumbled for his packet of Capstan and struck a match. As he drew hard on the cigarette he recalled snatches of conversation he’d heard between blokes in the barracks. He’d learned that some women didn’t like sex, and that was why a few of the men went with other women. Bob started to tremble inside. After what he’d just done, would Mary’s feeling towards him have changed? He forced himself to turn and ask, ‘All right, love?’

Racked with guilt and shame, Mary slipped an arm through his. ‘Me mam would kill me if she knew.’

‘It’s my fault, love. I shouldn’t have let it happen.’ Bob reached for her hand. ‘I wish we’d got married last time I was on leave.’

Mary’s laugh was shaky. ‘You’ll have to marry me now to make an honest woman of me.’ Her voice was wistful. ‘I wish you were back in civvie street.’

‘Me too! But if everyone felt the same way then Hitler would walk through this country as easily as he’s walked through the rest of Europe.’

‘I know, but I’m frightened of anything happening to you.’

‘Nothing’s going to happen to me!’ Bob pulled playfully on her hair. ‘With you to come back to, I’ll outrun every German bullet there is. Anyway, what about yourself? It’s not exactly safe around here with bombs dropping every night. Gerry’s after the docks and the munitions factory, and this is not far from either of them. I know Spud Murphy’s worried to death about his family because they live near the docks at the South End. So, while I’m busy looking after meself, will you promise to go to the shelter every time there’s a raid?’

‘I don’t have much option with me mam around.’ Mary’s brow creased. ‘I’ve just realised, this is the first night we haven’t had a raid for weeks!’

Bob chuckled. ‘I gave orders that I didn’t want me leave spoilt.’ He moved his arm from her shoulder and struck a match. ‘Oh, lord, it’s nearly four o’clock! I’ll have to make tracks or I’ll miss the train.’

‘Just stay for a few more minutes.’ Mary clung to his arm. ‘We’ve only had a couple of hours and it might be ages before I see you again.’

‘I wouldn’t need much persuading, love, so don’t coax me, please!’ Bob prised his arm free. ‘By the time I get cleaned up and have a few minutes with me mam and dad, I’m going to be hard pushed. There’s a tram leaves Fazakerly terminus at five o’clock and it gets here at twenty past. I’ll have to be on that to get to Lime Street station for six.’

‘Let me come to the station with you.’ Mary pleaded. ‘At least we’d have a bit more time together.’

‘I’m not saying goodbye to you on a crowded station platform.’ Bob stood up and switched the light on. He held her at arm’s length. ‘I don’t want anyone around when I tell you I love you more than anything in the world, and I’ll be counting the days until I’m home again and we can get married.’

‘You better had marry me, or I’ll tell me mam and she’ll come after you with a shot gun.’ Mary gazed into the features she knew as well as she knew her own. The thick bushy eyebrows she was always kidding him were long enough to put in curlers. The blue eyes that crinkled up when he laughed or shone with tenderness when he looked at her. He was smiling now, showing the gap where a kick during a football game had robbed him of one of his teeth. Her heart swelled with love as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. ‘I love you, Bob West.’

‘I’d better go! You’re very tempting, Mary Bradshaw,’ Bob reached for the door, ‘and I’m crazy about you.’

Trained to be careful of the black-out, Mary switched off the light before opening the front door. Standing on the top step, she went to put her arms around Bob’s neck but he gripped her shoulders and held her from him. ‘Don’t forget to go to the shelter when there’s a raid on, d’you hear? Otherwise I’ll be worried to death every time I hear there’s been a raid on Liverpool.’ He bent his head, kissed her briefly, and whispered ‘I love you’, before hurrying away.

Mary watched till he reached the end of the block, and when he turned and blew her a kiss she blew one in return. Then he was out of sight. Mary stood for a few seconds staring down the deserted street then walked slowly back into the house. Inside, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. The tears came slowly at first, trickling down her cheeks. Then they were gushing from her eyes as great sobs racked her body. Afraid of waking her mother, she tried to stifle the sound by putting a hand across her mouth. But she felt the beating of her heart was louder than her tears, and she had no control over her heart.

Eileen Gillmoss was joining the end of the bus queue when she saw the familiar figure of Mary in the distance. ‘Blimey! She’s feelin’ energetic!’ Ignoring the curious glances coming her way, she set off after her friend. Puffing and panting she urged her eighteen-stone body forward, but Mary was walking faster and the distance between them grew. ‘She’ll be at the bloody Black Bull before I catch her up.’ Then Mary stopped to look in a shop window and Eileen breathed a sigh of relief. Cupping her hands round her mouth, she bellowed, ‘Hey, kid! Hold yer horses, will yer!’

Mary turned. She could see Eileen’s face red with exertion as her huge body waddled from side to side. ‘You walking, too?’

Small rivers of sweat trickled down Eileen’s face as she panted, ‘I didn’t intend bloody walkin’ till I saw you. Yer can’t half move, kid! Yer like a bloody whippet!’ She grinned and linked her arm through Mary’s. ‘Yer can help carry some of me weight.’

Mary’s eyes slid sideways. Over the last eighteen months Eileen had been a very good friend to her. She lived in the same street as Bob, but Mary had only really got to know her when she started work in the munitions factory and had been put on the same machine as Eileen. That first day had been terrible. The huge conveyor belt looked like a monster and the noise on the shop floor was deafening. It was so different to working behind a shop counter, Mary thought she’d never get used to it. And she wouldn’t have done if Eileen, fifteen years her senior, hadn’t taken her in hand and shown her the ropes.

‘What made yer decide to walk to the Bull, kid?’ Eileen always looked untidy, as though she’d dashed out of the house without even running a comb through her mousey coloured, straggly hair. The hem on her shabby, grey swagger coat had come undone in places and was hanging down. And her black, flat heeled shoes looked as if they’d fall to pieces if they saw a duster or polish. ‘Won’t yer get enough standin’ on yer feet in work?’

‘I felt like some fresh air.’ Mary looked straight ahead. ‘Bob was home and I was late getting to bed.’

‘Home on leave, is he?’

‘He had to go back this morning. He only had a twenty-four pass.’

‘Bloody hell! Wasn’t worth coming home for.’ Eileen noticed Mary’s pale face. ‘Course it was worth it! When yer in love, ten minutes is worth it.’

‘It was embarkation leave. He’s expecting to be sent overseas.’

‘Poor bugger! The sooner this bloody war’s over, an’ all our lads are home, the better.’

They were passing Woolworths on Walton Vale and Eileen pulled Mary to a halt. ‘Cissie Nolan’s on the sweet counter ’ere. I’ll see if I can cadge some Liquorice Allsorts off her.’

‘Our bus is in,’ Mary protested. ‘You won’t have time.’

Eileen pulled free. ‘Two shakes of a lamb’s tail, kid!’

Mary kept her eye on the factory bus standing outside the Black Bull pub. If it went without them they’d be late clocking in. But within seconds Eileen reappeared, grumbling, ‘Just my bloody luck! She’s at her break!’

‘I’ll go ahead,’ Mary was already running. ‘I’ll keep the bus till you get there.’ She was waiting on the platform when Eileen came along, gasping for breath. Pulling herself aboard by the hand rail, Eileen waved Mary ahead of her. ‘You go first, kid, and I’ll sit on the outside so me backside can hang over the seat.’

Mary was turning sideways in the seat to give her friend more room, when she felt a dig in the ribs. Her eyes followed Eileen’s finger pointing to a couple passing the bus window. The man was an American soldier and the woman clinging to his arm was laughing up into his face. ‘Look at that brazen bitch!’ Eileen’s voice carried the full length of the bus and the loud chattering stopped as all eyes focused on the target of Eileen’s temper. ‘Her feller’s out there fightin’ for his country and she’s knockin’ it up to anyone in trousers.’ Eileen lowered her voice. ‘She deserves a bloody good hidin’, and she’ll get it if her feller finds out what she’s been up to.’

Mary eyed the big woman with genuine affection. God knows, Eileen had more than her share of worry, but she never complained. Her husband, Bill, had been taken prisoner in the fighting in Crete, and all Eileen had been told by the War Office was that he was in a prisoner of war camp. ‘Don’t you ever get fed-up, Eileen? If I had three kids to look after, and come out to work, I’d never stop moaning.’

Eileen ran her fingers through her hair, making it stand on end. ‘Moaning wouldn’t get me anywhere, kid. Anyroad, I’ve got me mam to help with the kids, so we manage all right.’

They showed their passes to the security guards at the gates of the Kirkby factory, and Eileen linked her arm through Mary’s. ‘There’ll be a lot of poor sods in for a shock when this war’s over, I can tell yer! There’s a woman livin’ next door to me auntie, and guess what? She had a baby last week, and her feller’s been away for fourteen months.’ Eileen whipped her clock card from the rack and punched it in the machine. ‘I’d like to be a fly on their wall when she tries to talk her way out of that!’

The noise in the cloakroom was deafening, with thirty women all talking at once. Mary hung her coat under a sign CARELESS TALK COSTS LIVES, and grinned when Eileen’s voice rose above the din. ‘Bloody hell! It’s like walkin’ into a chicken coop with all the cacklin’ going on.’

‘Hark at her!’ Maisie Phillips had been talking to her friend, Ethel Hignet, when she heard Eileen’s words. Maisie was small and thin, with bleached blonde hair, a heavily powdered and rouged face, and bright orange Tangee lipstick on her thick, full lips. It was difficult to guess Maisie’s age, but according to Eileen she’d been thirty-nine for ten years. Her friend Ethel was a foot taller, thin as a bean pole, with overpermed, frizzy black hair. Her face was devoid of colour and her ill-fitting false teeth clicked every time she spoke. ‘If we sound like chickens, Ethel,’ Maisie asked, ‘what would you say she sounded like?’

‘Cock of the North.’ Ethel’s teeth left her gums, then clicked back into place.

Eileen’s figure wasn’t so noticeable in her loose coat, but without it her huge body seemed to be fighting to get out of the too tight dress. ‘Don’t mention cocks, Ethel; it brings back too many memories.’ Laughing at her own joke, Eileen held her tummy while her whole body shook and her eyes disappeared behind the folds of flesh on her cheeks.

‘What does her bust remind you of, Maisie?’ Ethel’s head was tilted. ‘It reminds me of two barrage balloons floating in the wind.’

‘Oh yeh!’ Maisie giggled as she eyed the bouncing mounds. ‘I wondered where I’d seen them before.’

‘Yer only jealous, Maisie Phillips.’ Eileen wheezed. ‘’Cos yours are as flat as pancakes.’

Maisie shrugged. ‘Aye, I could do with a bit of your bust. Even Mae West would look flat chested next to you.’

The women had formed a circle around the three who were guaranteed to give them a laugh and put them in a happy frame of mind for the eight-hour shift ahead. Mary stood outside the circle … too shy to join in. But she enjoyed the exchange and when she walked with Eileen on to the shop floor she was feeling much more cheerful.

The women on morning shift left and Mary and Eileen took up their positions on each side of the long conveyor belt. Their job was to pick out any faulty shells as they passed down the conveyor. It was a monotonous job, but you needed to be alert all the time. Letting a faulty shell go through could cost the life of a soldier. Sometimes the women wrote messages on the shells to let the ‘lads’ know everyone at home was thinking about them. Eileen’s messages and crude drawings were always rude and they made Mary blush, but they were guaranteed to bring a smile to the face of a homesick soldier. Everyone working in the munitions factory was conscious of how important their job was. You couldn’t fight a war without ammunition, so working overtime was part of the war effort and no-one complained.

Mary was thinking about Bob as she watched the shells go by. He’d be back at camp now, and if he wrote right away she’d get a letter the day after tomorrow. On the other side of the machine Eileen was taking the mickey out of one of the labourers who was replacing the full trolley of faulty shells with an empty one. ‘How d’yer manage yer love life on this shift, Willy?’

Willy Turnley was thirty-nine years of age and would never be called up because of his asthma. He was a small, thin, sickly looking man, with beady brown eyes and large, yellow coloured teeth. He’d lost all the hair from the top of his head, so he let the sides grow long and combed them over in an attempt to hide the baldness. He thought he was God’s gift to women, and Eileen liked nothing better than to pull his leg. One of the wheels on the trolley had a mind of its own, wanting to go in a different direction to the others, and Willy bent to fix it before answering. ‘I don’t do so bad! If I get away handy I can get to Barlows Lane before the last waltz.’ He pushed down the packet of five Woodbines sticking out of the breast pocket of his overalls and showed his yellow teeth in a grin. ‘It’s the last waltz that’s important, yer see.’

‘Always get a click, do yer, Willy?’ Eileen’s eyes slid from the conveyor. ‘I bet the girls queue up for yer to take them home.’

‘I can’t complain.’ He smirked. The war was the best thing that had ever happened to Willy. With the shortage of men, even he could ‘cop off’.

As she turned back to the conveyor, Eileen saw their supervisor walking towards Mary. She leaned forward and bawled, ‘Ay out! Here comes lover boy.’ Mary glared, but didn’t have time to answer before Harry Sedgemoor was standing beside her. She’d known Harry all her life because they lived only a few doors away from each ot