Nazis had taken over his country. Being from a farming background they’d settled in Kent but when war had broken out, they’d been sent to the island and interned in Peel. Oh, why couldn’t he have stayed, she thought? Why had he been sent back with his parents and sister? If he’d been allowed to stay she was sure that in time people would have accepted him. Lots of people in Peel knew his family had left Austria before the war and had had no part in it at all. Hans Bonhoeffer and his father had hated Hitler and all he stood for.
Sophie tried to cheer her up. ‘Here’s the tram. Let’s getback to Aunty Lizzie’s. We both need a hot cup of tea and at least we have some good news to tell her. Let’s hope Katie has some good news for you when she gets home tonight.’
Maria dashed away her tears with the back of her hand. She knew Sophie was right but it didn’t help when she felt so miserable and bereft.
Chapter Five
O CTOBER WAS PASSING SWIFTLY and it was becoming much colder, Sophie thought as she walked home from the tram stop. It was a journey she was used to now. At least Maria had settled well into her job at Heaton’s. Her sister worked in their small millinery department, much to Katie’s envy. Katie worked in Soft Furnishings, which didn’t appeal to her a great deal. She complained that she had little interest in cushion covers, lampshades or curtains, while hats were entirely different. Everyone was interested in them, although there certainly wasn’t the wide selection now that had been available before the war. In fact lots of people tried to make their own, copying them from magazine pictures or those on display in the windows of shops like Hendersons and the Bon Marche, both of which had survivedthe bombing, but whose prices were beyond most people’s pockets.
She, too, was getting on well at Marsden’s, although she couldn’t say she enjoyed it; far from it, for it was a world of heat, noise and constant, frenetic activity. The room she worked in was huge. Rows of sewing machines, in banks of two facing each other, filled it completely and the motorised belt that drove them ran on wheels above their heads, its loud clacking noise adding to the general cacophony. Between the machines was a shallow wooden trough into which the finished garments were deposited. Every worker relied on all the others to keep the line going so she had soon learned to work very rapidly indeed.
Having spent the entire day hunched over her machine, forcing the material under the drumming head of the needle, the noise of which was replicated by every other machine in the room, she always came out with a headache and stiff, aching shoulders and back. The pace of work was so relentless that there were often accidents. One of the girls who had long hair, which she wore loose, had got it entangled and but for the quick action of one of the pressers, who cut her free, would have been seriously injured. After that Mr Phillips had insisted that everyone wore turbans, but nearly every day someone was injured, usually by the needle piercing a finger or a nail. Still, the pay was good even if the conditions were not.
She pulled the collar of her coat up around her ears and shifted the carefully wrapped parcel to her other arm, smilingto herself. Two days ago she’d plucked up courage to ask Albert Phillips if she could possibly use her machine for some personal sewing during her breaks and to her relief he had agreed. She’d explained about the dresses for the forth-coming party, which it had been decided would take place on 5 November, Bonfire Night, and he’d nodded thoughtfully.
‘So, you can make a complete garment from scratch, Mrs Teare? That’s quite unusual. Even though all the girls can use a machine very few of them can actually do that.’
She’d smiled at him. He was a rather quiet, middle-aged man with a reserved manner, although he was a stickler for punctuality and hard work and didn’t suffer fools
Sophie tried to cheer her up. ‘Here’s the tram. Let’s getback to Aunty Lizzie’s. We both need a hot cup of tea and at least we have some good news to tell her. Let’s hope Katie has some good news for you when she gets home tonight.’
Maria dashed away her tears with the back of her hand. She knew Sophie was right but it didn’t help when she felt so miserable and bereft.
Chapter Five
O CTOBER WAS PASSING SWIFTLY and it was becoming much colder, Sophie thought as she walked home from the tram stop. It was a journey she was used to now. At least Maria had settled well into her job at Heaton’s. Her sister worked in their small millinery department, much to Katie’s envy. Katie worked in Soft Furnishings, which didn’t appeal to her a great deal. She complained that she had little interest in cushion covers, lampshades or curtains, while hats were entirely different. Everyone was interested in them, although there certainly wasn’t the wide selection now that had been available before the war. In fact lots of people tried to make their own, copying them from magazine pictures or those on display in the windows of shops like Hendersons and the Bon Marche, both of which had survivedthe bombing, but whose prices were beyond most people’s pockets.
She, too, was getting on well at Marsden’s, although she couldn’t say she enjoyed it; far from it, for it was a world of heat, noise and constant, frenetic activity. The room she worked in was huge. Rows of sewing machines, in banks of two facing each other, filled it completely and the motorised belt that drove them ran on wheels above their heads, its loud clacking noise adding to the general cacophony. Between the machines was a shallow wooden trough into which the finished garments were deposited. Every worker relied on all the others to keep the line going so she had soon learned to work very rapidly indeed.
Having spent the entire day hunched over her machine, forcing the material under the drumming head of the needle, the noise of which was replicated by every other machine in the room, she always came out with a headache and stiff, aching shoulders and back. The pace of work was so relentless that there were often accidents. One of the girls who had long hair, which she wore loose, had got it entangled and but for the quick action of one of the pressers, who cut her free, would have been seriously injured. After that Mr Phillips had insisted that everyone wore turbans, but nearly every day someone was injured, usually by the needle piercing a finger or a nail. Still, the pay was good even if the conditions were not.
She pulled the collar of her coat up around her ears and shifted the carefully wrapped parcel to her other arm, smilingto herself. Two days ago she’d plucked up courage to ask Albert Phillips if she could possibly use her machine for some personal sewing during her breaks and to her relief he had agreed. She’d explained about the dresses for the forth-coming party, which it had been decided would take place on 5 November, Bonfire Night, and he’d nodded thoughtfully.
‘So, you can make a complete garment from scratch, Mrs Teare? That’s quite unusual. Even though all the girls can use a machine very few of them can actually do that.’
She’d smiled at him. He was a rather quiet, middle-aged man with a reserved manner, although he was a stickler for punctuality and hard work and didn’t suffer fools
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