you’ve got to laugh, haven’t you, else you’d only cry,” was usually made when the group in fact had tears running down their faces, but tears of laughter, not of grief.
Most of the women in the workshop were the same: housewives who had depended on their husbands for support, now suddenly wage earners in their own right and immensely proud of the fact. These five, though, the only ones within earshot above the noise of the pounding machinery, had become Eileen’s special friends.
“How did your mate’s wedding go, Eileen?” Pauline asked. Pauline was a graceful dark-haired girl with a face like a Madonna. She was more serious than the others and also rather vain. Miss Thomas was constantly ticking her off for not covering her hair properly with the turban.
“But it makes me look like an ould washerwoman,”
Pauline complained.
“Best to look like an old washerwoman, dear,” Miss Thomas would reply, “and have a face. You might end up with no face at all if you leave your hair poking out and it catches in your machine!”
“The wedding went fine,” Eileen replied. “There was dancing in the street till it was dark.”
Someone across the workshop began to sing Roll out the Barrel and everyone, including Eileen, joined in. If the women weren’t joking, they were singing. Halfway through the foreman came in and they stopped abruptly, and to the tune of Gracie Fields’ Sally, they warbled, “Alfie Alfie, show us your thingy”, and the embarrassed Alfie turned tail and left, whatever important message he may have brought left undelivered.
The time seemed to crawl by that afternoon, and Eileen kept glancing at the clock impatiently. Work halted at six for the half-hour dinner break, when she would see Nick.
She felt sure the clock had stopped, or might possibly be going backwards. It was weeks since they’d met, mid August, when he’d come home on forty-eight-hours’ leave and was so exhausted he’d spent almost the entire time asleep.
Twenty-five to four, twenty to four. The trolley came round with tea and they drank it by their machines. Tea breaks had been abolished months ago in the national effort to build more planes in order to combat the apparently overwhelming might of the German Luftwaffe.
Ten past five.
“Doesn’t your mouth ache without your teeth in, Carmel?” Doris shouted. “I’m amazed your face stays together, like.”
“It aches with “em in. That’s why I don’t wear “em.”
“What does your ould man have to say? I mean, it must be like kissing a sponge or something.”
Carmel hooted with laughter. “My ould man’s only interested in you know what. He ain’t kissed me in a long time.”
“Perhaps he would if you had your teeth in,” said Theresa. “You must be one of the few women who gives their chap a soft on.”
“I can’t think of a better reason for keeping them out,” Carmel leered. “Fact, I wish I could think of a way of stopping the ‘you know what’. The ould git’ll have a heart attack one of these nights.”
“Why don’t you put your teeth there, instead,” Doris suggested. “That’d soon stop him.”
By the time Eileen had finished laughing, it was half past five. Only another half an hour to go. The minutes dragged by, but eventually the big hand on the clock jerked to twelve and the hooter went. Eileen switched the machine off and was out of workshop in a flash, dragging the scarf off her head as she ran towards the side door.
Nick wasn’t there!
She glanced wildly up and down the banks of the little gurgling stream, half expecting his tall, lean frame to appear miraculously from nowhere.
He must be at home. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Perhaps his leave had been curtailed. He might be ill. Eileen mentally listed all the reasons why Nick wasn’t waiting as she hurried along the High Street towards the cottage.
She’d left her key under a stone beside the door. He would surely have left a message telling her where he
Most of the women in the workshop were the same: housewives who had depended on their husbands for support, now suddenly wage earners in their own right and immensely proud of the fact. These five, though, the only ones within earshot above the noise of the pounding machinery, had become Eileen’s special friends.
“How did your mate’s wedding go, Eileen?” Pauline asked. Pauline was a graceful dark-haired girl with a face like a Madonna. She was more serious than the others and also rather vain. Miss Thomas was constantly ticking her off for not covering her hair properly with the turban.
“But it makes me look like an ould washerwoman,”
Pauline complained.
“Best to look like an old washerwoman, dear,” Miss Thomas would reply, “and have a face. You might end up with no face at all if you leave your hair poking out and it catches in your machine!”
“The wedding went fine,” Eileen replied. “There was dancing in the street till it was dark.”
Someone across the workshop began to sing Roll out the Barrel and everyone, including Eileen, joined in. If the women weren’t joking, they were singing. Halfway through the foreman came in and they stopped abruptly, and to the tune of Gracie Fields’ Sally, they warbled, “Alfie Alfie, show us your thingy”, and the embarrassed Alfie turned tail and left, whatever important message he may have brought left undelivered.
The time seemed to crawl by that afternoon, and Eileen kept glancing at the clock impatiently. Work halted at six for the half-hour dinner break, when she would see Nick.
She felt sure the clock had stopped, or might possibly be going backwards. It was weeks since they’d met, mid August, when he’d come home on forty-eight-hours’ leave and was so exhausted he’d spent almost the entire time asleep.
Twenty-five to four, twenty to four. The trolley came round with tea and they drank it by their machines. Tea breaks had been abolished months ago in the national effort to build more planes in order to combat the apparently overwhelming might of the German Luftwaffe.
Ten past five.
“Doesn’t your mouth ache without your teeth in, Carmel?” Doris shouted. “I’m amazed your face stays together, like.”
“It aches with “em in. That’s why I don’t wear “em.”
“What does your ould man have to say? I mean, it must be like kissing a sponge or something.”
Carmel hooted with laughter. “My ould man’s only interested in you know what. He ain’t kissed me in a long time.”
“Perhaps he would if you had your teeth in,” said Theresa. “You must be one of the few women who gives their chap a soft on.”
“I can’t think of a better reason for keeping them out,” Carmel leered. “Fact, I wish I could think of a way of stopping the ‘you know what’. The ould git’ll have a heart attack one of these nights.”
“Why don’t you put your teeth there, instead,” Doris suggested. “That’d soon stop him.”
By the time Eileen had finished laughing, it was half past five. Only another half an hour to go. The minutes dragged by, but eventually the big hand on the clock jerked to twelve and the hooter went. Eileen switched the machine off and was out of workshop in a flash, dragging the scarf off her head as she ran towards the side door.
Nick wasn’t there!
She glanced wildly up and down the banks of the little gurgling stream, half expecting his tall, lean frame to appear miraculously from nowhere.
He must be at home. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Perhaps his leave had been curtailed. He might be ill. Eileen mentally listed all the reasons why Nick wasn’t waiting as she hurried along the High Street towards the cottage.
She’d left her key under a stone beside the door. He would surely have left a message telling her where he
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