‘That’s all very well, Mr Silcott, but I’m depending on my wages tomorrow as usual. The club-book man collects Friday night. I won’t have his money if I don’t get paid.’
‘My rent has to be paid tomorrow,’ another woman said.
‘And my insurance,’ said another. Half a dozen women called out in agreement.
‘I understand!’ Herbert Silcott shouted, above the assorted demands. ‘If you come in tomorrow afternoon, after five o’clock, I will make sure your wages are here.’ He looked at Ena, and she nodded. ‘Is there anything else?’ A couple of women shook their heads, and several muttered their thanks. The factory owner acknowledged them with a weary smile.
He looks all-in, Ena thought. She watched her boss take a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket and sweep it across his face.
He raised his eyebrows, making the lines on his forehead appear deeper. ‘Thank you ladies, goodnight,’ he sighed.
Hugging her cardigan across her chest, Ena followed Freda and several other women to the factory’s gaping entrance. Her father blocked their way.
‘We need our coats,’ Ena said. Marching on the spot, to keep the blood circulating in her feet, she blew warm breath into her cupped hands.
‘It’s too dangerous. The roof’s damaged, it could come down. And there could be unexploded bombs about. Besides which, if the blighters need to offload any bombs before they go home to Germany, it may well be around here that they do it.’
‘All the more reason for us to get our stuff and get out of here, Dad,’ Ena said.
‘All right! Does anyone need anything from the cloakroom that can’t wait until tomorrow?’
‘We need our coats and hats,’ Ena said, shivering. ‘It’s too flippin’ cold to bike home in just our overalls.’
A couple of women said they needed their handbags because their house keys were in them, but most had grabbed their belongings earlier as they ran to the shelter.
By the time Ena and Freda had collected their bicycles, Thomas Dudley was coming out of the factory with half a dozen gas masks and a selection of gloves, hats, scarves and coats. As soon as the women spotted him, they pounced. Grabbing their possessions, they called goodnight and went their separate ways.
‘You all right, Dad? You look a bit shaken.’ Ena relieved him of her gas mask and handbag, putting them in the basket on the front of her bicycle. The garments he had left in his arms – her hat, coat and gloves – she put on. ‘Now you know what it’s like going to the sales at C&A with our mam.’ Her father raised his eyebrows. Standing on tiptoe, Ena planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘See you at home.’
After assuring Mr Silcott that she had finished her work and secured it in the concrete safe, Ena said goodnight.
‘Ena?’ Herbert Silcott said, as she turned to leave. ‘Would you come in tomorrow morning as usual?’
‘Yes, Mr Silcott… of course.’
Arriving at Ena’s side, Freda said, ‘I’ll be here in the morning to accompany you to--’ She stopped short of saying where they were taking Ena’s work and smiled at their boss conspiratorially.
‘Yes, thank you, Freda,’ he stuttered. Then turning to Ena, ‘I’ll check the work, make sure it is as you left it. As your father said, the Luftwaffe might offload their unspent bombs around here. If they do, and if there’s any damage to your board, I’ll need you to assess it and repair it if it’s possible, before Freda, and I--’
This is my chance, Ena thought, remembering the number of times her boss had promised to take her with him to Station X. If she didn’t speak up now, she might never get another chance. ‘Perhaps I should come with you, Mr Silcott. With you and Freda,’ she added, not wanting to put Freda’s nose out of joint. ‘I could bring my toolbox, and if any internal wires have been damaged…’ Ena was sure there would be engineers wherever her work was going, but she didn’t let that dampen her enthusiasm. ‘I would be on hand if I were needed.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Ena saw Freda touch Herbert Silcott’s forearm. He flinched, withdrew it immediately, and cleared his throat. ‘After what has happened this evening – and what may happen in the night – it would have been an excellent idea. Unfortunately, I need you here to give the women their wages. Mrs Silcott will put the money in the wage packets, but I need you to check them against the overtime sheets. I’m sorry, Ena. It’s important that it is done properly and confidentially.’
‘Of course, Mr Silcott,’ Ena said. ‘Thank you.’ Thank you, my eye. Anyone could check the wage packets against the overtime sheets and give them out. He just doesn’t want anyone from the factory floor to know who earns what. Made sense, she supposed.
‘See you both tomorrow. Thank you, ladies.’
Ena and Freda said goodnight to Mr Silcott, and set off together for their respective homes: Ena to a cottage on the Foxden Estate at Mysterton, just outside the village of Woodcote, and Freda to her lodgings on the Leicester Road in Lowarth.
Cycling in the blackout didn’t usually bother Ena, she did it every night, but tonight she was glad Freda was with her. With the constant albeit distant rumble of exploding bombs in their ears, the two friends rode side by side along Coventry Road to George Street. Passing the Ritz Cinema, they said good night at the Ram Inn, where Freda turned left, and Ena right.
Ena stood on the pedals of her bike and pushed on down Market Street to High Street. The dark empty streets made Lowarth look like a ghost town.
