A Store at War

‘I think she’ll suit very well,’ he said mildly.

‘She’ll need a few rough edges knocked off her.’ Miss Garner tapped the pages straight and pinioned them with a precious paper clip. They’d be the next thing to disappear. She’d make sure the girl gave it back once she’d signed her contract.

‘I daresay. But we’ve had worse.’

‘I’ll say.’

Her thoughts swung immediately to Beryl Salter on Toys. A year at Marlow’s had knocked off her rough edges, it was true, but at the expense of the girl giving herself a most uncalled-for air of superiority and what she obviously thought was a ‘refined’ accent.

Shaking her head, Miss Garner returned to the latest candidate.

‘Miss Collins is a little too keen to pipe up, I thought. “Likes talking to people” – she’d better not try that with the customers! She’ll have to learn to speak when she’s spoken to. But Eileen Frobisher will keep her in line.’

Miss Frobisher was one of Miss Garner’s protégées, having soared rapidly through the complex sales hierarchy to the dizzy heights of buyer on Childrenswear. They’d been so lucky to get her back. She wasn’t really a ‘Miss’ of course, else she’d have been in a munitions factory or the services by now, but Marlow’s convention was that all saleswomen were addressed as ‘Miss’ whether they were married or not. And Eileen was, with a husband serving overseas and a little boy of four, which excused her from war work. An elderly neighbour looked after him during store hours.

Cedric Marlow let the net drop back as the pigeon fluttered off.

‘How’s that new young man on Furniture and Household getting on by the way? James Something-or-other.’

‘Oh! You mean Jim. Jim Goodridge,’ confirmed Miss Garner. ‘From what I can gather from Mr Hooper,’ she named the Furniture buyer, ‘he’s made quite a good impression. He’s rather quiet, not the most pushy, but as third sales he doesn’t have to be. There’s plenty of time for him to learn. And with experienced salesmen like Maurice Bishop to learn from … Why do you ask?’

‘Oh … he simply popped into my head for some reason,’ Cedric Marlow replied. Then: ‘Did you notice that poor kid’s shoes? Literally down-at-heel.’

‘I’ll make sure her presentation on the sales floor is up to scratch, Mr Marlow, don’t you worry.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ He turned away from the window. ‘The Queen may feel she’s able to look the East End in the eye, but sometimes … I wonder. I mean, I don’t suppose Lily Collins’ family were exactly flush before the war, her mother being a widow, but so many like them are suffering more than ever now. As is anyone who can’t buy their way out of it. And here we are, selling only the best … ’

Miss Garner cleared her throat. Mr Marlow wasn’t usually given to sudden enquiries about random members of staff, nor to such outpourings – and certainly not this kind of sentiment. It had been a long day, clearly.

‘It’s got very warm in here,’ she said. ‘Might I suggest you open the window? And I’ll ask the restaurant to send you in a tray of tea.’

‘Lay the table will you, love?’

Her mother’s voice carried over the clattering coming from the scullery.

Lily went to the sideboard for the knives with the yellowed bone handles and the tarnished forks and started doling them out on the cloth.

After the elation of getting the job, it had all been a bit of a comedown. Her mum had been pleased, of course, and Lily could see the relief on her face. But on hearing of the uniform requirements, she’d jumped up, gone upstairs and come back down with a hideous dress in navy gabardine.

‘Cousin Ida’s,’ she announced. ‘I knew it’d come in useful!’

Cousin Ida. Her mother’s cousin – a shrivelled spinster who worked as an assistant in a chemist’s so old-fashioned they practically had leeches in jars. Hardly a fashion plate at the best of times, this particular dress was at least ten years out of date, Lily could tell from its straight up-and-down shape. It was already seated in the behind and sagging at the hem, but Dora Collins loved nothing like a challenge. Lily had had to stand while her mother forced her to put it on – smelling of camphor and itchy in the afternoon heat – and primped about with a pincushion, tucking and pinching, prodding and poking, telling Lily to stand up straight, before proclaiming that with a few darts, a nice Peter Pan collar, and cuffs if they could run to them, it would do fine. A Peter Pan collar! Cuffs! As if they’d make it look any better!

Out came the cruet, the mismatched plates … What was the point, thought Lily, of getting a decent job if she was going to look such a frump? She might as well have been stuck slaving over a mangle at the laundry.

Sid came downstairs, spruced up after his stint in the garden. Dora had fretted that he’d overdone it, standing all that time on his injured foot, but she and Lily knew sitting about wasn’t his style – he wanted to be up and doing. He’d got to report to the local medical officer weekly, but the doctor had advised against going back to training too early. ‘You’ll only set yourself back’ had been his advice, so it looked as though they’d have him around for a while yet. Lily was glad. She loved her mum dearly, but Dora had always been so occupied with making ends meet and keeping them fed, clothed and shod – even more so nowadays – that there wasn’t much time or maybe energy left over for the smiles and cuddles which Lily had craved since she was a little girl. That was another reason she was happy to have Sid around. He was always ready with a joke and a hug.

On trailing feet Lily carried through the breadboard and breadknife with the inevitable loaf – they seemed to live on it – the pot of dripping, the dish shaped like a lettuce leaf with, yes, lettuce on it. A few tomatoes, a dish of radishes, half a pot of green tomato chutney. Was that it? Hardly a celebration tea. She’d hoped her mum might have conjured something tasty from somewhere – potted meat? Pilchards? Or at least fried up a few potatoes – Sid had dug some up, she’d seen – but it looked as though this was going to be their lot.

Sid carried the tea things through one at a time – he used a stick inside the house – and dispensed pot, milk jug and cups and saucers. Maybe that was the celebration, no milk bottle on the table. Lily thought he was limping more than he had been at the start of the afternoon and gestured to him to sit down, bringing him the rush-topped stool.

‘I could get used to this!’ he smiled as she stuck a cushion under his foot.

‘Well, don’t!’ she retorted. ‘Who’s going to look after you in the Navy? One of the Wrens? You hope!’

Sid winked.

‘Wouldn’t say no.’

Lily was pouring tea when her mother finally appeared, so she didn’t notice the serving dish till it went down in front of her. She lowered the pot in wonderment.

‘Oh, Mum!’

There, in all their jelly goodness, were three fat slices of pink, speckled brawn. Lily bent and sniffed the plate. It smelt heavenly.

‘Meat? On a Monday tea? Where did it – how did you …?’

Her mother sat down in her place with that little ‘Oof’ which she so often gave these days when taking the weight off her feet.

‘Never you mind,’ she said. ‘I wanted us to have something special. To celebrate.’

‘But – how could you be sure I’d get the job?’

Lily sat down too, almost in slow motion, still transfixed by the sight and smells in front of her. Sid was watching it all with amusement. Dora served a slice of brawn on to each of their plates.

‘I never had a minute’s doubt! I knew you’d impress them. If you ask me, they’re lucky to have you!’

Lily bit her lip. It was one of the nicest things her mother had ever said.

Her mother put her hand over hers.

‘You’ve done very well, love – and thank you.’

‘You’re thanking me? Why?’

‘Oh, Lily,’ said Dora. ‘You know and I know you should have stayed on at school. And you know as well as I do that you could have gone to the grammar school back along if things had been different.’

Lily knew. But she hadn’t even taken the exam, because she also knew her mother could never have afforded the uniform.

‘You’ve had to give up so many opportunities already,’ Dora went on. ‘I hope this job’ll be the start of something good for you. And it could be, you know, if you work hard.’

‘I know, Mum. And I will. I’ll do my very best to make them like me and keep me on.’

‘Course they will,’ Sid assured them. ‘Give her a few years, she’ll be running the place, won’t you, chick?’

Her mother squeezed Lily’s hand and they both had to squeeze back tears.

‘Oh, blimey,’ said Sid, offering his handkerchief to each in turn. ‘Women! Give over, will you? There’s a slice of brawn with my name on it in front of me! Can we get stuck in?’

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