The Pearl Locket (7 page)

‘We’re hardly schoolgirls. Mags has been working for two years now. Even I’ve left school. Besides we work really hard at the WVS. You ask Mrs Atkins. She’ll tell you.’ Joan rubbed at a plate and stacked it with the others in a cupboard.

‘You’ve left school, but you’re not yet earning. That makes you no better than a schoolgirl, in my opinion.’

It was just like Elizabeth to try to put her down. Joan pouted. ‘It’s not my fault I haven’t got a job. I wanted to go and be a land girl last harvest time but Father wouldn’t let me. Even now he won’t let me go out to look for work. He says I’m too young.’

‘You should have stayed at school as he wanted, and learned to type.’ Elizabeth sniffed as she placed a teacup on the draining board. ‘Then you might have got a proper job.’

‘Who wants a proper job?’ said Father. ‘I’m in need of my second cup of tea. Is there any more in the pot?’

‘Sorry, Father, no. I emptied it, just now.’ How was Joan to know he hadn’t had his second cup? He usually poured it before leaving the breakfast table at the weekend, and took it through to his study to drink while he read the paper.

‘You threw it away? Aren’t you aware there’s a war on, and tea is rationed along with everything else, girl?’

‘Yes, Father; sorry, Father. I thought you’d already—’

‘Well, I hadn’t, and you didn’t think to come and check. Now what about answering my question? Who’s wanting a proper job? Elizabeth my dear, I assume it isn’t you, for you already hold a splendid position at the bank.’

‘No, Father,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘We were talking about Joan and that time she said it was her dream to join the land army.’

Father glared at Joan. ‘No daughter of mine is going to work in the fields. There are far better jobs to be had than that. Besides, dreaming is a waste of time, as I’ve told you before.’

Joan tried to stop herself from answering back but it was no good. She’d always been the defiant one, and it had always got her into trouble, but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself. ‘But Father, what job could be more important than raising crops and gathering in the harvest? England has to feed herself. The men are all at war so the women and girls must step in to help on the land.’

‘Let the
working
class
girls work on the land. You are not of that class, and I won’t have you doing that sort of work. Look at Elizabeth—she does a useful job at the bank, which is befitting of a girl of her station. Elizabeth, ask at the bank if they can find a position for your sister. Not as a counter clerk—I won’t have her dealing with the public. But perhaps there’s something she could do in the back offices.’

‘I will. I’ll ask on Monday.’

‘Thank you. I suppose I shall have to do without that second cup of tea.’ Father dropped his cup in the washing-up water and left the room.

Joan carried on drying up in silence. She could think of nothing more dull than working in a stuffy bank, with stuck-up Betty breathing down her neck. Well, maybe something else would come up. But it would be nice to have a proper full-time job, rather than just staying at home to help Mother with the housework. And if she was earning money, she’d be able to go to more dances, like the one last week. She had put the incident with Freddie out of her mind. She would never let herself get into that situation again. The rest of the evening had been fun. For a moment she found herself wondering what that boy, Jack, who’d walked her home, was doing now.

Half an hour later Joan and Mags arrived at the church hall, which was currently home to the WVS. Mags was put to work in the kitchen making huge pots of soup to sustain the air-raid wardens who would be on shift that evening and Joan was asked to sort some bags of donated children’s clothes. She followed the ample girth of Mrs Atkins through to a small room off the main hall, where several piles of clothes stood waiting.

‘Sort them by age and sex,’ said Mrs Atkins. ‘Then we can send them out to the county villages that took in evacuees. They’ll be needing more warm items now the weather’s turned so cold.’ She turned to go. ‘Oh, and anything that’s dirty, put it in a pile over there and I’ll take it home to wash before we send it away.’

‘All right. Thanks, Mrs Atkins. I’ll get this done quickly.’ Joan spread out the first pile on a trestle table and began sorting through. It was easy work, though she hadn’t much idea of children’s sizes or what clothes would fit each age group. She wondered about the evacuee children. There were none in the town itself but the outlying farms and villages, away from the danger of bombs, had all taken some children who’d been sent down from London. It must be awful to be sent away from your family like that, especially for the little ones. Although she had to admit, she wouldn’t have much minded being sent away from her father. He was just so bossy and controlling. It was all right for Betty, his favourite, but life with him was hard for herself and Mags. He never let her do anything or go anywhere.

She was holding up a girl’s smock and deciding whether to put it in the five-to-six pile or the seven-to-eight pile, when she heard Mrs Atkins’s strident tones in the main hall.

‘Miss Perkins is busy at the moment. I’m afraid she can’t come out right now. Besides, you haven’t even given your name. I’m hardly going to let her come out to meet a young man who won’t even give his name.’

Joan strained her ears to hear more. Which Miss Perkins did the young man want? Her or Mags?

‘I’m so sorry, ma’am. My name is Jack McBride. I met Miss Perkins last week and I just wanted to see her again to check she was all right. She’d had an upset, you see. I remember she told me she was going to begin working here, so I was hoping…’ Joan suppressed a gasp. He’d come looking for her! She put down the child’s dress, dusted off her skirt and patted her hair.

‘That’s better, young man. A little politeness will get you far. Joan, dear? Could you come through?’ Mrs Atkins pushed the door open and nodded to Joan. ‘There’s a young man here to see you. You may have a five-minute break.’

Joan thanked Mrs Atkins and hoped she didn’t notice the blush she could feel rising up her neck. For that matter she hoped Jack couldn’t see it either.

‘I didn’t dare call at your house,’ he said, as they crossed the large hall towards the entrance. ‘In fact I wasn’t sure which number it was, anyway.’ He held a battered tweed cap in his hands.

‘Father would have turned you away so it’s just as well.’ She smiled gently at him. He had a sweet, kind-looking face, now she saw him in daylight.

‘The truth is, I wanted to see you again, to ask you…well, to ask you whether perhaps you might like, well… What I mean to say is, I’d like to take you out for tea. Today, perhaps, when you finish here?’

Joan had nothing to fear from her own blushes compared to Jack’s. His face was cranberry red and his hands were shaking as they twisted his cap round and around. ‘Yes, Jack. I would like that very much. I finish today at four o’clock. Will you meet me outside?’

She smiled to see delight and relief wash over his face. ‘Four o’clock, yes. I’ll be waiting outside. Wonderful! Thank you, Joan.’ He grinned, and waved at her as he skipped down the steps and out of the hall. Joan went back to her task, passing Mrs Atkins who unexpectedly winked at her. She looked at her watch. Three hours to go until four o’clock.

She soon had all the children’s clothes sorted, re-bagged and labelled. Mrs Atkins came to check. ‘Excellent job, young Joan. Now then, we’ve got the playgroup to run this afternoon and I wondered if you wouldn’t mind helping with that until four o’clock.’

‘Of course, I’d love to,’ Joan said. She went into the main hall where the usual playgroup leaders were just getting ready for the children. There were boxes of donated toys to take out of cupboards, and chairs to arrange in a circle. The children were supposed to stay inside the circle. Joan had seen it in action before and had thought it looked like a fun job.

She had barely finished arranging the chairs when the first children arrived. A flustered-looking woman pushed a small boy and a smaller girl into the circle. ‘I need about forty minutes,’ she said to Joan. ‘Depending on whether I can get hold of any sugar. It’s her birthday tomorrow—’ she nodded at the little girl ‘—and I must make some sort of a cake. You’ll be all right now, children? This nice lady is going to play with you.’ With that the woman hurried out of the hall.

As soon as she’d gone the girl began crying. Her brother ignored her and sat down to play with a wooden train. Joan knelt beside the crying child.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Her name’s Patricia’ said the boy, not looking up from his game.

‘What a pretty name, Patricia! How about we dry those tears and see if we can find a dolly to dress?’ Joan pulled out her handkerchief and gently dabbed at the child’s face. To her surprise it worked; little Patricia’s sobs quickly subsided. She took her hand and led her over to a box she knew contained a couple of grubby old dolls. One was a rag doll, sewn into her dress, but the other had a removable outfit. Joan sat on the floor with Patricia and helped her undress and redress the doll.

‘You don’t need to actually
play
with them—just let them play on their own. You can sit up here and just watch.’ The woman running the playgroup was a thin-faced woman named Valerie whom Joan judged to be around thirty. She was sitting on one of the chairs in the circle, with a magazine in her hand.

‘It’s all right. I don’t mind,’ said Joan. She looked up and caught Mrs Atkins’s eye. The older women smiled and nodded encouragingly.

Three more mothers arrived with children. One child was crying, not wanting to be left, so Joan picked up the sniffling boy. ‘Mummy won’t be long, and while she’s away, you and I can play with a brum-brum car. How about that?’

‘Oh, I am grateful to you,’ said the boy’s mother. ‘You’ve no idea how useful it is to have somewhere to leave them for a little while. The queues can be so long and little ones just get fed up. It’s all very well if you’ve older children to stay at home with the little ones, but when you haven’t it’s a problem. You do seem to have a knack with them. Look, Georgie’s stopped crying already. I’ll be back in an hour. Bye-bye, Georgie! Mummy will see if there are any biscuits at the baker’s for you.’

Joan settled down to play cars with the boy. Patricia’s brother and another little lad joined in, and soon they’d made a garage from one of the boxes, and had an assortment of vehicles parked within it. Valerie peered over the top of her magazine and sniffed with disapproval from time to time.

Halfway through the afternoon it was time for the children to have a drink of squash each. Mrs Atkins brought out the tray and Joan helped each child to a drink.

‘You’re really rather good with the children,’ said Mrs Atkins. ‘And I’d better whisper it, you’re more natural with them than poor Valerie there. How do you like doing that job?’

‘I’m really enjoying myself, actually. Once they got over their mothers leaving they settled down quickly. I like playing with them. I’m sure I’ve a few old toys at home, and some colouring books I could bring in as well.’ Joan bent to take an empty beaker from Patricia and put it back on the tray.

‘Play with dolly?’ asked Patricia.

‘Yes, of course. You fetch dolly while I finish chatting with Mrs Atkins.’ The little girl ran off happily to find the doll.

‘Well, Joan, if you would like it, I think there’s a permanent job for you running the playgroup. I’d like to open it every weekday morning from ten till twelve, and again in the afternoons from two till four. Could you take it on, do you think?’ Mrs Atkins dropped her voice again. ‘There are other jobs that might be more suited to Valerie’s talents.’

‘Oh, I’d love to!’ Joan grinned at Mrs Atkins, delighted by the prospect.

‘Wonderful. So can you start from tomorrow?’

‘Of course. I’ll be here by half past nine to set things up. Now I must go and play with little Patricia, as I promised.’ She turned to the little girl who was tugging at her skirt. Mrs Atkins nodded and left her to it.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Joan wondered whether after the war was over, she might be able to get some kind of paid job looking after children. Perhaps she could even train as a primary school teacher? Would Father accept that as suitable employment for one of his daughters? Probably not, unless it was a private school for children from rich families. He wouldn’t want her mixing with children from the working classes, would he? She put the thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on the children and their games. One by one each child was collected and Joan was gratified to discover that some of them didn’t want to leave her. Mrs Atkins informed each mother of the new opening hours for the playgroup as they left, while Valerie scowled and packed up early.

Jack was waiting outside for her at four o’clock, as he had promised. She smiled shyly as she came down the entrance steps and took his arm.

‘Did you have a good afternoon?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes! I have a new job, running the playgroup. From tomorrow morning I’ll be in charge of it. I have all sorts of ideas—rather than just play with the same toys every time I think the children could draw, or make things, or play party games.’

He laughed. ‘That hardly sounds like work!’

‘I know; it’s fun. Some of the children need comforting when they arrive but it’s nice to give them cuddles as well.’

‘It sounds like the perfect job for you. Now then, I thought we’d pop into Lyons for a cup of tea and a slice of cake. My treat. How does that sound?’

‘Perfect! Today is getting better and better. I love cake. I like making them too. Mags says my lemon drizzle is the best she’s ever tasted.’ Joan smiled happily as they walked arm in arm to the Lyons corner house. Jack found a table by the window, and placed their order.

‘This is lovely,’ said Joan. ‘I used to come here with Mother and my sisters when we went out shopping, before the war.’

‘My aunt used to bring me, as a special treat, if it was my birthday or I’d had a good report from school.’

‘Your aunt?’

‘Yes, I live with her—in fact, she brought me up. My mother died when I was a baby, and my father went to America to seek his fortune. My mother’s sister took me in, as she had lost her husband in the Great War and had no children of her own.’