Joanne felt a comforting glimmer of determination and fresh hope.
It was a Friday afternoon when Evie and several of her women colleagues were instructed to visit the boss in his office. She happily went arm in arm with two of her friends, Enid Wilson and Lizzie Parkin. ‘We may be granted a rise in pay now the war is over,’ she said.
Enid gave a grin. ‘Let’s hope so. We definitely deserve that after all the work we’ve done.’
‘And Mr Eccles is generally a pleasant man, though a bit depressed having lost his brother and son,’ Lizzie whispered.
Seated at his desk, Mr Eccles failed to meet their happy smiles by keeping his gaze fixed upon his clasped hands. ‘I do thank all you ladies for the excellent work you’ve done throughout the war. I must now release you from these labours in order to give preference to our returning soldiers. Your task is over so you are free to retire, being no longer required to do your bit.’
Panic reverberated through Evie. Blast and damn this mill owner, such a goddam-son-of-a-bitch. He probably cared more about men than women now the war was truly over. Her friends stood frozen in silence, no doubt aware they had no right to object to these soldiers being sorely in need of a job. But they too badly required an income, as did she. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Why would they sack her, considering the problems she was facing? Evie suspected that when Donald arrived home he would not be fit enough to work and she would still have three children to protect and care for, or so she hoped. How on earth would she manage that without an income coming in? ‘You surely can’t be serious,’ she sternly remarked.
Finally meeting her furious gaze with a sympathetic smile, he said, ‘This war is over, so you dear ladies must now concentrate upon your domestic duties. The textile industry is not doing particularly well at the moment but soldiers, sailors and airmen on their way home will obviously require their old jobs back. You can work to the end of this month then must collect your final wages and card when you depart. I can but apologize for reality.’ He then ordered them to return to their looms.
As they all walked unsteadily out of the office, Evie heard some of the women start to grumble to each other, some weeping, others looking shocked and dismayed. They did very little in the way of weaving for the rest of that day, as they kept sharing the worry of where else they might find employment. According to the general conservation buzzing around throughout the day, it was clear that other factories had also laid off women workers, so new jobs would not be easy to find considering the high number of unemployed and the return of so many men from the war.
When their shift ended and Evie walked home with her two friends, Enid said, ‘How on earth can I continue to pay the rent without a wage coming in?’
Evie informed them that her niece too had lost her job at the tyre factory. ‘She’s sought jobs at various shops, warehouses and factories, explaining her skills and experience as a result of the war, but so far has received no offer anywhere. I can but hope that if we look hard enough we will succeed, bearing in mind we too have considerable experience after all these years of hard work we’ve done.’
‘I do hope so,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘I’ve lost my husband but not my childer, so need to keep earning a living.’
‘Me too,’ Evie said. ‘Although my husband will be home soon, he won’t be at all well.’
‘We should have seen this coming as many of those brave soldiers do deserve their jobs back,’ Enid muttered. ‘I’d never got around to thinking how that might affect us. Nor did I expect it to happen so quickly.’
Listening to her two friends, Evie felt a sickness soak within her, not convinced she would succeed in finding employment. She felt entirely numb and stormed back to her one-bedroomed flat in a fine old temper. She slammed the door closed, flung her coat on the floor in a veritable rage. Clenching her fists, she drummed them against the kitchen wall, feeling absolute despair. One minute she’d been celebrating the end of this war, now she felt apprehension ricocheting through her at the prospect of a woeful future.
Over the next few days, whenever Evie’s shift was over she went in search of employment, initially striving to find work in another factory, warehouse or mill, which she would prefer. No one was interested in taking her on, being a mere woman, even though Evie had worked hard all her life in various cotton mills. She’d always started at seven each morning, involved with Egyptian cotton and testing it with her thumb. Some of it was often a bit rough and invested with fleas. After being spun and woven they’d be washed out in the bleaching process. Now the textile industry was in a slump. Knitting, sewing and lacemaking were also hobbies she enjoyed doing, having been taught by her mother when she was a young girl. It crossed Evie’s mind that working for herself might prove to be less of a hassle. But would it earn her sufficient money? Probably not. With a sigh, she went on to search for alternative jobs in shops and department stores, including Kendal Milne, Lipton’s and Maypole grocers, as had Cathie and Brenda. She failed to receive an offer from any of them. Even young men returning from the war were struggling to find employment, the state of the country not being in a good condition. Post-war life seemed to be falling apart.
As well as searching for a job, she was also desperately in need of a home suitable for her family. Not that finding a property here in war-torn Manchester would be easy either. An absolute nightmare. As a consequence of the 1940 Christmas Blitz and enemy bombers coming night after night, Hardman Street, Lower Byrom Street, a part of Duke Street, Piccadilly and many others had been attacked and were now pretty derelict, houses burned out by incendiary bombs. There was little sign of much in the way of repairs being done yet, let alone any new builds.
It came to Evie one day that the solution could be to ask the tackler in charge of the looms in her part of the mill if he could help to get her old job back. Harold Mullins was not an easy man but would surely understand the difficulties she was facing. Tragically his wife Jane, once a friend of hers, had been killed early in the war, no doubt as a result of the bombing. His son Willie had been evacuated with Danny, since they’d both attended the same school when they were young. Surely Harold Mullins was a great believer in the cotton industry, as was she, despite the hard times they were facing? Calling to see him back at the mill, Evie asked if they could have a word. ‘I’m sorely in a quandary over how to resolve my problem of finding a new job, so wondered if you could help me get this one back or offer me some advice.’
Giving her a blink of interest, he agreed. ‘Aye, we could ’appen meet up at the Dog and Duck at seven this evening. I’m not against that.’
This was not at all what she’d expected, assuming they could just talk here at the mill, but it didn’t seem appropriate to refuse to meet him there.
Evie arrived early and, sitting in this public house near Potato Wharf, ordered herself a glass of shandy, all too aware of the disapproving glances from the men standing at the bar. Women were not supposed to attend pubs on their own so would Mullins, the gaffer, actually arrive and be willing to help her? He hadn’t sounded too convincing but then he never did, always a man more obsessed with himself. Gazing out of the window, she saw a bustle of people hurrying along the street, rain splashing over their unwary legs, car horns hooting at them if they attempted to rush across the road. The weather seemed to suit the bad news she’d received in losing her job and the brickwork looked battered and black with smoke, as a result of the dreadful bombing that Manchester had suffered over these last six years.
She recalled how much lovelier the Dog and Duck had been when she was a young girl and used to come here with Donald. Being her boyfriend, they’d sit, cuddled together, to enjoy a drink or a little snack. In those days she’d had clear
