The Buffer Girls (20 page)

‘I told you not to go with our Mick and his mates, Josh,’ Lizzie said, putting her arm through his. ‘They’re trouble.
You’d do best to keep away from him –
and them.’

But Josh wasn’t listening to Lizzie. ‘I’ve lost all me money, Em. I’ve nothing to give Mam this week. She’ll go berserk.’

‘Spent it, more like. Playing the big man in the pub, were you? Buying drinks all round?’

Josh shook his head, like a dog emerging from a river. ‘I – I can’t remember what happened, Em. I’m so sorry.’

‘I’ll
talk to our Mick. He’ll leave you alone, if I ask him.’

‘Oh, don’t do that, Lizzie. I wouldn’t want him to think I’m stuck up. He’s got a grand bunch of mates.’

Lizzie glanced at him sideways. ‘You think so,’ she murmured. ‘Oh well, if that’s what you want.’

Somehow, Josh got through his Saturday-morning’s work, but when one o’clock came, he was only too pleased to lay down his tools.

‘Don’t come into work like that again, lad,’ Mr Crossland said as Josh clocked out, ‘else I’ll have to sack you. Unemployment’s rocketing in this city –
all over the country, if truth be known – so there’re plenty willing to step into your shoes and some of ’em, I might add, are a lot more skilled than you. So think on.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Crossland, it won’t happen again, I promise.’

‘Keep your drinking till Saturday night, lad, and if you’ll take a tip from me, you’ll steer clear of ’Dugdale gang. They’re trouble.’

Josh stared at him. ‘What – what do you mean? A gang?’

‘Haven’t you heard about the gangs we’ve got in Sheffield?’

Bemused, Josh shook his head.

‘While the war were on,’ Eddie Crossland explained, ‘things were OK. A lot of the menfolk were in the
services, of course, and, for those that were left, there was plenty of
work in munitions and suchlike. But because they had plenty of money to throw around, gambling became rife in the city. So gangs formed to run all sorts of scams. Bare-knuckle boxing, betting on
anything and everything – which is illegal anywhere but on a racecourse. You name it, someone would start a book on it. And they’d
operate outside factory gates with runners inside
collecting bets for them. But their favourite was pitch and toss, where they have three or five coins, toss ’em in the air and bet on what number of heads or tails comes down. They’d go
up to Sky Edge – a patch of wasteland high above the city – where they could post lookouts. You’d get hundreds of fellers up there some nights. But after the
war ended, the men
came home and – those that did –’ he paused a moment, as if paying silent tribute to all those who had not returned – ‘couldn’t find work. We were promised a
land fit for heroes. Pah!’ He made an explosive noise of bitterness. ‘And, of course, with production for the war effort gone, there wasn’t so much money around to spend on
gambling, and so the gangs’ income was drastically
reduced, an’ all. So, now they’ve turned to other forms of crime. They wait outside the factories on payday and just rob folks
of their wages. They go into pubs and threaten the landlords. There’s many a pub landlord lost all his profits in one night just because Mick Dugdale or Steve Henderson – they’re
the main two gang leaders in the city – paid them a visit and demanded free drinks
and cigarettes. An’ woe betides anyone if they flashed their money about in a pub. They’d find
themselves beaten up in a dark alley and their wallet gone. And then there’s the extortion racket—’

‘Oh stop, stop.’ Josh put his head in his hands. The previous night he’d got involved in a game of cards in the pub with Mick and his mates. He hadn’t known how to play
the game and that was how
he’d lost his money. Emily had been right about one thing – he had been over-generous buying drinks – but the rest of his pay had been lost in gambling.
Something that, according to Eddie Crossland, was illegal.

As he walked home, there was only one thing on his mind. However was he going to extricate himself from a growing friendship – if you could call it that – with Mick Dugdale? Oh,
Mick’d seen him coming all right. I’ve been a fool. And this is one thing I daren’t even confide in Emily about; she mustn’t find out, Josh thought, she’d half kill
me. Sometimes, his sister could be as fearsome as their mother. If only Mam had never brought us here, he moaned inwardly, I’d be safely back with Amy now and planning our wedding. At the
thought of the pretty girl back in Ashford,
his heart turned over.

Oh Amy, Amy why haven’t you written? If only you’d answered my letters, none of this would have happened.

‘That’s it, lass, push. Now pant, now push again, just a little one. That’s it. Good lass. You’re doing so well,’ Grace Partridge encouraged Amy.
The girl lay in the front bedroom of the smithy, her face red and sweating from the efforts of giving birth. Her
father had insisted she should have his bedroom. ‘You were born in that room.
Your mam would have wanted our grandchild to be born there too, God rest her soul.’

And now the time was here and Grace was at Amy’s side, helping and encouraging her, and Mary Needham was there too, whilst Bob paced the room downstairs, like any expectant father, even
though he was only the grandfather.

‘It’s coming too early,’ Bob fretted. ‘It’s only the beginning of March and Amy thought it wasn’t due until April.’ He couldn’t settle to his
work; he needed to be close to Amy. ‘He should be here. Josh should be here.’ But there was nothing he could do about it; Amy had made her father promise faithfully that he would not
contact Josh and, whilst he believed that she was wrong, he would not break
his solemn promise to her.

From time to time, he glanced up at the ceiling, wondering what was happening up there. It was quiet; too quiet, he thought, as he remembered shuddering at the sound of Sarah’s cries as
she had brought Amy into the world. There were footsteps on the stairs and Bob braced himself and held his breath. Grace opened the door and appeared around it, beaming from ear
to ear and carrying
a white bundle in her arms.

‘It’s a boy, Bob. A strong, healthy boy and he’ll do well, being a spring baby.’

‘Amy,’ Bob dared not look inside the shawl until he knew. ‘Is she – all right?’

‘As ninepence, Bob. Tired, of course, but very happy. Mary’s just seeing to her.’

‘But – but I didn’t hear anything.’

Grace chuckled. ‘It was a surprisingly easy birth,
considering that Amy is such a little thing, and she was so brave; determined not to cry out and alarm you. Come on, now, Bob.
Amy’s fine and this is your grandson. You nurse him whilst I go back and help Mary.’

‘Is he . . . all right, Grace? I mean, he’s premature, isn’t he?’

Grace shook her head. ‘No, he’s full-term and a good weight, seven pounds two ounces. Amy must have got her
dates wrong, love.’

With the baby, still needing to be washed, in his arms, Bob sat in his rocking chair and allowed a few tears to fall. How his beloved Sarah would have cherished this moment, even though the boy
had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, as one said; Sarah would have welcomed the infant and loved him. And Bob vowed to do the same.

‘You’re a fool, Josh Ryan. “A
fool and his money are soon parted.” Haven’t you heard that saying? And you’ve been parted from yours even
before you got home.’ Martha was in full flow. ‘Now what are we supposed to do? Live on fresh air for a week?’

She was still ranting at him, whilst Josh stood meekly before her, his head bent, his shoulders slumped. There was no use in trying to make excuses; there were none. He should
have stayed well
clear of Mick and his friends. They were trouble. Emily had tried to warn him and, in all fairness, so had Mick’s own sister. Now he had let his family down and come close to losing yet
another job. He shuddered as he thought what else he might get dragged into if he spent too much time in Mick’s company.

‘Mam, he only had a night out. He—’ Emily began. Though she was
angry with Josh herself, she could see that Martha’s tirade was upsetting Walter.

Martha whirled round. ‘And you can keep out of this, miss, if you know what’s good for you.’

The sound of knocking on their door was the only thing to interrupt Martha’s ravings. ‘See who that is, and if it’s the rent man, I’ve no money this week.’ She
glared at her son as he turned away to open the door
to Mick Ryan.

‘Look, mate, I’m right sorry about what happened last night. Me mam’s sent an apple pie and –’ Mick fished in his pocket and pulled out a pound note –
‘we’re neighbours and I don’t take from neighbours.’

But Josh put up his hand, palm outwards. ‘No, no, Mick. It was my fault. I got carried away with the excitement of it all. I should never—’

Martha stepped forward and,
in one swift movement, pushed Josh aside and tweaked the money out of Mick’s fingers. ‘Thank you, Mick. I’ll not say no, seeing as you’re the
one who led my fool of a son into the wrong company. But he won’t be coming out with you again, that’s for sure.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Ryan.’ Mick sounded contrite but Emily, watching from the background, saw the look in his eyes and the smirk on his mouth.
Mick Dugdale was enjoying this, she
thought, even when he added, ‘You let me know if you need anything else, Mrs Ryan.’

Mollified by what she took to be the young man’s genuine apology, Martha said, ‘We’ll be all right now. Thank you for your generosity and your honesty.’

As the door closed on their visitor, Emily sighed. If there was anyone in this courtyard who was honest, then it
wasn’t Mick Dugdale, but she said nothing. She was thankful that the matter
had been settled – for the moment.

But Martha had one last parting shot at her son that disturbed Emily even more. ‘You’d do better to keep company with his sister.’

As 1921 wore on, it became apparent that the aftermath of the war was having a serious effect on the economic state of the country. The post-war boom didn’t last long and
the women who’d undertaken men’s jobs during the conflict had – reluctantly, in many cases – returned to being housewives. Their jobs were now needed by those who had come
back from the trenches still able
to work; sadly, the streets were full of wounded men. But there were still not enough jobs and the unemployment figure throughout the nation rose sharply, causing
hardship and real destitution. And for the wounded, there were even fewer prospects.

‘Emily, stay behind, will you?’ Ruth Nicholson said one hot August day as the girls stopped their machines when the hooter sounded. The missus
turned away but not before Emily had
seen the anxious look on the woman’s face.

When the other girls had left, Ruth said, ‘I’ve either got to reduce the piece-work rates or lay girls off. It’s not fair to reduce wages, so, I’m right sorry, Emily, but
I’ve to lay off three of you and you’ll have to be one of them. We work on a “last in, first out” policy here.’

There was nothing Emily
could say. She understood the fairness of the system and she was the most recent buffer girl. And there were to be two others too. ‘Who else is going?’

‘Lizzie and – and Nell.’

Emily’s eyes widened. ‘Nell? But she’s your best worker.’

‘I know, but she’s only been here two years and only you and Lizzie have been set on since her.’ Ruth sighed heavily. ‘There’s nothing I can do. She’s
got to
go an’ all. It’s the rule we have to abide by, though I’m loath to let any of you go.’

Emily turned away, sick at heart.

‘Mam, I’ve got some bad news,’ she said as soon as she arrived home. There was no point in prolonging the moment. ‘I’m to be laid off. Mrs Nicholson’s laying
three of us off. Lizzie’s got to go, too.’

Martha straightened up from where she was bending over
a pan of stew. ‘Why?’

‘They haven’t got enough work to keep us all on.’

Martha was thoughtful for a moment. ‘What about Josh? Is his job safe?’

Emily stared at her. Not a word of sympathy or comfort for her, just Martha’s concern about her precious son. Emily swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips and said tightly, ‘As
far as I know, it’s just the buffer girls they’re laying
off at the moment.’

‘Aye, well, they’ll want to keep men on, I expect. Men who’ve got a family to keep.’

I’ve got to help keep a family too, Emily wanted to shout, but she bit her lip and said nothing. Her glance went beyond her mother to where Walter was sitting in his chair. He was looking
straight at her, his mouth moving, but no words were coming out. But his eyes told her what he
wanted to say: Don’t worry, love. It’s not your fault. She smiled and nodded at him, her
love for him overflowing. Silently she promised him that she would tramp the streets looking for work if it meant he would be kept warm and fed.

Martha dished out the inevitable stew and potatoes. ‘Here, sit down and get your tea and then you’d best get out there looking for another job,’ was all she
said.

The following morning, Lizzie drew both Nell and Emily to one side. ‘You’ve heard, then? The three of us are to go.’

Nell nodded, her eyes dark with anxiety. ‘What are we going to do? I’ve me mam and— I’ve me widowed mother to keep. I can’t afford to be without a job.’

‘I’ve had a word with our Mick,’ Lizzie said. She seemed to be the only one of them who didn’t seem half out
of her mind with worry. ‘And he reckons we should set
ourselves up as little missuses.’

Emily blinked and glanced from one to the other. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Our own buffing workshop taking in work from the little mesters or from the bigger factories,’ Nell explained. ‘But I couldn’t run a business, Lizzie. I can work and
work hard, but I was never much good at school, at the book
learning, you know.’ She lowered her voice as she turned to Emily. ‘To tell you the truth – Lizzie knows, but please
don’t tell the others – I can’t read or write very well.’

Emily smiled gently, trying to think what to say, but Lizzie saved her the embarrassment.

‘Emily and her brother ran a little business together before they came to Sheffield. Making candles.’

Nell stared at
Emily, wide-eyed. ‘You did?’