The Flyer (9 page)

‘A bit, sir, yes.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Nowhere presently, I’m afraid. I was lodging in Cumberland Road, but I ran out of money.’

‘Any experience in this sort of work?’ Wilkins asked.

‘I’m afraid not,’ William admitted his heart sinking.

Wilkins studied him doubtfully, and William waited for the usual dismissal, but for once it didn’t come straight away. Eventually Wilkins turned and beckoned for William to follow.

‘You can start tomorrow if you want,’ he said. ‘Your wages are ten shillings, but that’s just pocket money. You get your board and lodgings on top.’

William could hardly believe what he’d heard. Though ten shillings sounded a pitifully small amount, he was too tired and relieved to care. ‘Thank you,’ he said gratefully. ‘I won’t let you down, Mister Wilkins.’

‘I’ll give you the address of the place where you’ll be living. You can go there tonight if you want. The doors are opened at half past six. Ask for Taylor, ‘e’ll show you ‘round.’

Five minutes later William went outside again. The other men waiting had already been told the position was filled, and he was aware of the envious looks they gave him and the dull despair in their eyes. He couldn’t look at them. He could hardly believe that a few short minutes ago he had been like them and now, suddenly, by a stroke of good fortune, everything had changed.

CHAPTER 7

The first weeks at Ballantynes passed quickly. Besides William there were half a dozen people working in the stockroom in the charge of Mister Wilkins. They were responsible for taking delivery of goods and distributing them to the appropriate departments, and also for arranging delivery of items to customer’s homes. They were kept busy most of the time, but the work wasn’t particularly strenuous or difficult, and they kept the same hours as everybody else in the shop, which meant they started at half past eight in the morning and finished at half past six.

William’s mechanical knowledge stood him in good stead. The Hallford lorry, which was the pride of the shop’s manager and a symbol of the firm’s determination to keep abreast with the times, frequently broke down. Since nobody else knew anything about mechanics it became William’s unofficial responsibility to maintain the lorry and keep it on the road. He didn’t mind because he found it interesting, and during his first week he subscribed to an automotive magazine so that he could learn more. A month later, an opportunity arose to improve his knowledge further when the manager of the shop bought a new Sunbeam and asked if William would look after it for him. William accepted gladly, and afterwards the manager would occasionally ask him some question or other and they would end up discussing the latest developments in the automotive industry, their relative positions in the shop briefly forgotten.

The other advantage of looking after the lorry was that it got William away from the shop. After his initial relief at having found a position that also gave him a place to live, he found that his life was almost completely given over to Ballantynes. The firm owned several houses where many of its employees lived. William shared a room with four other men, and one of the first things he had to do was learn the rules that governed the arrangement. He discovered that there were set times when they were allowed to come and go, and everything had to be done in the manner laid down. Beds had to be made in a certain fashion, possessions kept tidily and to a minimum, and if any rule was infringed there was a fine. Their meals were taken at work, half an hour for dinner at midday, which would be a hot meal, and another half an hour for tea which might be bread and butter and jam, while they had to provide breakfast at their own expense.

Employees also had to provide for themselves the clothes they wore to work, though Ballantynes had strict rules governing those as well. William discovered that many people spent almost all of their meagre wages on either the food they bought to supplement the basic fare they were given, or on items of clothing. Since the slightest infraction of the many rules they lived under earned a fine, some people ended up paying over as much as half of what they earned back to the firm. The whole system seemed designed to ensure that their lives were not their own.

Every second Wednesday evening, a staff social was held in the basement restaurant where they ate their meals. It was an opportunity for everybody to gather together informally; the shop girls and departmental buyers and assistants, the people who worked in the offices on the top floor, the floorwalkers, the people who did the window displays and also the stockboys. At all other times, especially during the working day, a definite hierarchy operated. The buyers considered themselves above everybody else, as did their assistants, and the office people thought the same of everyone except the buyers. William observed that even the shopgirls differentiated themselves from one another according to the department they worked for. Those in Ladies Fashions imagined themselves at the pinnacle of all the salespeople, while for some reason that William couldn’t fathom, anyone who worked on the housewares counter was at the very bottom. Beneath them all, the lowliest of the low, languished the stockboys as they were universally called, even though Frank, who drove the lorry, was in his fifties.

It was Taylor, the young man who’d helped William get his job, who introduced him to his first social. The tables had been put aside and everyone was dressed in their best. The men wore lounge suits, and the women and girls wore elaborate dresses. Since nobody really spoke to the stockboys, even on these occasions, Taylor kept up a running commentary in a low voice, so that William would know who was who.

The evening began with people volunteering some sort of entertainment. A young woman played a popular tune badly on the piano, and when she finished turned to the applauding crowd and inclined her head graciously, as if their acclaim was her rightful due and they were at the Albert Hall.

‘That’s Miss Worth from Perfumery,’ Taylor said. ‘If you take a delivery to ‘er department she won’t speak to you directly, but tells ‘er girls anything she wants to say instead, even if you’re standin’ right in front of ‘er.’

A man in his late thirties with a thin and serious face stood up next to recite a poem.

‘Mister Cook from Gentleman’s Hosiery,’ Taylor said. ‘Does the same thing every time.’

The poem was Tennyson’s
The Charge of the Light Brigade
, and was rendered with much gesticulation and overly dramatic emphasis. Mister Cook’s voice swelled and thundered to give the impression of galloping horses and booming canons, but was so overdone and with such seriousness that William wasn’t sure if it was meant to be parody.

Canon to right of them,
 

Canon to left of them,
 

Canon in front of them
 

Volley’d and thunder’d:
 

Storm’d at with shot and shell,
 

Boldly they rode and well,
 

Into the jaws of Death,
 

Into the mouth of Hell
 

Rode the six hundred.
 

At the end, the man was red-faced from the effort and the emotion of it all. He looked down at the floor and absorbed the rapturous cheers and applause, mainly from the young men in his department.

A very large woman, who wore lace gloves and too much glittering jewellery, sang excruciatingly out of tune. Another man did a tap dance. Mrs Ferris did palm reading with much oohing and aahing and melodramatic pronouncements of tall dark strangers, unexpected surprises, long trips abroad and other banalities, though she herself had a different perception.

‘It’s a curse, you know, the gift. Sometimes I see such terrible things, I do.’

Afterwards there were sandwiches and coffee and tea. Alcohol wasn’t allowed. Then the tables were arranged for progressive whist.

‘That’s Ruth Hodges, there,’ Taylor said about a blonde girl of about eighteen. ‘And that’s Catherine with her. They’re on Haberdashery.’

Catherine was small and dark, but had a haughty look about her. Taylor took William over to introduce him and started talking to Catherine. He asked if she was enjoying herself.

‘I daresay it’s alright,’ she answered barely looking at him.

Taylor looked at her desperately, trying to think of something to say. ‘I like that frock you’re wearin’. It really suits you.’

‘Thanks,’ she said coolly.

‘If you wanted, I could take you to a place I know one evenin’,’ he suggested suddenly. ‘We could ‘ave a drink and a bit of a laugh.’

She looked at him in astonishment, then turned to Ruth. ‘I think I’ll join in the whist. Are you going to come?’

‘In a minute I will,’ Ruth said, at which Catherine threw a withering look at William and walked off, completely ignoring Taylor, who stared disconsolately after her and then wandered off to talk to Sayers, who was one of the others who shared their room.

‘Catherine can be a bit stand-offish sometimes,’ Ruth said to William. ‘You mustn’t take too much notice of her. She don’t really mean anything by it. Is this your first time to a social then, William?’

‘Yes, it is,’ he said.

‘They’re quite good fun really if you haven’t got anything else to do. I don’t usually come myself, of course,’ she added unless he should think the caveat applied to herself. ‘Who did you like the best anyway?’

‘I thought the lady who played the piano was very good,’ William said to be polite.

‘Miss Worth? Oh yes, she’s lovely, and ever so talented.’

They talked for a little while longer and then the tables were cleared away again and Miss Worth returned to the piano. She began to play a waltz, and very soon there were couples dancing. Ruth and William looked on, and he felt she was waiting for him to ask her to dance. When the second tune began he asked her.

‘I’d love to,’ she said.

It was hot in the room. Ruth danced well, much better than he did, William thought. He apologised, and explained he’d only danced with the boys at his school before, when they were made to.

She giggled. ‘What sort of school was that then?’

‘A boy’s school at Oundle.’

‘Was it very posh then?’

‘Why do you ask that?’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘Well, nobody else I know talks like you do. And I bet that suit you’re wearing didn’t come off the rack either did it? I saw Mister Porter looking at you before. He was quite jealous, I could tell.’

‘I suppose it is a good school,’ William admitted.

‘So what are you doing working here then?’

‘I didn’t have a choice. I haven’t got any money.’

‘Oh well, it doesn’t matter does it. I expect you’ll do very well here. Somebody told me you’re already in well with Mister Dodd, and I never heard of him taking notice of a stockboy before.’

‘I only look after his motor,’ William said.

‘Perhaps you do now, but it’s bound to lead to other things, you mark my words.’

A few weeks after the social, William asked Ruth if she’d like to go to for a walk with him one Sunday, and perhaps have tea later. She agreed and they spent most of the day together. Though they didn’t really have a great deal in common, William enjoyed the time he spent with Ruth. He hadn’t realised until then how lonely he had become. He liked her and she seemed to like him too, and it became a regular thing for them to spend Sundays together. They often went to the park or took a tram out to the edge of town and walked along by the river. Sometimes William read to her from The Odyssey, and though he didn’t think she was really interested she didn’t say so. When Mister Wilkins gave him the job of helping with the stock ledger, Ruth surprised him by throwing her arms around him and kissing him.

‘We should have a celebration,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we have a meal somewhere?’

He agreed, even though he was trying hard to save his money. Ruth teased him because he was careful never to get fined for even the smallest thing and because he was so frugal.

‘I have to be if I don’t want to end up working in the stockroom for the rest of my life,’ he told her.

‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ she laughed. ‘I bet you’ll end up a buyer one day, you wait and see.’

He wanted to explain that he meant he didn’t want to work for Ballantynes for ever in any position, but then she would want to know what he was going to do, and since he didn’t have any idea he decided not to say anything.

To celebrate, they went to a restaurant where they had dinner. Afterwards Ruth held William’s hand as they walked along the street, and when they took a short-cut through the park he kissed her against a tree.

‘Have you ever done it?’ she asked as they stood together in the dark.

‘No,’ he said, embarrassed by his admission.

‘Neither have I. But I will with you, if you want me to.’

He did want to, and he kissed her again, but after a minute she pushed him away.

‘You’ll have to get something so I don’t get in the family way,’ she said, straightening her clothes. ‘Then you can take me to the country next Sunday. We’ll have a picnic somewhere nice.’

She was very practical, he thought.

CHAPTER 8

At the beginning of May, during William’s second year working for Ballantynes, a wooden chest of drawers had to be delivered to a farm-house on the Kettering Road. On the way back to Northampton, William stared out at the countryside. After the long winter the trees were green again and the hedgerows by the side of the road fat with spring growth. Though there was still a chill to the air, and the sky that day mantled the land with a dull grey hand, there was a freshness in the breeze and birds wheeled about the woods, returned from warmer climes.

Frank was whistling tunelessly, his hands on the wheel as the lorry jolted along on its inadequate springs. William imagined the summer ahead, long days in the shop when he would rather be… rather be where, he wondered? Doing what? They were familiar questions, the scope of his answer narrowed by lack of money.

From underneath the bonnet, amidst the intricate machinery of the engine, came a sound of clanging metal. Frank, oblivious, continued to drive. Perhaps it had only been a stray stone flung up by the wheels William thought. But a mile from the town, Frank cursed and with much grinding of metal teeth and tugging on the stubborn lever he changed gear.

‘Bleedin’ thing’s playin’ up again.’

The lorry slowed and a trail of steam issued from the bonnet. The radiator hissed, leaking what was left of its boiling contents. They stopped, and William lifted the bonnet to find that a hose had split, probably caused by the stone he’d heard earlier.

‘I can’t do anything until it cools down,’ he said. ‘Anyway, one of us will have to fetch water.’

‘My back’s killin’ me,’ Frank said immediately. ‘You’d better go, Will.’

‘Yes, alright.’

William didn’t mind a walk anyway, and it meant they would be out a bit longer. Lately he’d begun to dislike his work, though on reflection it wasn’t so much the work as the way he was living. He had the feeling that life was rushing past and he, with eyes dulled from boredom, was a spectator to it all.

He remembered a cross-roads just beyond the edge of town, where new houses were springing up all around. There was a pub there that had once been a coaching inn. When he reached it he asked if he could fill his can with water and the landlord directed him to a tap in the yard. As water splashed into his can William noticed an empty building with a sign on the door offering it for rent. He thought it must have been part of the old stables once. A motor went past on the Kettering road, and then another turned out of the cross-roads. They weren’t exactly a common sight, at least not outside of the main towns, but their numbers were certainly increasing. Manufacturers were springing up all over the place, growing from small engineering firms or bicycle shops. William read about them in the magazines he bought. Names proliferated, more every week: Wolsely, Riley, Clement-Talbot, Morris. There were races at Brooklands and on the Isle of Man, capturing the public’s imagination. Cars were no longer only for the rich. Smaller, cheaper motors were being made for the ordinary man, like the American Ford.

Water splashed from the can over William’s feet, and he turned off the tap and went back to the pub to look for the landlord. ‘I couldn’t help noticing your sign on the building next door,’ he said. ‘Have you had much interest?’

‘Trouble is, it’s too far from the town,’ the landlord said. ‘I thought mebbe a saddle-maker or some such might want it, but I ‘aven’t ‘ad much luck yet.’

‘How much rent are you asking?’

‘It’s reasonable enough, if I say so myself. Only twenty five pounds a year.’

William thought it was still too much, though it was much cheaper than anything that could be had in town. He asked to have a look inside and the landlord took him out and unlocked the door. There was just a large open space with stalls partitioned off along one side. It wouldn’t take much to adapt it, William thought.

When he got back to the lorry, Frank was sitting on the grass leaning against one of the wheels, sleeping contentedly. William cut off the end of the split hose and re-clamped what was left before filling the radiator. When he cranked the handle, the motor chugged into life again and Frank jumped up.

‘You might’ve bloody told me you was back!’ he exclaimed indignantly.

‘Sorry,’ William said, smiling.

A few minutes later when they passed the pub again, he looked carefully at the building, his mind spinning with possibilities.

*****

On Sunday, William got up early, before it was properly light, and quietly gathered his things. Taylor and the others were still asleep, but Brown’s bed was empty. The bathroom was on the floor below, but William found the door locked. He waited on the landing outside, listening to Brown vomiting. Brown had come back drunk the evening before though he’d managed to conceal it from the house superintendent, or else he’d slipped him a bottle of beer to keep quiet. They were thick as thieves.

The door opened and Brown appeared wearing a dressing gown over his pyjamas. A miasma of stale cigarettes and beer mingled with last night’s regurgitated supper clung to him. His eyes were bloodshot and his complexion sallow. His mouth curled when he saw William.

‘Oh, it’s you is it, Reynolds. Sneaking away early again, I see. What plans have you got today, I wonder? An afternoon at the museum is it? Or a tea dance at The Grand with your Miss Hodges? I expect you’ll read Greek to her from that book you’re always carrying around.’ Brown’s expression twisted in a sarcastic leer. ‘I’ll bet she’s impressed with all that education and your fancy talk. Gets you into her pretty little drawers, I’ll wager.’

‘Have you finished in there?’ William said, used to Brown’s unpleasantness.

‘No need to get sniffy with me, lad. You’ve got ideas above your station, that’s your trouble. Bloody stockboys reading Greek. It’s like shit with strawberries. No fucking point to it at all.’

‘I’d appreciate it if you’d let me in,’ William responded calmly.

‘Appreciate it would you?’ Brown echoed nastily. ‘And what if I choose not to let you in, eh? What’ll you’ll do about that?’

Brown had a cruel, sardonic manner which he used like a knife on those he thought he could intimidate. It was worse when he drank, which he did as often as he could afford to. It brought up, in more ways than one, all of his pent up bile, his hatred of the world that he imagined himself unfairly treated by. He was middle aged, a man without a home or family of his own, dependent on his employer for everything.

William stood his ground, and though anger flashed in Brown’s eye, William was young and tall. On consideration, Brown’s ire quickly withered and expired and he pushed past with a scowl. When Brown was gone, William bathed and dressed, and by seven-o-clock he was walking in the park. He mulled over the idea that he’d been thinking about all week, going over the figures he’d jotted down, such as they were. At eleven he was waiting for Ruth by the statue of Prince Albert, where he’d arranged to see her.

She waved when she saw him and when they met she kissed him. ‘Hello, have you been waiting long?’

‘No, I’ve been walking around.’

She tilted her head to one side. ‘You are a deep one aren’t you, Will.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yes.’

It was a sunny day and people were out walking with their families. A couple went past with three children, the youngest in a baby carriage. The woman looked at Ruth and they smiled at one another.

‘Have you heard anything about Mister Barnett, Will?’ Ruth asked him, referring to one of the assistants in the Gentleman’s Clothing department who had given his notice. Ruth had encouraged William to put his name forward for the vacancy, and though he wasn’t sure he wanted to work on the shop floor, he’d agreed when she pointed out that he would earn half as much again as he did in the stockroom.

‘Not yet,’ he answered. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure I’d accept the position.’

‘What on earth d’you mean?’ she said sounding shocked.

‘I’ve been thinking about giving my notice.’

From Ruth’s expression he might have said he was considering committing murder. ‘You can’t mean it, Will!’

He told her about the building he’d seen for rent. ‘It’s away from the town, but it’s right beside the crossroads. I think it would be a good place to start a garage. I couldn’t afford somewhere right in town, but the landlord’s only asking for ten shillings a week, and I think he might take less.’

He asked her to sit down on a bench, and he showed her the figures he’d done. Though she listened, her expression was set disapprovingly, but he hardly noticed. The more he talked, the more excited he became. It was as if speaking about his ideas out loud made them seem more real.

‘I’ve got a bit over twenty pounds saved,’ William told her, though she already knew. ‘I’m sure if I look around I could find some second-hand tools and equipment. If I can get an account with one of the bigger places for parts I think I could manage. I imagine I’d need a bit to live on while I get established, but once people get to hear about me, well, it’s not very far to go really, and there are new houses being built all the time out that way.’

He went on, thinking ahead into the future. His first aim would be to make a living, but as time went on and he established a proper reputation with the bank he thought he might start selling cars as well as repairing them. ‘Second hand to begin with. I could buy them cheaply and fix them up so I can sell them on for a profit.’

Eventually he became aware that Ruth had said almost nothing. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked her. He realised that he wanted her approval, or perhaps her encouragement. He wanted somebody to believe in him, perhaps because he wasn’t certain that he did himself. At the back of his mind was the constant memory of what it had been like when he first came to Northampton, and he’d wandered the streets without anywhere to live and without any money. He remembered his feelings of hopelessness and despair.

‘I suppose it’s all very well for somebody who wants to do that sort of work,’ Ruth said.

‘You sound as if you don’t approve.’

‘It’s not for me to approve or not, I’m sure,’ she said.

‘Motoring is the future, Ruth. There will be wonderful opportunities for anybody who wants to take them.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,’ she said, though he thought he detected a glimmer of interest. ‘Where would you live, anyway?’

‘At the garage to begin with, so that I can save money. I don’t need much. A bed and a table. I expect I’ll manage. At least I won’t have to answer to anybody. I’ll be able to come and go as I please and I won’t have to sleep in a room with other people.’

‘You wouldn’t always have to live like that if you stayed at Ballantynes,’ Ruth said. ‘If you got Mister Barnett’s position I bet you’d do well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you was made a manager in a year or two, Will, and then one day you’d be a buyer. Everyone knows you’re clever, and you’ve got such nice manners and you speak so well. It seems wrong to throw it all away and waste all the money you’ve saved up all this time just to work in a dirty garage. Look at Mister Samuels,’ she went on, referring to one of the buyers. ‘Him and his wife have got a lovely little house and two little children who’re ever so sweet…’

She continued painting the picture she had obviously been carrying in her mind, and William realised that Ruth had different expectations than he did of their relationship. He knew he wasn’t in love with her, though he was very fond of her. She was kind and pretty and not unintelligent, and she had ambitions, even if they were not the same as his own.

‘Will you think about it, Will?’

He looked at her, realising she’d asked him a question. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, not knowing what else to say.

‘Good, I knew you would.’ They got up, and she slipped her arm through his.

A few days later Mister Wilkins told William that Mister Dodd wanted to wanted to see him. On his way through the shop, William passed the Gentlemen’s Clothing department. An assistant approached a customer who had paused in front of a display mannequin.

‘Good morning, sir, how may I help you?’ the assistant said.

‘I was just admiring this jacket. Have you got it in my size do you think?’

‘A very good choice, if I may say so, sir. If you’ll step this way I’ll just take your measurements.’

The customer made an impatient gesture. ‘I haven’t time for all that now. Surely you ought to be able to make an estimate.’

‘Of course, sir, you’re quite right. I expect you’re about a forty two. If you’ll excuse me, I won’t be a moment.’

‘Alright, but be quick about it.’

As the assistant scurried away, William tried to imagine working on the shop floor instead of where he was. At least he got away for a little while on most days and usually spent an hour or two working on the lorry or Mister Dodd’s motor.

When he arrived upstairs he was told to wait. After a few minutes he was shown into the manager’s office. He realised he’d never been there before. Mister Dodd sat at a large desk beside a tall window that looked out onto Gold Street.

‘There you are, Reynolds. Sit down.’ He waved to a chair. ‘Did you manage to sort out that leak by the way?’ he asked referring to oil that had been seeping from the engine of his car.

‘Yes, it was just a worn seal.’

‘Good. Thanks. Now, I wanted to talk to you about this vacancy in Gentleman’s Clothing. Of course, working on the shop floor, dealing with customers and so on, is quite different from working in the stock room, but in your case I’m quite certain you’ll do very well. After all, you went to Oundle, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, Mister Dodd.’

‘I imagine you did well in your studies there?’

‘I believe so. I was offered a scholarship at Oxford.’

‘Why didn’t you go?’

‘I couldn’t afford it. My benefactor died before I finished school.’

‘I see. Well, I think you’ll find your education will stand you in good stead, Reynolds. In fact, if you apply yourself I don’t see why you shouldn’t do very well here. Perhaps in a year or two we might move you up. You might be a buyer by the time you’re twenty five. I myself was once a buyer, in fact. You can take up your new position next Monday.’