The Shop Girls of Chapel Street (2 page)

‘I will, Mrs Wheeler, don't you worry.' As far as Eddie was concerned, he could have spent the whole afternoon lifting Violet down from the float. Then there would have been minutes to enjoy the feel of his hands around her slim waist, hours to breathe in her perfume and face powder as he lowered her to the ground.

But all too soon Kathy spoiled the moment by letting Violet know that the lady mayoress had arrived early. ‘Her Ladyship's twiddling her thumbs by the band stand, waiting to plonk the crown on your head.'

Then Stan intervened too – ‘Better not keep Madam waiting,' – and Eddie had to step right back.

Violet was gone in her cloud of lily of the valley, attended by Kathy and the little ones – and he, Eddie, was tongue tied and rooted to the spot, condemned to continue his worship from afar.

As it turned out, Violet felt that the crowning ceremony was a bit of a let-down. The lady mayoress, a sour-faced woman wearing a fox fur stole over her navy blue clutch coat and self-importantly sporting her chain of office, performed her VIP role with bad grace – Kathy's description of her ‘plonking' the crown on Violet's head was spot on. Then she made a short speech telling everyone how lucky they were to have a town council generous enough to lavish money on the bank holiday celebrations. After all, times were hard – roads still needed sweeping, the ash pits had to be emptied and street lights lit. There was muted, grudging applause as the dignitary had her say then she turned to her chauffeur to engineer an immediate exit.

‘It looks like somebody got out of bed the wrong side this morning,' Kathy muttered to Violet as the gleaming limousine carried the mayoress across the Common onto Overcliffe Road.

‘Yes, and this crown is heavy and it hurts my head.' Violet would have preferred to stick with the silk lilies but it seemed she had no choice. ‘How long do I have to keep it on?' she asked Winnie, who was close at hand as always.

‘Until after you've judged the fancy dress,' her aunt insisted, adjusting the bothersome crown.

‘But that's ages. The children all have to eat their cakes and orange juice first.'

‘Chin up, there's a good girl. Come along, June and Mabel. Line up behind Violet and Kathy.'

‘Hey up, Violet – try to look as if you're enjoying it,' Stan advised laughingly as he and Eddie dashed by with fresh sacks of coconuts for the shy. They'd both got rid of their jackets, unfastened the top buttons of their shirts and had the wind in their sails as they delivered the coconuts then sped on to try their skill at the rifle range.

‘When can we ride the donkeys?' Mabel tugged at Kathy's skirt as she and June fell into line behind the grown-ups. She cast lingering looks across the Common at school friends hopping into the saddle and kicking their beasts into reluctant action.

‘After!' Kathy said crossly.

‘After what?' June whined.

‘After we've walked round the stalls, listened to the band play and judged the fancy dress – that's what.'

‘Smile!' Violet told the girls. Then she reminded herself to wave at her Uncle Donald, head and shoulders above the crowd, unmistakable with his slicked-back grey hair, trim moustache and neat silver tie pin.

Inscrutable as always, he acknowledged his niece's wave with a slight nod of his head.

Was he proud of her or embarrassed about the attention she was drawing to herself? Violet couldn't tell. She walked on with her attendants, past the pie and peas stall, deafened by the Sally Army in the centre of a circle of straw bales set out for people to sit on. There was a green, earthy smell of crushed grass, hot pies, brandy snaps and candyfloss.
Smile
, she told herself.
Chin up and smile!

‘That's more like it!' Stan popped up again, waiting in front of Eddie in the queue for Gypsy Rose Lee.

‘Eddie Thomson, you're never going to get your fortune told?' Kathy paused to poke fun.

‘It's Stan who wants to do it, not me.' Eddie gave an embarrassed cough then quickly stepped out of the line.

‘Eddie Thomson, look no further!' Stan crowed in a high-pitched, mysterious fortune-teller's voice. ‘Today, here at the gala, you will meet the girl of your dreams!'

‘Very funny,' Eddie muttered as he backed away. ‘Look where you're going!' a warning voice yelled from behind.

Too late – Eddie had come up against one of the straw bales, lost his balance and only just saved himself from landing on his backside in front of Violet.

Thankfully the Gala Queen and her followers glided on, oblivious.

‘What's up, Ed?' Stan joshed. ‘You've turned red as a beetroot.'

That was it – Eddie had had enough. A chap could fall out with Stan Tankard at times like this – Stan who was always winking and joking and putting himself first, forever making you feel small in front of people. ‘I'm off,' Eddie said, turning on his heel.

‘Where to?'

‘Just off,' Eddie grunted. Off across the crowded field, past fluttering flags and the ice-cream stall, past lithe gymnasts lining up to do acrobatics in the makeshift arena, out onto Overcliffe Road, down Ada Street for a disgruntled, bank-holiday pint all by himself at the Green Cross.

Tuesday morning brought Violet back down to earth with a bump. She was already hard at work behind the counter at Hutchinson's, the grocer's on Chapel Street, when Evie Briggs called in for a pound of sugar and a quarter of tea.

‘Have you got over yesterday's excitement?' she asked as Violet weighed out the sugar into a blue bag. At sixteen, Evie was yet to put herself forward for Gala Queen but she dared to hope that one day her turn would come. Meanwhile, she was full of admiration for the way the older girl had pulled off the role.

Back in the humdrum real world, Evie worked diligently alongside Sybil at Chapel Street Costumiers. This had been a good arrangement after Evie's eldest sister Lily had left the business to get married and have a baby. In fact, Sybil and Lily's friend Annie had left Chapel Street to start her own family at the same time and so Evie had stepped in to help Sybil sew beaded bolero jackets, jersey-knit two-piece suits and for their more daring customers, the fashionable harem pants worn by stars of the silver screen. She had been there ever since.

‘Yes, it all went by in a flash.' Violet tamped down the sugar then folded the top of the bag. ‘Still, I revelled in it while I got the chance. A quarter of tea, did you say?'

‘Yes, please. I thought you looked lovely,' awestruck Evie said shyly. ‘I've seen the dress pattern in the catalogue. The neckline looked a bit tricky to me.'

‘It was,' Violet agreed, glancing round to check that her boss was still busy in the stockroom before plunging into details about interfacing and cutting cloth on the bias. ‘I was dead set on wearing something up to date,' she confided in the younger girl. ‘I scoured the magazines to find a style that would suit me.'

‘And you pulled it off.'

Violet smiled at the memory of some of the highlights from yesterday that stood out in her mind – riding on the horse-drawn float, watching the brass band and applauding the gymnasts, then dancing the night away with the best-looking lads between here and Overcliffe. ‘I'm glad I handed the fancy dress prize to your Arthur.'

‘Yes, his little face lit up. We thought that sending him dressed as Mickey Mouse was a bit different to your run-of-the-mill nursery-rhyme characters.'

‘It definitely caught my eye.' Pushing the weighed tea across the counter, Violet paused to study Evie's open features and noticed that her fair curls, though cut short, refused to conform to the sleek bob that current fashion demanded. It gave her an innocent look, which was the opposite of the dark sophistication that she herself strove for. ‘I could lend you the dress pattern,' she offered in a burst of generosity. ‘It doesn't have to be made out of rayon – it could be a nice summer cotton or a light linen.'

Taking charge of her groceries, Evie smiled brightly. ‘That would be champion.'

‘Drop in tomorrow – I'll have it ready for you.'

‘Ta very much. Ta-ta then.'

The shop bell tinkled as Evie left and Violet watched her through the window, following her progress up Chapel Street. She allowed herself a moment to ponder how life might be if, like Evie, she could find work as a seamstress – pinning, cutting and sewing cloth instead of weighing out flour and sugar, cutting cheese and slicing bacon all day long. Violet glanced around at the shelves stacked with cereal packets and biscuits, tins of salmon, sardines and mandarin oranges.
There's no point dreaming
, she told herself as she dusted flour from her dark blue apron. There was no doubt about it – the Whitsuntide Gala Queen of 1934 had her feet firmly back on the ground.

That same afternoon Ben Hutchinson, family grocer and lifelong grumbler, made up the order for Jubilee Drapers shop. ‘Drop this off on your way home and no arguments,' he told Violet in his dry-as-dust voice, which matched his cautious, penny-pinching ways. It was the same routine every Tuesday without fail – an order of digestive biscuits, tea, butter, Wensleydale cheese and Jacob's Cream Crackers to be delivered to Ida Thomson and Muriel Beanland on the corner of Chapel Street and Brewery Lane.

‘Remember I'll have to leave five minutes early if I want to catch them before they lock up.'

‘Have it your own way.' Her curmudgeonly employer ticked items off a list then thrust the Jubilee box into her arms. ‘By rights I should dock your wages – these few minutes add up over the weeks, I'll have you know.'

‘Ta, Mr Hutchinson.' Resisting the urge to retaliate and glad of the early release from her humdrum work, Violet left with a spring in her step, carrying the order under one arm.

‘Hello, Violet!' Their neighbour, Marjorie Sykes, was busy raising the canvas canopy that shielded her window display of bread and cakes from the sun. ‘I saw you up there on the Common yesterday. You did a grand job!'

‘Ta. It already seems a long time ago.'
And a world away, worse luck.

‘You did your Aunty Winnie proud.' A low sun cast long shadows down the street as Marjorie leaned her hooked pole against the wall. ‘I did laugh about that donkey running off with Stan Tankard,' she went on. ‘And the donkey man chasing after the runaway all the way up onto the moor.'

‘Who can blame the poor thing?' Violet was eager to get away from the bread shop owner, who had become known as a good gossip since taking over the bakery following the death of her mother three years earlier. In fact, if you were in a hurry, you did your best to avoid catching the eye of the dumpy spinster in the yellow flowered overall.

‘You mean you'd run a mile from Stan too?' Marjorie chuckled.

‘So would anyone with any common sense. Sorry, Marjorie – I have to dash and catch Muriel and Ida before they close.'

Violet reached the drapers just as Muriel was bringing down the blind and bolting the door. Spying the arrival of their grocery order, she quickly slid back the bolt and made way for Violet to step inside. ‘Come in, come in. We were beginning to think you'd got lost.'

‘I'm sorry about that, Miss Beanland.'

‘Muriel – please.'

‘I'm sorry, Muriel. Mr Hutchinson always cuts it fine getting the order ready.'

Entering the multicoloured Aladdin's cave of buttons, bolts of fabric, ribbons and lace, Violet deposited the box on the spotless glass counter.

‘Never mind, you're here now and I wasn't in any hurry.' Unruffled as always, the co-owner of the drapery shop put Violet at her ease. ‘You can help me unpack these new embroidery silks if you've got time.'

‘Ooh, I like those!' Violet took several of the small skeins from Muriel and laid them across her palm. The colours of the silk thread shone like emeralds, sapphires and rubies. ‘Can I take a couple for Aunty Winnie and pay you at the end of the week?'

‘By all means. Let me wrap them in tissue paper.' Muriel bent to her task with precise, careful movements, her small hands folding and tucking neatly, fair hair falling forward to hide her refined features. She was still single at thirty and despite her delicate good looks, was considered a settled spinster who devoted her time to good causes such as the St John Ambulance and the Red Cross. She ran the business she shared with Ida Thomson with quiet confidence. ‘How is Winnie – plodding on as usual?' she asked Violet, whose attention had wandered to the array of zipped fasteners on display in the rack by the window.

‘Yes, she's doing nicely, thanks.'

‘What do you think of the zips?'

‘I say they beat hooks and eyes or press studs any day.'

‘You're right, they do, though putting them in takes practice. You need a special foot for your sewing machine. Come upstairs and I'll show you.'

Eagerly following Muriel up some narrow stairs at the back of the shop and along a first-floor landing, Violet was already planning to insert the newfangled fastener into an apple-green summer dress she was making. They went up a second flight of stairs to a small mending and alteration room where they found Ida hard at work.

It was the first time Violet had been invited behind the scenes at Jubilee and she was intrigued by what she saw. The white-painted room had bare floorboards and sloping ceilings with a dormer window that overlooked a back lane running parallel to Chapel Street from Brewery Road up to Linton Park. It contained two long tables laid out with garments, scissors and thread, plus a treadle sewing machine pushed back into the alcove formed by the dormer. It was here that Ida sat, a picture of concentration as she worked the treadle with her foot and eased silky fabric under the pounding needle to accomplish a perfectly straight seam.

‘Show Violet the foot you need to use for zip fasteners,' Muriel instructed Ida before hurrying back downstairs to answer a loud knock on the door.