keeps slipping. And this new batch of cotton keeps breaking, so I have to keep stopping to re-thread my machine.’
Imelda Hardwick was the no-nonsense sort of forewoman. She had to be to keep harmony and production flowing between the fifty seamstresses, ten juniors and three runabouts under her charge, all with different characters ranging from the sweet and innocent to the hard-nosed types who’d sooner lash out via verbal abuse or with their fists than calmly talk over any issues they might have with another workmate. Having started in the factory herself on first leaving school, and progressing through sheer hard work and determination to better herself, Imelda had been in her present position approaching sixteen years and meant to keep her job until she had to retire. She would not allow anyone to jeopardise that for her.
She knew every trick in the book to defend bad workmanship, had heard every excuse to justify lateness, reasons for absence, causes for finishing early or attempts to cover any manner of other misdemeanours during working hours. The excuse Aidy Nelson had just given to justify her own slackness was a well-used one that would probably appease more gullible types of forewoman, not Imelda. But despite her formidable reputation amongst her workers, that only the most brave ever dare challenge, and to their own cost, Imelda did have a compassionate streak that would surface occasionally with those she felt deserving of it.
She had been landed with numerous school leavers over the years. She’d had to keep a beady eye on them, to judge their level of ability then use her own initiative in deciding what job in the factory these individuals were best suited for. Some were not cut out for factory work at all and were dismissed to try their luck in another profession, but others displayed real promise. Aidy was one of those. From the off, she had shown she was a strong character, never allowing the older stalwarts to use or abuse or get the better of her, and Imelda had admired that quality in her. Aidy was not a natural at any job she had been given, but had been eager to learn. Imelda was to discover that drive in her continually to improve her position was fuelled by a desire to help her deserted mother and to care for her siblings. Imelda admired that quality in her too.
In all the years Aidy had worked under her, she had never before given Imelda any reason to reprimand her for trying to pass off shoddy work, a bad attitude or timekeeping. This current lapse was obviously due to grief at the death of her mother. Imelda had lost her own a couple of years back, and although mother and daughter hadn’t been what could be classed as devoted, nevertheless she had been fond of her and the passing had taken her quite a while to come to terms with. Aidy had only lost her mother four days ago. Judging by the strain on her face and her subdued demeanour, she was suffering deeply. Imelda felt entitled to stretch the rigid factory rules and go gently on her this time.
Leaning over to whisper in Aidy’s ear so none of the other girls could overhear … not that it was likely over the loud buzz of fifty sewing machines plus the chattering of the workers … she said to Aidy, ‘With a headache as bad as you’ve got, I’m telling you to take the rest of the day off. Take tomorrow too if you need it, but I want you back in here Friday morning and I’ll be expecting what I normally get from you and no less.’
Aidy stared at her for a moment, digesting what her superior was telling her. When she finally did, she blurted, ‘Oh, I really appreciate that, Mrs Hardwick, you don’t know how much I do, but I’ve already lost three days’ pay from being off dealing with my mam’s death. I can’t afford to lose any more. I’ll buck my ideas up, really I will.’
Imelda looked thoughtfully at her. Of course Aidy needed every penny of her wage packet, like every other woman who worked in this factory, and the loss of even one penny of it could make a big difference. A penny short for the rent was a penny in arrears. A penny short of the cost of a bone for soup meant no nutritious broth for their evening meal that night. A penny