then hauled away on special trolleys to the loading bays at the top of a short concrete ramp. The height of these loading bays had been calculated to match the height of the lorries’ storage space, so the boxes could be loaded quickly and efficiently.
Sally turned and regarded the long wooden stairway that ran behind her to a broad balcony high above the factory floor. Built into this balcony was a room with a window that took up most of one side. This was where the manager could watch every worker’s move. He was as powerful as the factory owner, for he was king of all he surveyed – and had the livelihoods of his workers in the palms of his hands.
‘We don’t pay you to stand about gawping.’
Sally looked up and swallowed. ‘I’m new,’ she managed. He was an unattractive man in, Sally guessed, his late thirties, with bad skin, greasy hair and a mean-looking expression. He had thick glasses and wore a long, dun-coloured duster coat, buttoned over his clothes, which did little to enhance his pallor.
‘And I’m the shop-floor supervisor, Mr Simmons.’
‘Sally Turner, sir,’ she replied, playing up to his undoubted ego.
He sniffed and looked at the clipboard clasped awkwardly in his withered hand before pointing vaguely to the other side of the cavernous room. ‘Row nine, machine fifteen.’ His pale eyes bored into her from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. ‘We expect the highest standards here, or you’re out,’ he warned. ‘You’ll have fifteen minutes for lunch. Tea will be available at eleven and four and must be drunk at your station. The cost will come out of your pay-packet.’
‘I don’t need tea,’ she replied. ‘I brought me own.’
He obviously didn’t approve of his routine being changed and glared at her before putting a mark beside her name on the piece of paper in his clipboard and eyeing his watch. ‘Get to work, Miss Turner.’
Sally quickly walked down the rows, counting them as she went. Row nine was about halfway down, her machine two from the end. She slipped behind the two gossiping women, shrugged off her coat and hung it with the string bag and gas-mask box over the back of her chair.
She grimaced as she sat down. The chair was wooden, the legs at different lengths. No doubt it had been rejected and passed down the line – and now, being the new girl, she was the unlucky one to have it. Making a mental note to bring in a cushion tomorrow, she looked round for something to jam under the leg.
‘Hello, ducks. The name’s Brenda. Welcome to hell.’ The woman had a cheerful face despite her words, and she continued to smile as she covered her curlers with a scarf and tied it firmly at the front.
‘It can’t be that bad, can it?’ Sally was still trying to find her balance on the chair.
‘You wait until Hitler Simmons over there starts having a go,’ Brenda said grimly, cocking her head towards the supervisor and folding her meaty arms over her vast bosom. ‘Thinks he knows it all, strutting about like a cockerel in a hen house – all puffed up and full of himself.’
She reminded Sally of Maisie Kemp – right down to the curlers, and the fag hanging out of her mouth.
‘Here you go,’ said Brenda, reaching for the empty cigarette packet in her apron pocket. ‘Double that up and stick it under the leg, or else you’ll be lopsided all blooming day.’
Sally tested the effect and discovered it did the trick as long as she didn’t wriggle about too much.
‘Yeah, y’wanna watch Simmons,’ confided the girl on the other side, giving Sally a nudge and a wink. ‘Gets a bit ’andy, if yer know what I mean. Thinks ’e’s Gawd’s gift.’ She gave a snort of derision, tossed back her fair hair, and tugged the ratty cardigan more tightly over her narrow chest. ‘As if any of us would give ’im the time o’ day.’
Sally perked up as she recognised the Cockney accent. ‘We ’ad one of them in Bow,’ she replied. ‘Someone told ’is missus what ’e were up to and we never ’ad no trouble again.’
The girl’s blue eyes lit up. ‘Bow? We’re almost neighbours. I’m from Stepney, just off the Mile End Road. Pearl’s the name.’
‘Sally.’ They grinned at one another in delight.
‘I love your blouse,’ said Pearl, wistfully. ‘Where’d you get it?’
Sally unbuttoned her cardigan to show it off, delighted Pearl liked it. ‘I made