Wartime for the Shop Girls. Joanna Toye
was the following week and Sid was back on his promised twenty-four-hour pass. As it was Wednesday and half-day closing, he’d arranged to meet Lily and Jim straight from work and treat them to lunch.
The reunion had been as ecstatic as Lily could have wished for. Jim had hung back, smiling, as Sid, grinning from ear to ear, had whirled her in the air so fast she’d almost lost a shoe, and the other Marlow’s staff setting off for their half-days had shaken their heads and smiled too.
On the way to the British Restaurant in the Mission Hall, Lily had rattled away non-stop.
‘No pudding’ was an empty threat, though, because they already had their puddings on their trays, all-in for a very reasonable 9d, so Lily graciously, with a mock bow, conceded. To be fair, it was Jim’s story.
‘So,’ Sid went on over the clatter at the trestle tables around them, ‘this Simmonds character, Jim, that you thought was going to give you the boot, practically begged you to stay?’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that—’
‘Of course he did!’ Jim’s story or not, Lily jumped in. ‘Never mind shark-eyes, Jim’s Mr Simmonds’s blue-eyed boy!’
(Funny, Lily thought, that after being turned down by the Army on account of his eyesight, eyes were featuring so much in Jim’s future career.)
Sid silenced her with a look.
‘And he and Mr Marlow just wanted some new ideas? What are you thinking of, then, Jimbo?’ Sid was off again, messing with people’s names. ‘Live mannequins in the windows? Roof garden with a Palm Court orchestra? How about slashing prices – I’d go for that!’
Lily was dying to supply the details – she was that proud of Jim – but managed with great restraint to contain herself. In preparation for her promotion, Miss Frobisher had given her the sales staff manual. It was very explicit on politeness, tact, and quiet dignity, none of which came naturally to Lily. Here was a chance to practise, and to let Jim have the limelight.
‘Honestly, Sid,’ Jim said now, ‘they’re nothing very special.’
Typical, thought Lily, annoyingly modest! He had tact and quiet dignity off to a ‘T’ …
‘Jim, that’s not true! Tell him!’
‘Oh come on, the first thing is just obvious.’
‘So obvious that no one else had thought of it!’
‘Lily, who’s telling this tale?’ asked Sid patiently.
Lily sat back. Keeping to the sales staff dictums was going to be a serious challenge, she could see.
Jim resumed. ‘Cedric Marlow’s done some amazing things. From one tiny draper’s shop, he’s made Marlow’s what it is today. When the war started, and the bombings, he was right on the button – air-raid shelter in the basement, fire-watching and plane spotters on the roof, bells and whistles – literally – to warn staff and customers about air raids almost before the sirens had started.’
‘He made space for a Red Cross stall,’ put in Lily. She just couldn’t help herself. ‘An interpreter’s desk, too, when the refugees started arriving from France and Belgium.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jim. ‘But he’s not daft. He’s nearer seventy than sixty now and he must realise he’s not quite up to the mark. So he’s asked me and Peter Simmonds to—’
‘Get that, Sid! Peter, if you please! And after all Jim said about him!’
Jim ignored her and carried on. ‘—to come up with suggestions. On three fronts. First, how can the store do more for the war effort, and keep the staff happy at the same time. And then he wants some ideas to bring in more custom.’
‘So this “obvious” thing is what? Don’t tell me – you’re going to suggest a Suggestions Box!’
They’d finished their main courses now and Sid reached for a cigarette: he’d swapped to Player’s Navy Cut from his pre-war brand the minute he’d joined up. He was very proud of being in the Senior Service – and never let Reg, still on Woodbines, forget it.
‘No. A Fowl Club,’ said Jim.
Sid paused with his cigarette halfway to his lips.
‘Hang on. Pig Clubs, yes, I’ve heard of them—’
‘Not very practical,’ said Jim, ‘on the roof of the store.’
‘You’re going to keep chickens on the roof of Marlow’s?’
‘It’s wasted space apart from the fire-watchers’ hut. And it’s only what we’re doing already at Lily’s but on a bigger scale,’ reasoned Jim. ‘Any of the staff that are interested will give up their egg coupons and get coupons for grain instead.’
‘Which will feed the hens, with some of the canteen waste from the store, instead of it all going in the pig bin,’ added Lily.
‘The store carpenters can knock us up some housing. And I’ll get the chickens a few at a time.’
‘Jim knows all the farmers in his village,’ supplied Lily helpfully. ‘He’s got all the contacts, and club members will get far more eggs this way than on ration.’
‘Incredible!’
Lily beamed so proudly on Jim he might have been her first-born who’d won a Bonny Baby Contest.
‘And? Tell him the rest, Jim!’
‘All right, I’m getting there.’ Jim had been hoping to get stuck into his jam sponge, but he could see Lily wasn’t going to let up. ‘Simmonds wasn’t convinced the staff were doing enough for Civil Defence. So he’s got the ARP in, and the Voluntary Fire Service and the Home Guard. To give talks and drum up some recruits. In fact, he wants to make it compulsory for anyone who’s not medically unfit.’
‘Huh, you can take the bloke out of the Army …’ mused Sid.
‘And for the girls—’
‘Women,’ corrected Lily.
‘Sorry. For women, we’re going to start sewing and knitting classes in the Haberdashery department. For staff and customers. Beginner, intermediate and advanced.’
‘And let me guess! They can buy everything they need at Marlow’s!’
‘Never entered our heads,’ said Jim innocently.
‘Well, well. I can’t wait to see you join those, Lil!’
Lily rolled her eyes. She’d told Sid in letters about her cack-handed attempts to knit something for Beryl’s baby, and how the wool had got so grubby and stringy with having to unravel it where she’d gone wrong that she’d had to give it up as a bad job.
‘I might try the sewing,’ she said. ‘But that’s just the “doing more for the war” bit, isn’t it, Jim? And for keeping the staff happy and involved. Tell him your ideas for the shop.’
‘No, no, that’s more than enough about me,’ said Jim. ‘Tell us what you’ve been up to, Sid.’
‘Oh, no, that can wait,’ said Sid dismissively. ‘It’s not much, and I’ll only have to tell it all over again to Mum. One thing’s bothering me about this Fowl Club of yours, though, Jim. The name.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, it’s not very catchy, is it? In fact, it’s most unfortunate. How about … “The Feather Club” or … I dunno … yes, I do!’ He clicked his fingers. ‘“The Cluck-Cluck Club”! Wouldn’t that be better?’
Lily burst out laughing. Chicken keeping might have its mucky side, but Sid didn’t have to make it sound like a sleazy nightclub. Or, knowing Sid, perhaps he did.