can do it again I’ll have nearly enough to buy a pair. Not bad for a few hours’ work, and Pa hasn’t exactly said whether he wants any cash back for the meat etc. Bert says to make it official we ought to ask for people’s coupons, but he’s not telling if I’m not. Besides, the amount of meat in each of them is hardly worth the effort of accounting for.
1919
Thursday 2nd January
Dearest Rose,
I’ve hurt my leg so am in a base hospital at Boulogne. Nothing too much to worry about. They are sending me back to a hospital in London soon to get it sorted out. I will try to send a telegram when I know.
Your ever-loving Alfie.
Ma and I looked up Boulogne on a map in the library and it is on the coast of France, just over the water from England. Almost within touching distance. Of course it is worrying that he is injured but it doesn’t sound too serious. They always try to stop you fretting by telling you only half the story, if that, but this time I believe him. Now the war is over, what would he need to conceal from me?
But I can’t sit around at home waiting and wondering. On Monday I am going to look for another job. Freda and Claude are still thick as thieves so I don’t see much of her at the moment. I think she’s given up the idea of going back to work. She probably hopes Claude will have enough money for both of them. I’ve still no idea what he does for a living.
Tuesday 7th January
Depressing day, bitter cold and trying to snow. My feet are blistered and my legs feel like lead weights. I must have covered miles. This morning I put on my best skirt and coat and walked and walked, going into every factory and workshop I could find, showing them my letter of reference from the munitions factory, but they just looked at me as if I was mad.
‘Sorry, dear,’ they’d say – or something like it – sucking their teeth and gazing past me. ‘Can’t help you. We’ve got no vacancies, and a list as long as your arm of returning soldiers wanting work.’ The kinder ones tried to be helpful by suggesting other places I might try, but most of them just turned me away without so much as a by-your-leave.
Besides being exhausted, my head is weary and confused. It’s right that the boys should have jobs to come home to, so that they can start to build their lives again. But we girls have worked hard, too, and in some dangerous occupations. Surely we should be given some opportunities as well? But who should get priority? The boys, I suppose, but I still feel the smart of all those sneery looks.
I talked about it with Ma at teatime. She says her generation never expected to get jobs and nor did they want to. ‘Too much to do at home,’ she said. ‘Besides, if you girls all go out to work, who’ll stay at home to look after the babies?’ I told her I didn’t have any babies just yet, just in case she hadn’t noticed and she barked back at me to watch my cheek. ‘Any roads, even without babies, someone needs to do the washing and ironing and cooking and cleaning.’
When I said that Alfie and me would share it when we got home from work, she nearly choked on her bread and jam. ‘Catch your father cooking dinner or washing the dishes? When he’s been on his feet in the shop all day? Not a cat-in-hell’s chance. And I’ve no doubt your young Alfred will feel the same.’ It was good to see Ma getting some of her spirit back, even though it was only because she was annoyed at me giving her the lip.
Tonight I got to thinking about politics. In the election before Christmas, women were allowed to vote for the first time, but I couldn’t because we have to wait until we are thirty! It’s a stupid rule because when I am twenty-one, in two years’ time, I can become a Member of Parliament. Perhaps I’ll find out how I can get elected, so that I can campaign for equal rights for women in work and get us the vote at twenty-one, like the men.
I read in the newspaper that 18,000 soldiers marched to
1919
Thursday 2nd January
Dearest Rose,
I’ve hurt my leg so am in a base hospital at Boulogne. Nothing too much to worry about. They are sending me back to a hospital in London soon to get it sorted out. I will try to send a telegram when I know.
Your ever-loving Alfie.
Ma and I looked up Boulogne on a map in the library and it is on the coast of France, just over the water from England. Almost within touching distance. Of course it is worrying that he is injured but it doesn’t sound too serious. They always try to stop you fretting by telling you only half the story, if that, but this time I believe him. Now the war is over, what would he need to conceal from me?
But I can’t sit around at home waiting and wondering. On Monday I am going to look for another job. Freda and Claude are still thick as thieves so I don’t see much of her at the moment. I think she’s given up the idea of going back to work. She probably hopes Claude will have enough money for both of them. I’ve still no idea what he does for a living.
Tuesday 7th January
Depressing day, bitter cold and trying to snow. My feet are blistered and my legs feel like lead weights. I must have covered miles. This morning I put on my best skirt and coat and walked and walked, going into every factory and workshop I could find, showing them my letter of reference from the munitions factory, but they just looked at me as if I was mad.
‘Sorry, dear,’ they’d say – or something like it – sucking their teeth and gazing past me. ‘Can’t help you. We’ve got no vacancies, and a list as long as your arm of returning soldiers wanting work.’ The kinder ones tried to be helpful by suggesting other places I might try, but most of them just turned me away without so much as a by-your-leave.
Besides being exhausted, my head is weary and confused. It’s right that the boys should have jobs to come home to, so that they can start to build their lives again. But we girls have worked hard, too, and in some dangerous occupations. Surely we should be given some opportunities as well? But who should get priority? The boys, I suppose, but I still feel the smart of all those sneery looks.
I talked about it with Ma at teatime. She says her generation never expected to get jobs and nor did they want to. ‘Too much to do at home,’ she said. ‘Besides, if you girls all go out to work, who’ll stay at home to look after the babies?’ I told her I didn’t have any babies just yet, just in case she hadn’t noticed and she barked back at me to watch my cheek. ‘Any roads, even without babies, someone needs to do the washing and ironing and cooking and cleaning.’
When I said that Alfie and me would share it when we got home from work, she nearly choked on her bread and jam. ‘Catch your father cooking dinner or washing the dishes? When he’s been on his feet in the shop all day? Not a cat-in-hell’s chance. And I’ve no doubt your young Alfred will feel the same.’ It was good to see Ma getting some of her spirit back, even though it was only because she was annoyed at me giving her the lip.
Tonight I got to thinking about politics. In the election before Christmas, women were allowed to vote for the first time, but I couldn’t because we have to wait until we are thirty! It’s a stupid rule because when I am twenty-one, in two years’ time, I can become a Member of Parliament. Perhaps I’ll find out how I can get elected, so that I can campaign for equal rights for women in work and get us the vote at twenty-one, like the men.
I read in the newspaper that 18,000 soldiers marched to
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