Shipyard girls under the.., p.1
Shipyard Girls Under the Mistletoe, page 1
Nancy Revell
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SHIPYARD GIRLS UNDER THE MISTLETOE
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
About the Author
Nancy Revell is the author of the Shipyard Girls series, which is set in the north-east of England during World War II.
She is a former journalist who worked for all the national newspapers, providing them with hard-hitting news stories and in-depth features. Nancy also wrote amazing and inspirational true life stories for just about every woman’s magazine in the country.
When she first started writing the Shipyard Girls series, Nancy relocated back to her hometown of Sunderland, Tyne and Wear, along with her husband, Paul, and their English bull mastiff, Rosie. They lived just a short walk away from the beautiful award-winning beaches of Roker and Seaburn, within a mile of where the books are set.
The subject is particularly close to Nancy’s heart as she comes from a long line of shipbuilders, who were well known in the area.
Also available by Nancy Revell
The Shipyard Girls
Shipyard Girls at War
Secrets of the Shipyard Girls
Shipyard Girls in Love
Victory for the Shipyard Girls
Courage of the Shipyard Girls
Christmas with the Shipyard Girls
Triumph of the Shipyard Girls
A Christmas Wish for the Shipyard Girls
The Shipyard Girls on the Home Front
To ‘Team Nancy’ at Arrow,
You all work so hard and with such expertise and professionalism on every one of The Shipyard Girls series.
Thank you! x
Why YOU love Nancy Revell
‘Nancy, your books are so good. I could cry when I finish them. I read a bit each night to savour it like a box of chocolates. I can’t wait for the next one!’
‘I absolutely love these books, I feel like all the wonderful characters are like family’
‘Once again an astounding follow-on book in the Shipyard Girls series’
‘Nancy Revell brings the characters to life and you get totally engrossed in their lives and hope things turn out well for them. Have read all of the books now and can’t wait for the next one. Please keep them coming’
‘The Shipyard Girls is one of my favourite series of all time’
‘How wonderful to read about everyday women, young, middle-aged, married or single, all coming to work in a man’s world. The pride and courage they all showed in taking over from the men who had gone to war – a debt of gratitude is very much owed’
‘Yet again another brilliant book in the Shipyard Girls series – I could not put down! This is another triumph for Nancy Revell and a recommended five star read’
‘It’s a gripping, heart-breaking and poignant storyline. I couldn’t put it down and yet didn’t want it to end’
‘This series of books just gets better and better; a fantastic group of girls who could be any one of us if we were alive in the war. Could only give 5 STARS but worth many more’
‘What a brilliant read – the story is so good it keeps you wanting more … I fell in love with the girls; their stories, laughter, tears and so much more’
‘When you thought it couldn’t get any better, it does. An amazing read, I couldn’t put this book down.’
‘I absolutely love these books … Nancy Revell manages to pull you in from the first page and you can’t wait to finish each book but at the same time don’t want it to end. I can’t wait to see what all these lovely people are up to next’
What the reviewers are saying …
‘Well-drawn, believable characters combined with a storyline to keep you turning the page’
Woman
‘The latest instalment in the Shipyard saga is a pleasure to read. 4 Stars’
The Sun
‘Our favourite author, Nancy Revell … Heart-warming, emotional and gripping as ever’
Take A Break
‘A riveting read in more ways than one. Nancy Revell knows how to stir the passions and soothe the heart!’
Northern Echo
‘The usual warmth from Revell, featuring lovable characters and heart-warming storylines’
MyWeekly
‘Researched within an inch of its life; the novel is enjoyably entertaining. A perfect way to spend hours, wrapped up in the characters’ lives’
Frost
‘Nancy Revell has created a fantastic saga that could literally have fallen from the TV. As a reader you feel like you are right there watching all the action take place’
Chellsandbooks
‘Heart-warming … powerful story telling from a great saga author.’
Choice
‘Another superb read from Nancy Revell. Full of all the hope, humour and heart that have become her hallmarks’
Bookish Jottings
‘You can always rely on Nancy Revell to offer up a story that is full of hopes, struggles and valuable friendships’
A Novel Thought
Acknowledgements
Thank you to all those readers who write to me and tell me how much they are enjoying The Shipyard Girls series. Your comments and love of the characters fire me on more than you will ever realise. So many of you also take the time to write to me and tell me your own stories, or those of relatives long since gone. I read every one and always learn something from every message, email or letter.
A special thank you to Joy Jefferson for writing a wonderful description of what it was like to work in the drawing offices at Thompson’s, and to Sheila Miller about growing up just a stone’s throw away from the Wearside shipyards.
Thank you also to all the lovely staff at Fulwell Post Office, postmaster John Wilson, Liz Skelton, Richard Jewitt and Olivia Blyth, to Waterstones in Sunderland, the Sunderland Antiquarian Society, especially Linda King, Norm Kirtlan and Philip Curtis, researcher Meg Hartford, Jackie Caffrey, of Nostalgic Memories of Sunderland in Writing, Beverley Ann Hopper, of The Book Lovers, journalist Katy Wheeler at the Sunderland Echo, Simon Grundy at Sun FM, Julie Pendleton from Nova Radio (North East), Pauline Martin at The Word, the National Centre for the Written Word, and to the late Lisa Shaw and producer Jane Downs at BBC Newcastle.
To artist Rosanne Robertson, Soroptimist International of Sunderland, Kevin Johnson, and Sunderland City Council for their continuing work to make the commemoration to the real shipyard women a reality.
To Ian Mole for bringing the series to life with his Shipyard Girls Walking Tour.
To Gina Wilson for her guidance and encouragement.
To my lovely editor and publishing director Emily Griffin and copy editor Caroline Johnson.
To my mum Audrey Walton (née Revell), for allowing me to keep dragging her back to her childhood in Tatham Street.
To my sister, Jane Elias, and her lovely family, and my husband, Paul Simmonds, for listening to me, encouraging me, and for the love they give.
Thank you all.
‘But for those who love, time is eternal.’
William Shakespeare
Prologue
The Havelock Residence, Glen Path, Sunderland
Christmas Day 1919
A huge, beautifully decorated Christmas tree dominated the grand hallway of the Havelock residence. The air was warm and infused with the smells of Yuletide – pine and cinnamon, and a touch of nutmeg. A mouth-watering waft of roasting goose escaped from the kitchen whenever one of the staff answered the pull of the servants’ bell. A fire had been lit in just about every room in the house, making the place feel cosy and warm.
Everywhere, that was, apart from the master’s
‘I know what you’ve done!’ Henrietta rounded on Charles. Her cobalt blue eyes were blazing with anger. Her whole being was filled with disgust. She put her hand on her stomach as though she were about to vomit up the knowledge she had just been fed.
Charles Havelock regarded his wife, but didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked to his desk and sloshed brandy from the decanter into a cut-crystal tumbler.
Taking a large mouthful, he grimaced as he swallowed.
Then he smiled.
A wide, thin-lipped smile, devoid of joy, but full of pure malice.
‘Pray tell me, darling, what am I supposed to have done?’
Henrietta held a lace handkerchief to her mouth, her other hand clutching the side of her long, hooped taffeta skirt, the alabaster white of her skin contrasting with the deep purple-coloured fabric.
‘How stupid I’ve been, not to have realised it before,’ Henrietta said, as she gazed through the large sash window that looked out onto the gravelled driveway. The woman who had just told her of her husband’s evil was crunching through the snow, away from the house. Henrietta watched as the mother of one of her favourite maids wrapped her shawl tightly around herself – as much, Henrietta thought, to combat the after-chill of being under the same roof as the man who had destroyed her young daughter’s life as to keep herself warm.
‘You violated poor little Gracie – ’ Henrietta spat out the words ‘ – and now she’s dead!’ Her stare burrowed into her husband’s black eyes.
‘What do you mean? Dead?’ Mr Havelock asked.
Henrietta was clutching her skirt so tightly that her long, manicured nails were digging into her palms through the thick taffeta. If there had been the slightest hope that what Henrietta had just been told by Gracie’s mother was the fabrication of a grief-stricken mind, the fact that her husband didn’t bat an eyelid after being accused of raping her maid put paid to it.
‘Yes, Charles. Little Gracie is dead because you defiled her in the worst possible way.’
Mr Havelock sighed impatiently. ‘You’re not making any sense.’ Another sigh of irritation. ‘Being defiled, as you put it, does not equate to a loss of life.’
Henrietta swallowed, fighting hard not to retch. Not only was he not denying such a heinous act, he clearly saw no wrong in it.
‘You impregnated her!’ Henrietta managed to push the words out despite her heart hammering and making her breathing sharp and shallow. She looked at the man she had married and for whom she had borne two children and did not think it was possible to hate a person more.
Mr Havelock shook his head as though confused. ‘Am I to guess that she died in childbirth?’
Henrietta took a step towards her husband.
‘No, the baby – a boy – was given up for adoption.’ Henrietta hissed the words. ‘A few months later her mother found little Gracie hanging from the bannisters. Dead.’ Henrietta took another step across the Turkey-red Persian carpet towards her husband. She was so angry. Angry and disgusted with this man now inches from her. Angry with herself for being so blind. So naïve. So caught up in her own world, her books, her drinking and her pill-taking, that she had been oblivious to what had gone on in this very house.
Charles struck Henrietta hard across the face with his open palm. ‘Calm down!’ He looked at the woman he had married – not for love or for money, but because he knew she would be easy to manipulate. How dare she challenge him now.
‘Who’s dead?’ Miriam asked.
They both turned on hearing the door to the office creak open.
‘Miriam! Margaret! What are you doing here?’ Henrietta looked at her two grown-up daughters, shocked by their sudden appearance. They were not expected until later in the afternoon. They were both holding large, boxed-up presents, beautifully wrapped and tied with gold bows.
‘We thought we’d come a little earlier. Give you both your presents before Nanny brings the baby,’ Miriam said, looking from her father to her mother.
‘Who’s dead?’ Margaret asked. She could see the red print of her father’s hand on her mother’s cheek.
‘No one’s dead, darling. No one you know, anyway,’ Henrietta lied. Both her daughters had known Gracie and both had been fond of her.
‘Mother, are you all right?’ Miriam asked.
‘Yes, darling, I’m fine. Your father and I are just talking.’
The two sisters looked anxiously at their parents.
‘Why don’t you both go into the front parlour? I’ll come and see you in a little while,’ Henrietta said, putting her cool hand to her burning-hot cheek.
The two sisters didn’t move.
‘Leave us!’ Mr Havelock bellowed.
Startled, the two women quickly turned and left. They had just reached the sitting room when the door to their father’s study slammed shut. The whole house shuddered.
That would be the last Christmas they would ever spend with their mother. And one of the last times they would see her for many, many years.
Chapter One
June 1944
When Bobby walked through the main gates of J.L. Thompson & Sons, Shipbuilders, he saluted Davey, the timekeeper. Returning the gesture, the young lad beamed back at the tall, burly riveter who, everyone knew, had once manned ships like those he now helped to build.
Bobby glimpsed a list of vessels, scrawled in large, childlike writing, pinned up on the inside wall of the cabin, and smiled. Each name represented a ship commissioned by the Ministry of War Transport and built in this very yard – the second largest in town. The other day, Empire Haldane had been christened and the sense of pride and camaraderie a ship’s launch always brought still pervaded.
As he stepped over the threshold into the yard, Bobby automatically did what was fast becoming a habit as he walked into his workplace – he sought out the woman he loved. The woman he had fallen for, hook, line and sinker, the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. The woman who loved him back with equal fervour – only she hadn’t realised it yet. Or if she had, she wouldn’t admit it.
Dodging an unmanned crane, then jogging past a huge mound of metal sheets waiting to be taken over to a cargo vessel taking shape in the dry dock, Bobby headed over to the quayside. This was where his squad of riveters would be, and where the women welders would be eating their packed lunches – where the woman he was determined to make his wife would be sitting. Dorothy. Dorothy Williams. Hopefully, one day, Dorothy Armstrong.
‘Afternoon, all!’ he shouted out.
Rosie, head of the women welders, his mam, Gloria, and the rest of the workers, Polly, Martha, Angie and Hannah, all turned their heads and smiled. All except Dorothy, who kept her focus firmly on the grey-green waters of the Wear.
‘Hey, Rosie!’ Bobby said as he approached the women, all sitting on randomly stacked wooden pallets.
‘Hi, Bobby, what’s up?’ Rosie asked.
‘I think one of your squad might need to go for a check-up.’ He cocked his head in the direction of Dorothy, who was still staring out at the congested waters.
‘Why’s that?’ Rosie asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.
Bobby chuckled. ‘She seems to be having problems with her hearing.’
The women looked at Dorothy, who slowly turned her head to look at Bobby, a dark scowl on her face.
‘It’s called selective hearing,’ she said, tucking her long dark hair behind her ears. ‘Something you know all about.’
Bobby pulled a puzzled face and touched his ear. ‘Pardon?’
The women all laughed. Bobby had lost the hearing in his left ear during the Battle of the North Cape. His partial deafness was something he liked to play on.
Dorothy rolled her eyes.
Bobby smiled and winked at her, before heading over to his own squad.
