The Railway Girl. Nancy Carson
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crate, which Lucy Piddock and her workmate Eliza Gallimore had been filling during Monday afternoon. Now, at last, it was time to go home. Lucy stood erect and placed her hands in the small of her back. She stretched to counter the effects of so much bending, then unfastened the pinafore she wore to protect her skirt and blouse which had been clean on that morning. In the high rafters of the glassworks’ packing room two sparrows were squawking as they flitted from beam to beam in their squabble over a strip of bacon rind that one had picked up in the dusty yard outside.
The foreman, Job Grinsell, appeared. Job was a middle-aged man with a fatherly regard for Lucy.
‘I see as you’ve finished that crate what’s bound for Philadelphia,’ he commented and peered inside it, cursorily checking it for any loose items.
‘It’s all counted and packed tight,’ Eliza affirmed. ‘I bet you’m dying to nail the top on for us, eh, Job? Lucy and me am going home now, ain’t we Lucy? We’ve done our stint.’
Lucy picked up her cotton shawl from the hook on the whitewashed wall where she kept it and slung it loosely about her shoulders, ready to leave.
‘Just steady the lid for me then, one of yer,’ Job requested, ‘and I’ll do it for thee.’
‘Sod off. It’s past our knocking-off time. And Lucy ain’t got time to hang about. She’s got to pretty herself up. She’s seeing a fresh chap tonight, ain’t yer, Lucy?’
Lucy nodded.
Job looked at her intently. ‘Hey, well, mind what yo’m up to.’
‘You sound like my father,’ Lucy said, and compliantly held the wooden lid in place while Job took a handful of nails and a hammer and fixed it onto the crate.
‘I got daughters o’ me own, my wench. I know what a worry daughters am.’
‘Well, you need have no fears about me, nor the chap I’m a-meeting.’
Job guffawed derisively. ‘And if I believed that I’d believe anything. I tell yer – watch what you’m up to. Just watch his hands.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she answered with a mock curtsey.
The weather that early evening was a delight. The sun shone with a rich yellow warmth as Lucy stepped into it from the dankness of the packing room and headed for home. She always walked to and from the factory by way of the railway line; it was much quicker than going the semi-circular route up North Street and down Church Street.
She pondered this Arthur Goodrich. They had spoken no more than a couple of dozen words to each other and she felt no particular excitement at the prospect of meeting him later. She didn’t know quite what to make of him. The only reason she’d agreed to meet him was because it would actually be a bit of a novelty and a change from being stuck in the house with her mother.
She wondered what she could possibly have said to Arthur that prompted him to ask her out. If she had set his heart aflame she had done it unwittingly, but he’d not had the same effect on her – and she doubted that he ever would. Lucy wanted somebody to sweep her off her feet. She needed somebody she could fall hopelessly in love with, and Arthur was not the man. Oh, he seemed decent enough and even polite, but distinctly lacking in sparkle. She was certain she would have no competition from any other girl. Indeed, she would never be interested enough in him to worry about competition, he was so obviously anything but a ladies’ man. Anyhow, she was sure he would treat her with respect, for he gave her the impression that he was a gentle person.
A train was coming up the line, huffing and volleying clouds of white steam and black smoke. Lucy stopped and stood still until it had passed, as close to the edge of the cutting as she could get. She fixed her eyes on the guards’ van, just in case that man was working on it who she’d taken a shine to on the journey back from Dudley weeks ago. But he was not, and she sighed. She would love to see him again, but it was as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. Maybe he was just a figment of her imagination after all. Maybe she’d merely dreamed about him and he didn’t actually exist. As she continued walking she was beginning to wonder.
Her thoughts reverted to this insipid character Arthur and what reason she should give her mother and father for wanting to go out. Where would he take her? What should she do if he wanted to kiss her?
At last she reached the bridge over the railway at Bull Street. She clambered up the steep embankment and emerged onto the street, where she met Miriam Watson returning home from the firebrick works. They stopped to chat.
‘I’m seeing somebody tonight, Miriam,’ Lucy said, but there was no light of eager anticipation in her eyes. ‘Somebody who came in the Whimsey on Saturday and Sunday night.’
Miriam grinned her approval. ‘At last a chap. And is he handsome?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘Not particularly, but he’s better than nothing. He’ll do till somebody handsome comes along.’
‘Always supposing he wants to see you again after tonight, eh, Luce? You shouldn’t take things for granted.’
‘That’s true.’ She shrugged. ‘Not with my luck. Maybe I won’t suit him anyway.’
‘Who is he? What’s he do for a living?’
‘He’s a stonemason, named Arthur Goodrich. Me father says his family are well-to-do, but they’re not rich or anything. Just regular churchgoers.’
‘Oh, Lord!’ Miriam rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t want anybody spouting religion at yer, Luce. If he starts that I should give him the elbow quick. He ain’t a Methodist, is he?’
‘No, church. He goes to St Michael’s.’
‘And what’s he look like, this chap?’
‘A bit ordinary. He seems to have some quaint ways about him as well, what I’ve seen of him so far. But he seems decent enough. He was wearing a nice clean collar on his shirt. At least he ain’t rough.’
‘Well, you don’t have to stick with him if you ain’t that fussed. But you did say as you’d go out with the first chap what asked you, even if he was “the ugliest sod on earth”, you said. Remember?’
Lucy laughed. ‘I know I did, but he ain’t that bad, thank God. At least I won’t be ashamed if somebody sees me with him. It’s just that I don’t think it’ll amount to much. I just don’t fancy him.’
‘Well, next time I see yer, don’t forget to tell me how you got on, eh?’
‘I won’t. Anyway, I’d better go. Me belly’s rumbling for want of something to eat.’
Arthur was particular about punctuality, but then he had a reliable watch in his fob pocket to assist him. Lucy, however, possessed no such device, and she was ten minutes late. Dusk was upon Brierley Hill and the sun, about to dip below the distant Shropshire hills, had daubed the western sky with intermingling hues of red, purple and gold that reflected in Lucy’s eyes, setting them aflame. Arthur was moved by the effect. The air was mild, and the musky, smutsy smell of industry encompassed them, but was barely noticed.
‘Have you been waiting long?’ she asked, an apology in her tone.
‘Only a minute or two,’ he replied with easy forgiveness. He smiled, happy and relieved that she had turned up at all, for he had set much store by this tryst.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Well … Nowhere in particular, Lucy … I thought we might just go for a stroll. It’s such a grand night for a stroll.’
‘If you like,’ she agreed pleasantly. ‘Which way shall we go?’
‘Which way d’you fancy?’
She