Wartime for the Shop Girls. Joanna Toye
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Frobisher was worried. Surely not … well, not Gladys, a home bird if ever there was one. But had Lily Collins been tempted? She’d seemed unnaturally quiet that morning … but surely Lily would have had the decency to mention it to her first – and anyway, neither Lily nor Gladys was old enough, thank goodness!
‘Two girls from Haberdashery, one from China and Glass, and three – three! – from Perfume and Cosmetics!’ Cedric Marlow expostulated.
Miss Frobisher let out a breath.
‘I see. Well, I’m sorry, Mr Marlow. That’s a blow, obviously.’
‘It is, it is,’ fretted Cedric. ‘We’ve invested time and money in training those young women. I hoped they’d be with us for the duration – or until they reached the age for conscription anyway.’
‘Of course it’s a shock, sir,’ said Peter Simmonds smoothly. ‘But let’s try to look at it another way. With stocks ever lower, profits aren’t what they were – and in the present climate, they’re not going to recover. A little – shall we call it natural wastage? – may be a good thing.’
‘But six at once! If this goes on—’
‘There may be no more to come,’ soothed Miss Frobisher. ‘I’m sure most of the girls know they’re very well off where they are.’
Cedric Marlow turned his ire on Simmonds.
‘There’s enough natural wastage, as you put it, as it is. Whatshername – Beryl Bulpitt – Miss Salter as was – she’ll be leaving soon, won’t she, to have her baby? That’s another vacancy. There’ll be more customers than staff at this rate!’
‘I’m glad you said that, sir.’ Peter Simmonds extracted a sheet from the clipboard he always carried. ‘I’ve been taking a look at staffing levels. And without going so far as to outnumber staff with customers, I think there are several departments where a little rationalisation could be called for.’
Eileen Frobisher stiffened. Now she knew why Mr Simmonds had brought her up here. He had her department in his sights.
‘Rationalisation, that’s the word that was used,’ said Miss Frobisher. She wasn’t going to say who’d used it, though anyone would know that it wasn’t a word that would fall easily from Cedric Marlow’s lips.
It was ten thirty, and, having gathered her thoughts, she’d collected her staff together to explain ‘how things stood’. Everyone looked blank.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Frobisher,’ began Miss Temple, ‘you’ll have to explain. Something to do with rationing?’
‘Not quite. Though it seems I do have to give something up – a member of staff.’
Lily’s heart gave a pancake-like flip. Oh, no – no, no, no! Hadn’t she had enough bad news that morning? Yes, profits were down, yes, times were hard, but – no, please no! She’d be the one to go; last in, first out, wasn’t that the rule?
Miss Frobisher saw the panic in her eyes and quickly spoke.
‘I’m sorry, I put that badly,’ she said. ‘To be honest, I’m still taking it in myself. The good news is that no one will be losing their job. But there will be some shifting around.’
Bit by bit, Lily’s heart slowed its insane thudding and she took a deep breath. So did Miss Frobisher, who resumed.
‘Beryl – Miss Salter – Mrs Bulpitt as she is now – will be leaving in a couple of months to have her baby and the store will not be recruiting a replacement. Instead, it’s been decided that you, Gladys, will move to Toys to fill her position. In fact, it’s a promotion, because Mr Marlow’s agreed to create a junior-cum-Third Sales role, and that will be yours.’
Thrilled, Lily reached out to squeeze her friend’s arm. Gladys’s mouth had fallen open before breaking into a delighted smile and Lily couldn’t help feeling a swell of satisfaction.
Just a few months ago, Gladys would have been terrified at the thought of anything that might jolt her out of her safe little rut.
But friendship with Lily, bolder and more outspoken, and, when he was home, being on the receiving end of Sid’s easy banter, had gradually brought Gladys out of herself. Sid had even engineered her a pen pal, Bill, from among his naval mates, who at Christmas had given her a bracelet and asked if she’d officially be his girl. With that inner glow lighting her face, and a little advice on make-up from Beryl, Gladys didn’t even look quite so plain any more.
Lily would be sorry to lose her friend from the department, of course, but she’d only be across the sales floor, and Gladys deserved the promotion – she was already sixteen and had been at Marlow’s for over a year.
‘So that leaves Childrenswear.’ Miss Frobisher smoothed the jacket of her black barathea suit, the one with the buttons like liquorice cartwheels. She was always beautifully turned out. ‘I’ve been lobbying for another salesgirl for some time.’
Miss Temple and Miss Thomas, obviously privy to this, looked expectant.
‘Well, I was told today that there’s no hope of that in the current climate.’
The shoulders of Miss Thomas and Miss Temple sagged again.
‘But I wasn’t going to let that go. In the spirit of striking a hot iron, I suggested that this department should have a junior-cum-Third Sales too. And I’m pleased to say that Mr Marlow has agreed.’
She looked at Lily encouragingly. Lily was bemused. Did she mean her?
‘Well, Lily?’ said Miss Frobisher coolly, when Lily said nothing. ‘I take it you’d do me the honour of accepting the position? Or would you like some time to consider?’
Oh Lord, Miss Frobisher must think she was a right dope! It was only because ninety-nine per cent of her brain was still thinking about Jim …
‘Of course, Miss Frobisher! I’d be thrilled – I was just so surprised!’ she stuttered.
Miss Frobisher inclined her head. Gladys hugged Lily, and Miss Temple and Miss Thomas looked pleased for her too, and for themselves: it would take some of the pressure off them.
Customers at Marlow’s were dealt with in strict order of staff seniority. Lily wouldn’t be serving any of the most prestigious ones – they were Miss Frobisher’s preserve – or the ones who spent less, but regularly, or were new, but who had the look of becoming regulars. To start with, she knew, Lily only would be sent forward to serve the less promising-looking new ones, or the tiresome occasionals who spent ages agonising over a single pair of socks and went away without buying anything – the dreaded Mrs Pope sprang to mind. The theory was that Lily could practise on them. But if her manner was good, she might convert them, and they’d become her regulars. Equally, if the other salesladies were busy, or at lunch, she’d be allowed to serve one of their customers, who might look to her again in future, and so gradually, bit by bit, she’d build up her own clientele. She’d even have her own sales book!
‘Thank you, Miss Frobisher.’ Lily was pink with embarrassment, pleasure – and disbelief. ‘That’s – I’m sorry, I was stunned! Thank you!’
‘Good,’ said Miss Frobisher. ‘I did wonder! Now back to work, everyone, please.’
In so many ways, Miss Frobisher could not have been more different from Lily’s mum, but in one very important way they were the same. Neither ever showed much emotion, but it didn’t mean they weren’t feeling it.
From the start, Eileen Frobisher had had Lily marked out as promising, and she was secretly triumphant at having secured her this small victory. She also felt some pride in the fact that she’d put down a marker with Peter Simmonds. He might have been used to people jumping to attention and saluting when he was in the Army, but she had no intention of being a pushover. Warrant Officer Class II indeed!
‘What was the matter with you?’ asked Gladys later. They’d been sent to