Read Online Ironmonger's Daughter by Harry Bowling - Free Book Online

not notice. The fire was dying in the grate, but she did not take heed. She pulled the shawl tighter and closed her eyes.
     
    Throughout the whole of the depression years West End restaurants and clubs still took deliveries of clarets and Madeiras, French Sauternes and vintage ports. The bottling stores and wholesale wine merchants around the Tooley Street area remained on full-time working to meet the demand, and it was there that the two young school-leavers found their first jobs together at John Priday and Sons. Connie was put to work labelling French wine, while Molly was placed on a different work bench, a couple of folded sacks on her stool to give her height, pasting out year labels for the bottle necks. With some trepidation, the two began their working lives.
    The hours seemed long, and the work was dull. The only relief came when the daily tot of wine was handed out. The women labellers chuckled as Molly took her first sip of wine and pulled a face. It tasted like vinegar and she had difficulty in swallowing it. Connie, too, found the taste strange, but it was not long before both girls got used to it and in fact even began to look forward to the wine break. The ribald jokes, and the raucous laughter which often brought the foreman out of his office to see what was going on, were at first frightening to the cousins. But the women, mostly old hands, took the two young girls under their wings, and though life in the bottling stores was tedious and hard, in no time at all the young girls felt that they were part of the group. They soon began to understand the logic of the bawdy jokes which were, more often than not, directed towards the men workers.
    Liaisons were established, and the banter and repartee often resulted in little favours being done by the men to ease the workload. Women could take a break in the toilets to have a smoke or take a swig from a bottle of wine that had been secreted behind the cistern while one of the men took over the labelling. Other little favours helped everyone through the day and, when someone had a birthday, one of the men would run over to the bakers across the road from the stores and fetch cakes. The most important reason for befriending the men, however, was the fact that the bottling stores worked on a bonus system. To have an ally amongst the men meant that the full boxes of labelled bottles would be more quickly removed and another empty box made ready; it could also ensure that a speedier supply of labels and paste kept production going and the bonus figure being reached.
    At five o’clock every evening the two friends left the dank, gas-lit railway arches where the bottling stores were situated and walked home arm in arm to Ironmonger Street. As they walked through the warren of little backstreets to reach their homes they usually talked about their funny workmates and the young lads who were employed to load and unload the vans and horsecarts. One of the lads, a scruffily-dressed individual with an impish look, had seemed to have taken a shine to Molly and it was the subject of much talk amongst the older women. Molly was finding his attentions embarrassing, and she always blushed when the lad came through the arch and gave her a huge wink. Connie though was grateful for his friendship and she decided to find out a little about him.
    The opportunity presented itself when the bottling machine broke down one morning. While the broken glass was being extracted from the cogs the labellers took a well-earned rest, and some of the lads came in to the bottling arch for a chat. The impish character sidled up to Connie and leaned on the work bench. ‘’Ello. What’s your name then?’ he asked, his eyes gently mocking her.
    ‘Connie Morgan. What’s yours then?’ she countered.
    ‘Michael Donovan. I live in Tower Bridge Road,’ he said quickly, flicking a tuft of hair from his eyes with a quick move of his head.
    ‘I live in Ironmonger Street,’ Connie said.
    Michael’s