Read Online West End Girls: The Real Lives, Loves and Friendships of 1940s Soho and Its Working Girls by Barbara Tate - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Tate
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clients would know Mae wasn’t alone. I began – albeit it with extreme shyness – to glance at them as they passed the kitchen door.
To my bewilderment, one after another turned out to be as unthreatening as the first. These were men I had seen all my life, on buses and trains and out shopping with their wives. I saw men who had been sent out in the morning in clean shirts and polished shoes – men who had kissed their children and their wives a fond goodbye as they left for work. Some wore trilbies; some wore caps; some even wore bowlers and carried rolled umbrellas. I was shocked to realise that any of the men I had ever known, even my own relatives, could be doing this.
In they came and out they went, all these respectable men. Here and there, a roughneck was thrown in for variety. Gradually, the shock I felt metamorphosed into the attitude most women adopted towards the opposite sex. I quickly came to know the meaning of that shrug of the shoulders and the scornful utterance: ‘Men!’
During the afternoon of that second day, I was somewhat disconcerted by a man who came up during Mae’s absence. He breezed up to the landing door, eyed me up and down, and said crisply, ‘How much?’
When I realised what he meant, I blushed furiously. For a moment I was speechless with indignation.
‘I’m the maid !’ I said at last.
He retreated hastily, leaving me feeling that I had narrowly preserved myself from a fate worse than death. I decided that a shapeless dress wasn’t effective enough. It was evident that this kind of maid did need a uniform after all: an apron at least. With some regret, I also decided to abandon my new toy: my make-up.
By the time the day was about two thirds over, I was really getting into the swing of things. I even had a little notebook of tear-out pages in which I could jot down the takings. I was sure that once I got the place clean, everything would run on oiled wheels.
Mae came tramping up once more, this time with a sad and worried-looking man in a Homburg hat. I stationed myself outside the bedroom door, waiting for the money to be passed through, and complimented myself that I was already acting like an old hand at the game.
Why, I thought – somewhat prematurely as it turned out – there’s nothing to it.
There was some discussion going on inside the bedroom, and I waited for longer than usual for the door to open its accustomed six inches and Mae’s undraped arm to come out.
‘He’s staying for a bit,’ she hissed. ‘There’s fifteen bob for you there and a fiver for me.’ Then she shut the door.
Ah, I thought, a chance for me to get a few jobs done if I’m lucky.
I unpacked my cleaning materials as lovingly as if they had been pieces of Spode china, and made the beginnings of an onslaught on the dirty crockery. In the midst of all this happy domesticity, I heard footsteps mounting the stairs, and presently a man rounded the corner. He was very large, with a red face, and he looked as though he belonged to a road gang. Breathing adenoidally, he entered the little hall.
‘Where is she, then?’ he asked in a hoarse whisper that shook the walls.
‘In there,’ I answered, pointing to the bedroom door. Turning on my best maid’s manner, I added, ‘She’s busy. Will you come back again later?’
‘Not going down there again – fed up with hanging around in the street. I’ll wait.’
With that, he pushed past me into the little kitchen and, with a gusty sigh, lowered himself into one of the chairs.
My self-assurance was gone: this was something I wasn’t prepared for. To be closeted in a small space with a large man who was waiting for sex just didn’t feel right, even in this new world of mine. I felt flustered, and turned back to my washing-up, only to feel my neck crawling as I felt his eyes on me. I thought about escape: all of a sudden, the banisters on the landing seemed to cry out for my new feather dusters. But lead settled in my stomach as I
To my bewilderment, one after another turned out to be as unthreatening as the first. These were men I had seen all my life, on buses and trains and out shopping with their wives. I saw men who had been sent out in the morning in clean shirts and polished shoes – men who had kissed their children and their wives a fond goodbye as they left for work. Some wore trilbies; some wore caps; some even wore bowlers and carried rolled umbrellas. I was shocked to realise that any of the men I had ever known, even my own relatives, could be doing this.
In they came and out they went, all these respectable men. Here and there, a roughneck was thrown in for variety. Gradually, the shock I felt metamorphosed into the attitude most women adopted towards the opposite sex. I quickly came to know the meaning of that shrug of the shoulders and the scornful utterance: ‘Men!’
During the afternoon of that second day, I was somewhat disconcerted by a man who came up during Mae’s absence. He breezed up to the landing door, eyed me up and down, and said crisply, ‘How much?’
When I realised what he meant, I blushed furiously. For a moment I was speechless with indignation.
‘I’m the maid !’ I said at last.
He retreated hastily, leaving me feeling that I had narrowly preserved myself from a fate worse than death. I decided that a shapeless dress wasn’t effective enough. It was evident that this kind of maid did need a uniform after all: an apron at least. With some regret, I also decided to abandon my new toy: my make-up.
By the time the day was about two thirds over, I was really getting into the swing of things. I even had a little notebook of tear-out pages in which I could jot down the takings. I was sure that once I got the place clean, everything would run on oiled wheels.
Mae came tramping up once more, this time with a sad and worried-looking man in a Homburg hat. I stationed myself outside the bedroom door, waiting for the money to be passed through, and complimented myself that I was already acting like an old hand at the game.
Why, I thought – somewhat prematurely as it turned out – there’s nothing to it.
There was some discussion going on inside the bedroom, and I waited for longer than usual for the door to open its accustomed six inches and Mae’s undraped arm to come out.
‘He’s staying for a bit,’ she hissed. ‘There’s fifteen bob for you there and a fiver for me.’ Then she shut the door.
Ah, I thought, a chance for me to get a few jobs done if I’m lucky.
I unpacked my cleaning materials as lovingly as if they had been pieces of Spode china, and made the beginnings of an onslaught on the dirty crockery. In the midst of all this happy domesticity, I heard footsteps mounting the stairs, and presently a man rounded the corner. He was very large, with a red face, and he looked as though he belonged to a road gang. Breathing adenoidally, he entered the little hall.
‘Where is she, then?’ he asked in a hoarse whisper that shook the walls.
‘In there,’ I answered, pointing to the bedroom door. Turning on my best maid’s manner, I added, ‘She’s busy. Will you come back again later?’
‘Not going down there again – fed up with hanging around in the street. I’ll wait.’
With that, he pushed past me into the little kitchen and, with a gusty sigh, lowered himself into one of the chairs.
My self-assurance was gone: this was something I wasn’t prepared for. To be closeted in a small space with a large man who was waiting for sex just didn’t feel right, even in this new world of mine. I felt flustered, and turned back to my washing-up, only to feel my neck crawling as I felt his eyes on me. I thought about escape: all of a sudden, the banisters on the landing seemed to cry out for my new feather dusters. But lead settled in my stomach as I
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