Bartholomew Carter, the foreman of Morris and Sons, Commercial Printers took off his old leather apron hung it on a peg by the main press and pulled on a stained coat. He started with Morris and Sons as a boy and in his thirty years with them had never once wanted to work for anyone else. With them he felt safe, his future secure.
He was a giant of a man, a little over six feet tall, broad-shouldered with enormous arms and hands. There was strength too in his clean-shaven rugged face, surmounted by a head of thick black curly hair. Yet there was something gentle about him. perhaps created by the twinkle of humour in his clear grey eyes.
Older women who had the patience to do the tedious job of collating and knock-up were employed by Morrise's whose total work force rarely exceeded twenty. The factory a mile from where Shaun Maclaren lived in a two bed-roomed flat with her mother.
Shaun waited outside the front office. Bart smiled at the shy little girl the social worker had persuaded his boss to employ. He had been told of the harsh treatment she had received at the hands of the Sister's of Mercy, although he had made up his mind to show the child no special favours he was determined that his new charge would be given every opportunity.
"So, your Shaun Maclaren" he said looking down at her, "I'm told you would like to learn all about the printing game."
"Yes Sir," she whispered.
Like a father he took her by the hand to the workshop across the road, where for the next few weeks she learnt the art of collating and knock-up. The second time she struck the loose sheets against the hard surface, she caught her finger tips and Bartholomew Carter was there with the first-aid kit.
The women at the factory were a lot older than Shaun. All of them had grown-up families and they treated her like a daughter. Each offering advice and help whenever asked, sometimes arguing if one of them had given the right advice. They loved making her clothes to go dancing, and thrilled to see her try on the tulle petticoats one of them had made to go under the flared skirts they had spent hours of their free time designing.
During meal breaks they were eager to learn all that had happened at the Saturday night dance, most remembering when they were of an age similar to Shaun.
Bartholomew Carter had a lot of time for her. He helped her whenever he could. Taught her to run the big presses. Showed her first one job then another. Shaun too, was a willing worker, prepared to try any job. Bart persuaded the Boss to arrange evening classes at a nearby school and showed great pride whenever she passed an exam.
At seventeen Shaun Maclaren could run, efficiently every machine in the factory of Morris and Sons. Always attractively dressed in skirt and white or pale blue jumper she rode to work on her bicycle, her honey-coloured hair tumbling in the breeze. The whistles from the boys she passed making her feel a pleasing embarrassment. At last she had really begun to live. The Convent and it's nightmares left far behind.
Shaun loved her mother, although there were times when they felt distant towards one another, sometimes not speaking to each other for more than a week. It troubled Shaun, she felt it was her fault. That unconsciously she blamed her mother for the treatment she had received at the hands of the Sister's of Mercy and her elder sister Pauline.
Three times a week she went Country dancing. Boys always seemed to find a delight in taking her home, even though one goodnight kiss was more than enough. There was not one of them who had been able to persuade her to stay with them any longer.
She thought that in some mysterious way she must be different to other girls of her age. A few of her close friends had said as much. Most of them put it down to the sheltered life she had led at the Convent.
Maureen, the youngest daughter of Rachel's sister Lisa came down to the city for a minor operation and stayed at the flat with Shaun and her mother. Rachel, not willing to give up her bedroom to anyone, Maureen slept with her cousin. Almost twice her age Maureen treated Shaun like a younger sister. They talked and laughed, especially in bed and most nights Shaun would fall asleep in her cousin's arms.
Two weeks later Maureen went into hospital. Shaun never knew she could miss anyone so much. There was no one to cuddle up to before falling asleep. No one to make her feel that emotional excitement that came from deep within her. No one to look at and admire when she awoke in the mornings.
With Maureen she felt an inner calmness a vitality. A warm sort of sweet contentment. For the first time in her life Shaun knew she had found love. In love with someone she could really love. She felt happy, elated, and suddenly sad, knowing that her feelings could never be allowed to surface.
It was little more than a minor problem Maureen needed to have corrected, but Shaun, deeply concerned spent the day at the hospital.
"I'm so glad you were here for me", her cousin told her the moment she opened her eyes. For hours, Shaun sat quietly by her bedside holding her cousin's hands or stroking her forehead, until the night nurse sent her home.
When Maureen recovered they went dancing. If anyone stared at, or even hinted at dating Maureen Shaun would feel hurt and annoyed. It took all her will-power to hide her feelings. At one special Country dance, Shaun sat in sullen silence watching her cousin being whirled around the floor. She ignored boys who asked her to dance, wanting to be only in the arms of her cousin, knowing she dare not for fear of what other people might say. Unable to control her feelings Shaun left the dance.
When her mother asked her why she had come so early. Shaun glared at her, went to bed and cried herself to sleep. Her cousin came home just before dawn and Shaun still asleep cuddled her the moment she got into bed.
Maureen now desperate for affection moved Shaun's hand onto her breast. Even subconsciously Shaun knew it was wrong. She moved away and held Maureen around the waist.
Feeling rejected, needing to be held, to love and be loved, Maureen turned round and lay on her back. Her eyes filled with tears and a sob in her throat she placed Shaun's hands on her breasts, holding them there for interminable moments. Shaun now half awake gave a convulsive shudder as Maureen eased her cousin on top of her.
Shaun's murmuring protest died on her lips as of their own volition her hands encircled her cousin. A shaft of incredible pleasure shot through their veins as their lips gently touched like the wings of a butterfly.
The effect was erotic, something Shaun had never experienced before. Without conscious thought she traced a path with her lips down to the tips of Maureen's breasts, each nipple hardening under her tender caress.
"I love you Shaun Maclaren", Maureen whispered, "as much as I know you love me." Slowly she moved her legs up and down her thighs. As the motion increased Shaun plundered the mouth of her cousin. She savaged the delicate tissue against her teeth until she could taste the saltiness of her blood. Seconds later they squealed with delight at the ecstasy of the fulfilment of their most urgent needs.
Shaun felt as if she was walking on air. At work the women nodded wisely, each taking pleasure in her latest romance, wondering when they would meet Shaun's Mr Right. Bartholomew Carter grinned whenever he saw her, certain she would tell him about it. Wondering when his Shaun would marry, if he would be asked to give her away.
For weeks she lived in a world filled with dreams, knowing that Maureen would be at home waiting. She wanted to tell the world. Tell them that at last some one really loved her. They talked about getting a flat. Away from everyone, away from her mother.
A new woman started at the factory. Shaun showed her how to collate and knock-up. During meal breaks the new woman talked about girls living together. The other women thought it was a good idea, good for reasons of safety and the need to share expenses. The new woman scoffed, thought that all girls living together were nothing but sluts and up to no good.
"Down our street," she told those who were listening, "there were two girls living together. I didn't think it was right. Eventually they carted one off to prison. The other one got beat up by the locals."
For hours Shaun lay awake every night, looking lovingly at the peacefully sleeping Maureen. Hours earlier they'd made love. A love too precious to risk. Shaun knew she would rather die than allow anything to happen to her Maureen. She knew it had to end as she cried herself to sleep. In the morning she thought about their lives. Maureen had a widow's pension. There was no money problems, and her mother had an income of her own.
Shaun decided that now was the time to fulfil her life-long ambition and join the Army. A month later she left Morris and Sons. Bartholomew Carter was upset, he felt hurt that turned to anger. He pleaded with her to tell him the name of the man who had made her so happy, promised to marry, then changed his mind. He thought of himself as her adopted father and protector. He knew he could make things right.
During the last meal breaks he tried talking to her. In the end he gave up, and told her to forget the bastard who had let her down.
"You're only young yet," he told her, "there's plenty of time. You'll find the right man. It'll all work out in the end." How could she tell him she was leaving because she was in love with another woman. Or that his new employee had told her what happened to females living together when the authorities were informed. That they could send her to prison. Maureen might be killed. How could she break his heart. She loved Bartholomew Carter as a daughter might love a father, and each night she cried herself to sleep.
There was no alternative. The Army offered her a career, a chance for her and Maureen to forget one another. Perhaps Maureen might find a decent man, someone she could really love. For Shaun this was the chance of a new life, a new beginning full of promise and filled with opportunities
On the train a sudden wave of depression and anxiety overtook her. She wondered if the other recruits had similar feelings. It was, she remembered with horror the same as the first day at the Convent when Sandy Highfield left her.
A sense of achievement gripped her as she stepped off the train proud of the leather suitcase her mates at Morrises had given her. There were other women shuffling through the ticket barrier, about thirty in all. The ticket collector glancing at their rail warrants as they passed. Their clothes all colours and styles. Everyone looking around with curiosity and a sudden sense of community. Shaun wondered what their reasons were for joining the Army.
"All right you lot. Everyone over here. Come along quickly now."
The voice, loud and clear stopped the chatter of the new arrivals, as all heads turned in the direction of the Sergeant. A big broad-shouldered man that reminded Shaun of Bartholomew Carter.
"Into the first truck," he shouted, his voice commanding instant obedience. "The first one I said. You don't get a truck of your own."
An impatient woman corporal urged the newcomers into the truck. Some clambered in with ease. One in a tight fitting tailored skirt had less luck. She tried to climb up the side and in the end had to be pushed by friendly, over-familiar hands. Shaun threw her case over the tail-gate. She grinned, it reminded her of the time she heaved her case over the fence.
"Place your foot against the side," the corporal suggested. Without thinking she did as she was told.
"Think they would let the back down."
"That's too easy," she was told. "First rule in the Army. Make a simple job bloody hard. I reckon it gives them some sort of a thrill."
They were rocked backwards and forwards, thrown from side to side as they were driven down dark country lanes to the barracks, a ten minute drive from the station. The driver struggled through the gears, manoeuvred the truck up the ramp to the guard house. After a few words with the sentry he drove on, minutes later came to a permanent stop.
Another Sergeant appeared and stood by the truck. "This is the cookhouse, and Mess hall," he told them, "get inside, get fed. I'll be back in an hour. Then you'll be assigned to your billets."
The building was enormous, filled with long tables and stools. Down one side a row of counters stacked with plates and mugs.
Shaun looked at the end of the hall expecting to see a top table and a Crucifix.
Behind the counter three women stood dressed in white overalls and caps, not one with a smile on her face. As the line of recruits moved forward, one woman thrust a plate in front of them another threw cold food on each plate.
"Foods bloody cold," someone commented, "can't stand cold food. Even the coffee's mixed up with the tea."
"If you don't like it complain," a voice from behind the counter retorted, "we're only here to do you a favour. We're not even supposed to be on duty."
The words accompanied by glares of resentment made the newcomers move quickly along. It was then everyone knew they were no more than rookies to be treated as the lowest of the low.
The new recruits were collected, marched down a row of huts ringed with white stones and counted off by the corporal.
"That's all," she shouted, "move along to the next hut — and be quick about it."
There was a strong smell of floor polish. Everything was bright and clean. All the beds in a row reminded Shaun of the dormitory at the Convent. She put her suitcase on a bed by the door.
The room filled with loud voices, suddenly fell silent. All heads turned to see a woman in uniform with stripes on her arms, standing very erect.
"I am your hut corporal," she announced loud and clear. "I have the unfortunate task of sorting you lot out." She grinned at one of the girls struggling into a flimsy pink nightdress. "This is the last night you'll be wearing one of those things. Tomorrow you will be kitted out and wearing regulation pyjamas."
A groan of disappointment rang around the room.
"That's enough," she continued with a grin. "Reveille's at six, lights out at ten, and that's in three minutes time."
During the night there were sounds of restless bodies heavy sleeping, deep breathing and a faint sound of sobbing. As she drifted towards sleep, Shaun realised that she was not alone in her depression over her past and apprehension about her future. But she felt a kind of contentment knowing that her Maureen was safe. Her thoughts about her cousin were the last thing she remembered.
When Shaun opened her eyes the Corporal was moving down the centre of the hut banging the end of each bed with a stick shouting. "Rise and shine." Minutes later they were marched out to the ablution block to visit one of the cubicles with only half a door and wash in icy water.
It seemed to Shaun that no matter where she went the water was always cold. The Mess hall was next. There were, Shaun thought, hundreds of women collecting plates of something that looked like porridge and mugs of steaming hot coffee.
"Any complaints?" someone shouted. No one seemed willing to answer.
Shaun put down the bundle she was carrying. With the others she had been issued her clothing and a kitbag to store it all in. There was a tunic, skirt, shirts and a battle dress. She pulled out from the bag an extra large cotton bra and wondered what she could find to fill it. A peaked cap and stockings came next, the shoes, hopefully the right size, they felt hard and were guaranteed to cripple anyone who wore them, and as they were promised the regulation striped pyjamas.
Shaun held up the skirt and groaned in despair when the waist reached the tips of her breasts.
"Try mine," the girl in the next bed named Cynthia suggested, "we can take in the waist. It seems nearer your size than mine. "
All the brass tunic buttons, a lovely shade of green had to be cleaned and polished. The Corporal hovering between beds showing them how it had to be done.
Shaun and Cynthia sat together making their uniforms fit, using needles and cotton from a package they were told was a housewife.
"We're only here for a few days," Cynthia told Shaun, "then we begin our training."
"That's terrific. Can't wait to learn to drive."
"Basic training, silly."
"But I joined up to become a driver," Shaun Protested.
At the recruiting office she had been asked which career path she would like to follow. When asked about her previous employment she had to explain the progress she had made at Morris and Sons, and was offered an immediate position in the Army printing division. But Shaun wanted to do something different, and her heart set on becoming a driver. She saw it all as part of a dream. A dream of independence. To be free. To go where she wanted to go. She remembered the look of annoyance on the officer's face as she filled out the forms.
"If you fail Miss Maclaren," she said sternly, "you will be on permanent GD."
In their small groups they were hesitant about getting to know one another very well, believing they would eventually be separated.
"What did you do?" Cynthia asked.
"I was a printer."
"I tried typing."
"What did you apply for?"
"To become a driver, same as you."
"And me," Roxanne in the bed opposite joined in.
The following day they went on parade in their uniforms proud of their efforts to make them fit. Some wore their caps a jaunty angle, perched on the side of their head. The Sergeant who called them to attention looked at each one and grinned.
The officer walked down the line of recruits and yanked each cap down squarely on their heads.
"That is the way all head gear will be worn in future. You will be taught how to dress during basic training, and you'll learn all about life in the Army."
"I know you will enjoy your holiday at the seaside," the Sergeant added when the officer left the parade, "it will be among the best days of your life."
It was the beginning of winter. On the seafront they struggled to fight the elements. Marching in unison, swinging their arms as the wind and rain battered them. There were gym sessions at the far end of the parade ground just at dawn broke very morning with no one being excused. Every recruit believed the Army was made up of sadists who took a delight, trying to inflict the worst possible pain.
They were taught to make beds, fold up their clothes and polish floors. Shaun and her group were determined to be the ultimate in the art of spit and polish. The beds were lined up with calibrated precision. The contents of every locker faultlessly arranged.
To add to the daily torture they were marched up and down the parade ground. It seemed to Shaun that no one could please the drill instructor. When they did their best, and knew they were good, he found fault. If they wore battledress, he'd turn up on parade in fatigues, then give them two minutes to change.
Most afternoons they attended lectures. When they dozed off, too tired to pay attention the Sergeant would rudely awaken them. At the end of their six weeks training, they had learned many things about themselves and the Army. Each one of them proud of their personal achievement, and equally as proud of their hut.
At the end of July there was a list of names pinned on the notice board. It was Shaun who found her and Cynthia's names. Howard, Maclaren, listed for transportation instruction, and underneath the name Anderson.
"Look! that's me," Roxanne said excitedly, "the three of us we're all going to the transport school."
The transport school was part of a large barracks an Shaun felt certain she would get lost. "Don't worry," Cynthia told her, "we'll all stick together. I can't wait to drive one of those cars the officers go around in."
Cynthia Howard made no secret of her interest in men. Shaun and Roxanne would exchange glances whenever she went into action, both wondering about her life before joining up. When anyone mentioned about girls living together in civvy street, Shaun always felt her face flush.
Cynthia's confidence was sometimes taken for granted and got her into trouble more then once with the Sergeant. But being Cynthia she usually managed to talk her way out of it. Unlike Shaun, who for some reason, the Corporal in charge of the hut appeared to take an instant dislike to. On occasions she could be heard all over the motor pool Shouting,
"Maclaren! Maclaren, come here."
Shaun was soon very familiar with every humiliation the Corporal could devise. Everyone in the hut realised that while she drew fire away from them they were safe from the Corporal's prying eyes. Cynthia and Roxanne were angered by this attitude and helped Shaun whenever they could.
On the driving course it was more difficult. They were split into teams of two, assigned to a Sergeant instructor. Shaun took driving lessons in the morning and practical maintenance in the afternoons.
She nursed her own pleasures in the driving lessons, and was delighted with the masculine world of engines, low loaders and lorries. She saw a semitrailer similar to the one that took Casey Ann from her. Tears welled in her eyes for a moment, but it passed and she continued with her work.
She had always felt that heavy vehicles and engines were something designated as a purely male reserve. Now it was open to her. She surprised everyone with her abilities and was proud of her achievements.
Driving came naturally, giving her a new confidence. Even the obnoxious hut Corporal couldn't get under her skin any more. She made a remark to the Sergeant instructor about being late for a lesson. Days later the hut Corporal applied for a transfer.
Shaun Maclaren was learning all the time, discovering her own strengths, coming to grips with her own weaknesses. The rules and petty regulations of the Army were not dissimilar to her life at the Convent, with it's tradition of doing the simplest things the hardest possible way. It was to Shaun a continuation of the school, designed to demonstrate that life was far from fair. The ruthless discipline demanded submission of all individual initiative and imagination.
"They want machines," Roxanne growled over dinner in the Mess hall. She moved the cold mashed potatoes to one side of her plate awash with soggy cabbage, and rock-hard peas in watered down gravy. She stabbed at the mess with her fork.
"I need a decent meal. We had this same rubbish last night."
An officer moved down the line of tables with the mess Sergeant close behind. She stopped opposite Shaun, Roxanne and Cynthia.
"Any complaints?" she asked.
"Yes Ma'am," Shaun said without thinking, "we're fed up with cold mash, cheese, soggy cabbage and rock hard peas."
The mess Sergeant scowled at the three trainee drivers.
"This lot complain all the time Ma'am. They're trainees. Not used to life in the Army. Still civvies really."
The officer looked at the food on the plate. "Bring me a clean fork please Sergeant. I want to try this food and test the complaint."
Shaun began shaking, wishing she had kept her mouth shut.
"Try mine Ma'am," Cynthia suggested, offering the officer her plate, worried about Shaun, now almost in tears.
"I'd rather try Private Maclaren's. She is the one complaining."
The hush in the Mess hall was frightening as the officer ate from Shaun's plate. Without a word she picked up the plate and with the fork threw it all in the trash bin.
"How dare you serve my girls this rubbish." she added angrily, as she faced the Mess Sergeant, "You will report to my office immediately. Clear away the tables girls," she said as she went through to the kitchen, "you will have a late dinner tonight."
She looked at the three rebels.
"This matter will be dealt with. You three, Maclaren, Howard and Anderson will report to my office in ten minutes time."
They stood in front of the desk. It reminded Shaun of the Reverend Mother's study. The officer looked at them. The silence agonizing, each wondering what fate had in store.
"I'm pleased," she began, breaking the long drawn-out silence, "that you had the good sense to bring this disgraceful food to my attention. I assure you there will be a difference in the menu from now on."
Shaun progressed from engine maintenance to driving staff cars. Two weeks later she went for her test. With a sudden start she heard her name called and felt Roxanne give her a push. She presented herself to the examiner, gave a hurried salute and sat in the car. There was no turning back now, even though her stomach had tied itself up in knots. She caught a glimpse of the instructor who gave her no sign of pity or encouragement. Shaun thought the test was a dream. She remembered starting the vehicle. It seemed to be all over in minutes. She was back in barracks drawing up outside the motor-pool aware of a row of faces demanding to know her fate. The examiner scribbled on her clip board. "I suggest you turn off the engine Maclaren."
"Did I pass Ma'am?" she asked turning the key.
"You have on cars and light vehicles. After your furlough you will be tested on trucks and transporters. I'm sure you'll do well Maclaren." Shaun stumbled out of the car and joined her two friends.
"Was it really that awful? You're as white as a ghost."
"It was simple Cyn. Really it was. I passed, I actually passed."
"You could try and look pleased about it. My turn next. Wish me luck - you know I need it."
An hour later the three of them went back to the hut, each with a pass for cars and light vehicles. Tomorrow the beginning of their first furlough.
Every letter Shaun received from Maureen she hid in the bottom of her locker. When she was on her own she re-read them over and over again. Every word, every declaration of love she treasured. Her two friends believing them to be from her boy friend, they knew she would one day marry made no attempt to pry.
Both Roxanne and Cynthia talked about their various romances. On occasions Cynthia would go into more intimate details and Roxanne would look at Shaun and grin.
Shaun never allowed herself to be drawn out although she longed to tell her friends she knew she dare not. She longed to pour out her heart to someone who would at least listen and try to understand.
Cynthia and Roxanne tried a few times to persuade her to talk about her fiance who Shaun referred to as John. Eventually they gave up, after realising that Shaun Maclaren was a very private person and they had no real wish to intrude. They were as Roxanne observed three very good friends.
Maureen was standing at the ticket barrier and the moment she saw Shaun waved like mad. Cynthia and Roxanne wondered where John was. Shaun, filled with emotion ran to greet her then slowed down and walked with her friends.
"I thought John would have been waiting for you," Cynthia said with a smile.
"My brother's in bed with a most awful cold," Maureen told them once the introductions were made.
"Mummy sent me down to pick you up. We're all longing to see you."
The three girls promised to meet and travel back together at the end of their leave.
"Who knows," Roxanne said as she kissed Shaun goodbye, "we might even meet John." When Cynthia and Roxanne were out of sight, Maureen and Shaun fell into each other's arms. The stares and smiles from passing people did not bother them. Perhaps they didn't care. They were wrapped in their embrace and for the moment it was all that mattered. Maureen led Shaun towards her car. Shaun wondered how she had managed to buy it.
"Sold the house," Maureen told her with a triumphant laugh, "we – you and I own a cottage by the sea."
"Are we going there now? What about Mum? the flat? is she all right?"
"Questions! so many questions. Everything is fine. It's all been taken care of."
During the long drive Maureen explained that she had to get away from Aunt Rachel. That she had a good offer for her house, which she accepted, and bought a two bedroomed cottage on the coast. It was quiet, peaceful, she told her with no near neighbours. With the money left over she had bought the car. That she had completely redecorated the place while Shaun was away.
"I know you'll love our home," Maureen added excitedly.
"Are we going there now?"
"Not yet," Maureen answered with a smile, "first we're going to have that special holiday we always promised ourselves. I've found an ideal spot where no one would dream of asking difficult or embarrassing questions"
An hour later they were driving along the sea front. Maureen told her the hotel catered for public figures who needed to get away, whose main concern was for plush comfortable privacy. That the hotel was small and very quiet. Inside the lobby the smell of salt and seaweed was tempered with suggestions of brandy, cigars, waxed furniture and hot-house gardenias. Chandeliers hung everywhere. The deep-seated armchairs were of autumn tone with a hint of rose. Velvet curtains hushed every whisper, deep-piled carpets softened every step. Crockery was never rattled at the 'Sandwood Hotel'. The wine steward pulled corks with a discreet pop. It was an island of peace, where no one asked difficult questions or dare cast a curious glance.
Shaun stared wide-eyed as Maureen with an air of confidence signed the register. She had a feeling that her cousin had been here before .
"It's very grand," Shaun whispered, as they sipped their wine and the waiter served their meal. A look of fear crept into her eyes as she watched the waiters talking to the other guests in low tones.
Maureen stroked the back of her hand.
"It's all right, " she said softly, "we're perfectly safe there is nothing to fear."
Later they went upstairs to their suite. It was only then that Shaun felt really safe. Maureen sat on the edge of the bed and took a ragged, excited breath. She pulled Shaun close to her who was astounded by the size of the bed under it's canopy of blue brocade as she unfastened the buttons of her tunic.
Shaun took Maureen in her arms, unzipped her cousin's blue dress, unfastened her bra and cupped her breasts in her hands. They kissed again and again, touching here and there with an aching mixture of reverence and passion, yearning to be taken up to the glistening pulsating plateau known only to them.
Shaun, her past fears forgotten, lost all self-control as her lips traced the long curves of Maureen's body, the flat plane of her stomach and the satiny inside of her thighs.
For an earth shaking instant their world stood perfectly still. They both felt suspended, then rocked on a gentle sea, afloat in their special kind of love, knowing that forever they would belong to each other.