Heartwarming and gritty, the life and loves of a factory girl in Bermondsey through World War 1. Mary Gibson is Professor Emerita of History at John Jay College and the Graduate Center, City University of New York, USA. She is the author of Born to Crime: Cesare Lombroso and the Origins of Biological Criminology (2002) and Prostitution and the State in Italy, 1860-1915 (2nd Edition, 1999). MARY GIBSON is Professor of History at John Jay College of Criminal Justice and the Graduate School, City University of New York. Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts By Mary Gibson Head of Zeus Ltd Copyright © 2014 Mary Gibson All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-78185-578-2 Contents Cover, Welcome Page, Dedication, Chapter 1: Custard Tarts, Chapter 2: Going Home, Chapter 3: A Day Out, Chapter 4: Swept Off Her Feet, Chapter 5: Down and Out, Chapter 6: Penny-farthing Promise, Chapter 7: Bread, Chapter 8: And Roses, Chapter 9: 'Over the Other Side', Chapter 10: Shifting Sands, Chapter 11: Fire and Ice, Chapter 12: Alibi, Chapter 13: To the Tower, Chapter 14: Christmas Contrasts, Chapter 15: A Game Old Bird, Chapter 16: Six Bob Short, Chapter 17: A Matter of Trust, Chapter 18: Choices, Mistakes and Promises, Chapter 19: Doing the Rounds, Chapter 20: A Storm Breaks, Chapter 21: Orphans of the Storm, Chapter 22: A Feather on the Wind, Chapter 23: Oh, We Don't Want to Lose You, Chapter 24: The Power of a Promise, Chapter 25: Home Soil, Chapter 26: Cuckoo's Nest, Chapter 27: Mother Love, Chapter 28: Little Canary, Chapter 29: 'Nothing to Mar Our Joy', Chapter 30: 'Keep the Home Fires Burning', Chapter 31: A Dark Moon, Chapter 32: Till the Boys Come Home, Chapter 33: Turn the Dark Clouds Inside Out, Acknowledgements, About this Book, About the Author, An Invitation from the Publisher, Copyright, CHAPTER 1 Custard Tarts Nellie tried not to look up at the clock. She'd checked it not more than a minute ago and knew there was only half an hour till the end of her shift. But the temptation to check again was overwhelming. She looked up at the large white-faced clock hanging on the brick wall between two tall factory windows. The clock had a two-inch-thick coating of pale golden powder over its rim and the square panes in the windows were edged with the same substance, as if a yellow snowstorm had blown through the factory floor, dusting every nook and cranny with a fine powder. But it wasn't snowing. It was high summer and the room was filled with choking custard powder. Albert, the foreman, had gone round earlier with a long pole, pulling open the top windowpanes and letting some air in to alleviate the oppressive heat of the long room. But to Nellie it felt as though the air must be the only thing that wasn't moving in the powder-packing department of Pearce Duff's custard factory. Nellie had been standing at the bench for almost eleven hours now, filling packet after packet with custard powder, and her calf muscles, thighs and back all screamed as though they'd been stretched on a rack. She shifted continually from one foot to the other in search of momentary relief. Any minute now the hooter would sound, a jarring high-pitched scream, which was nevertheless always welcome. Quickly glancing from the clock back to her best friend Lily, she checked to see if her friend's hands were idle. Lily had stood beside her all day, folding and pasting the filled packets of custard Nellie passed to her. They had to make sure their hands were always moving. Albert constantly prowled between the rows of filling machines, checking on the girls' every movement. He could spot an idle hand from the other end of the factory floor. A pause in the filling, folding or packing procedure was considered the cardinal sin in the powder-packing department. Nothing was ever allowed to be still. She nudged her friend to let her know Albert was approaching and handed her the next packet for pasting. 'Not long now, Lil,' she muttered. Lily raised her eyes, and without pause shoved the next packet to Maggie Tyrell for loading on to the trolley. Suddenly a high-pitched screeching noise came keening up from the factory yard below and through the open windows. Nellie and Lily exchanged glances. It was not the welcome sound of the factory hooter sounding the end of their day, but the unmistakable wail of a baby. Instantly Nellie saw Maggie Tyrell freeze. She was a frazzled-looking woman with six children. 'That's my little Lenny!' Maggie darted a look at the clock. 'Me daughter's brought him too early!' Albert was approaching at a steady pace and Nellie saw panic written on Maggie's face. Ethel Brown, a large woman working at the next machine who had also heard the baby's cry, leaned over to Maggie. 'Ask to go early, Mag,' she suggested. But Maggie shook her head. 'He'll dock me half hour.' More and more women became aware of the baby's insistent screaming, shooting quick looks at Maggie to see what