spoken with more confidence than she felt, but Annie was frustrated that neither of her parents seemed to understand the gravity of their predicament. If her father’s wages would only cover the rent and she and her mother didn’t find a job quickly they might well be in danger of starving.
Upstairs, in the tiny bedroom under the roof, the one with the single bed, Annie crouched over the laundry bag of clothes she had managed to bring with her. Most of them she now realized would be completely unsuitable for the kind of life she would be leading in the future, but maybe she could persuade her mother to put her skill with a needle to good use in her own home first.
She picked out the smartest of the dresses she had been able to keep. It was in a soft blue wool and she thought it would be very suitable for working in a milliner’s shop. It had three-quarter-length sleeves and a nipped-in waist and she knew it was very stylish. Fortunately, only a few weeks before the bailiffs had come, she’d bought a pert little felt hat from her own milliner’s that matched the blue of the dress perfectly. She might as well wear it for the interview before she had to go through the whole shaming process once more of selling her clothes, or worse still, having to pawn them. The blue hat was really cute with a sideways-tilting brim and a small ostrich feather slotted into the petersham ribbon that ran around the base; it sat on top of her blonde sausage-curls in the most flattering way. She was glad she had thought to keep it when she had had to sell all her other lovely clothes. She didn’t know how long she would be able to hang on to it but for now at least it seemed like the perfect outfit for a job interview.
Annie set off into town where the shop was located. She didn’t have enough money for the bus fare both ways so decided she would walk back and took the bus to her destination, not wanting to appear hot and flustered even though that was how she was feeling. The sign above the door said Elliott’s Fine Millinery in gold script lettering. As she pushed open the door a bell tinkled in the distance and an older lady popped out immediately from a room behind the shop.
‘Good afternoon and how may I help you? I’m Mrs Elliott.’ The woman beamed at her as if she were a customer and looked prepared to show her an array of hats.
Annie thought she should come right to the point. ‘Good afternoon. I am here about the vacancy,’ she said. ‘I saw from your advertisement in the Clitheroe Echo that you have a retail position available. I hope I am not too late to apply?’
‘Not at all,’ Mrs Elliott said affably, although her smile faded a little, but her eyes examined Annie from top to toe. Annie met her gaze; she felt equal to any such scrutiny.
‘May I ask how old you are?’
‘I’m eighteen.’
‘That’s perfect,’ the older woman agreed.
Annie began to feel more confident. The job would be hers, she was sure of it. ‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to fill out this form.’ Mrs Elliott produced an official-looking piece of paper from under the counter. ‘It’s so that we may have your details on file.’
Annie thought this sounded promising until she actually began to write. No sooner had she written her name than she hesitated on the next line. She was tempted to give the more impressive Clitheroe address of her former home, but what if they tried to contact her and found out she no longer lived there? She took a deep breath and, with a flourish, wrote 16 Alderley Street, Norwesterly Clitheroe, before handing it back across the counter.
Mrs Elliott looked at it, the smile never wavering from her face, but when she posed her next question the eagerness had gone from her voice.
‘And what previous retail experience do you have, Miss Beaumont?’ she asked. ‘Is it in millinery or in some other commodity of ladies’ fashion wear?’
Annie felt her own smile begin to fade. ‘I-I don’t have any such experience, I’m afraid. But I’m an extremely quick learner,’ she added eagerly.
‘I don’t doubt it. But perhaps you have some other working experience that may be relevant?’
Annie realized, with dismay, that saying she had no experience of work of any kind would not be to her advantage. She wracked her brains but could think of nothing she had done in the past, other than being a valued client, that would prepare her for working in a hat shop. It hadn’t occurred to her that just being Annie Beaumont late of Clitheroe Town might not be sufficient recommendation, as it had been in the past, for whatever she decided to turn her hand to.
As the silence lengthened, Mrs Elliott said, ‘I’m afraid we must insist on taking on someone with prior ex-perience and impeccable references as I’m sure you understand. The job calls for a trained saleslady who would be able to step in and pick up the reins immediately. We don’t have the time to train someone up.’
‘May I ask how I’m supposed to gain this experience if you won’t give me a job where I could learn?’ Annie could hear the desperation in her voice and hated herself for it. It sounded almost like begging.
Now Mrs Elliott’s smile was positively condescending as she said, ‘I’m sure there are plenty of small local shops where you could gain an invaluable apprenticeship. Although not, perhaps, ones in the immediate vicinity of Alderley Street. They may not offer the kind of experience we would be looking for. I mean you could hardly expect a—’
Annie didn’t wait to hear the rest. ‘Thank you for your time,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster. And she turned on her heel and walked out, trying to hide the burning tears of humiliation that stung behind her lids.
She had been so convinced she would be offered the job at Elliott’s Fine Millinery she hadn’t bothered to write down the addresses of the other retail positions she had seen advertised in the local paper, though she had noted they were all within walking distance of each other. So, after her initial disappointment, she set off scouring the neighbourhood to see if she recognized the names of any of the shops and if they matched the shops that had advertised they had positions available. She found two more milliners’ shops and a retail dress shop that had placed ads in the paper and at first her hopes soared when she found them. But when the shopkeepers’ reactions were similar to Mrs Elliott’s, she soon began to feel deflated. Even if they didn’t balk visibly when she gave her address as Alderley Street, Norwesterly Clitheroe, in what she now realized was the slum heart of the working-class neighbourhood, they were not prepared to overlook the fact that she had no retail experience, or indeed, experience of work of any kind. After each interview, she began to feel so disheartened it was difficult to pick herself up again ready for another one. Even when she found two more shops, one selling ladies’ underwear and one selling ballgowns, that had not been advertised in the Echo, but which had discreet postcards propped up in the window, the result was the same. After the initial question and response routine exposed her lack of experience, she turned on her heel and walked away. By the time she had visited all the retail shops that she could find that required staff, it was getting dark and she thought about the long walk home. As she turned in the direction of Norwesterly, she accepted there was no point in trying for any more similar jobs. It was time to admit defeat and look for something else.
There had been one other job in the Clitheroe Echo which had caught her attention but she had initially discounted it as not the kind of work she wanted. However, after such a fruitless day, she now realized that unskilled labour might be the only kind of work she was fit for. She knew where Fletcher’s Mill was, even though she hadn’t actually been there, for it was where her father worked in the administration offices. Not that their paths would cross if she did get the work, for the job on offer was for a loom operator, to work in the loom sheds which involved longer hours than any clerical job. The ad had said there would be training available and that, despite the long hours, she would be earning a pittance of a wage. She knew her mother would not find it palatable that any daughter of hers should have to be nothing better than a mill girl, and in this instance she wondered what her father would have to say about it too. Not that it mattered; she had tried her hardest to find more genteel work but it seemed obvious to her now that no matter how hard she tried there would be nothing forthcoming on the retail front.
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