The Dressmakers of London

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

I should not have to remind you how important it is that you take these aptitude tests seriously, ladies,” Corporal Murphy said from her position at the top of the column of women lined up for daily drills. “It is imperative that the WAAF and the RAF know the full extent of your skills so that it can be decided how you will be best deployed.”

Over her weeks at Innsworth, Izzie had been told over and over again that the women of the WAAF were vital for freeing up more men to train as pilots, navigators, and bombers. Women would take the places of mechanics, cooks, drivers, and orderlies. There would be WAAFs in charge of armories at various bases across the country, and it would be WAAFs who would work in bomber command as plotters keeping tabs on the many RAF planes that flew operations nightly.

Despite all the talk that a WAAF could be called upon to do anything, she knew that any officer would take one look at her skills and background and assign her to a tailor’s shop on a base. She would spend her war sewing on patches and repairing uniforms.

She tried not to think about how uninspiring that all sounded. Mum might have kept a close handle on everything going on at the shop, but each customer coming in had presented something new and different to work on. The designs might not have been Izzie’s own yet, but at least it had been real sewing and not a sort of assembly line of mundane tasks.

A quick movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She glanced over in time to see the blond top of the head of the posh woman who’d spoken to her a few days ago— Oh, what is her name? Allison? Amelia?— dip down below the rest of her row. Then, the woman— Alexandra! —stuffed something into the patch pocket of her uniform tunic.

Alexandra caught Izzie’s eye and shot her a conspiratorial grin before turning back to attention.

When Corporal Murphy finally dismissed them, Izzie wove her way through her fellow recruits to Alexandra, who was clutching at her tunic with her right hand.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

Alexandra pressed her free hand to her lips, repressing a giggle. “I looked down while Corporal Murphy was speaking and realized that a button had popped off my shirt and was lying at my feet. It must have worked its way down below my tunic belt somehow. It’s lucky I saw it, or who knows how long my unmentionables might have been on show once I’d taken off my tunic.”

Izzie couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a good thing you spotted it.”

Alexandra dug into her pocket and held the shirt button up. “The only problem is, now I have to sew it back on, and I’m all thumbs when it comes to a needle and thread.”

Whether it was out of the goodness of her own heart or to repent for not having accepted the offer of a cup of tea from Alexandra when they’d spoken in the NAAFI, Izzie didn’t know, but she said, “Well, we can’t have you running around like that. Come with me, and I’ll fix it.”

“Oh, would you? I’d be ever so grateful,” said Alexandra in a rush.

“Like you said, we can’t have your unmentionables on show for the entire base to see.”

“I knew this would happen, you know,” said Alexandra as she followed Izzie back to Izzie’s hut. “I even told the quartermaster when they issued me a uniform that the shirt wasn’t the right size, but she told me that every girl loses weight during basic training. I suppose she didn’t realize just how prodigious the bosoms of the women in my family are. It’s almost a thing of legend.

“On top of that, they gave me a man’s tunic because the quartermaster said it was the only thing on hand that would fit me in the shoulders. Naturally, that means that the rest of the tunic is so large I’m practically swimming in it.”

“It’s ridiculous that we’re two years into the war and they’re still struggling to make proper uniforms for women,” Izzie said.

“They called us up, but they weren’t ready for us,” Alexandra agreed.

Izzie held open the door to her hut for Alexandra and then hurried over to her bunk, where she’d stored a basic kit of sewing supplies in a tin that was small enough to fit in her kit bag.

“Right, let’s see what the damage is,” she said.

Alexandra peeled off her jacket, revealing a shirt that gaped to show off a flash of peach silk trimmed with French lace.

“One more button lost and I might as well end up in one of those clubs I’m not supposed to know my brothers sometimes go to in Soho,” said Alexandra with a laugh.

Izzie grinned. “I can sew it back on for you in a jiffy, and later I can take a look at altering all of your uniform to fit you better if you like.”

It was going above and beyond, but she couldn’t let this poor woman run around with a tunic that looked as though it should fit a rugby player. Besides, there was something about Alexandra’s warmth and openness that made her want to help.

“You can do that?” Alexandra asked in awe.

Izzie laughed. “I’m a dressmaker, remember? I reworked my own uniform during my very first make do and mend.”

“How clever. I was wondering how it was that that your uniform looks like it fits you so much better than any other girl’s,” said Alexandra.

Moving efficiently, Izzie cut a length of thread and threaded her needle while Alexandra peeled off her shirt. Izzie took it and set to work securing the button, wrapping the shank, and tying off the thread.

“There you are,” she said, snipping the thread and handing the shirt back to Alexandra.

“Thank you!” said Alexandra, sounding utterly delighted. “Do you really think there’s anything that can be done to make it fit properly?”

As Alexandra buttoned her shirt, Izzie tilted her head to examine the way it stretched over her chest.

“It won’t be regulation,” Izzie warned.

“I just want something that fits,” said Alexandra.

“I can insert some panels through the sides that will give you a bit more room. And maybe some darts for shape.” She nodded firmly. “Why don’t you come back here in the afternoon and I’ll see what I can do?”

Alexandra pulled on her uniform tunic and then clasped Izzie’s hands. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It isn’t. I appreciate it.”

“You go,” Izzie said, blushing a little. “I’ll tidy these things away.”

As Alexandra rushed off and out of the hut, Izzie couldn’t help but feel that, for the first time since she’d arrived at Innsworth, she might have made a friend.

“Is someone knocking?” asked Gladys, the girl with the bunk across from Izzie’s later that afternoon.

“Hello!” called out Alexandra, sticking her head inside the door of the hut. “Permission to enter?”

Izzie, who had been idly drawing a floor-sweeping gown that would never pass rationing, set aside her pencil and sketchbook and waved. “Over here.”

Alexandra, who was holding a spare uniform shirt and her tunic in her hand, hurried along the rows of beds. “Hello. I hope that this is still all right.”

“Absolutely. Why don’t we start with your shirts first? It seems like they’re in the most need of attention,” she said.

Alexandra obediently stood, arms held slightly out, while Izzie took up her tailor’s chalk and began to mark where she wanted to insert the panels on each side.

“Right, that one is done. Why don’t you pop the other one on?” she said.

“Who taught you how to do all of this?” asked Alexandra.

“My mother. She worked for a tailor before she met Dad, but she stopped working after they married. He died when I was seven and left us without any income. She opened the shop because she really didn’t have any other choice,” said Izzie, standing back to check the fit of the shirt. “That one’s done too. Why don’t we look at your tunic?”

Alexandra put on the tunic and said, “That must have been difficult for your mother.”

“It was,” she said, reaching for a box of pins and beginning to lift and pin the shoulders on the tunic to correct the fit. She would have to chip in the shoulders, which would require a bit of work, but it would make a world of difference.

“Mum loved him very much,” she continued. “She was devastated when he died. My sister was too. She’s a few years older than me, so she remembers him far better than I do.”

“Sylvia is your sister?” asked Alexandra.

She smiled. “You have a good memory.”

“It can be terrible when someone dies unexpectedly,” said Alexandra. When Izzie looked up at her sober tone, Alexandra blushed and said, “My father’s older brother died in the last war.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Izzie. “Lift your right arm, please.”

“On top of losing his brother, my father had to take on an entire set of responsibilities that he never anticipated would be his.”

Izzie nodded and placed a couple of pins along the side seam of Alexandra’s tunic. When she’d begun helping her mother take customers’ measurements, she’d quickly learned that a dressmaker’s shop was not just a place where dresses were made. It was where many women revealed their deepest secrets and insecurities. It was also vital that, no matter how intense her curiosity, a seamstress never push a customer to divulge anything that woman didn’t wish to say.

“If you could lift your left arm now,” she said.

Alexandra did as she was told, and Izzie set about pinning to match the right side. Then she stood back to check everything. “Lift your arms to shoulder height and cross them in front of you. I want to be sure that you have enough room in the shoulders.”

Alexandra followed her instructions. “It feels good.”

“How is the length?” she asked.

Alexandra peered down. “A little long, I think.”

“I agree,” she said, folding the hem. “About here?”

“Yes,” said Alexandra.

After she’d pinned the hem, Izzie stepped back again. “It needs a little shape. If you’re willing to risk Corporal Murphy’s wrath, I can add a couple of darts at the bust.”

“Would you?” breathed Alexandra. “It would be wonderful to feel more like a woman and less like a sack of potatoes.”

Izzie laughed and traced out where the darts should go.

“There. You’re all done,” she announced after a final check.

“Thank you. When do you think you’ll start?” Alexandra asked.

“I can start on the shirts tonight, if you like. That seems to be the most pressing need after this morning,” she said.

“That would be wonderful. What will I owe you?”

All at once, something in Izzie deflated. She wasn’t at the shop, and she hadn’t thought once about charging this charming, guileless woman. She’d only offered to help because she’d wanted to.

Immediately, Alexandra seemed to sense something was wrong. “I’ve offended you. I’m very sorry. Sometimes I just put my foot straight in it.”

“You didn’t offend me,” said Izzie quickly.

“I did, and I’m very sorry,” said Alexandra putting a hand on her forearm. “I really am.”

There was such genuine feeling in the other woman’s apology that Izzie gave her a small smile. “Why don’t you buy me our next cup of tea at the NAAFI, and we’ll call it even.”

“That’s far too little for the work you’re doing,” argued Alexandra.

“Two cups of tea then.”

“Three cups of tea and chocolate to go with each. You choose the time and the place,” said Alexandra, sticking out her hand.

Izzie laughed and shook her hand. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I really should go. I must tidy my bunk for the next inspection, or I’ll be sent to the brig.”

“Do they do that to WAAFs?” Izzie asked.

There was an amused sparkle in Alexandra’s eye. “I shouldn’t like to find out.”

As soon as Alexandra was gone, Izzie began to tidy her sewing things away into their tin.

“Well, isn’t that a turn-up for the books.”

She looked up as Gladys rolled over, wide-eyed, and said, “You’ve been so quiet, Izzie, I didn’t know that you knew Lady Alexandra.”

“ Lady Alexandra?” she asked.

“You don’t know?” asked Gladys.

“Evidently not.”

“She’s the daughter of some earl or another. You’d think that they would have put her in some sort of officer role, but maybe they’re waiting until she’s out of training,” said Gladys.

“Are you talking about Lady Alexandra?” asked Valerie, whose bunk was two down the row. “I heard she was here, but I thought she would be more elegant than that .”

“She’s perfectly elegant, and not only that, she’s my friend. I won’t hear another word against her,” said Izzie fiercely.

Valerie raised her hands. “I never meant any offense.”

When Valerie turned her back, Gladys leaned over the gap between Izzie’s bed and her own and said, “That serves Valerie right. She’s the most frightful gossip. You should hear some of the things she says about the girls.”

Izzie simply stared at her, hardly able to believe that Gladys was passing judgment on another woman’s tendency to gossip.

“I heard you talking about altering Lady Alexandra’s uniform,” Gladys continued. “Could you do the same for me?”

Izzie opened her mouth to say no but then she stopped herself. Gladys wanted her uniform altered, and why shouldn’t she?

“Yes. I can do that.”

Gladys grinned. “Thank you! I hate how the skirt bags around my waist. I keep having to haul it up on parade.”

“I’ll need to finish Lady Alexandra’s things first, but then I can take in your skirt. It will probably come to a few shillings, but I’ll give you a proper price when I take a look at it.”

“Oh, thank you!” Gladys chirped again.

Izzie turned back to her bunk, a slow smile spreading across her face as she realized she’d just figured out a way to earn a bit of money toward the purchase of the shop while she was a WAAF. As her mother had always said, every little bit helped.