The canary is a bird that’s always in fine fettle, enchanting listeners with its melodious song. This bright yellow-feathered bird does not like to be alone, yet they are often locked up in cages, far from their own kind. They have a perch on which to pass the time, where they sit with light, graceful poise. People admire them behind their bars, never guessing the sadness that lingers in their gay chatter.
As war raged across the Old Continent, London was on fire – bombarded and aflame, though not defeated. In these challenging times women were needed in the armaments factories, with men being called off to the battlefield. Factories were overhauled for wartime production. They worked at full tilt, beating every peacetime record. They no longer made household goods but spare parts for planes and ships, munitions, parachutes, uniforms and boots. They stopped making sewing machines, and built bombs instead. They swapped hoovers for machine guns, dress shirts for mosquito nets, and metal sinks for shell casings. Work in the factories was hard and dangerous. TNT was a highly toxic substance. It contained picric acid, which could turn women’s skin yellow, which is how the workers got the nickname “canary girls.”
In this munitions factory, two canary girls were chatting as they worked. Their job was to fill bomb casings with TNT, a powder that might explode at any moment. The two women were named Elizabeth and Mary. Elizabeth had just filled a bomb with the lethal powder, while Mary was cleaning the tip of a shell with a brush. The task was delicate, and great care was needed. The week before, a bomb had exploded at a factory north of Canterbury, and five canary girls had been killed. Financial compensation had been paid to their families, but money could not bring them back. In these troubled times, the canary girls were asked to work in cramped spaces and to concentrate for long hours on repetitive tasks. Yet they understood their purpose, and their mission. The Old Continent was in a stranglehold, and would not long endure without aid. Millions of men were dying in combat every day. TNT wrought havoc, destroying infrastructures and carrying off any soul it touched.
“All those men going off and not coming back, five women dead…but we have to do our bit for the war, and free Europe from that devil,” insisted Elizabeth, never doubting in England’s victory. “Bomb us, set us on fire…but we’re not beat yet, are we?”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m a patriot, I suppose – I’m so tired, my nerves are shot. Can’t sleep a wink at night. All we get in return is a pittance…that and the milk that’s supposed to clean the toxins out of us.”
“I can’t drink another glass of milk. I wish they paid us more. The boss promised to increase my pay by 15 shillings next month. I work ten hours a day, six days a week. But I’m a canary girl, and proud of it.”
“I’d say you’re a Rosie,” laughed Mary.
The women enjoyed only a few days off each year, and worked long hours to keep the assembly line going around the clock. Elizabeth and Mary were precious cogs in the war machine, along with thousands of other British women. They were independent, workers and patriots...yet still they dreamed of more peaceful days.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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