From the day she was born, Florence Dawson has been surrounded and raised by strong women. Her father abandoned her mother the minute he found out that she was pregnant, leaving a young and terrified fourteen year old pregnant Imelda Dawson to stand on her own two feet. Well that was until she met Polly.
Polly was a few months younger than Imelda, but she was wise well beyond her years, her words had a way of putting Imelda at ease. The girls bonded quickly, growing up on the same street in Small Heath, their friendship became the foundation on which they grew to be strong and powerful women.
1896
"Polly, it's happening!" Imelda's shrill screams filled the Shelby house as she stumbled through the front door, clinging onto whatever she could find, both her parents out for the day, leaving her home alone on the crisp winter's weekend.
"Are you sure?" Polly panicked, rising up from the kitchen table as she watched her best friend hunched over in agony.
"No, Polly, I'm just kidding," Imelda winced, still finding time for sarcasm, "It's not like there's a baby the size of a fucking watermelon trying to come out of my body."
"Alright," Polly soothed, rushing to the sink, prompted by something that she'd remembered from the birth of her nephew, John two years prior, "Try and sit down, that might help."
"I need to stand," Imelda groaned, clinging to the edge of the kitchen table, wincing in agony, no doubt alerting the population of Small Heath to her baby's imminent arrival.
Polly filled a bucket with water, assuming she could use it to mop Imelda's forehead, and then eventually they could also clean the baby, ready to greet the world. It was more than terrifying enough for Imelda to become a mother at fourteen years old. But for Polly, at just thirteen and eight months in age, being her best friend's sole help in childbirth was a complete baptism of fire.
"Imelda, I'm going to grab some blankets from upstairs," Polly told the girl as she dashed straight for the small staircase, "I won't be long."
"You can't leave me, Pol," Imelda winced in fear, "I can feel the baby, it'll be here soon."
"I know, so I'll be quick," Polly smiled in hopes of reassuring her friend before disappearing upstairs, her agonising groans of pain dulling as Polly disappeared, heading for her bedroom and rummaging in her drawer for the blanket she had been saving for this day.
To see her best friend become a mother was not something Polly had expected to witness at her age, and from what she had seen from the adults around her, she knew it was customary to bring the baby a gift. So she'd knitted a soft yellow blanket for the little baby, knowing that Imelda was due to give birth during the harshest winter that Birmingham had seen.
She grabbed a cloth from the pile of fresh laundry, knowing that it would be useful for cleaning the baby, before rushing downstairs, feeling unsettled by the sudden silence filling her home, "Imelda?"
Polly rushed back into the kitchen, hearing no response from Imelda, which panicked her. She dropped the blanket and cloth on the kitchen table, rushing around to the other side, immediately comforted by the sight of her best friend.
"It's a girl, Pol," Imelda beamed up at her from where she sat on the cold wooden floor, sweat lacing her skin, "We've got a little baby girl."
"You did that all by yourself, Immy," Polly grinned, crouching beside Imelda as the little newborn stared up at the two girls, "She's beautiful."
"I'm calling her Florence," Imelda smiled down at the little baby who lay peacefully in her arms, "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl."
"My mother always says that young mothers are the best at childbirth," Polly told her, in awe of her best friend's strength, "Clearly she was right."
"My parents are going to be speechless when they get home and meet her, she wasn't meant to be here for another few weeks," Imelda whispered, gently running her knuckle up and down her daughter's fresh skin.
"She must have been tired of waiting, besides she's the perfect early Christmas present," Polly told the girl, standing up and collecting the cloth and water bucket, ready to help Imelda give her daughter her first wash, "So we should make her look like the star she is before everyone returns from work and the pub."
Polly placed the bucket and cloth beside Imelda, aware that she probably didn't feel ready to stand up. Polly watched in awe as she watched Imelda gently clean her daughter's skin with so much attention and care, the little baby's eyes staring back at the two girls.
"I don't even have anything to wrap her in," Imelda sighed, disheartened by her supposed failing as a young mother.
"I do," Polly smiled at the girl, handing her the soft yellow blanket, "It's a gift for you and baby Florence."
"Pol, this is beautiful," Imelda beamed with glossy eyes, wrapping the soft fabric around her precious daughter, "I can't thank you enough for what you've done today."
"Don't be silly," Polly shrugged off her thanks, "This was all your work."
"No," Imelda shook her head in defiance, "I knew that we were safe because we had you, I'd have been terrified without you."
1914
"They'll be back by Christmas, my darling," Florence's mother kissed the girl's head as she watched Polly and Ada say goodbye to each Shelby man, one by one, her heart yearning for the middle Shelby boy to take notice of her.
"It's not just them though, is it?" Florence whispered solemnly as she watched her best friends Elijah and his younger brother George, accompanied by their doting yet heartbroken mother.
"Come to wish us well, have you Floss?" George, the cockier and more confident brother approached the girl with open arms, his older brother trailing behind.
"Something like that," She smiled, even though deep down she knew that she had nothing to smile about, despite her mother's best efforts to protect her from the true brutality of war.
"Do I get a good luck kiss?" He smirked, as though she might protect him from what awaited him in France.
"Not a chance," She rolled her eyes at him, wrapping her arms around him and holding onto him as though he might slip through her fingers the second she let go.
His arms remained firmly around her waist as she glanced at his brother Elijah over his shoulder, his mother gripping her oldest boy tightly, "George, I need you to make me a promise."
"Yes, I will marry you when I get back from France," He teased, receiving a playful smack to the back as Florence continued to cling onto him.
"Look after Elijah, I know you're capable of protecting yourself, but I worry about Eli," She whispered, knowing that Elijah didn't have a violent bone in his body, and while George was equally as kind hearted, he had the bottle to protect himself and those around him.
"You don't even have to ask, sweetheart," He muttered, slipping out of her embrace, looking over his shoulder at the Shelby family, "Besides, we've got Shelby boys on our side too thanks to you."
Growing up next door to the Shelby family, Polly and Florence's mother being childhood best friends kept the Dawson women fiercely protected. While the peaky boys weren't necessarily violent before the war, they were incredibly protective of both Florence and her mother. Any boy that took a fancy to Florence was never deemed good enough by the Shelby brothers, and any boy who dared break the beauty's heart, well he'd have a lot to answer to.
So because the Harrington boys mattered to Florence, by association they mattered to the Shelby family too. Their families were both respected, but the Harrington name was regarded highly as a result of their wealth and reputable family business going back generations. They owned one of the biggest and most successful breweries in England, supplying public houses with beer and ale from Birmingham all the way to Newcastle.
The train whistle startled Florence, prompting her to hurry along with her goodbyes as some of the men and boys began trailing towards the train, knowing that not all of them would return home.
She turned to her Elijah, the more reserved of the two brothers, wordlessly wrapping her arms around the boy, doing her best to be strong for him, "Look after yourself, Eli."
"I will," He attempted to assure her, not entirely convinced that he'd ever see her again, savouring what could be their final moment together, "You stay out of trouble, alright?"
"Mmhmm," She nodded, clinging onto him for one last moment before letting him go.
"Come on, Elijah, we've got to get a seat," George beckoned him towards the train.
"I'll see you soon," Florence whispered, letting him slip through her fingers as he rushed to join his brother on the train.
"Flossie!" John Shelby exclaimed, swaggering towards her with a playful grin, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing the side of her head, "Be good, darling."
"I will," She smiled against the coarse fabric of his jacket.
"Anyone gives you or your Ma grief, you tell Aunt Polly, alright?" He looked down at her with a reassuring nod.
"Of course," She nodded, glancing at Polly and Ada who had since been joined by Imelda.
"I'm off," John stepped back, strolling towards the train.
"We'll see you soon, Floss," Arthur beamed, the eldest of the Shelby boys, wrapping Florence in a quick hug, before letting go and joining John on the train, the platform almost clear of men, except a handful prolonging their goodbyes, including Thomas Shelby.
"Don't you have a train to catch?" Florence smiled as she stared at the man she's adored her whole life, assuming that it was likely he wouldn't feel the same way. The way she saw it, Tommy Shelby could have any girl on his arm, why would he want her? Not that it mattered anymore, now that he was heading off to war.
Wordlessly he paced towards her, shrouding her in his embrace, her head resting against his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt bringing her comfort before he slipped through her hands just as the other boys had.
"You won't forget us will you, Tommy?" She muttered, clinging onto him for dear life.
"How could I forget you?" He grinned, unsure of the right words to say to the girl, unable to fathom how lonely she must have felt saying goodbye to not just him, but his brothers and the Harrington boys.
"Thomas!" John shouted through the train window, "Let the girl go and hurry the fuck up!"
"You should go," Florence stepped back, offering him a tentative smile, "I'll write to you all, I promise."
"And we'll write back," He nodded, strolling towards the girl one last time before disappearing inside the train.
"Come on ladies," Aunt Polly wrapped an arm around Florence and Ada, Imelda holding on to her daughter, "We've got to keep the fires burning until they get home, no use moping around about things beyond our control."
Florence couldn't fathom Polly's strength, how could she wave goodbye to her three nephews knowing that they might not come back? She'd just waved goodbye to five of her favourite people for what might be the last time and she was supposed to be strong and cope with that?
It's something that Imelda and Polly had done the best to shield the girls from, the true nature of the world and its cruel ways. The ways in which the world treated women, discarding them once they'd reached their 'prime', treating them as second class citizens. But while the war meant fear of losing the men they so dearly loved, Polly also recognised it as a chance for enterprise, a chance to raise both Ada and Florence from girls into women.
And that's just what they did. As every year of the war went on the Dawson and Shelby women kept their respective businesses afloat without the work of any men. The Shelby bookmakers were successful, despite the lack of men on the streets, and the Dawson's dressmakers run by Imelda thrived even during trying times of the war.
It remained that way as the years passed, and the war became more and more prolonged. But the world was rocked by those it had lost, food became blander and the fabrics the Dawson women used became duller, that was just the way of the war.
Florence would write to each of the boys respectfully as often as she could. She'd craft each letter especially, telling them different things about life in Small Heath that she knew they'd find interest in. She also hoped that it could give the boys something to talk about if they were ever sat idle.
The responses she received were varied. John and Arthur tried their best, their handwriting was mostly messy scrawls across the paper. While George and Elijah had been well educated, their writing was almost immaculate. Elijah's letters were so innocent and pure, not a scrap of war or torment in sight. George spent most of his words attempting to dazzle the Dawson girl with his charm, talking of how he would bring her the world, not that she had much use or care for it.
Tommy's letters were different, they were sensitive, up until a point at least. Until about halfway through 1917 they were almost poetic as he wrote to the girl who upon his return would be a confident woman in her own right. But then something shifted, he appeared more distant in his words, like he was doing his best to protect her from the true brutality of the war.
Throughout the war she would lie awake at night, worrying about each of the boys, but particularly Tommy. He was too well tempered for war, although he was strong, he had the most infectious smile, he laughed and he was compassionate. Only a tiny bit of the old Tommy remained when he returned home from the war. The truth is no one came home from that war, at least not the men that their loved ones recognised.
1918
"Florence," Ada burst through the front door of the Dawson house as the Dawson women sat busily working on dresses for Mrs Higgins and her girls, "They're back."
"What?" Florence stood up in shock, knocking her chair back against the kitchen counter and dropping her fabric onto the table, "All of them?"
"Arthur, John, Tommy, George and Eli," She nodded eagerly, "I heard some women on the street saying that the train is due into Small Heath station in the next twenty minutes."
"Ma," Florence turned to her mother, "Do you mind if I go?"
"You're only gonna sulk if I say no, aren't you?" Imelda sighed, admiring the fond smile on her daughter's face, "Go on, we can't have Ada walking down there alone."
"Thanks Ma," Florence kissed the top of her mother's head before following Ada out of the front door, the two girls running frantically down the street and around the corner in the most unladylike fashion, without a care for the opinions of others.
The girls ran until their legs ached, until they eventually arrived at the same station where they'd said goodbye to the boys over four years ago. The station wasn't as busy as it had been on the day that left, perhaps because so many people in Small Heath had faced loss and uncertainty in the last four years, they couldn't quite face watching others reunite with their loved ones.
"The train's here already, Ada," Florence grinned as the girls ran into the station, watching the disheveled men unloading from the train.
"Do you see them?" Ada shouted as the girls weaved through the crowds of families reuniting on the long platform, the train still stationary alongside the platform.
"No," Florence began to panic, wondering if she'd got it wrong, what if something had happened to the boys, what if none of them had made it home.
"I'll check further down," Ada suggested, "Why don't you check the other side of the waiting area."
Ada's suggestion led Florence to realise that the train on their left was not the only train in the station full of soldiers. She separated from Ada, rushing around the corner to see the empty train, the platform almost clear of people, suggesting that the train had been parked up for a while.
"Florence," The voice sent goosebumps over Florence's skin as she slowly turned around to see Thomas Shelby standing on the empty platform, his hands tucked into the pockets of his uniform, his bag slung over his shoulder.
Part of Tommy had assumed that he'd never see Florence or anyone from home again, and he'd slowly made peace with that as each day in the trenches passed. When he left on that summer's day in 1914, he imagined that he'd return home within no more than four months, never mind four years. So to see Florence, in all her radiance, her skin glowing, as though the gloom of Birmingham could not touch her, that felt like a reward for making it home.
"Tommy," She muttered in disbelief, slowly pacing towards him before picking up speed and running straight into his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, "I thought I was never going to see you again."
"You think I was gonna let some enemy soldier stop me from coming home?" He smiled, calmed by the cherry blossom scent lingering on her skin as his arms rested around her waist.
"Never doubted it," She mumbled, even though there had been moments over the past four years where she had worried that the boys wouldn't cope, that they wouldn't beat the opposition.
"I told you didn't I," He whispered, his breath warm against her skin, "I wouldn't forget you."
Florence pulled back, still holding on to Tommy, her heart beating against her chest rapidly as he ran his thumb over her cheek, the pad of his thumb trailing across her bottom lip, a smirk on Tommy's face as he watched the Dawson girl's eyes go dark, her skin warming under his touch.
"Tommy," Arthur's bellowing voice echoed through the space, causing the pair to jolt apart as Arthur and the rest of the Shelby siblings appeared in front of them.
"Arthur," Florence smiled, approaching him and offering him a gentle smile as she laid eyes on John and Ada, "It's good to see you."
"Good to see you too, Flossie love," Arthur smiled, whiskey lingering in his breath.
"Flo!" John grinned, strolling towards her, wrapping her in a hug, "We missed you, treacle."
"I missed you boys too," Florence beamed, wrapping him in a quick hug.
"Are we going for a pint or what?" Arthur asked, clapping his hands together.
"Where's George and Eli?" Florence asked, glancing between the three men cluelessly.
"They've already headed off back to that cushty manor of theirs," John told her, remarking on the Harrington family's wealth.
"Oh," Florence sighed, having hoped she would have the chance to see her two closest friends again.
"Well, that just gives us three more time to catch up with you and our Ada, doesn't it?" Arthur assured her with a warm smile.
"Garrison?" Florence glanced at the Shelby siblings.
"Sounds perfect to me," John grinned.
"Tommy?" Florence glanced at the middle Shelby son who had remained particularly quiet, simply admiring Florence for the duration of the conversation, "Will you be joining us?"
Tommy let his eyes linger on the woman who stood before him, stifling the grin on his face, "Who would I be to say no to you?"
That night spent in the Garrison was what each of the friends needed. It startled the men at first how much things had changed at home, the women had been keeping things running for the duration of the war, and there was no way that would change just because they'd returned. To see both the men and women of Small Heath unified in celebration comforted Florence, almost as much as being surrounded by her Shelby boys again, one in particular.
The looks that lingered in that room between Tommy and Florence weren't noticed by anyone else in the room. Everyone was full of so much love and excitement that they were too wrapped up in their own joy to notice what was slowly unfolding.
authors note: there we go! the first chapter of vices and virtues! i hope you enjoyed it!
my plan is to post riptide updates on mondays and vices and virtues updates on fridays <3
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