LITMIR.BIZ

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a good idea, but she didn’t have a hot-water bottle and surely Evie knew there were none in the shops, now that rubber was a commodity of war, and anything made from it non-existent, almost.

      ‘Well, next time I go on leave I shall bring mine – and the little camping stove and kettle. I’m not looking forward to winter, Nan.’

      ‘Who is?’ Nan blew on her tea. ‘But what I’m more worried about is tomorrow night – that Chas will be able to make it, I mean.’

      ‘Yes – but if he doesn’t, you will be careful walking home on your own?’ Evie seized the opportunity. ‘Keep to the side of the road, because it’ll be getting dark, don’t forget.’

      ‘Don’t worry – I will. But I don’t even want to think that he mightn’t be there.’

      ‘You’re very taken with him, aren’t you Nan?’

      ‘We-e-ll, he is the first feller that’s asked me out. And he’s not a bit common and he talks luv’ly. He’ll be smashin’ when I’ve taught him to dance. He gets a bit scared talking to girls, so he’s never plucked up the courage.’

      ‘But he asked you!’

      ‘Nah! It was me asked him. I told him that if he didn’t get up on the floor with me, then some other feller would ask me – and I wanted to dance with him.’

      ‘Nothing if not direct,’ Evie laughed.

      ‘It’s the way us Liverpudlians are. Straight to the point. No messin’. I had a great time.’

      ‘I know. I was there, don’t forget! But you will be careful, Nan? You know what I mean?’

      ‘I think I do. And don’t worry. I didn’t come down with the last fall of snow, you know!’

      And now they were back to snow again, Evie thought. And winter and sleeping with your undies under your pillow, to keep them warm.

      ‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘when Sergeant James will get the leave-roster going? I’m not due leave for two months yet, but you and Carrie and the two at Priest’s should be thinking about it before so very much longer.’

      ‘They told us when we first joined that leave was a privilege and not a God-given right.’

      ‘Yes, but you always get it, Nan. They like to throw rules and regulations at you, just to show you who’s boss. And someone,’ she grinned as a small round disc dropped, ‘is alive and kicking at the big house. Thought they must have gone into town tonight, to the flicks.’

      She picked up a plug, pushed it in and said, ‘Switchboard.’

      And Nan hugged her mug which was thick and white and shaped like a chamber pot and willed one of her teleprinters to shift itself and click out a signal.

      ‘I think,’ Evie said, ‘that it’s going to be one of those nights. There are times, I’ve found, when the war seems to take a breather for some peculiar reason. Ah, well, roll on ten o’clock…’

      At ten minutes to ten, the green baize door opened and the Yeoman said, ‘Evening, ladies.’ He was dressed in his usual night rig and carried a notepad and pen, his tin-lid ashtray and a packet of cigarettes. ‘Busy?’

      ‘Nah. Boring, actually,’ Nan shrugged. ‘In fact, we decided that most of your lot must be out on the town, it bein’ Sat’day night. Packed up for the weekend, have they?’

      ‘Wouldn’t know. The high-ups don’t tell me anything. I’m not that important.’

      ‘Civilians, are they?’ Nan asked.

      ‘Some of them.’

      ‘So tell me, Yeoman, why don’t they have their own people looking after the teleprinters and switchboard? Why do they seem to need Army people to do it?’

      ‘Your guess is as good as mine, young lady,’ he said, walking into the kitchen. ‘Either of you want a cup of tea – and where is your sergeant, tonight?’

      ‘She’s here!’ They heard the door bang, then Monica James emerged from between the thick curtains covering it. ‘And why wasn’t this door bolted behind me when I left?’

      ‘Good evening, Sergeant. Tea?’ asked the Yeoman.

      ‘No thank you.’ She walked, shoulders stiff, to the switchboard. ‘Everything OK, Lance-Corporal?’

      ‘Fine. Nothing to report Sergeant.’

      ‘Transport’s waiting outside. Get your jackets on and off you go, then. And goodnight, Yeoman. See you at six…’

      ‘Night, then – but couldn’t we all be a little less formal. We’re all fighting the same war, after all. Couldn’t you and I throw caution to the winds and call each other Sarge and Yeo?’

      He smiled, and it crinkled his eye corners and made him look much less serious, she thought. But still she said,

      ‘No thank you. As you said, we’re here to fight a war, so what would be the point in it? See you tomorrow – and bolt the door, please?’

      Then she tugged her jacket straight, tweaked the peak of her cap and went to sit beside Carrie.

      ‘Well! The Navy’s laying on the charm. Call me Yeo, he said! But it isn’t on and don’t any of you forget it.’ She turned in her seat to glower at Evie and Nan. ‘They made it quite clear from the onset. Their lot doesn’t fraternise with our lot, so if they want to play cloak-and-dagger and treat us like we’re not to be trusted, then it’s OK by me!’

      ‘But Sergeant,’ Evie protested, ‘he is rather nice and he’s only trying to be friendly.’

      ‘Yes, an’ if we got to talking to him, maybe we’d find out what that lot are up to,’ Nan added.

      ‘They’ll tell us, if they want us to know. Now, do any of you want to stop off at the NAAFI for a hot drink?’

      ‘No thanks. We’ve been drinkin’ tea all night. An’ we’re on early shift, tomorrow. Best be off to bed. Thanks all the same,’ Nan said.

      Nan Morrissey could not wait for tomorrow to come and for her shift to be over. Only then could she wash her hair, press her best uniform and polish her buttons. Then she would have a quick bite in the cookhouse and be off in the direction of Little Modeley and the Black Bull. And Chas, of course. Would be hell though, if he wasn’t waiting when she got there.

      ‘Well, that’s Private Morrissey on her way!’ Evie giggled. ‘Bless the girl, she was in a real dither. It’s her first real date.’

      ‘I know it is. She told me so. But – well – I wonder if I could have a word with you,’ Carrie hesitated.

      ‘Surely. I’ve written to Bob. Just got my bed to make up, then I’m all ears.’

      ‘It’s sort of – personal, Evie. About being married. Y’see, I can’t talk to my mother about it.’

      ‘Girls rarely can, I believe – talk to their mothers about things. So what’s bothering you? Getting wedding jitters?’

      ‘No. In fact I said to Jeffrey that I wouldn’t mind us being married in our uniforms – especially if it turns out to be a winter wedding. But it isn’t that, Evie. It’s what happens after that I’m worried about – and if you’d rather not talk about something – well – so personal, I’ll understand.’

      ‘Your wedding night, you mean? But haven’t you and he talked it over, yet? About whether you want children right away, or do you both want to wait till the war is over – things like that?’

      ‘I never even thought. Just don’t seem to be able to get past the when-it-happens-bit.’

      ‘You mean you’re worried about it? Oh, but you shouldn’t be. It’s wonderful, Carrie!’

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