Turn Left at the Daffodils. Elizabeth Elgin

lot.’

      ‘So where is he, now?’

      ‘Haven’t a clue, Nan. He never wrote, nor came back to the village – not even to see his mother’s grave. I’ve never been able to understand why, because before he went he said he was going to marry me one day and I told him I’d like that very much. My first proposal – aged twelve…’

      ‘Rotten of him not to write, for all that.’

      ‘Mm. I was really upset. And what was worse, I hadn’t got his aunt’s address and my mother had lost it, so I couldn’t write and ask him how he was. Perfidious creatures, men are. I still think about him – sometimes.’

      ‘But of course you do. You always remember your first love. Only natural. But you’re happy with Jeffrey, now.’

      ‘Of course I am, Evie.’

      ‘So why don’t you wear your ring,’ Nan demanded bluntly.

      ‘You know why not. But I promise you that if ever we go out to a dance, or anything, I’ll wear it.’

      The sun was setting as they walked back to Southgate Lodge. Low and red in the sky promising a crisp September morning, then sun to break through and melt away the early autumn mists.

      ‘Soon be time to draw the blackout curtains.’ Evie unlocked the door. ‘And this is the first time in my entire Army career that I’ve ever had the key to my billet! It’s so – different – here. Too good to last, if you ask me.’

      ‘And why shouldn’t it last,’ Nan demanded, taking off her cap, unbuttoning her jacket. ‘I always dreamed of country cottages but I never once thought the Army would billet me in one. If I have any say in the matter, I’m stoppin’ here for the duration.’

      ‘Ghost and all?’ Evie teased.

      ‘All right, then. Mock if you want, but it’ll be a different kettle of fish, won’t it, when I find that grave marker.’

      And find it she would or her name wasn’t Nancy Morrissey who was a member of the Auxiliary Territorial Service and would be eighteen in November. On the day – or night, most probably – that the ghost walked!

      ‘Er – anybody goin’ down the garden to the lavvy before it gets dark? I’ll nip down with you, if you are…’ Nan was nothing if not careful.

      ‘OK. Let’s all go,’ Carrie grinned. ‘We can hold hands. Safety in numbers, I suppose, in case we meet Cecilia!’

      Which made Evie remark that she’d had enough of the ghostly nun for one day, and could they please remember there was a war on and tomorrow they were on early shift; their first shift at Heronflete and it began at six in the morning!

      It made Carrie remember to make sure the alarm clock was set for 5.20, and Nan to ponder just how much wiser they all would be after that first shift. And it made her feel glad she would be working in the old estate office and not in the stableblock, with Carrie.

      And oh, my goodness! If only the Queer One at Cyprian Court could see her now!

      Five

      Sergeant James slammed the flat of her hand on her door marked SIGNALS OFFICE: NO ENTRY then stood, hands on hips, mouth rounded in disapproval.

      The blackout curtains on the windows either side of the door were still drawn even though, because of Double Summer Time, it had been light for half an hour. She bought down her hand again, then relaxed a little at the sound of bolts being drawn back and the scrape of a key in the lock.

      A man said, ‘Oh – hi…’ He was rubbing the back of his neck, and yawning. ‘Sorry, Ma’am. Was having a zizz…’

      ‘Please do not address me as Ma’am. I am not an officer.’ She stepped inside, followed by Evie and Nan. ‘And are you allowed to sleep on night duty? What about the switchboard and the teleprinters?’

      ‘They’re fine. I put the alarm bell on the switchboard and the printer starts up automatically if a signal comes through. Which it didn’t. All night.’

      ‘I see. Draw back the curtains, Morrissey, and open the windows.’ She glared at a tin lid filled with cigarette ends. ‘And will you take that with you when you leave, please?’

      ‘Sure. No problem,’ he smiled.

      Nan took a sneaky look. He wasn’t half bad. Tall, fair, dressed in black pumps and navy trousers and polo sweater. Too old for her, of course. Must be at least thirty.

      ‘I thought there were to be two night operators.’ The sergeant took off her cap and jacket and began the process of rolling up her sleeves to the elbow. ‘And how do I address you?’

      ‘Well, you are a sergeant and if I were in your mob, I’d be a sergeant too. But in the Navy, I’m a petty officer – P O, I suppose.’

      ‘So that’s your name? P O? Fine by me.’

      ‘Well, no,’ he smiled and that smile was quite something, Nan thought reluctantly. ‘I’m in Signals like yourself but my rank is that of Yeoman of Signals – not petty officer. I’m addressed as Yeoman – or Yeo, when you know me better.’

      ‘Quaint…’

      ‘No, sergeant. It’s the way it has always been. There were Yeomen and Chief Yeomen of Signals in Nelson’s day, so who are we to change it? The Royal Navy floats on tradition, you know.’

      ‘Really? So I take it there wasn’t a lot of traffic during the night?’

      ‘Not a sausage.’ He picked up the ashtray. ‘Ah, well – see you.’

      He walked to the green baize door, inspected the two trays – In and Out – that stood on the hatch beside it. Then he pressed the bell push, and turned. ‘By the way, there’s a kettle in the little kitchen place and tea and sugar. Milk on the floor. Feel free to brew up.’

      The door was opened from the inside and briefly Nan glimpsed a row of bells on springs on the wall.

      ‘Looks like there’s kitchens through there,’ she said as the green baize door slammed.

      ‘Never mind what’s on the other side of that door, Morrissey,’ said the sergeant. ‘Right now there’s nothing I’d like more than a mug of tea.’

      In the tiny kitchen was a milk bottle in a pan of cold water under the sink and on the wooden draining board an electric kettle, tins marked tea and sugar. And four mugs in need of washing.

      ‘Shall I make a brew, sarge?’

      The sergeant nodded, then turning to Evie who was inspecting the switchboard she said,

      ‘So what do you make of it, Turner – Navy bods at the big house, I mean?’

      ‘Don’t know, Sergeant. It gets curioser and curioser.’

      ‘And very little night traffic…’

      ‘Mm. I thought – mind, I don’t know why -that they were a load of civilians from some bombed-out government office, but they’ve got the Army guarding them and here, in this office, and a signals bod from the Navy on the other side of the green door. Combined Ops maybe?’

      ‘Could be, but I doubt it. And why don’t you nip to the motor pool, see if Tiptree is still there? Cookhouse won’t be operational till seven – ask her if she’d like tea?’

      So Evie hurried round the back of the stables, whispering ‘Morning, Cecilia,’ then called to Carrie who was making for the gateposts.

      ‘Hey! Wait on, Tiptree! Sergeant says do you want a cuppa? We’ve got a kettle in there.’

      ‘Wouldn’t I just? Busy, are you?’

      ‘No, it’s dead as a dodo, and a Navy bod – a Yeoman he calls himself – doing the night shift. The sarge was