Turn Left at the Daffodils. Elizabeth Elgin

didn’t have to share a gate lodge with privates. And she missed squad drill; girls marching, arms swinging, responding like automatons to commands! But most of all, she missed Joe; missed him so much it was like a pain inside her and what was far, far worse, the cold, stark certainty that she would never see him again.

      ‘Sergeant!’

      ‘Yes, Turner…?’

      Monica James tore herself from the memory of a kiss that had been a last goodbye.

      ‘Take a look at this!’ The switchboard was criss-crossed with cords and plugs in holes. Heronflete had come to life. ‘I – er – I listened in to the first one; an outside line. It was scrambled.’

      ‘Hmm. Try an internal call, Turner.’

      Evie covered the mouthpiece and slid a key gently forward, then nodded.

      ‘They’re scrambled, too – even inside Heronflete.’

      ‘Which only goes to show that something just might going on in there.’

      She nodded towards the green baize door, all at once disliking it, because if the Army girls -herself included – were to be treated like a load of mindless morons who couldn’t be trusted to keep their mouths shut, then the sooner she was out of this place, the better! It made her think that maybe volunteering for service overseas might be the best way out – a new start, perhaps?

      The bell buzzed again. She walked to the in-tray to pick up a signal, in code.

      ‘Right then, Morrissey – here’s one for you to send…’

      It gave no clue; was merely prefixed Attention of C in CWA. A pencilled note attached with a paperclip instructed Send to LPL CWA.

      The sergeant searched the route-map on the wall that gave all Army teleprinter stations. LPL CWA was not on it, but who damn-well cared!

      Nan secured the signal to the holder in front of her, then began to tap the spacebar to alert Central Switchboard – wherever it was – that Heronflete had a signal for someone who was a Commander-in-Chief – that much she deduced without too much effort – but where LPL and WA were, no one was going to tell her.

      It bothered her not one bit. Nan Morrissey was sending her first secretive signal; she was at war!

      It made her glow with happiness. And for a bonus, she reminded herself yet again that tomorrow was pay day. How good could life get!

      * * *

      ‘I’ll be doing the shift-run in ten minutes, Freddy,’ Carrie called. ‘You’ll have to wait for your tea till I get back!’

      Pick up B-shift at Priest’s Lodge at 1350 hours, deliver them to the signals office, wait outside for A-shift – Evie and Nan – and drive them back to Southgate. It was a piece of cake, though it might make a change, she thought, if she were to get some real driving in. On proper roads.

      Lenice and Ailsa made up B-shift. Lenice Cooper’s uniform was still in need of alteration but she vowed it would stay that way until she went on long leave when her uncle, a time-served tailor’s assistant, could make a proper job of it. Lenice, she had insisted, was not an unusual name at all, but the feminine of Leonard, which was her father’s name.

      Ailsa Seaton was fair and pretty with a pink and white complexion. Carrie thought she seemed so fragile she should have been named Rose, or something delicately floral. Ailsa was Scottish and homesick for Edinburgh and hid behind Lenice’s forceful personality.

      Carrie would not, she had quickly decided, cross swords with Lenice who was a bit Bolshie, and was glad the lord had been booted out of his dirty big house!

      Yet it took all sorts to make a world, Carrie thought, and all sorts and shapes and sizes to make up the Auxiliary Territorial Service, which was beginning to have its good points.

      She called a goodbye to Freddy and Norm who grunted from beneath the bonnet of the officers’ car, and thought about Jeffrey’s letter which had been cheerful and optimistic. Jeffrey’s draft chit into the real Navy – the pusser Navy, he called it – had come through and he told her not to write to Barracks again, and wait until she heard from him.

      I know the name of my ship, but had best not tell you in a letter, or the censor will cut it out. Sufficient to say that by the time you get this I shall be on my way at last.

      Thanks for yours, which arrived this morning.

      In haste and high delight. Take care of yourself. I love you.

      Jeffrey

      Carrie tooted a goodbye as she left the stable yard. The afternoon was pleasant. September days were quite something; still warm, yet without the blazing heat of summer. A mellow time; a small Indian Summer before Autumn finaily gave way to winter. Which made her wonder how it would be when the snows came and they had to get from Southgate to the motor pool and the cookhouse and the ablutions. Would they be issued with gumboots, or would Sergeant James have got her way by then, and have them all in a more conveniently placed Nissen hut? With a coke stove, of course.

      But she would worry about leaving Southgate when she had to. Right now it was a delight to be driving on the estate roads, making for Priest’s Lodge where, she hoped, Lenice and Ailsa would be waiting at the gate.

      Carrie thought about Sergeant James who had been on duty since early morning and wondered how long her shifts would be and if they had managed to work out a meals rota. But that was up to the sergeant, whose dislike of the way things were at Heronflete plainly showed.

      ‘Nothing to do with you, Private Tiptree,’ Carrie said to the hen pheasant that ran across the lane ahead of her, then made cheerfully for Priest’s Lodge.

      ‘Have you eaten, then?’ she asked of B-shift as they climbed into the back of the truck.

      ‘Of course. At half-twelve, though it’s a heck of a trudge to the cook-house and back,’ Lenice grumbled. ‘Mind, it’ll be a whole lot worse when it rains, had you thought about that, Tiptree?’

      ‘N-no.’ Carrie stared ahead, deciding not to mention she had gone one better, and thought about snow! ‘But we’ve got our capes – we’ll be all right.’ Lenice had the makings of a barrack-room lawyer, Carrie frowned; one who always complained – often and loudly. ‘And it hasn’t rained yet. This far, the weather has been lovely. Looking forward to your first shift,’ she asked over her shoulder, turning right at Southgate, making for the huddle of buildings ahead.

      ‘Suppose so. Anything to relieve the boredom, though why I let myself be inveigled into a capitalist war I’ll never know!’

      Carrie almost told her it was to fight the Fascists, who were far more evil than capitalists, but instead she said,

      ‘Now you know political opinions are forbidden so if you don’t mind, Lenice, I want none of them in this truck whilst I’m in charge!’

      They completed the journey in silence, then Ailsa whispered, ‘Thanks,’ as they got down.

      It was the first word she had spoken and Carrie thought how awful it must be for her at Priest’s and it made her all the more glad that she shared with Evie and Nan who were absolute loves.

      ‘Had you thought,’ Nan said with relish, ‘Priest’s will be doing the early shift in the morning as well, and that Evie and I will be off till tomorrow, at two? Don’t know whether to get up for breakfast, or have a lovely lie in.’

      ‘Yes, but Priest’s will be free for a trip into Lincoln on Saturday. Norm told me there’ll be a transport laid on.’

      ‘So will you be driving, Carrie?’ Evie looked up from her bedmaking and the meticulous envelope corners she was tucking in.

      ‘No one has said anything to me.’ Now Norm had agreed to relieve her of the evening shift, Carrie supposed she might have no choice in the matter. ‘I’ll be available from two, so maybe I will. I’ll ask Sergeant James to sort it