Turn Left at the Daffodils. Elizabeth Elgin

a likely dancing partner. Nan frowned.

      ‘No. At the aerodrome. Invitation to the Sergeant’s Mess. Dancing from seven till ten-thirty. Transport laid on. If we’re going, we won’t be back here till eleven, at least. We’ll have to put in for a late pass,’ Evie warned.

      ‘Then I’m game,’ Nan beamed, thoughts of a real night out pleasing her. ‘Will they have a decent band, do you think?’

      ‘They very often do, in the RAF. Should think it’ll be a good hop,’ Evie said.’ Before I came here, I went to quite a few RAF dances. They often lay on beer and sandwiches.’

      ‘And they send transport? But will it be worth their while,’ Carrie frowned, ‘for just the three of us, because I don’t suppose the sergeant will be going.’

      ‘They’ll probably pick up in the villages around – civilian girls, to make up numbers. Is Friday night on, then?’ Evie wanted to know.

      And Carrie and Nan said it was, and had anybody realised it would be their first night out for ages and ages?

      ‘OK, then. Leave the passes to me,’ Evie said. ‘And I’m going to the washroom to press my best uniform and wash some stockings. Anybody coming?’

      But Carrie said she had to write to her mother, and Nan said she was going to take off her collar and tie and sit outside at the back in the sun.

      To think, she supposed, about how smashing it was at Heronflete, even if they were a bit of a funny lot. And maybe to give a little thought to the grave marker, and how she would be able to find it if they weren’t allowed up the drive, much less within a hundred yards of the house. Because that’s where they’d buried Cecilia, Grandad had said.

      My word, but being in the ATS gave you a lot to sit in the sun and think about!

      Nan lay on her bed, hands behind head, watching as Carrie put on her make-up. She was very lovely, Nan thought; a nose every bit as perfect as Hedy Lamarr’s and high cheekbones, like Lana Turner’s. And her hair was thick and fair – more honey-coloured than blonde. But of more importance than Carrie’s enviable beauty was the ring. On the third finger of her left hand.

      ‘I’ll wear it,’ she had said, ‘if we go dancing, or anything,’ and there it was, sparkling and flashing; three diamonds that must have cost every bit of twenty pounds.

      ‘Something the matter?’ Carrie met Nan’s gaze in the mirror and turned, smiling.

      ‘No. Was just thinking that’s a smashin’ ring.’

      ‘Mm. It feels a bit strange, wearing it again. Wonder where Jeffrey is.’

      ‘Maybe on his new ship. Maybe sailing off into the sunset.’

      ‘He could be, but I’m sure he’ll be with the Home Fleet. If his ship was going foreign, he’d have been given leave. And talking about leave, we’ll have got three months’ service behind us, soon, and you’re supposed to get leave every three months, don’t forget. Must ask Evie about putting in for it.’

      ‘You’ll be goin’ home, to Yorkshire?’

      ‘Yes, and I’m quite looking forward to it. Be nice to wear civvies again and sleep in, mornings – and see Mum, of course. She’s missing me a lot, and it’s going to be awful for her when the bad weather comes.’

      ‘Why?’ Nan watched as Carrie removed Kirby grips from her pin-curled hair.

      ‘Well, we’ve got a little car and up until now I’ve always done the driving. When petrol was rationed, we decided we could manage on foot or on bikes in summer, to save our petrol coupons for winter. And Mum can’t drive…’

      ‘Then you’ll have to give her a few lessons, when you go home.’

      ‘Might be a good idea, though if she’d wanted to drive, she’d have taken it up before now. Mind, if she feels confident, it should be all right. At least she won’t have to pass a driving test.’

      Tests had been suspended for the duration, which was very convenient, Carrie thought. All you did, now, was to apply for a licence, then start driving, which her mother would refuse point blank to do. She knew it! She already hated the blackout; driving a car in it when winter came wouldn’t even be considered. But it was too late now to worry about her mother living in an isolated village miles away from shops of any size; it was only one of the things she hadn’t taken into account in her haste to leave Nether Hutton.

      ‘Hi, folks!’ Evie’s bedroom door opened. ‘Got your war paint on, then, ’cause we’ll have to get a move on. The transport is picking us up at Priest’s at seven. Aren’t you putting your lipstick on, Nan?’

      ‘Haven’t got one. The Queer One didn’t allow make-up. Said it was common.’

      ‘Why do you call your stepmother The Queer One?’ Carrie asked as they walked towards Priest’s Lodge. ‘Hasn’t she got a name?’

      ‘Yes. It’s Ida. She said I was to call her mother, but it wasn’t on.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because she wasn’t my mother. And she didn’t like me and I didn’t like her. It’s why I shoved off when dad died. No way was I stoppin’ with that one, and when I’m due for leave I’ll go to Auntie Mim’s, even if I have to sleep on the parlour sofa. Mind, I just might ask for my travel warrant to be made out to Edinburgh. Always wanted to go to Scotland…’

      The possibilities, thought Nan, were heady and endless.

      The RAF transport they shared with five civilian girls came to a stop at the guard room of the RAF bomber station.

      ‘Five civvies and three Army girls,’ called the driver, who was a member of the Womens’ Auxiliary Air Force – an aircraftwoman, or a WAAF, Carrie supposed – envying the skill with which she handled the large transport. ‘For the Mess dance.’

      The red and white barrier was lifted and behind them, as they drove through, they could see outlines of huge hangars, wooden buildings and rows of Nissen huts. They stopped outside one of them.

      ‘Here you are, girls! Sergeants’ Mess. And they aren’t on ops tonight, so there’ll be plenty of partners,’ the driver grinned as she let down the tail board. ‘Sounds like it’s already started.’

      They walked towards the sound of the music and drum beats, then pushed through the thick blackout curtain that covered the door to be met with wolf whistles of relief, Evie thought, at the arrival of eight more partners, because, apart from the WAAFs and three land girls already there, women were outnumbered by two to one. There would be no wallflowers here tonight! They threaded through the dancers to find empty chairs where a lone sergeant sat.

      ‘Hi!’ Nan beamed. ‘Smashin’ band you’ve got.’

      ‘Er – y-yes.’ The sergeant blushed, then stared ahead. ‘G-good…’

      The band was playing very professionally. Shouldn’t wonder, Nan thought, if some of them had been musicians in civvy street. Her feet began to tap and she smiled at the airman at her side, wishing he would ask her onto the floor.

      The music ended with a roll of drums, the couples returned to the chairs that lined the hut.

      It wasn’t much of a place, Nan thought, hoping that Sergeant James never got her heart’s desire. The windows were already thickly curtained, cigarette smoke hung lazily beneath the curved tin roof.

      ‘Is this your billet,’ she asked the man beside her.

      ‘’N-no. Our m-mess hall, actually.’

      ‘I live in a gate lodge,’ Nan confided. ‘Real cute.’ She dropped her voice, leaning closer. ‘At Heronflete Priory.’

      ‘Mm. Know it. F-flown over it loads of – of t-times. B-big place, like a castle. And sorry for the imp – imp…’

      ‘Stammer?’