Turn Left at the Daffodils. Elizabeth Elgin

Nan knew it. And grandad who drank best bitter there, an’ all!

      ‘The Black Bull it is, then Chas. At seven?’

      ‘Right! And if I don’t make it, will you forgive me and ring me after twelve, on Monday? And what’s your NAAFI number?’

      ‘Modeley 618, but it might be awkward, ringing me. If I’m not there, I mean, they can’t take messages. Just fingers crossed, eh, for Sunday?’

      ‘Fingers crossed – and N-nan – take care, dear girl.’

      ‘And you, too. See you, Chas…’

      Reluctantly, she put down the receiver, wishing they could have talked some more – at least till the threepence ran out. Local calls were easy to get. Not like trunk calls you had to wait ages and ages for, and were only allowed three minutes before the operator interrupted and told you your time was up. Rarely was anyone given longer. The war, of course. Even the telephones were at it, the Armed Forces being given priority over the poor old civilians.

      She walked to the counter. ‘Any ciggies,’ she asked of the ginger-haired assistant.

      ‘Any money?’ He dipped beneath the counter and brought out a packet. ‘A bob gets you ten!’

      ‘Oooh! Thanks, chum.’ Nan parted with a shilling and gave him a wink. ‘And there’s a rumour goin’ round that you might have makeup to sell.’

      ‘News to me,’ he shrugged, ‘but you’d better ask the lady when she’s on duty, tonight. She’ll know…’

      Nan hurried back to Southgate. No lipsticks and suchlike in the NAAFI, but she had a date. Sunday, at seven, at the Black Bull! Quite a way to walk, but what the heck? If Chas was waiting there, it would be worth every step of the way. If. Oh, please he wouldn’t be flying? Not on her first date?’

      With a frown, Carrie read what she had written. Just like her mother not to tell her she was ill; just like Jeffrey’s mother to make sure she knew!

      Why didn’t you tell me you were poorly, mother? Please, please, phone Doc Smithson and ask him to call and give you a check-up. And ask him to give you a tonic, too.

      There is not a lot of news. Jeffrey, as you will probably know has got a ship at last. HMS Adventurer – home waters, I hope. He sent a photograph. He looks very stern, in uniform.

      Should she tell her mother about the dance at RAF Modeley and what a good time they had had? Perhaps not. It didn’t seem right to be enjoying yourself when your mother was ill -and alone.

      Am going to get something to eat, now, before I take the late shift on duty and collect the earlies. This is just a short note to let you know how sorry I am you are not well, and to beg you to send for the doctor. In haste, but with much, much love.

      Her mother – or Jeffrey’s mother – made her feel bad because she had joined up instead of getting married so she need not leave home to do her war work. But she had left home and would only be back to Jackmans Cottage for a week every three months for as long as the war lasted.

      Quickly she addressed the envelope. She would post it when she went for her meal when it would have every chance of being on its way by tomorrow.

      She looked out of the window and saw a flush-cheeked Nan hurrying up the path, doubtless with news of the utmost importance to tell! It made her wish she were nearly eighteen again, and going on her first real date. But she was twenty-one, or would be at the end of October.

      She arranged a smile on her lips as Nan burst into the room and tossed her the cigarettes.

      ‘That’s a shillin’ you owe me, Tiptree, and guess what! I’m meetin’ Chas at the Black Bull on Sunday.’

      There was just nothing to say in reply to such bright-eyed, breathless happiness, so Carrie said,

      ‘Thanks a lot,’ and gave Nan two sixpenny pieces without further comment, because she knew she had never felt that way on her first real date – nor on any of the many that followed.

      ‘Fingers crossed, mind – flying, and all that.’

      Nan collapsed on her bed and lay, hands behind head, gazing at the ceiling as if, Carrie thought, Chas’s face were up there, and smiling down at her.

      ‘Nan,’ she said softly. ‘You know I’m very happy about you and Chas, but don’t get hurt, will you? There’s a war on, don’t forget?’

      ‘Don’t think I don’t know.’ Nan sat bolt upright, the contentment gone from her face. ‘And it looks like every date we have will depend on that war, damn and blast it! And he mightn’t even be there, on Sunday. He could be flying ops!’

      ‘So you’ll walk all the way to the Black Bull, and he mightn’t show – then walk all the way back? And it’s getting dark earlier now, Nan.’

      ‘It’s all I can do. If they suddenly tell them they’re off bombing, he can’t give me a quick ring, can he? Their switchboard shuts down. No calls out and no calls allowed in. Security, see?’

      ‘Oh, Nan Morrissey! Your love affair is going to be as complicated as mine,’ Carrie laughed. ‘You and Chas and me and Jeffrey trying to get together, I mean. But if Chas shows on Sunday, surely he’ll walk you home?’

      ‘Of course he will. Suppose, if I’d told him how to get here, he’d have met me at Priest’s. I was just so glad to be talkin’ to him that I didn’t think. But don’t worry about me, Carrie. I’m a big girl, now.’

      ‘Mm. Old enough to take the King’s shilling so I reckon you’re grown up enough to go on dates without Evie and me watching over you like mother hens. Sorry, love.’

      ‘Don’t be sorry, Carrie. I like being fussed over. It’s nice when somebody cares about you – honest it is. And I’m going to give this place a good turn out, so you’d better get yourself back to the stab-leyard. And if you see Evie in the washroom, tell her not to hurry back.’

      She wanted Southgate to herself, Nan thought; wanted to think about and sigh over Chas. And if it meant getting into her horrible brown overall and sweeping and mopping and dusting the place, then it would be worth it, because Chas was very nice to think about, and sigh over. And oh, please, let him be there at seven tomorrow night, and not flying into danger in a bomber?

      ‘I’m pushing off now to get some supper,’ Sergeant James said to Evie. ‘There isn’t a lot of traffic – you can manage without me, Turner, till the end of the shift.’ It was more of an order than a question. ‘I’ll be back before ten, to hand over to the night man.’

      ‘We’ll be fine,’ Evie smiled, wondering how much longer Sergeant James could keep up her long working day – six in the morning until ten at night, with only breaks for meals. Soon, maybe, she should talk about her having more time off. After all, Evie reasoned, she did have a stripe up and more than able to cope with anything the people behind the green baize door might throw at her. ‘See you about ten.’

      ‘So you’re in charge,’ Nan said when the sergeant had left for the cookhouse.

      ‘Yes I am, and since you don’t seem busy, how about putting the kettle on?’

      Maybe then, Evie thought, they could have a chat about tomorrow night, and was Nan really thinking of walking the mile back alone, if her boyfriend didn’t show up, and to keep to the side of the road if she heard anything coming and not stick her thumb out for a lift. That was just asking for an accident. Things like that happened all the time in the blackout with motors only allowed dim lights to drive on.

      She stared at the switchboard and thought, soberly, that soon they would have dark nights to endure; blackouts to be in place, in November, by late afternoon, and not one glimmer of light to be shown until next morning. Not even the lighting of a cigarette, out doors. And then there would be winter, and freezing billets and frost patterns on the insides of windows. It made her wonder if they