Daughters of Liverpool. Annie Groves

no raised voices and fierce quarrels either.

      Trouble? Keeping her a bowl of soup? As she hung Katie’s coat up on the hall coat stand, all Jean’s maternal instincts were aroused. Something told her that this wisp of a girl needed a bit of good northern mothering.

      ‘You’re to call me Jean and my husband Sam,’ she informed Katie after she had returned to the kitchen, ladled a good helping of soup into a bowl and brought it over to the table for her. ‘I’ll let you have your soup and then I’ll tell you a bit about us, although I don’t expect you to remember all our names right from the start. Got brothers and sisters yourself, have you?’

      ‘No, I’m an only one.’

      ‘Well, your parents are going to miss you then. Me and Sam have four. Our Luke’s a corporal in the army and based here at Seacombe barracks on home duty at the minute. Although he was at Dunkirk.’

      Katie looked at Jean. ‘You must be very proud of him,’ she said quietly and simply.

      ‘That we are,’ Jean agreed. ‘Me and his dad both, although my Sam didn’t take too well to it when Luke told us that he’d joined up. Sam had got a job lined up for Luke in the Salvage Corps, you see, working alongside him.’

      Katie nodded understandingly.

      It wasn’t like her to talk so intimately about her family to a stranger, Jean acknowledged, but there was something about her young billetee that made it easy to do so. She had a quiet but dependable air about her that said that she knew how to respect a person’s confidences. And, of course, Jean was hugely proud of her son.

      ‘Of course, there’s no one prouder of our Luke now than his dad,’ Jean continued. ‘And as luck would have it the two of them often get to work together, what with Sam and the Salvage Corps doing their bit to help clear up the mess after the bombings, and the soldiers stationed at Seacombe doing the same.

      ‘Then there’s our Grace,’ Jean continued. ‘That’s our eldest daughter, who’s training to be a nurse and lives in the nurses’ home. She’s just recently got engaged, and her fiancé, Seb, is a wireless operator with the RAF. Then there’s our two youngest, Lou and Sasha – twins, they are – they left school a while back but they’ve been waiting for jobs to come up at Lewis’s department store, where our Grace used to work. They’re starting there after Christmas. You’ll get to meet them all soon enough, of course, especially the twins.’ Jean gave a small sigh.

      Jean loved her family, Katie could see that, but she had also heard in her voice her special love for her son, and her concern for her younger daughters.

      ‘Now, you’re to treat this house like your own home whilst you’re here with us, Katie, and seeing as I’ve got a daughter of my own not much older than you, I want you to know now that if you should get any problems you need to talk over with someone, I’m always here to listen. It isn’t easy for you young ones having to move away from your families to do war work, we all know that.’

      To Katie’s embarrassment something had happened to her that she hadn’t suffered in years. There was a lump in her throat and tears were threatening her vision. Quickly she blinked them away.

      ‘You’re very kind,’ she told Jean huskily, and meant it.

       TWO

      It was now almost half-past nine in the morning and an hour since Katie had arrived – early – at the large Littlewoods Pools building, off Edge Lane, which had been taken over by the Government to house its wartime postal census operation. She’d presented herself to the clerk on duty and given the name of the person she had been instructed to ask for. From the corridor where she had been told to wait, Katie had watched a stream of people – women, in the main, and not wearing any sort of uniform but instead dressed in their ordinary daytime clothes – entering the building and going about their business. She had been able to see into the large room on the other side of the corridor, where women had been settling down at long tables to work. The large windows allowed in plenty of daylight and Katie had also seen that there was plenty of overhead lighting, essential, she had guessed, when handwriting had to be read very carefully.

      After a wait of ten minutes or so she had been escorted down a corridor to the office of the manageress. By this time Katie had been feeling horribly nervous, and she hadn’t felt any better when the manageress had summoned a stern-looking older woman, Miss Edwards, to show Katie where she would be working and explain the nature of her work.

      Miss Edwards had a rather schoolmarmish manner and a clipped way of speaking that had alarmed Katie at first, but Katie was a sensible girl and not given to being ‘nervy’, and after listening quietly to Miss Edwards for several minutes Katie had deduced that the older woman wasn’t anything like as frightening as she had first appeared, but was instead merely determined to make sure that Katie understood the serious nature of the work she was going to be doing.

      ‘The mail is opened and sorted according to content, and then passed on to those readers who specialise in specific contents. If necessary – that is to say, should a piece of mail contain something that arouses a reader’s suspicions – then she refers that piece of mail to her supervisor.

      ‘Everyone has her own identification labels, which carry her own personal number, and a label must be attached to every piece of mail a person checks, identifying her as its checker. At this point I must remind you that it is a strict rule that nothing that happens within these walls is discussed with anyone else.’

      Katie nodded in acknowledgement of the severity of the embargo.

      ‘Since your field of expertise is, I believe, contemporary music, it is letters containing any references to such music that you will be required to read and either pass as unremarkable or hand on to your supervisor should you come across anything suspicious. You will, of course, be reading only those letters written in English. We have separate sections dealing with letters written in other languages.’

      Katie got the impression that being an expert in a foreign language ranked much higher in the department’s pecking order than merely having knowledge of contemporary dance music.

      ‘Right now, follow me and I’ll take you to the table where you will be working,’ said Miss Edwards briskly, turning on her heel to march down through the rows of tables without waiting to see whether or not Katie was following her.

      The Littlewoods building was large and the room in which she was going to be working very long, and Katie was slightly out of breath by the time she had caught up with Miss Edwards, who had come to a halt beside one of the tables.

      Eighteen or so girls were already seated around it, their heads bent diligently over their work. Each operative had a basket full of letters and another one into which they obviously put the letters once they had read them, plus a smaller tray with a red warning sign on it. Miss Edwards explained that it was into this smaller tray that Katie should put any letters that struck her as suspicious.

      Katie was introduced to Miss Lowndes, a pretty, placid-looking, fair-haired young woman wearing an engagement ring, who Katie guessed was in her early twenties, and who was in charge of the table.

      ‘Come and sit down here next to me so that you can watch how we work,’ she told Katie, pulling a small face and adding, once Miss Edwards had left, ‘We all call one another by our first names on this table. I’m Anne.’

      ‘I’m Katie,’ Katie told her, obediently pulling out the chair next to her and settling herself on it.

      There were too many girls seated round the table for her to be able to memorise all their names in one go, but she could remember that the tall thin girl with mousy brown hair who was sitting on the other side of her was Flo, and that the girl next to her with red curls and a snub nose was Nancy, and the girl on the other side of Anne – a stunning brunette with creamy skin and cornflower-blue eyes was Allie – short for Alison, whilst the girl opposite her with her serious