Turn Left at the Daffodils. Elizabeth Elgin

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      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 a bit sniffy with him, but he seemed all right to me. Quite handsome, if you like them a bit more mature. But don’t forget to thank the Sergeant for the tea, then you might get a brew on a regular basis.’

      ‘At six-fifteen in the morning, I’d positively grovel if there was tea at the end of it. Lead on, lance-corporal!’

      Nan switched on the kettle then rinsed mugs under the tap. Amazingly, a tea towel hung behind the door. Short of nothing, that lot at the big house, and tea and sugar unrationed, it would seem.

      Carefully she spooned tea leaves into a cream enamel pot with a green handle, then leaned against the draining board, feet crossed, arms folded, to await the kettle, and to think.

      Think about Heronflete Priory and the diddy little billet. And Evie and Carrie who were smashing and Sergeant James who just might become human, given time.

      And she thought about being in this unbelievable place where a lord once lived, and the fields and trees and wild flowers; the peace and quiet of it, too, with only the bombers – ours – that flew over, to remind her that somewhere out there, a war was going on.

      Then she closed her eyes and smiled, because tomorrow was pay day.

      ‘What will happen, Sergeant,’ Evie asked later, ‘when we go to the cookhouse for meals? Will you be able to manage?’

      ‘Of course I will, even when you get long leaves – provided you go one at a time. I’ve been in signals from day one of this war, and teleprinters and switchboards bother me not one iota.

      ‘And if you are reminding me that the cookhouse is open and none of us has eaten yet, СКАЧАТЬ