Glenys had sympathised in every way with her friend’s distress, but could not help pointing out that Jane had had a lucky escape. ‘And now you’ll be able to accept invitations to go to the NAAFI dances and so on,’ she had said. ‘In fact, as soon as we settle into our new batteries and have a night off, we’ll go to the local dance hall – there are lots in Liverpool – and see whether we can find ourselves a dashing officer or possibly even a handsome Spitfire pilot apiece.’

But that had been before they had actually reached their new home, and when they did so, and had settled into the hut previously shared by fourteen men, they realised that airy talk of going to dances was airy indeed. Buses ran from the camp to the battery, and no doubt as they settled in they would find others equally determined to find some way of entertaining themselves, but they were a long way from the city centre and at first they were too busy with their new work to even think about trying to get there.

Glenys was sitting at a table in the cookhouse, writing a letter to Mo, when Jane walloped her in the back and peered over her shoulder. ‘What on earth are you finding to write home about?’ she asked. ‘You never get any letters back – oh, and I can tell you why not. It’s because you don’t put your address at the top of the page. What a halfwit you are!’

Taken off guard, Glenys stared at her for a moment and then, most unexpectedly, burst into tears.

Jane stared wide-eyed, and took a cautious glance around the room before sitting down at the table opposite her friend. ‘Hush!’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t make a scene; everyone’s staring at us.’ She glanced out of the window; the sun was shining and a gentle breeze moved the branches of a tree nearby. ‘Let’s go for a walk and you can tell me all about it.’

And as soon as they were alone the whole story came tumbling out, all about Sam and the children, Nain and Taid, and Weathercock Farm. Jane was fascinated and told Glenys, frankly, to stop being such an idiot. ‘How can you be so foolish?’ she said. ‘Of course you must give them your address. Oh, Glenys, think of that poor little girl, longing to tell you how she’s getting on. It’s downright cruel.’

Glenys shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘You don’t understand; if I give them my address they’ll think it’s because I want Sam to come after me, and I don’t.’

Jane narrowed her eyes. ‘Was this Sam Trewin your feller?’ she asked. ‘Why do you care if he comes after you, if he’s no more than a friend? Come on, spit it out.’

Fortunately for Glenys, at that moment Jane spotted the truck which was waiting to pick up anyone who wanted to go into the city, and grabbed her arm. ‘Look, the liberty truck. If we run we can catch it. That’s why I was coming to find you. I know you wanted to see Mr Smith Goes to Washington, so why not come with me? But first stop messing about and put your address at the top of that letter. Honestly, Glenys, you’re so sensible in other ways and so silly in others.’ As she spoke the driver of the liberty truck revved the engine, and though the girls ran they did not make it in time to get aboard.