‘Damn, damn and damn again,’ Jane said wrathfully, slowing to a halt as the truck careered out of the gates. ‘And I really did want to see that film.’

Someone dug Jane in the ribs and she turned to glower at Jack Keithley, their corporal. ‘Don’t,’ she said crossly. ‘We’ve missed the perishin’ bus because Private Trent is a twerp, and there isn’t a service bus into the city which would get us there in time to see our film.’

‘Ho yes there is, in a manner of speaking,’ the corporal said placidly. ‘I’ve got a pal with a share in an old bullnose Morris; he came by to pick me up because we want to see Stagecoach at the Forum. Fancy a lift, young ladies?’

Jane, always at ease with the men on the battery, immediately accepted the invitation for them both. ‘Only who’s your friend?’ she asked rather suspiciously. ‘Not that ferrety little fellow with the ginger hair and the squint?’

The corporal laughed, but shook his head. ‘No, it’s not Sandy. He’s a married man; his wife’s a Waaf, didn’t you know? And just to have everything plain and above board, neither I nor Lance Corporal Rigby is married. So you can come with us without strings, as they say. All right?’

Just then the bullnose Morris drew up outside the gates and the driver got out, and both girls recognised the darkly handsome young man who had recently joined their battery. There had been much speculation amongst the searchlight crew, and the girls realised that if they accepted the corporal’s kind invitation they would be the envy of the section.

Glenys opened her mouth to ask Jane what she thought, but Jane was already speaking. ‘It’s very good of you and we do appreciate it,’ she said gratefully. She grinned cheekily at both men. ‘I notice you haven’t queried our marital status. But as it happens we’re as single as you like; a couple of innocents abroad, that’s us.’

‘Well, I am relieved,’ Corporal Keithley said sarcastically, helping the girls into the back seat of the Morris. ‘No one wants to sit in the front? Off we go then, young Rigby, and let’s hope the films are as good as they’re cracked up to be.’

Chapter 18

GLENYS AWOKE WHEN the sun, slanting through the window of the Nissen hut, fell across her face. For a moment she just lay where she was, curled up in her bunk, but then she glanced at her alarm clock, whose face read five fifteen. She smiled to herself. Reveille would not be sounded for another forty-five minutes, so she might as well go back to sleep. After all, the only thing she had to look forward to was brekker in the cookhouse – porridge or cereal, burnt toast and a smear of – yuck – marrow jam.

Glenys pulled the blankets up, but after five minutes she pushed them down again. After brekker came drill on the parade ground, and since the sun was shining and spring had well and truly sprung she might as well get up and have a quick wash, then have a wander round until it was time to go to the cookhouse. Or she could take advantage of her early rising and bag a shower, but what chance was there that the water would, for once, be hot?