She left the cubicle door open and went out into the street, where a couple of benches had been erected so that bathers who had to wait for others would have somewhere to sit. Jane, who had finished first, was in a particularly sunny mood. ‘It made me think of home,’ she murmured dreamily. ‘Our house didn’t have a bathroom when we moved in – Friday nights Mum filled the tin bath in front of the fire and the family took turns while Mum timed us by the kitchen clock. Of course, before the war we could have had the water right up to the brim, but since we had to carry it in from the pump in the yard and heat it up in the biggest saucepan Mum possessed we never did – fill the bath right up, I mean. But in 1936 Mum and Dad had an extension built on to the kitchen; it’s got a tub, a hand basin and a lavvy, and there’s even a bench in the garden so in the summertime there’s somewhere to sit while your hair dries. But we still take our turn to get clean, just as we do here.’

‘Sounds nice,’ Glenys said, plonking herself down next to her. ‘I hope the others hurry; if there are enough of us perhaps Swithin will let the early birds go on ahead. Then we’ll have time to hang our towels out to dry and snatch a bun or some biscuits from the Naafi before we catch a bus to the city.’

Even as she spoke, Swithin appeared. ‘There’re enough of you out to make a respectable column and you’ve already had an unscheduled kit inspection, so you might as well form up in twos and get going,’ she said. ‘Trent, you’re in charge; see that they get home safe, there’s a good girl. I’ll round up the stragglers. See you in the cookhouse.’

An hour later Glenys and Jane had hung out their towels in the beautiful spring sunshine and were heading for the bus which stopped outside the camp and would take them into the centre.

‘I’m not at all sure I really want to spend such a perfect day in the cinema,’ Glenys said as they climbed aboard the bus. It’s not often we see the sun.’

The conductor, overhearing, gave a low whistle. ‘Rebecca‘s showing,’ he informed them. ‘It’s a grand fillum so it is. You don’t want to miss it.’

‘Cheeky sod,’ Jane said as he moved away, but she was careful to keep her voice low. ‘Tell you what, I can see you don’t want sixpenn’orth of dark, so we’ll go to the shops and then I’ll go to the cinema by myself. I don’t mind so long as it’s not a romantic weepy; I do so hate it when the lights go up for the interval and my face is all smeary with tears.’

Glenys laughed. ‘Right. If you really don’t mind I’ll go for a walk instead – I’ve always been intrigued by shipping, and though I did go on the overhead railway once, before it was bombed, you can’t get close to the ships the way you can if you walk along the Dock Road. What time shall we meet afterwards? Six o’clock?’