‘Good God, woman!’ he exploded sometimes. ‘Are you trying to thwart the war effort single-handedly? Type this again – it’s a shambles. The place’ll be chaos!’

But most of the time he did acknowledge that she was really quite good at her job, for a beginner. And that he was prone to exaggeration. One morning, soon after she arrived, he stopped in the middle of dictating a letter that she was hurriedly recording in her fast Pitman shorthand and stared at her from under his bushy eyebrows as if seeing her for the first time.

‘Miss O’Neill – may I ask how old you are?’

‘Nineteen, Mr Graham.’ Katie looked up, to her annoyance feeling a blush spread through her cheeks.

He stared a bit longer and then said, ‘Good heavens. Nineteen. Is that all? They’ll be sending us tots in napkins soon . . . Now – where was I?’

They soon came to an understanding. The firm was at full stretch producing carburettors and other parts for military vehicles, for which firms like Standards in Coventry had converted their manufacturing for the duration of the war. There was a job to be done and everyone was expected to get on and do it. The works beneath them was going at full tilt, the place humming with activity.

The air raids had petered out completely for the moment, it seemed. Nothing had happened since July, and one day Mr Graham remarked, ‘At least we can get on with our job these days, instead of having to dive down into the flaming cellar all the time. To tell you the truth, Miss O’Neill, we often didn’t go down into the shelter. I used to say to my typist then, “Come on, let’s stick it out and get on with it, or we’ll never get through it.” ’

‘And did she?’ Katie asked, since he seemed to expect a response.

‘Course she flaming did! And none of the Hun have hit this building, I’m glad to say. But if they tried it again, I’d expect you to do the same!’

Occasionally she caught glimpses of the Old Man, as everyone called him, Mr Arthur Collinge, who was not so very old – in fact probably younger than his secretary Miss Hurley, and not nearly as intimidating. Sometimes she would pass him in the corridor, often holding an armful of papers, a grey-haired man with a sagging but kindly looking face, and he would half smile and murmur ‘Good morning’ whether or not it was the afternoon.

Katie joined everyone in the works canteen for her breaks, and gradually became accepted among the other women and shared the works gossip and jokes. Now and then a group from ENSA came to entertain them and there was a sing-song. She came to enjoy Collinge’s over the first few months there, and was so tired by the end of the day that, for the time being, not being able to go out at night didn’t seem too much of a hardship.