And then, after that, she could be posted anywhere in the country to any one of the RDF stations now operating as far down south as Devon, and as far north as Grimsby. The chances of them being able to meet up ‘for the duration’ were slimmer than ever.

This was the moment, as Lizzie had said, to be bold.

Dear ACW2 Motts,

I was thrilled to get your letter. What great news. Congratulations!

Of course I remember our conversations on the Cliff Walk. It was difficult because of the secrecy surrounding our work, but by now you will have a general understanding of what I’ve spent the last six years working on. I hope it hasn’t disappointed. For my part, I feel very proud of our inventions, especially since they are being put to such good use right now. Your work will be challenging and exciting, and make an enormous contribution.

If your technical training is based where I think it is, I am not far away. I’ve checked the trains and buses and it is quite doable for a visit. Perhaps we could meet in the city which is only a half-hour bus ride away from your base? I’m told it’s an interesting place, and the cathedral is a ‘must’. We could have lunch? My treat, of course. If you like the idea, please send me your leave dates and we can try to co-ordinate.

I do hope the training is going well. I’m sure they will be working you very hard. But I do hope you will be able to find time to see me.

Your friend,

Vic

21

Everyone said Cranwell would be a blast, and after weeks of square-bashing, living in miserable tents, surviving on tasteless rations and revising hard for exams, Kath was more than ready for some fun.

She also felt confident that, with all the hundreds of personnel arriving and leaving the training base at Cranwell, there would be at least a few familiar faces. Sure enough, in the queue for supper in the mess hall that very evening she heard behind her the unmistakeably posh tones of Marcia Bonham.

‘Marcia! It’s you.’

‘I knew you’d get here some time, darling,’ Marcia said smoothly, as though she’d been expecting her. Before long, Kath had been led to a table and introduced to so many other girls that her head was spinning with names.

‘You coming to the dance in the NAAFI tomorrow evening?’ one said.

‘I’m in,’ Marcia said.

Kath dithered. It was all a bit soon. ‘How much does it cost?’

‘It’s free, you ninny. Except for the drinks.’

‘I haven’t anything to wear.’

‘Come back to the barracks at six-ish tomorrow and we’ll find you something,’ Marcia said.

They weren’t really allowed any mufti, but as usual Marcia had ignored the rules, and the next day, when Kath went to her barracks, she produced a large leather case containing a complete fashion wardrobe.