‘Does anyone actually want to work here?’ A general murmur, with some voices of dissent.

‘Who’s going to ask her?’

‘Ask what?’

‘Why we’re here. Kath, you’re good at asking questions.’

‘And get my head chopped off?’ Their leader was an older WAAF with impeccable uniform and hair stiff as a wig, who never seemed to smile.

A chorus of voices: ‘Go on, Kath. We’re depending on you.’

In the end, there was no need for Kath to put her head on the block. After breakfast the following Monday they were invited to a meeting with a new officer who seemed altogether friendlier.

‘Well, my friends. You are halfway through your familiarisation visit. I hope you are finding it useful?’

‘Very interesting,’ Kath ventured. ‘Although it would have been helpful if we’d been told why we were here in the first place.’

The officer looked surprised. ‘I’m sorry if that wasn’t made clear. The six of you were chosen because you showed exceptional promise in your RDF examinations, and we expect you to rise quickly through the ranks,’ she said.

‘Can you explain how that works, please, ma’am?’

‘In return for your time here, we are now charging you with the responsibility to spread that knowledge. We want you to take what you have learned back to your new postings and explain to your colleagues how their reports are used and why their work is so vitally important. Will you do that for us?’

Someone else had a hand up.

‘Yes?’

‘How do you recruit filter room operators, please?’

‘Is it something you would like to apply for?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I’d be interested.’

‘May I enquire how old you are?’

‘Twenty-two, ma’am.’

‘Then I’m sorry, but you are too old. They only recruit girls under twenty, who’re believed to have faster brains and greater stamina.’

A gasp of astonishment. Someone said, ‘We’re over the hill, ladies,’ which was met with a burst of giggles.

‘Anyway, it’s been a pleasure meeting you all, over the hill or not,’ the officer said. She took up a sheaf of buff envelopes and began handing them out. ‘Here are your new posting details. The bus will be waiting for you on Friday at eleven hours, sharp.’

This time Kath did not hesitate. She ripped open her envelope and gave a little whoop of joy.

‘Bawdsey! At last!’

23

It was raining that first day, a chill sleety rain coming in off the sea, but Kath didn’t care. She’d had a wonderfully relaxing few days on leave, eating home-cooked food and going for long walks with Joan, who had also managed to get a forty-eight-hour pass.

They hadn’t seen each other for more than two years and had much to catch up on. Joan was now married to Sam, who had eventually decided to sign up but had soon been injured – his hand badly shattered – and shipped home. He was recovering in a convalescent home in south London, just two bus rides from her own billet, so that Joan could visit him quite easily on her days off.