Madge grimaced. ‘Not worth a farthing, Peg. I was merely trying to work out what to cook for tea.’

‘It’s a terrible bind, isn’t it? Especially when there are so few choices to be had – and what there is costs an arm and a leg. We can only hope that now the war’s over, the rationing will be eased and we can all eat properly again.’

‘Amen to that,’ sighed Madge, rolling a sheet of paper into her typewriter. ‘Solly’s been in since six as the place has been shut for two days,’ she said, shooting Peggy a warning look. ‘Being idle for so long has made him as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks, and he’s itching to get production going again. Which is more than can be said for that lot down there,’ she added, tilting her head towards the window overlooking the lines of machines.

Peggy saw several empty chairs, and noted the desultory way in which those who had turned up were going about their work. ‘How many absentees?’ she asked.

‘Twenty. And I suspect we’ll have more on the night shift.’

‘Let’s hope it’s only temporary,’ said Peggy, ‘or we’ll have to start recruiting again.’

‘That shouldn’t pose a problem,’ Madge replied. ‘Some of the other factories are laying people off, and I already have a list of men and women who’ve applied for their old jobs now they’ve left the services – and who, by rights, should have priority.’

‘I’ll make a note of the absentees, and if they don’t show tomorrow, then they’ll have to be deemed as no longer employed. We can’t afford to be let down with so much work on.’

Peggy left Madge to her typing and went into Solly’s inner sanctum to find him pacing back and forth, furiously puffing on a large cigar as he stopped to glare down at the factory floor. He was a big man and seemed to fill the room which was already thick with the haze of cigar smoke.

‘Good morning, Solly,’ she said, opening the other window to get some fresh air in to clear the fug and make it easier to breathe. ‘Is there anything in particular you want me to focus on today?’

‘You can get that lot down there to earn their keep,’ he rumbled, turning from the large window with a scowl. He threw himself into his leather chair, making it groan beneath his considerable weight. ‘Two days of production have already been lost, and at the rate they’re working, we won’t finish the demob suit contract in time.’