that dear, and wash your hands. I’m going to dish up, now. And try to understand that I only want what is best for you? You are all I have in the world. Don’t leave me just yet?’
‘I won’t. Not just yet…’ she called.
She took off her shoes and placed them neatly beneath her bedside chair, took off her stockings and wriggled her feet into her slippers. Then she went to the wash basin in the corner of the room and stared into the mirror.
Later, she would tell her mother. She would have to, because she had done something so deceitful that now, when she thought about it, for a few fleeting seconds she wished she had not done it.
But she had done it, and anyway, she shrugged, by the time the ATS got around to sending for her, she would be as near to twenty-one as made no matter, so why was she having second thoughts?
At lunchtime, at the recruiting office, she had had no doubts at all; not until the sergeant had handed back her application form.
‘You will, of course, have to get this countersigned by your next-of-kin. I know you will soon be of age, but it’s best that you do. Just in case we are able to process you fairly quickly, I mean.’
‘H-how quickly,’ Carrie had asked.
‘W-e-e-ll, you did say you can drive and we are recruiting drivers as a matter of priority. That is why we need your father’s signature. Is there anything to prevent you joining within a couple of months, say? Always provided you are medically fit, that is.’
‘N-no. Nothing. And my mother is my next-of-kin.’
‘So take this form home, get her to sign and date it, then post it back to us. I’ll give you an envelope – OK?’
And Caroline Tiptree, of the glib tongue and unflinching gaze, had said that would be fine, and tucked it into her handbag and smiled a goodbye, even though it made her heart thud just to think of what she would do.
Mind, it had taken a little courage, when she got back to the bank, to borrow a colleague’s fountain pen and write Janet L. Tiptree (Mother) beside her own signature, then add the date -13.5.41. And she had slipped out and posted it in the pillar box outside the bank, just in case she had second thoughts.
‘And that,’ she whispered to her flush-faced mirror image, ‘is that.’
No going back, now. The buff envelope with On His Majesty’s Service printed across the top, was already on its way and Caroline Tiptree was a step nearer to joining the Auxiliary Territorial Service.
Now, there was only her mother to tell – and Jeffrey, of course – and that, she thought as she washed and dried her hands, was going to take some doing.
Oh, my word, yes!
Two
Life at Farthing Street could be a whole lot worse Nan was bound to admit, especially since her aunt managed to put a reasonable meal on the table most days.
‘Filling if not fattening,’ she had said of the Woolton pie they ate for supper that evening, made entirely of unrationed ingredients. Packed with vegetables, topped with a crust made from the piece of suet Nan had queued for at the butcher’s on the corner, and moistened with gravy made from an Oxo cube, it was a triumph of ingenuity.
To Miriam Simpson’s delight, Nan was very successful in queues. Since they had decided it wasn’t worth her while looking for a job – for who would employ a young woman, knowing she was soon to be called into the Armed Forces? -she was free to hunt for under-the-counter food. It saved Miriam’s feet and helped pass the days which Nan mentally ticked off as one nearer her entry into the Auxiliary Territorial Service.
‘Shall we have fish and chips tomorrow,’ she asked. ‘I’ll get there good and early.’
Neither fish nor chips were rationed. The government, in one of its wiser moments, had seen to it that they remained so. A housewife who once would never have dreamed of entering a fried fish and chip shop, now queued eagerly for them, especially on Fridays, when rations were running low.
‘And you can go to the butcher’s on Saturday, Nan.’ Her niece did far better out of the old skinflint than she had ever done, especially in the under-the-counter suet and sausages department. It was probably, she thought, because the girl looked at him with her big eyes, then fluttered those eyelashes for good measure. ‘Tell him that anything at all would be much appreciated.’
‘A leg of lamb?’ Nan giggled, to which her aunt replied that she had just seen a purple pig fly past the top of the street! Legs of lamb, indeed!
‘When do you think you’ll hear from the ATS, then?’
‘Dunno, Auntie Mim. Once I’ve had my medical, they might send for me pretty sharpish. I asked the corporal to do what she could for me. Fingers crossed there’ll be a letter in the morning.’ A buff envelope with no stamp on it, and O H M S printed across the top.
She switched on the wireless, settling herself in the fireside rocker, tapping her toes in time to the dance music, thinking that if she wasn’t so set on joining the Army and Auntie Mim had a spare bed, of course, Farthing Street would have suited her nicely for the duration.
Oh, hurry up buff envelope, do!
On Saturday night, the telephone in Jackmans Cottage rang.
‘It’s for you.’ Janet Tiptree, who always picked up the phone, handed it to her daughter. ‘Jeffrey,’ she mouthed.
‘Darling,’ Carrie whispered, startled. ‘How lovely of you to –’
‘Caroline – listen! I’ve been hanging about outside the phonebox for ages waiting for this call to come through and we only have three minutes, so what are you thinking about, joining up! If you must do something so stupid, why not join the Wrens? And why did I have to hear it from your mother? Surely I merit some consideration?’
There was a small uneasy silence that seemed to last an age, then she said,
‘I – I – well, I was going to tell you Jeffrey and anyway, nothing is settled, yet.’
‘I should damn well hope not. We’re supposed to be getting married when I’ve finished my training – well, aren’t we?’
‘Y-yes,’ was all she could say, because she could hear his angry breathing and besides, there wasn’t a lot she could say to the contrary in three minutes. ‘But please don’t speak to me like that? And I’m sorry you are upset. I’ll write, shall I? A nice long letter…?’
‘The only letter I want from you is telling me you’ve forgotten all about the ATS. Did you have a brainstorm, or something?’
‘N-no!’ Oh, why did she let him boss her around so? ‘And thank you for ringing, Jeffrey,’ she hastened when the warning pips pinged stridently in her ear. ‘Take care of yourself. I’ll write. Tonight.’
The line went dead, then began to buzz. She looked angrily at the receiver, then slammed it down.
‘So? Your young man wasn’t best pleased?’ Janet Tiptree said
