each one with tingling limbs, crawled out from under the table.
Ron stretched. ‘All I can say is thank heaven our Daisy isn’t as tall as the rest of us. Would’ve had to push you out from under, Daisy. No offence?’
Daisy said nothing but playfully slapped her long, lanky brother. ‘Come on, Rose, we’ll get the dinner on before we die of hunger.’
Even though the mouth-watering smell of roast beef permeated the small room, no one had much of an appetite. Once Fred had come home, however, and Flora had pulled herself together, they were able to sit down and talk.
Phil was full of bravado. ‘Don’t fret, Mum, we’ll sort ’em out in no time. With Sam, Ron and me in the Forces, you’ll see. Just watch them run.’
The younger Petrie boys had decided to enlist immediately. ‘We’ll get the top jobs, Mum. Our Sam was right,’ Phil said.
That night, unable to sleep, Daisy and Rose sat up in bed and talked. Rose brushed her hair until it shone. Daisy envied her. ‘You really ought to leave it hanging down, Rose. You look like a princess in a fairy story.’
‘Princesses don’t work in munitions factories. Even with my horrible turban on, dust seeps in somehow.’
Daisy yawned. ‘You should let it down at the dancing. Being tall, you can get away with such long hair.’
Rose laughed and began, as usual, to braid her hair for the night. Then she stopped. ‘Blinkety blink, I completely forgot. Paul Robeson was on at the pictures, Daisy; we should have gone.’
‘Too upset. What was the film?’
‘King Solomon’s Mines.’
Daisy, who loved going to the cinema, thought about that. ‘Can’t really see much great singing going on down a mine, Rose. C’mon, better get to sleep.’
‘You scared?’
‘Dunno. Haven’t had time to think. I mean, what could happen to me? The Germans are hardly likely to be interested in a grocery shop on Dartford High Street.’
‘Suppose not.’ Rose was quiet for a moment. ‘But there’s the docks, Daisy, the Vickers factory, chemical works, Hall’s engineering …’
‘They’re not on our street.’ Then Daisy threw back her blanket and jumped out of bed in alarm. ‘God, did you hear me, Rose? I was working out that no one will drop a bomb on me, and you and the boys work in a munitions factory.’
‘Don’t fret. Get back into bed and go to sleep. You’re the one what’s going to have to handle all the worried old ladies in the morning. Lads’ll be off enlisting.’
But no old lady rushed into the shop next morning. Daisy was measuring out tea leaves when Sally almost burst through the door. ‘It’s closed, Daisy.’ She looked round the little room to make sure that no customers were lurking among the shelves. ‘What am I going to do? There was a notice on the college door.’ She drew the shape of a large notice in the air. ‘Closed for the duration. What will I do? Look, I even put on my new costume.’
‘You look lovely,’ said Daisy automatically. ‘What did your mum say?’
‘They don’t know. They’re already at the picture house.’ She could say no more. Huge tears began to spill over and run down her beautiful face.
Daisy was at a loss. She put her arms around her sobbing friend. ‘The duration, Sally. It’s not going to be long, really it’s not. Everybody says so. It’ll be over by Christmas and you can start college next year. New year, new career.’
Sally pulled herself away. ‘Christmas. That’s a lifetime away,’ she said dramatically. ‘And what if it’s not over? What will I do – work in a factory? I can’t go to a university now because I turned them down.’ Her voice rose hysterically. ‘First one in the family ever to qualify for a university and I said no because I wanted to be in pictures.’
‘Stop it, Sally.’ Daisy’s voice was kind but firm. ‘So one college closed. That’s not your fault. Ring up another one somewhere else.’
Sally straightened up and was suddenly very mature. ‘How can a working-class girl like me afford to go somewhere else?’
Heavy footsteps on the stairs heralded Flora’s arrival with a tray. She smiled when she saw Sally. ‘Hello, love, I thought you was starting in the acting college today.’
Sally stared at her for a moment, burst into tears, turned and ran from the shop.
‘What on earth …?’ began Flora, and Daisy filled her in, finishing drily, ‘She’ll be a great actress once she gets started. First the local rep, then London, then Pinewood Studios, I bet. Something exciting is bound to happen to Sally.’
‘But such a shame the school closed. Poor Sally. That shows it’s really beginning, Daisy.’ Flora broke off to greet a customer cheerfully. ‘Morning, Mrs Richardson. Your usual Monday shop? We’ve got some nice tinned peaches just in.’
The declaration that Britain was at war with Germany had, on the surface at least, made very little difference to daily routine. Life went on more or less as it had been before the Prime Minister addressed the nation. Phil Petrie was excited because he had been accepted for training in the Royal Navy and younger brother, Ron, discovered that his mechanical skills were much prized by the army. ‘I told ’em I could drive anything, Mum, and strip and fix it too. The recruiting sergeant was thrilled. “We gotta keep our army moving,” he said, and told me I would be invaluable – that’s the exact word he used – invaluable. We’ve got to take medicals first and learn basic drill and stuff, but then we’re off.’
‘We’ll come home before we join our units, Mum.’
Daisy listened to their excited boasting and found herself wishing heartily that she too was joining a unit, any unit, anywhere. But for the next few months she continued working in the family shop and, with Grace, took a first-aid course.
‘Some use I’ll be Mum,’ she moaned. ‘Even working on a doll makes me ill. Remember how useless I was when the engine fell on Ron?’
‘Without knowing what to do, Daisy Petrie, you did the right thing and you helped your brother. You’ll be fine if and when something happens.’ Flora laughed. ‘Then you can be as sick as you like.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ said Daisy, but she was laughing too. She was determined that, in whatever way she could, she would contribute to the war effort. Therefore she forced herself to attend all the first-aid classes and also to work a few hours a week in Grace’s garden. With the help of her friends, Grace, who was the only one of the four friends to have a garden, attached to the tiny rented cottage halfway up West Hill, had started growing vegetables as part of her war effort. Almost every week there were fresh vegetables for the three families and everyone was delighted when the tiny patch Grace had been able to dig over yielded enough crunchy Brussels sprouts for the Paterson, Brewer and the Petrie Christmas dinners.
Flora had ordered a capon from the usual farm near Bexley and, on the Saturday before Christmas, Daisy drove out to pick it up.
Nancy Humble, the farmer’s wife, was in her kitchen. ‘Alf’s down the old stables, Daisy, love. Walk round there and you
