Home Front Girls

air raids continued on a regular basis, although thankfully many of them turned out to be false alarms. And then they were into November, with Christmas racing towards them again.
    ‘Crikey, it’s enough to freeze the hairs off a brass monkey out there,’ Mrs P shivered one night when Lucy called to collect Harry after work. Lucy couldn’t imagine being without him now and blessed the day she had found him. Apart from when she went to work they were inseparable, and Mrs P loved him too, although she still hadn’t got herself another dog.
    ‘An’ how were things at work today?’ she asked now as Lucy ruffled Harry’s silky ears.
    ‘Well, depending on how you look at it, Annabelle and her mother have had some good news. They had a telegram saying that Mr Smythe has been taken prisoner of war.’
    ‘An’ that’s good news?’ Mrs P said uncertainly.
    ‘Well, it’s better than being told that he’s been killed, isn’t it?’ Lucy instantly felt guilty as she thought of Mrs P’s son and added hastily, ‘At least he won’t be in the firing line any more. And hopefully when the war is over he’ll return home. I think Miranda is quite relieved. She’s been going out of her mind with worry because she hadn’t heard from him.’
    ‘Aye, well I know what that feels like,’ Mrs P said sadly. ‘An’ so do you, love, wi’ still no news from your Joel.’
    ‘Joel will survive,’ Lucy answered determinedly. ‘He has to, because he’s all I’ve got left in the world now apart from Harry.’
    Mrs P nodded and gave her a hug. ‘An’ how’s Dotty? I ain’t seen her fer a while neither. Nice girl she is.’
    ‘Oh, she’s fine and still living with Miss Timms. She reckons she wants a place of her own again now but I don’t think she likes to leave her.’
    ‘Well, her short story in Woman’s Heart were brilliant last week,’ Mrs P commented. ‘I reckon she’s gettin’ better all the time, an’ I can’t wait fer her book to come out. I shall be at the front of the queue to buy that, I don’t mind tellin’ yer. An’ what’s more, I reckon in the not too distant future she’ll be earnin’ a livin’ writin’ full-time. But what’s goin’ on between her an’ that London bloke now?’
    ‘Not a lot, as far as I can gather.’ Lucy stifled a yawn. They’d spent half of last night in the shelter again, and she was worn out. ‘And I think it’s a real shame because I believe Dotty loves him even if she hasn’t admitted it to herself yet. Suddenly she’s stopped going to London, and between you and me she’s as miserable as sin half the time. I just don’t understand it.’
    ‘Hmm . . . Well, no doubt it’ll sort itself out. They do say the path of true love never runs smooth,’ Mrs P commented.
    Lucy yawned again. ‘I dare say you’re right, but now if you don’t mind I’m going to take Harry round home and get an early night. I could do with matchsticks to prop my eyes open at the minute. In fact, today during a quiet spell I almost fell asleep at work. I dread to think what Mrs Broadstairs would have said if she’d found me snoozing.’
    Mrs P chuckled as she envisaged the scene. She loved to hear about the staff that Lucy worked with, and some of the customers she served. Mrs Broadstairs was now apparently making no secret of the fact that she and Mr Bradley were finally a couple.
    Once back in her own home, Lucy fed Harry then warmed up some soup she had made the day before for herself. She was just too tired to bother to cook tonight, and praying that she would get an unbroken night’s sleep – but it wasn’t to be. She was just washing up her dishes when the air-raid sirens began to wail. Glancing at the clock she saw that it was only just gone 7 p.m. and she groaned as Harry rushed over to her and hid his head in her skirt. He hated the sirens. Grabbing him by the collar, Lucy led him out into the yard where Mr and Mrs P were emerging from their back door.
    ‘I reckon it’s gonna be a bad ’un tonight,’ Mrs P told the girl as she ushered her towards the Anderson shelter. ‘Our Fred’s just had the wireless on an’ they reckon the first wave o’ bombers have just flown across the coast at Dorset. They’re headin’ our way an’ all, God help us.’ Glancing up at the sky, she sighed. ‘An’ on such a beautiful night an’ all! Would yer just look at that moon an’ them stars. There must be at least a million of ’em.’
    But even as she spoke, the