Home Front Girls

eye of the beholder, my dear,’ she had told her. ‘And I for one think you are pretty. You really shouldn’t put yourself down so much.’
    Dotty smiled as she thought of the kind, comforting words and an elderly lady sitting opposite her smiled back. ‘Off to London for a sight-seeing trip, are you, dearie?’
    Dotty started. Her thoughts had been miles away.
    ‘No – actually I’m going to meet the editor of a magazine,’ she said self-consciously. ‘They’re thinking of publishing some of my short stories.’
    ‘Well I’ll be!’ The woman looked impressed. ‘I’ve never sat next to anyone famous before. Which magazine is it?’
    ‘It’s Woman’s Heart , but I haven’t had anything published yet,’ Dotty told her hastily. ‘And I’m certainly not famous. I work in Owen Owen in Coventry.’
    ‘Even so, it sounds like you might be,’ the woman responded. ‘I hope everything goes well for you. What’s your name? I often buy that magazine and I’ll look out for you.’
    ‘It’s Dorothy Kent but everyone calls me Dotty.’ Unused to being the centre of attention, Dotty was squirming with embarrassment.
    ‘I’m off to see me daughter. She lives in London,’ the woman told her now. ‘It’s a right worry, I don’t mind tellin’ you. Word has it that the Jerries will bomb London first when they start the raids, but she won’t move back to the Midlands. Her bloke is away in the RAF and the kids have all been evacuated, but the stubborn little bugger still won’t budge.’
    Dotty felt sorry for her. ‘I’m sure that she’ll be fine,’ she said sympathetically, and they then chatted about the rations and other everyday things as the train steamed towards its destination.
    At least having someone to talk to made the time go quicker. But when they drew into Euston, the nerves came back as the two women stepped down from the train onto the platform.
    ‘Goodbye, dearie, and good luck,’ the elderly lady trilled as she righted her old-fashioned hat and turned in the opposite direction. ‘And don’t go talkin’ to no strangers, mind. London can be a dangerous place fer a young ’un on her own.’ And then she was swallowed up by the passengers surging from the train and Dotty had never felt so alone or vulnerable in her whole life.
    The station was enormous and she was sure she had never seen so many people all in the same place at the same time before. There were lots of entrances and exits too. Which one should she take? Eventually she stopped a porter who was trundling a huge trolley loaded with luggage towards the nearest exit.
    ‘Excuse me, could you direct me to Russell Square, please?’ she asked shakily and he instantly slowed down.
    ‘Yes, love, it ain’t but a stone’s throw from ’ere,’ he told her cheerily. ‘Just go through that exit there then turn left an’ then turn . . .’
    Dotty listened carefully, trying hard to remember all he had said, then she headed for the exit and quickly began to follow his directions. The streets were teeming with people and her heart began to race again. She felt very small and insignificant, and after all the tales she had heard of pickpockets and thieves she clutched her bag tightly to her as if it contained the crown jewels.
    Soon she rounded a corner and found herself in Russell Square. She breathed a sigh of relief; now all she had to do was find the right number.
    Eventually, she stopped at the bottom of some steps leading up to double doors with the words Woman’s Heart emblazoned across them. Through the windows on either side of the doors she could see a number of women busily typing.
    Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and still clutching the bag containing the stories she had brought for Mr Brabinger to consider, she climbed the steps and rang the bell.
    The door was opened by a woman who looked enquiringly at her but when Dotty told her that she had an appointment to see Mr Brabinger, the woman smiled and held the door wide.
    ‘You must be Miss Kent,’ she said. ‘I’m Laura Parsons, the senior editor who looked at your story with Mr Brabinger. I’m so pleased to meet you, do come in.’
    The woman was tall, very attractive and very sophisticated and once again, Lucy felt very small. She followed her along a corridor where pictures from the magazine were displayed on the walls until she stopped at a door and tapped on it before opening it.
    ‘Robert, Miss Kent is here,’ she told the man