Home Front Girls

because many of the shop girls had now gone into munitions factories, where they were paid better money.
    Miss Timms had taken her shopping to purchase two black skirts and two white blouses as well as a pair of sensible black shoes that would be suitable for work, and in no time at all she had been deposited in the flat. For the first time in her life she was truly alone and it was more than a little daunting. Dotty had become institutionalised over the years and was used to following a strict routine. Admittedly, the staff at the orphanage had never been cruel to her, but apart from Miss Timms the rest of them had been too busy to give any one particular child any special attention, and so she had become used to doing as she was told and obeying orders. And now suddenly here she was, free as a bird to do whatever she chose and it was taking some getting used to.
    Up until now, the other girls she worked with had more or less ignored her, although Dotty would find them huddled in small groups, smoking and chatting about what film they had been to see or what music they liked, in the staff dining room at break. She herself had never been to the cinema and longed to go but was too afraid to venture into a picturehouse on her own. The other girls would glance at her and smile but rarely tried to include her in their conversations, for on the few occasions that they had, Dotty had blushed furiously and become tongue-tied. And so she would sit and watch enviously, wondering how they managed to get their hair looking so nice and their make-up so perfect, painfully aware that she was a real plain Jane. Her hair was as straight as a poker, as Miss Timms had used to tease her, and she was so slim that she was almost boyish.
    Coming back to the present, she renewed her efforts when she saw Mr Bradley glance her way, and in no time at all the gloves were replaced neatly beneath the glass counter. Through the window she could see that it was growing dark and she knew that it must be getting on for home time. Other girls were bustling about tidying the hats that were strategically placed for best effect about the shop, and others were dusting their counters whilst keeping an eye on Mr Bradley’s movements. They all knew that he would not allow any of them to go home until the whole place was spotless, and so they scurried about like ants, putting the shop to rights.
    At last Mr Bradley was satisfied with their efforts and he waved his hand dismissively as Mrs Broadstairs followed him about like a lovesick puppy. The girls trooped away to the staff room where they chatted animatedly about what they were going to do that night as they wrapped up warmly. Dotty listened wistfully as she shrugged her arms into her drab brown coat. It was the one that the orphanage had supplied; plain but serviceable, as were all the clothes that the children there were given. I’ll perhaps save up and get myself a new one, Dotty thought as they all began the long trek through the department store. They passed the lingerie department and the bridal department where the shop assistants were still throwing snow-white sheets across the gowns on mannequins that were dotted about, and Dotty sighed dreamily as she tried to imagine how it would feel to wear such a dress – not that she was ever likely to find out. She needed no one to tell her that she was as plain as a pikestaff. The mirror told her that every time she glimpsed herself in it.
    A doorman stood at either side of the exit when the girls finally reached the ground floor. The doors had been closed to the public for the day now, but they unlocked them for the staff to leave, flirting outrageously with the prettier ones. But no one bothered Dotty or even seemed to notice her for that matter; it didn’t trouble her, she was used to it by now.
    The cold outside took her breath away and after pulling her collar higher she set out for the Pool Meadow bus station. Frost was already forming on the pavements and the thought of going back to a cold empty room and making herself a meal was not appealing. At least at the orphanage she had had her meals prepared for her, and had been surrounded by people. Still, there was no going back; so she knew she would just have to make the best of it.
    The smell of boiled cabbage and the sounds of babies crying met her when she entered the house. She was cold and tired by then and she trudged wearily up the steep staircase. Once inside the tiny room she hastily