Free Welcome Home by Margaret Dickinson

Oldroyd’s and Shirley, with
Beth’s guiding hand, had been quite presentable on the day of her interview.
    ‘You need to look your best, Shirl,’ Irene had said. ‘Miss Townsend is the one who hires and fires the women staff and she’s a stickler for a neat appearance.’
    As several of the older girls were now leaving the store to join the forces or to take up war work of some kind, Miss Townsend was desperate to fill the vacant posts with reliable young
girls.
    ‘You haven’t left school yet, though, have you?’ The woman, dressed in a smart, yet serviceable costume, regarded the young girl over her spectacles.
    ‘No, Miss Townsend,’ Shirley said. ‘My mam would like me to stay on at least until the end of next summer.’
    ‘That sounds very sensible. Any employer will look favourably on someone who has stayed on at school a little longer. Education is never a waste of time.’
    ‘So – you would advise me to do that?’
    Miss Townsend nodded. ‘I would.’ She was thoughtful for a moment and then she leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk. ‘But you are, of course, already the statutory
school-leaving age, so there is something we could do. Would you be interested in working during the school holidays and perhaps on Saturdays in term time? That is usually our busiest day of the
week. It would also ease you into the work very nicely if you still want to come to us full time next year. And,’ the woman smiled, acknowledging her own advantage in the idea, ‘we
could see how you shape up too.’
    ‘I’d like that, Miss Townsend. I’d like that very much. Thank you.’
    ‘That’s settled, then,’ the personnel manager said, straightening up and shuffling a few papers on her desk. ‘You can start at the beginning of January. You’ll get
thrown in at the deep end because that’s our traditional sale time, but I’ll mind I put you with one of our senior members of the sales staff, who’ll look after you.’
    And so, Shirley was the happiest member of the family to sit down to Christmas dinner that day. ‘Let’s play charades this afternoon,’ she suggested.
    ‘I want to play with my new board game,’ Reggie said. ‘Snakes and Ladders.’
    Reggie’s woolly stocking had been bulging when he woke up that morning, quite pulled out of shape with all the different presents: colouring books and paints, a whip and top, a small boat
with white cotton sails, chocolate and, pushed into the toe, were three bright new pennies. He’d been a lucky boy – the family had spoiled him – but there was one gift he’d
turned his nose up at – a gas mask container.
    ‘But I like charades,’ Shirley said. ‘We played it last year.’
    Beth laughed. ‘We play it
every
year, Shirl. But don’t worry, we’ll have time to play everything.’
    ‘It’s a tradition that we play charades, isn’t it?’ Shirley persisted. ‘We don’t need to stop doing things just because there are no Christmas lights up this
year and the blackout’ll have to go up before tea.’
    Edie sighed as she glanced around her best parlour. That was another tradition; they always had Christmas dinner in the front room. Christmas Day and Easter Sunday were the only times they ate
in this room, though it was used on other occasions, as it had been for the recent wedding. Now, coloured paper chains were looped across the room between the picture rails and a spindly artificial
tree sat in one corner. They’d made the effort and yet there was not the same spirit in the room.
    Something – and someone – was missing.
    Word came from Laurence spasmodically. They knew he was somewhere in France by now and the news was bleak. And at home – just as Lil had warned – rationing began
in January 1940.
    ‘How are we supposed to feed our families on this?’ Edie moaned to her friend as they spread out their ration books on the table and totted up just how much they could get each
week.
    ‘It says here,’ Edie went on,