Free The Clippie Girls by Margaret Dickinson Page B

dissolved into laughter.
    To Rose’s surprise, Mr Bower was unstinting in his praise. ‘I was wrong about you, Rose,’ he was generous enough to admit and he said as much to anyone who would listen. ‘I thought you were a flighty piece, but you’ve settled in right well.’
    Rose blushed at his praise. ‘I love the work, Mr Bower. I knew I would.’
    ‘So, you don’t mind the cold mornings and the late nights, the awkward passengers and all the motormen flirting with you.’
    Rose laughed. ‘I was used to that working in the canteen. I can handle them.’
    ‘Ah, but I worry about you young lasses.’
    ‘You don’t have to be concerned about me, Mr Bower.’
    She saw the man glance at her, doubt etched into his face. She could almost read his thoughts. Peggy’s the steady one, but I’m still not sure about you. Rose turned away lest he should read something in her eyes that she didn’t want him – or anyone else for that matter – to see.
    Alice, too, had settled in better than she herself had expected. She and Rose met up in the canteen now and again and sometimes Peggy was able to join them. The three became friends at work, but they did not socialize together. Maybe it was because Alice was married and, even though her husband was away, she seemed reluctant to go out without him. ‘Derek wouldn’t like it,’ she said primly, when Rose asked her if she’d like to go to the cinema with her.
    The war news in the early part of 1940 was depressing. In April the enemy invaded Norway and Denmark and when, at the end of May, Belgium and Holland fell, it seemed only a matter of time before France would be overwhelmed.
    ‘But our boys are over there,’ Rose said, wide-eyed with fear, as Grace read out snippets from the papers. ‘Walter’s probably there.’
    The answer came only a few days later when the great evacuation of troops from Dunkirk’s beaches began. Now every member of the household was fighting over Grace’s newspaper to read the latest developments. On 31 May the front page of the Daily Express showed an artist’s impression of a bird’s eye view of the fighting. ‘Look,’ Grace jabbed a finger at the paper. ‘See how they’ve got the English and the French trapped with their backs to the sea.’
    ‘What are those meant to be?’ Myrtle asked, leaning over Grace’s shoulder and pointing at the tiny shapes of ships in the Channel.
    ‘Boats taking the soldiers off the beaches.’
    ‘And those?’ Now she pointed to birdlike shapes.
    ‘Planes – but whether they’re meant to be the RAF or enemy planes strafing the beaches, I don’t know.’
    Mary sighed. ‘Both, probably.’
    ‘We’ve lost three destroyers already,’ Grace murmured, ‘but at least they’re getting our boys back home.’
    Though it was a defeat for the British army, the rescue operation was hailed as a miraculous victory. The soldiers arrived back to a rapturous welcome, the papers said. They were dirty – many of them had lost their boots, their jackets – but still they clung to their rifles. And they were hungry. The people of the south-coast towns where the ships landed the men turned out to wave flags and cheer them home, but most importantly they were ready with food and drink. The arrival of hundreds of thousands of soldiers back on British soil, snatched from beaches, which had been under constant attack from German dive bombers, caused Rose to say, ‘Oh, I wish I was there to help. Now I understand what made the Bradshaw boys go.’
    ‘Don’t you get silly ideas into your head about volunteering,’ Grace warned, suddenly afraid that her headstrong granddaughter would do something impetuous. ‘Your job’ll be dangerous enough if we get bombed.’
    Rose blinked. ‘We won’t get bombed here, will we? Not really? Oh, I know we’ve had to prepare, just like everyone else, but—’
    Her voice faded away as Grace eyed her. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Grace said quietly.
    ‘What?’ Rose