Free The FitzOsbornes at War by Michelle Cooper Page A

been curved over her head and nailed into position with hair pins. There’s also Mr Bowker’s secretary, Miss Thynne, who is rather fat, and two other editorial assistants, Felicity and Anne. They are all what Aunt Charlotte might call ‘our sort of people’ if she were in a generous mood – that is, Mr Bowker went to Marlborough, and the others to finishing schools. Felicity and Anne keep crêpe de Chine evening dresses and silver dancing shoes in their lockers downstairs, so that they can race off to Claridge’s straight after work to meet their boyfriends for dinner, and then spend the rest of the evening careening from nightclub to nightclub. They’ve invited me along, but so far, I’ve always said no. They’re a few years older and far more glamorous than I am, and it’s a bit worrying when they say they’ll get their boyfriends to bring along a ‘spare man’ for me. I usually go home to cook dinner and do some laundry and labour away at my shorthand, but Felicity and Anne are convinced I’m sneaking off to meet a secret lover, and they take great delight in teasing me about him.
    I suppose I ought to describe my work in more detail. Well, the day I started was the day that Mr Morrison, the Minister of Food, announced what Picture Post called ‘the most unpopular Government decision since the war began’ – that is, that food rationing will start in a few months. Britain imports a lot of its food, you see, and the German U-boats are doing their best to sink all our supply ships, so we’ll soon run out of things to eat unless the government takes action. Most of the people working at the Ministry are engaged in sending out ration books to householders, or having meetings with shopkeepers and farmers about the new regulations, or setting up Local Food Offices all over the country. However, my department is in charge of Food Education. It’s our job to inform housewives how to cook a week’s worth of meals with only four ounces of butter and twelve ounces of sugar, and to convince the British public that turnips and carrots and brown bread are far more delicious (and patriotic) than steak and bananas and chocolate cake. There is still debate about how we are to achieve these seemingly impossible goals, but the plan is that there will be official ‘Food Facts’ articles printed in the newspapers, and recipe booklets, and a poster campaign. Today, I spent the morning proof-reading a pamphlet extolling the virtues of oatmeal, while Felicity and Anne worked on a booklet about the vitamin content of various root vegetables. Mr Bowker sits in his office, supervising us editorial assistants and (more enthusiastically) unleashing his creative energies on potential publicity campaigns. Yesterday, he showed me a sketch of his ‘Potato People’, who had little legs and round, cheery faces, and were singing a song about how ‘delicious and nutritious’ boiled potatoes are. I’m not sure that making vegetables more human-like would motivate me to eat them in greater quantities, but at least it’s keeping Mr Bowker occupied. The more time he spends drawing spats and top hats on dancing potatoes, the less time he has to mess up my pamphlets with random apostrophes.
    Veronica’s job at the Foreign Office sounds more interesting than mine, but also more challenging. At her interview, they asked her actual questions (that is, questions other than ‘When can you start?’), and she had to do a written and oral examination in Spanish. The gentleman in charge told her she had an ‘aristocratic accent’ – apparently that is a good thing, now that the Fascists have taken over in Spain. Officially she’s a ‘clerical assistant’, because it’s against regulations for women to do anything but typing, but she actually translates letters and documents. Her boss, an old friend of the Colonel’s, has lots of long luncheon meetings at expensive restaurants, and sometimes he’ll say, ‘Miss FitzOsborne, I’ll need