Annie Groves - Daughters of Liverpool

After a wait of ten minutes or so she had been escorted down a corridor to the office of the manageress. By this time Katie had been feeling horribly nervous, and she hadn’t felt any better when the manageress had summoned a stern-looking older woman, Miss Edwards, to show Katie where she would be working and explain the nature of her work.

Miss Edwards had a rather schoolmarmish manner and a clipped way of speaking that had alarmed Katie at first, but Katie was a sensible girl and not given to being ‘nervy’, and after listening quietly to Miss Edwards for several minutes Katie had deduced that the older woman wasn’t anything like as frightening as she had first appeared, but was instead merely determined to make sure that Katie understood the serious nature of the work she was going to be doing.

‘The mail is opened and sorted according to content, and then passed on to those readers who specialise in specific contents. If necessary – that is to say, should a piece of mail contain something that arouses a reader’s suspicions – then she refers that piece of mail to her supervisor.

‘Everyone has her own identification labels, which carry her own personal number, and a label must be attached to every piece of mail a person checks, identifying her as its checker. At this point I must remind you that it is a strict rule that nothing that happens within these walls is discussed with anyone else.’

Katie nodded in acknowledgement of the severity of the embargo.

‘Since your field of expertise is, I believe, contemporary music, it is letters containing any references to such music that you will be required to read and either pass as unremarkable or hand on to your supervisor should you come across anything suspicious. You will, of course, be reading only those letters written in English. We have separate sections dealing with letters written in other languages.’

Katie got the impression that being an expert in a foreign language ranked much higher in the department’s pecking order than merely having knowledge of contemporary dance music.

‘Right now, follow me and I’ll take you to the table where you will be working,’ said Miss Edwards briskly, turning on her heel to march down through the rows of tables without waiting to see whether or not Katie was following her.

The Littlewoods building was large and the room in which she was going to be working very long, and Katie was slightly out of breath by the time she had caught up with Miss Edwards, who had come to a halt beside one of the tables.

Eighteen or so girls were already seated around it, their heads bent diligently over their work. Each operative had a basket full of letters and another one into which they obviously put the letters once they had read them, plus a smaller tray with a red warning sign on it. Miss Edwards explained that it was into this smaller tray that Katie should put any letters that struck her as suspicious.

Katie was introduced to Miss Lowndes, a pretty, placid-looking, fair-haired young woman wearing an engagement ring, who Katie guessed was in her early twenties, and who was in charge of the table.

‘Come and sit down here next to me so that you can watch how we work,’ she told Katie, pulling a small face and adding, once Miss Edwards had left, ‘We all call one another by our first names on this table. I’m Anne.’

‘I’m Katie,’ Katie told her, obediently pulling out the chair next to her and settling herself on it.

There were too many girls seated round the table for her to be able to memorise all their names in one go, but she could remember that the tall thin girl with mousy brown hair who was sitting on the other side of her was Flo, and that the girl next to her with red curls and a snub nose was Nancy, and the girl on the other side of Anne – a stunning brunette with creamy skin and cornflower-blue eyes was Allie – short for Alison, whilst the girl opposite her with her serious expression and fair hair was Mabel.

They seemed a friendly bunch, most of whom had originally worked for the pools company, and who Katie learned had been selected to do this special war work because of their ability to spot very quickly when ‘something wasn’t right’.

‘It’s a trick you learn fast when you’re checking the pools,’ Anne explained to her. ‘Folk think that it’s easy, but you need to be pretty sharp and to have a good head for figures.’

Figures and logic, Katie suspected.

‘To start with, you’ll be working with Carole here. She’ll show you the ropes,’ Anne told her, indicating a giggly, curvy girl with red-gold curls, who quickly informed Katie that Liverpool was just about the best place to have been posted because of the excellence of its famous dance hall, the Grafton.

‘I can see that you’re not hitched up regular, like, with someone ’cos you’re not wearing any rings,’ Carole informed Katie, ‘but how about a steady? Have you got one?’

‘No,’ Katie told her firmly and truthfully.

‘Well, that’s good then, ’cos that means that the two of us can go out dancing together.’ Carole winked and added mock virtuously, ‘I reckon it’s our duty seein’ as there’s a war on and all them poor lads in uniform need a bit of female company to cheer them up. The Grafton’s the best dance hall there is. You’re certainly never short of a partner. Loads of lads, there are, round here,’ Carole continued enthusiastically. ‘All sorts – locals, uniforms, even some of them Canadians wot’s come over to help with the fighting. You can go out with a different one every night if you want. The soldiers are my favourites.’

‘I’m not interested in dating soldiers,’ Katie began firmly.

‘Oh, hoity-toity! After an officer then, are you? Well, you’ve certainly got the looks and the style.’

Katie opened her mouth to tell her that she wasn’t interested in getting involved with any man full stop, but before she could do so Carole had changed the subject.

‘What kind of digs have they put you in? Some of the girls are staying at the Young Women’s Christian Association.’ Carole pulled a face and giggled. ‘That’s not my cup of tea at all, but luckily I’ve got an auntie who lives local and I’m staying with her.’

Katie thought ruefully that the Christian Association would probably be as horrified at the thought of hosting Carole as she was at the idea of having to stay there, given the other girl’s outspokenness on the subject of young men. But although Carole’s outlook on men was very different from her own, there was something about the other girl’s bubbly friendly personality that Katie couldn’t help liking.

‘I’ve been billeted with a family. I haven’t met them all yet but the mother is very nice, and I’ve got a lovely room.’

Her bedroom was lovely, and she had been thrilled last night when Jean Campion had shown her up to it, explaining that it had originally been the twins’ bedroom but they had moved up to the attic floor into their elder sister’s room and so Jean had taken the opportunity to refurbish the room a bit.

‘You’ve got Grace’s bed, and dressing table and wardrobe,’ she had explained to Katie, ‘but my Sam’s given the walls a fresh lick of distemper. I wasn’t sure about duck-egg blue at first. I thought it might be a bit cold-looking.’

‘It’s very pretty,’ Katie had told her truthfully, earning herself another warm smile, before Jean had continued, ‘And then I made up the rag rugs from a couple of bags of offcuts of fabric I got from a mill sale. Go a treat with the paint, they do, with them being blues and yellows. The blue silk eiderdown and the curtains came from my sister Vi. She lives across the water in Wallasey.’

Katie had been thrilled to have such a pleasant room. There was also a pretty bedroom chair, and a view of the garden and the allotments beyond it from the window.