We'll meet again

Richard Dorrington and I met fairly frequently-whenever he could get away-and I found our encounters very pleasant. He seemed quite content to let our friendship drift along. It was different from the way he had been when he was courting me with marriage in view. He was more restrained and never referred to the past or suggested a resumption of our previous relationship. Indeed, there were times when I thought he was on the point of sharing some confidence. This undemanding friendship suited me perfectly.

As we came into that year of 1944 there was an air of hope throughout the country. Germany was losing the war on the Russian front; we heard stories of the hardship their armies were facing, not only from the Russians but from the weather, which was more severe than any they had been prepared for. For the first time since he had made his bid for power, it really seemed as though defeat would be Hitler's reward.

The chance of an invasion of Britain seemed remote. There were still raids from the air and some of our cities had been severely devastated, but hope was everywhere. The Americans were now our allies and we no longer stood alone.

In the middle of January, I joined the Ministry. I received a warm welcome from the friends I had already met during the preceding months for I had on several occasions lunched with Mary Grace, Florette, Peggy, and Marian.

It was fortunate that there was room at their table and, as I was a friend of theirs, I was given a place there.

We were in a large room with windows on either side taking up almost the whole of the wall space, which made the room very light but was something of a hazard if bombs were dropped in the vicinity.

It was actually a table for six at which we sat, and, as there were only five of us working, we had some space to spread out our papers and work with ease.

Seated at his desk in the center of the room was Mr. Bunter, supervising the arrangements and instructing us in our work.

It was all very easy and I picked up what I had to do in a few days.

I fell quickly into the routine, sharing the jokes, laughing often, joining in on the treats, when anyone had "a bit of luck." Marian Owen, surprisingly, had what she called her one vice, which was backing horses.

"Just a shilling or two here and there, you know, to liven the days and sometimes it comes off.”

When it "came off" we were all invited to have a drink at the Cafe Royal or some such place, and there was a great deal of bantering talk about the "racing millionaire." Unfortunately, the wins were not very frequent but that made them all the more exciting when they came.

Florette brought her book of cuttings to show us; they contained pictures of actresses and were arranged to indicate their rise to fame.

On the first page of this book was a cutting from a paper which informed the reader that Miss Florette Fields had won the singing competition at the Empire Music Hall with her outstanding rendering of "The White Cliffs of Dover" and "After the Ball Was Over." She had been awarded the first prize of five pounds. Good luck, Florette.

We all admired it, and I told her not to fill up the book with cuttings about others, for she must save it for those about herself.

That delighted her. She said she kept the book by her bedside in case there was an air raid. I think the most precious thing in Florette's life was that newspaper cutting announcing her triumph.

And we never failed to laugh when Peggy, overcome by some momentary annoyance, would cry: "Wouldn't anyone like to take me as a pet?”

Little things amused us then.

It was March and I had been two months at the Ministry. My mother said it was the best thing I could have done. Dorabella agreed with her, and I was inclined to think that they were right. I very much enjoyed the company during working hours. Mary Grace was greatly admired for her ability to draw, and if any little incident occurred she would make a cartoon of it, depicting the people concerned in caricature. These used to be passed round the department and were greatly appreciated.

When one of them fell into the hands of Billy Bunter, he tried to look stern, but he could not repress a smile and ever after referred to Mary Grace as "our artist.”

We never knew when we should hear the air raid warning. They came fairly frequently and were given in the first place if enemy aircraft were detected crossing the Channel. We were then supposed to leave our room with the many windows and descend to the basement, but very often these aircraft were prevented from getting very far and so much time was wasted trooping up and down to shelters, so that what was called an "Imminent" was instituted which meant that we should only be warned when the enemy aircraft were almost upon us. Then we should make all haste to take cover.