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‘I wouldn’t bank on it, duck. Farmers have to abide by the rationing just like the rest of us.’

Irene had laughed, her long blond hair blowing in the wind, her cheeks dimpling prettily. ‘Oh aye, and you reckon they’ll send men from the ministry to scour the hedgerows counting
just how many eggs the hens have laid.’

Edie had laughed with her, but as her young son, daughter-in-law and brand-new grandson walked away from her, she felt her heart constrict.

‘They’re all going, Lil,’ she’d said with a catch in her voice, though she was determined not to cry. ‘First Laurence and then Frank and Beth and now those three.
I’ve only got Shirley left.’ The words were left unspoken, but Lil was in no doubt that of her five children, Shirley was the last one Edie would have wanted left at home. Lil knew Edie
well enough to be able to say gently, ‘Mebbe you and Shirley will grow closer now.’

Edie’s ‘Mm’ was non-committal.

‘Come on in to my place and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,’ but Edie resisted the invitation until her family rounded the corner at the end of the street and disappeared from
her sight.

‘There they go,’ Edie said shakily. ‘How am I to bear it?’

Tactfully, Lil did not remind her friend that it was the same for every mother in the land as Edie added mournfully, ‘And when we’ll see Beth again, I don’t know.’

Despite the terrible news about Laurence, which she must learn to live with, Beth was enjoying herself, though she felt a little guilty at admitting it when the country was
plunged into war, when the blackout increased motoring accidents and even pedestrians in the darkened city didn’t feel safe. Rationing was now beginning to bite and the black market was a
temptation many could not resist as even goods that were not on ration soared in price. She wrote home to her family reassuring them that she was fine and that she was still with the Forsters,
which, at the moment, was the truth, even though she was no longer acting as a nanny to the children. Each day, she travelled into the city with Alan Forster and acted as his secretary, though she
could tell her family none of this. Alan Forster, because of his knowledge of France, was getting more involved in secretive work.

‘I want you with me, Beth,’ Alan told her as they journeyed to work together one morning in late October. ‘I can’t tell you much at the moment, but it’s all very
exciting and I think you’re the right sort of person we need, if only,’ he added, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, ‘we can persuade the authorities that women are capable
of taking an active part.’

Beth laughed, ‘I don’t understand what on earth you’re talking about.’

Alan chuckled. ‘All will be revealed in due course, but first, I want you to join the FANYs. I need to get you into uniform. That’s the first step.’

‘What on earth are they?’ Beth asked.

‘First Aid Nursing Yeomanry.’

‘But I don’t know the first thing about nursing and I don’t think I’d be a very good one anyway.’

‘You’ve been an excellent nursemaid to the children.’

‘That’s a bit different. That was looking after them, playing with them and getting them to bed on time. But at the first sign of a sniffle, I was calling the doctor.’

‘Quite right too, but the FANYs would only be a cover. You wouldn’t actually be doing any nursing.’

‘A cover for what exactly?’ Beth was suddenly suspicious.

‘Ah, now I can’t tell you that yet. All in good time,’ he added as he drew the car to a stop in the place where he parked. ‘Not a word to a soul though. Oh, and by the
way, can you drive?’

‘Yes, yes, I can,’ Beth said, as mystified as ever, but Alan would reveal no more.

Three days after his conversation with Beth, Alan Forster, along with other personnel, moved into premises in Baker Street. And Beth went with him.

It was all very hush-hush. There were several offices in the building and plenty of people walking about with files under their arms and looking very serious, but no one said very much. No one,
not even Alan, told her exactly what was happening. She was interviewed and accepted as a recruit into the FANYs and began to wear a khaki uniform comprising a tunic, a skirt and a cap. At once, it
seemed to give her some kind of status. People talked to her more, included her in their conversations, and yet still she didn’t really understand what it was all about.

‘I want you to talk to some young men who are being trained for special duties,’ Alan said one day. ‘I need you to test their French.’

Beth opened her mouth to say, ‘But you speak better French than me,’ but something stopped her and then she was glad that she’d remained silent for at Alan’s next words
she began to glean a little of what lay behind all this cloak-and-dagger stuff. He leaned towards her over his desk and spoke in a low voice, even though they were quite alone in his office.
‘They are being trained to be agents. If they pass muster, they’ll eventually be dropped into France behind enemy lines to create circuits and to help local resistance groups and to
sabotage the enemy. They’ll be receiving all sorts of physical training and learning other skills, but they need to be fluent in the language – as you can guess – and not make
mistakes in any situation. I need you to mix with them socially and possibly carry out a few of the spot tests. Do you think you can do that?’

Beth’s eyes shone. ‘Of course.’

She knew that France was now divided into two parts. The southern part was still under the rule of Vichy France led by Marshal Pétain, but the northeastern part was occupied by the
Germans.

‘Our organization,’ Alan went on, ‘has been personally authorized by the Prime Minister and though it meets with disapproval in some quarters, there’s not much they can
do about it in the circumstances. We’re known as the Special Operations Executive.’

Beth chuckled, catching on at once. Who would dare to question Mr Churchill’s decision?

They talked for another half an hour whilst Alan gave her detailed instructions as to what he wanted her to do. As she left his office, she paused with her hand on the door knob. Before opening
it, she turned briefly and smiled at him. ‘If you ever decide to use women in the field, let me know, won’t you?’

Without waiting for his reply, she left the office, closing the door quietly behind her. She did not see his satisfied smile; her words were exactly what he had wanted to hear.

‘Oh yes, Beth,’ he murmured to the empty room. ‘You’ll be the first to know, believe me.’

‘Is she still looking after the children, then?’

‘I don’t know, Lil.’ Edie was holding Beth’s most recent letter. ‘She doesn’t really say what she’s doing. Except that she’s joined the FANYs, so
I don’t suppose she can still be with the family. Anyway,’ Edie said more briskly, tucking the letter behind the bracket clock on the mantelpiece for Archie to see when he came home,
‘no good wishing for the moon. It’ll be Christmas soon and I’m late getting me puddings done this year.’

‘It’ll be worse than last year,’ Lil mourned, ‘with all the shortages.’

‘We’ll make a go of it somehow,’ Edie said, attempting cheerfulness, but inside her heart was breaking. It would be the second Christmas since the war had started, but their
first since Laurence had been killed and now she wouldn’t have Reggie or Irene and the baby here either. And she doubted that Frank or Beth would get home.

It was going to be a very quiet Christmas.

‘It’s certainly going to be very different this year, Lil,’ Edie went on, trying to concentrate her mind on eking out their meagre rations. ‘We didn’t really feel
the pinch last year, but it’s going to hit hard this time.’

Edie said nothing about the people who would be missing around the table this year. Her thoughts were with them all, especially Laurence, who was gone for ever.

As if sensing her friend’s feelings, Lil said gently, ‘Will Beth get home, d’you think? And what about Reggie?’

‘I don’t know. Have you heard what Irene intends to do?’

Lil bit her lip. ‘She’s not coming, but she said the Schofields have asked us all to go out there, if we want to.’

‘It’d be nice, but it’s hardly fair on the poor woman for the four of us to descend on her.’

Lil shrugged. ‘I don’t think she’d mind. Irene says she’s used to catering for a lot of folk. They’ve got land army girls staying, but they might be going home for
Christmas so it wouldn’t be many more than usual.’

‘Mm, I’ll ask Archie. How would we get there?’

‘I haven’t a clue,’ Lil replied comically, and then added more seriously, ‘probably by train. That’s how they went, isn’t it?’

When Edie talked it over with Archie when he was next at home, he shook his head. ‘If Harry had got his car running I’d’ve asked to borrow it, but he’s got it laid up
now. Besides, I don’t think we should unsettle young Reggie – he might start begging to come back with us. Irene’ll see that he has a good Christmas and the Schofields sound nice
people.’

Edie could understand his reasoning, but she wasn’t happy and Christmas this year looked like being a miserable affair.

Through the year Edie and Lil had saved foodstuffs for the festivities – if indeed they could call them that, Edie thought morosely.

‘This isn’t classed as hoarding, is it, Edie?’ Lil asked worriedly. She was terrified of disobeying regulations and scanned each leaflet that appeared through her front door
with a frown on her face.

‘No, Lil, it isn’t. We’re just saving up a bit to use on a special occasion. Hoarding’s when you buy and put away loads of stuff you’re probably never going to use.
We’ll have to make mincemeat last minute this year, because of putting more apple in it. It’s likely to ferment if we do it too early.’

‘What about puddings?’

‘Ah, now, let me tell you.’ Edie opened a handwritten notebook she’d started compiling at the beginning of the war. It contained all sorts of snippets of useful information,
amongst which were wartime recipe ideas. ‘It seems,’ she went on, ‘that we’d be lost without good old Doctor Carrot. There’s a recipe for carrot pudding, but I shall
have to make it early on Christmas morning.’

‘Not beforehand, like you always do?’

‘It says it’s best done on the day because it’s what they call a “one-boil” pudding.’

‘Eh?’

‘If you make it on the day, it saves fuel by not having to heat it up again.’

‘Oh,’ Lil said uncertainly. ‘I’ve made a cake already and it’s got carrot in it.’

‘It’ll be fine. We’ll soon all be able to see in the dark if we go on eating carrots at this rate.’

The two women laughed together, not taken in by the propaganda that carrots helped the RAF’s night-flying. The myth had come about because of a temporary glut of carrots earlier in the
year, which the authorities wanted used up, but not wasted. Not only did they want the public to eat the carrots but they wanted the enemy to believe that British pilots’ flying capabilities
had been improved by eating them and not because of the use of secret new inventions, such as radar.

Two days before Christmas, there was a knock at Edie’s front door. Only strangers or the telegram boy bearing bad news ever knocked at her front door and she was trembling as she hurried
to answer it. She wished Lil was with her. She opened it to see a burly man standing there, dressed in plus-fours and a checked cap and carrying two dead cockerels in his hand.

‘I’m Joe Schofield,’ he said, stretching out a calloused hand. ‘Me and the missis’d be glad if you’d accept these.’

Edie stared at him, dumbstruck for a moment before coming to her senses and realizing who he was. She invited him in. ‘Please come in, come in. The kettle’s on the hob.’ She
led the way into the living room and then turned to face him again. ‘You – you didn’t bring Reggie to see us?’

The man shook his head, realizing at once that the woman was disappointed. ‘We didn’t know what to do for the best, missis, to tell you the truth. We didn’t want to unsettle
him, like.’

‘But he’s all right?’ Edie’s tone was anxious now.

‘Oh, he’s champion. Taken to the country life like one of my ducks to the pond.’

Edie didn’t know whether to be pleased or sorry. Pleased because her little boy was happy, yet she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment that he wasn’t the tiniest
bit homesick.

‘Of course, he’s missing his family,’ Joe added hastily, ‘but it helps him having Irene and the babby there too.’

‘Are they all right?’

‘Champion.’ It seemed to be one of Joe Schofield’s favourite words. ‘Babby’s growing into a fine little chap. You must come out and see them. You and Irene’s
mother, when the better weather comes.’

‘We’ll try. Now, sit down and have a cuppa. And thank you so much for the cockerels. We’ll have them for Christmas dinner.’

‘I’m a bit late bringing them but I couldn’t get into Grimsby afore today. Mebbe you’ve already got your dinner organized.’

Edie pulled a face. ‘Only if you can call a cheap cut of meat, which has been pot roasted to try to make it tender, a Christmas dinner. No, Mr Schofield, these will be splendid.
We’ll have a real feast. Thank you.’

As soon as he’d supped his tea, Joe got up. ‘I must be going.’

‘Oh, can’t you stay and see Lil – Irene’s mam? She’s gone into town to do a bit of queuing.’ She laughed wryly. ‘But she should be back soon.’

‘If you don’t mind, missis, I’ll be on me way. I don’t like strange towns in the dark and I don’t know Grimsby all that well. Give ’er my regards and tell her
that Irene and the little one are fine.’

‘I will and thank you again for the birds. Lil will be sharing them with us on Christmas Day.’

‘That’s what Irene said.’ He picked up his cap from the table and nodded his farewell as Edie saw him out of the front door again, making sure that he left by the same way that
he had entered her home and thus didn’t take the good luck out with him.

‘My goodness,’ Lil exclaimed when she saw the two birds lying on Edie’s draining board. ‘What a lovely gift.’

‘You know, Lil, I’m thinking we should share our good fortune,’ Edie said slowly. ‘Jessie and Harry will come as usual, but what about your Norma? She’ll be all on
her own, won’t she?’