We'll Meet Again by Mary Nichols Page B

bearable, although she was careful not to say anything about her work in case the book was found by someone who had no business knowing about it.
    An early entry read:
    Prue is a real lady, her father is an earl. She is really great fun and not at all snobbish. Aunt Constance is though. I wonder why she is like that? Why didn’t you ever tell me about her? She seems to have a grudge against you. I don’t listen to nonsense like that, I promise you. Anyway, Prue has the measure of her and Aunt is not as bad when she’s around. I’ve had no news of Charlie. When I get some leave, I’ll go to London and see if I can find anything out.
     
    On another page she had written:
     
    I’ve been exploring Bletchley and borrowed a bike to go for a ride with Prue. The countryside is lovely in autumn with all the trees turning colour. I hope this winter is not as cold as the last one. Do you remember how we had to dig our way out of the house because the snow was halfway up the door? And how icy the pavements were? The kids made a slide in the road and Pa told them off because it was dangerous for people walking. He spread a bucket of sand on it, didn’t he?
     
    The last entry continued:
     
    I’m getting used to the work now, it isn’t difficult. I just have to remember where all the huts and offices are. The trouble is
it’s
mostly out of doors and I have to go from place to place, and no excuses if it’s cold and wet. It is practically impossible to get my things dry in this house. There’s no heating in my room and Aunt Constance doesn’t like me putting my wet things round the kitchen fire.
     
    She turned to the next blank page and wrote:
     
    Prue has gone on a week’s leave so I’m here alone with Aunt Constance. And the cat, of course. She’s a big tabby called Tiddles and if she can get away with it, she comes up and curls on my bed to sleep, which is strictly against the rules. Aunt Constance has her to keep the mice down. Not that there’s anything much for mice to eat; the house is spotless and any food we leave on our plates, which isn’t much, is given to the cat.
    Prue is my best friend, but I have made one or two other friends at work. Some of the people there are really brainy. You see them wandering about deep in thought, puffing on pipes or cigarettes. There’s one we call the Prof. who goes running a lot and sometimes rides a funny bicycle wearing his gas mask. I thought he was dotty but Prue assures me he is a genius. I don’t think he is the only one, there are more like him and some of them have real tantrums. Of course, I am the lowest of the low and don’t have much to do with any of them, though Prue chats to them.
    I still miss you dreadfully, but I am trying to be brave. Until we meet again, always your loving Sheila.
    She closed the book and hid it in her rucksack on top of the wardrobe. Tonight she was beginning a week of night shifts,walking about in the park with her letters and packages by the light of a feeble torch. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
     
    Prue arrived back just as she was leaving and they only had time to exchange a few words before they parted again. To Sheila’s question, ‘Did you enjoy your leave?’ Prue said, ‘Not exactly. Something happened. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.’
    As she left the house, wrapped in a warm coat, a beret, scarf and gloves, she heard her aunt come out from the kitchen and ask Prue if she wanted dinner. ‘We had ours earlier,’ she said. ‘But I can rustle up something …’ She didn’t hear Prue’s reply as she shut the front door behind her and set off for Bletchley Park, lighting her way with the torch, the only way to get about in the blackout.

Chapter Five
    The grounds of the park took on an eerie atmosphere at night. There were still people moving about from hut to hut or coming and going from the house to the cottage, a converted stable block to the side of the house, or arriving and leaving at the gate, each with