“You certainly look the part,” said Maisie. “Very sensible.”
Priscilla was dressed in a plain costume of navy blue jacket and skirt, brown shoes, and matching brown leather bag. Her hair was pulled back in a chignon, and she wore a brown Robin Hood–style hat with a blue band.
“You too—but then you always look sensible when you’re at work. Bit too sensible after work too.”
“Let’s go, then,” said Maisie, ignoring the jibe. “I’m glad one of us brought a motor car—at least we can prove we can drive. Did you remember your papers from the war?”
Priscilla took a sheaf of documents from her bag and held them up for Maisie’s inspection. “I think we’re more than qualified.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Positive. And you? What about your work, and little Anna?”
“It won’t be every day. When I asked, they said the shifts would be mainly at night. I’ll tell them I’ve responsibilities from Friday to Sunday evening.”
Priscilla looked at Maisie, as if gauging her response. “Might be best all around, when she can join a family to settle into.”
Maisie nodded.
“Well, then, what are we waiting for? Come on, Maisie—let’s hold hands and jump into the deep end together.”
Maisie steered the motor car into Tottenham Court Road traffic. The journey was short, taking them to a West End depot of the new London Auxiliary Ambulance Service. Maisie left the Alvis outside the building. They entered together, joining a queue of women waiting to place their applications. Finally it was Maisie’s turn.
“You’re at work during the day, and you finish at about five or six, you say?” said the man, his eyes moving down the list of responses Maisie had made to a series of questions.
“Yes, but I’m flexible, due to the nature of my work. I can meet the demands of your shifts.”
The man looked up at Maisie and seemed about to question the type of work she was engaged in, before thinking better of it. He looked down at her application again. “Trained nurse—yes, good. Casualty clearing station over in France during the last war.” He looked up at Maisie. “S’pose we’re all getting used to calling it the last war now, aren’t we?” He went back to the page. “Right, that’s good. And Spain too?” Once again he looked up from the pages into Maisie’s eyes, this time grinning. “What’s the matter, don’t you like it at home?”
Maisie met the joke with a smile. “I want to volunteer to serve my country. I can drive. I know I can tend the sick and wounded, so I have the right experience.”
He nodded towards Priscilla, waiting by the door. “She your friend?”
“Yes, we came together.”
“Then you two’d better get busy—ambulance drivers need to be fighting fit, and you’ve got a few years on the other women in that line. It creeps up on you, does age. Anyway, here are your instructions. Report here tomorrow evening, for the start of your training—it’ll mainly be uniform distribution and general rules, though you’ll be back Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and we’ll need you for a few weeks’ worth of more training—not all day though, again, mainly evenings. We’ll tell you more tomorrow. And we’ll try to roster you two together, but we can’t promise. You both know what we’re in for, so we might need you to go out with a girl who’s still a bit wet behind the ears—at least you know what death can look like.”
The man’s words lingered in the air as Maisie stood up and gathered her bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Ready to do your bit?” He smiled as he came to his feet, shuffled her application papers, and added them to a folder.
Maisie smiled in return. “Yes, I’m ready.”