Alice stepped on to the tube train. It was a new one. Without the usual jostling of people and fug of cigarette smoke, she noticed the varnished floors, stylish lights, grab handles and cushioned seating covered in brightly patterned fabric. At Embankment Station, she hurried up the steps into London’s dirty air. The late summer sun was glowing in dark puddles left by the night’s rain.
Her destination was an office building like any other. Blackened brick and grimy windows on the outside. It was only once you were inside that the security protocol fell like an axe. She rushed to “Sir’s” office. He barked out a memo faster than usual, but her shorthand must be perfect. A mis-communication could have dire consequences.
She rushed back to her heavy metal typewriter and belted out the words with strong fingers. Clack-clack, clack-clack-clack, clack-clack. Such a monotonous racket. She had to read the words as her eyes flicked between her notebook and the page. But she must forget them, not think about them, or feel anything. The final full-stop clacked and she released the paper and carbons from the roller. Back to “Sir” for checking and signing. Then the “all staff” call to the wireless came.
They knew what to expect, but still they listened attentively, their faces blank. Finally, the Prime Minister had done it. It was the end of a summer. For so many brave young Britons, it would be the end of all summers. Tomorrow, she would return to do her bit again – typing for the safety of the realm. It felt trivial, but it was all that she had been trained to do. And she would do it with all her heart and soul, unless and until the Nazis came to chop her fingers off.
