cup of strong hot tea, Julia decided she would put her in Maggie’s room and went up to put fresh sheets on the bed.
‘Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?’ asked Lizzie as Julia came back down.
‘Of course it’s not. In fact, it’s exactly where you should be. We all need to stick together right now. Friends are so important to all of us. You and Diana have already been such great friends to me. I was hoping you could think of my home as a place you can stay anytime you want to. It’s just me here alone, after all. Besides,’ she said optimistically, ‘I do have that bathtub.’
Lizzie couldn’t help but smile. ‘As my aunt says, there is always a silver lining, and I must admit, having some time with a bathtub doesn’t sound so terrible.’
After dinner Lizzie made her way up to Maggie’s room. It felt so odd going to bed in one of Julia’s nighties, without a thing to her name. Not her clothes or belongings, not Fiona’s blanket, not even her granny’s carpet bag or any of her letters. But out of all her lost possessions what affected her the most was the newspaper clipping. The photos of the woman she had been hoping to show people to identify the nurse that had taken Annie. And not only had that clipping helped her believe she could find her daughter, it was also a tiny touchstone to remind Lizzie that it had really happened to her. Without the visual reminder and clue, she felt desolate; instead of getting closer to finding Annie, it felt as if everything was slipping away from her.
16
25 August 1940
As soon as Julia arrived at work that Sunday morning, she perceived something was different. Not only was the building in Whitehall busier than usual for a weekend, but there were also many people in the bunker. There was a buzz, an intense energy about the place. As she moved through the warren of rooms military personnel were heading into the offices and huddled at the cafeteria. Two men stood in deep conversation, one shaking his head, as they both drank a cup of tea. And in the war room’s office, places were being set. It had been ten days since the first attack on Croydon, and then last night, for the first time, German bombers had dropped bombs in the heart of London.
Making her way to the typing pool, she pulled off her hat and coat and hung them on a hanger. Carol was already seated at a desk. ‘What’s going on?’ she whispered to her friend.
Carol looked up from her typewriter and ran her hand through her blonde curls. ‘They have called an emergency meeting this morning; the war cabinet are on the way down.’
Julia sat down hesitantly, pulling the cover off her own typewriter and started her work from the day before, but the constant activity all around her distracted her.
All at once, her boss strode into the room. ‘We will need someone to take notes. Where’s Linda?’
Carol shook her head. ‘I don’t think she’s in today. She was feeling sick yesterday.’
Julia knew because of her shorthand skills Linda normally wrote the minutes for the meetings.
Mrs Scriber shook her head. ‘Julia, how’s your shorthand?’
Julia hesitated. ‘Erm, all right, I think,’ she said, trying to be honest.
‘I’ve got too much for Carol to do down here. And where are the other two girls?’
‘I don’t know,’ responded Carol. ‘I’m sure they’ll be in, in a while.’
‘Julia, you’ll have to do. Come with me.’
Grabbing hold of her pad and pencil, Julia followed Mrs Scriber to the War Room, a place she’d so far only seen when the door was open. A room she’d been told never to go into unless she had been instructed to do so. This was the place where decisions were made, life and death decisions. This was the hub of Churchill’s activity, where the overview map was. Where discussions were had that changed the course of history.
Before she went inside, Mrs Scriber turned to her. ‘I don’t have to remind you, do I, Julia, that everything that happens in here is top secret. You can’t share anything of what is said inside with anyone else. Do you understand? Not a brother, or a sister, or a friend, or a husband, or any family member, or even other girls in the typing pool. Is that clear?’