Strangely I never saw The Snorer again during my time at Bletchley, which went to show just how many people worked there. It was also true that people often disappeared, never to be seen or heard of again. Given the intensity of the workload, burnout was a common problem and judging it to be bad for morale, those who couldn’t take the pace were quickly despatched back to their civilian lives. Of course, on that particular August morning as I was directed to Hut 6 to begin my duties, I had no idea how hard I was destined to work.
Instructed first to go to Registration Room 1, I found I was one of many new recruits, the majority being graduates from Oxbridge, as well as a few other universities. I was older by about five years, and was reminded of being back at Oxford, surrounded by linguists, classicists, and mathematicians like myself. I concentrated on what was being explained to me, which was an overview of what went on in Hut 6 in relation to the whole of Bletchley Park. Cogs and wheels came to mind, and on a vast scale. I learned that all over England and Scotland there were wireless stations intercepting enemy messages. These were then couriered by motorbike to Bletchley, specifically Hut 6 and the Registration Rooms. It would, I was told, be my job to help sort and list the messages. Once that was done the process would begin on decoding them. This was done by those who were further up the chain, the elite in Hut 6.
I was warned that the task before me had to be done with painstaking care and that it could bemind-numbingly tedious. But I didn’t care; I was fascinated by everything I saw and heard.
That evening, as I located my newly assigned billet, a cottage some four miles away in a hamlet with little to offer other than a clutch of houses, anivy-clad pub and a duck pond, Melstead St Mary felt a long way away. No more would I have to deal with Mother’s histrionics that she was at death’s door. Guiltily, I was even relieved that I now had something to distract me from worrying about Kit.
It was hard to admit this, even to myself, and despite having encouraged Kit, I had been jealous of him joining the ATA. I envied his and Romily’s contribution to the war effort. I had fought my jealousy by telling myself that I was doing essential work in teaching the young children of the village, as well as the influx of evacuees, like Stanley. But as fulfilling as my job at the school was, I didn’t consider it enough. I felt I could be doing so much more.
With the light beginning to fade on that warm summer’s evening, the sweat pooling between my shoulderblades as I trudged along the dusty road with my suitcase and handbag, I suspected I was lost. I plonked my suitcase down on the ground and referred to the small map I’d been given. It was no more than a sketch which I’d been told was not to scale. I concluded that I must have taken a wrong turn half a mile back, so picking up my case, I retraced my steps. When I eventually found my destination, at the end of a rutted track and knocked on the front door, I was ready to drop. It had been a long day.
Wayside Cottage was a modestred-brick Victorian dwelling which would win few prizes in a beauty contest. But the front garden was a much better proposition. Where flowers had very likely once grown, the patch was currently laid out with rows of vegetables. There were onions and potatoes, and peas and runner beans winding themselves up sticks fashioned into wigwams. With rationing making life so hard, everybody was digging for victory these days.
From the other side of the door, I heard a key being turned and then the door creaked open, but only by an inch. A girl wearing nothing but a towel and a shower cap peered cautiously back at me through the gap.
‘I’m Evelyn Flowerday,’ I said, ‘I believe you were expecting me.’ I smiled. ‘I certainly hope you are at any rate.’
The girl smiled too and opened the door further. ‘Come on in,’ she said, ‘give me five minutes and I’ll give you a proper welcome.’
She pointed towards a room off the narrow hall, and clutching the towel around her, she dodged upstairs.
I did as she said and went through to what I discovered was adecent-sized sitting room. The furniture waswell-worn, but at least it appeared to be clean. A table covered in a gingham cloth was placed beneath a window looking out onto the front garden. I wondered if that was where I would eat.
On the opposite wall was another window and this gave a view of the back garden. I went to have a look and saw a long thin strip of a garden where chickens were pecking at the grass. To one side, jammed against a brick wall was an Anderson shelter. It seemed unlikely that the Luftwaffe would drop a bomb here, but as we were frequently told, better safe than sorry. The rest of the garden was given over to fruit trees and at the farthest end was an oldtimber-framed greenhouse.
The girl who’d opened the door to me now reappeared, dressed in a pair of dark greenhigh-waisted trousers and a creamshort-sleeved blouse with a bow at the neck. Her feet were encased in a pair ofpeep-toe wedged sandals. Her blonde hair was stylishly pinned up on her head with several decorative combs. She wore nomake-up but still looked exquisite.
‘Gosh,’ she exclaimed, ‘what a frightful first impression I must have given you opening the door like that when I was practically starkers! I do hope I can make amends. How about a drink? No, better still, why don’t I show you where you’ll be bedding down? I’ll warn you now, sleep will be your best friend after a few weeks of being at the Park. Here, let me take your case for you. What did you say your name was?’
‘Evelyn. Evelyn Flowerday.’
As effervescent as a glass of champagne, the girl thrust out her hand and shook mine vigorously. ‘I’m Tally; short for Natalia. Come on, let me take you upstairs. I do hope you’re the kind of gal who can rough it, because there’s nothing grand about Wayside Cottage.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be perfectly comfortable,’ I said.
We were at the top of the stairs on the small landing when I asked if there was anybody else billeted here.
Tally turned to me with a shake of her head. ‘There are only two small bedrooms, so it’s just us.’
‘Have you been here alone, then?’
‘No. Until a few days ago Diana was here.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘The poor girl got herself into a bit of a fix, if you know what I mean.’ As though to make sure I did know what she meant, Tally patted her stomach.
‘No danger of that happening to me,’ I said with a breezy laugh, thinking of Kit and that with still no sign of an engagement in sight as he came to terms with his injuries, we were resolutely chaste.
Tally looked at me, an expressive eyebrow raised. ‘People are falling in love all the time at the Park. And if not love, then ... well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain. It’s an outlet for the pressure we’re under. That’s what happened to Diana.’
They were words that would come back to haunt me.
Chapter Twenty
Meadow Lodge, Melstead St Mary
October 1962
