brave smile on her face and handed Betty her letter. The young girl greedily tore open the envelope.
‘You didn’t?’ gasped Kathy ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’
‘I only did,’ Betty replied.
‘You little bleeder,’ giggled Kathy, full of admiration.
‘Did what?’ asked Poppy.
‘Well, why should Daisy get to have all the fun?’ Betty shrugged. Checking to see Vera was out of earshot, she leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I wrote to a serviceman,’
she giggled. ‘Nicked his name and address off my big sister. He thinks I’m a twenty-one-year-old seamstress who can do the jitterbug. I even squirted the letter with some of my
sister’s perfume.’
‘Betty,’ admonished Poppy, ‘whatever will he say when he finds out his pen-pal sweetheart is a fourteen-year-old apprentice?’
‘He won’t find out,’ she shot back. ‘There ain’t a snowball’s chance in hell of me actually meeting him. Besides, what hope have I got of getting a
sweetheart? I’m plain as a pikestaff – I don’t have Daisy’s good looks or Sal’s banter, so I’ve got to use what I can. That’s the beauty of letters,
Poppy,’ she said. ‘You can be whoever you want to be.’
Poppy said nothing, but the young girl’s words had filtered into her brain. She had to admit that to a girl as shy as her, a letter had an almost irresistible allure.
‘All right, girls,’ said Mr Gladstone as he bowled in from his office, ‘gather round.’
His gruff voice wrenched Poppy reluctantly from her train of thought.
‘I need some volunteers to go up to the children’s hospital this Sunday. Let’s have a show of hands, then.’
‘To do what, Mr Gladstone?’ asked Betty.
‘To perform an enema, what do you think?’ He laughed, shaking his head. ‘To sing, of course. Your reputation as Bethnal Green’s most talented singers precedes you.
I’m forever telling people about your voices.’
‘Saying what?’ heckled Pat. ‘That we ought to use ‘em less?’
Laughter rang out across the floor. Poppy giggled along too as Mr Gladstone’s head slumped into his hands in a gesture of mock despair. But when he lifted his head, their boss had fire in
his eyes.
‘Seriously, girls, you have to know that I’m proud of you. You have some decent lungs on yer, and what better way to use them than to cheer up some sick kiddies? Let’s show
them Jerries we’ll never be silenced.’
A loud cheer erupted from the women. Even Daisy had re-emerged and, after fixing her face, was chatting excitedly at the prospect. The only person not joining in the revelry was Vera.
‘I thought that hospital had been evacuated out of London,’ she said cautiously.
‘Parts of it were,’ replied Mr Gladstone, ‘but there are some kiddies too sick to move.’
‘I’m not sure it’s a suitable place for our girls to visit,’ Vera warned. ‘They’ll be some sad sights.’
‘Vera,’ chided Mr Gladstone gently, ‘I thought you’d be the first to want to do your bit to help.’
‘I can’t . . . I’m too busy on Sunday – I’m helping out at the Red Cross jumble sale at the Methodist Mission,’ she blustered.
‘Starching her curtains, most probably,’ muttered Betty under her breath to Poppy.
‘Sorry to hear that, Vera,’ Mr Gladstone replied. ‘You’ll be missed.’
‘Yeah. Only by him,’ whispered Betty. ‘Mr Patch has it bad for old Kippers and Curtains.’
Poppy nudged her hard in the ribs. ‘Ssh,’ she scolded.
‘Who else would like to go?’ asked Mr Gladstone.
A sea of hands shot up.
‘I’ll organize it,’ offered Sal, over the clamour of voices. ‘Be a real treat to cheer the little mites up.’
‘That’s the ticket, Sal,’ grinned Mr Gladstone. ‘I’ll go and ring Matron now and tell her I’ve got some of my best girls lined up.’
News of the hospital visit caused a real stir, and Poppy watched as Sal rallied the troops.
‘Now, I reckon we start with “Run, Rabbit, Run” and
‘You didn’t?’ gasped Kathy ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’
‘I only did,’ Betty replied.
‘You little bleeder,’ giggled Kathy, full of admiration.
‘Did what?’ asked Poppy.
‘Well, why should Daisy get to have all the fun?’ Betty shrugged. Checking to see Vera was out of earshot, she leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I wrote to a serviceman,’
she giggled. ‘Nicked his name and address off my big sister. He thinks I’m a twenty-one-year-old seamstress who can do the jitterbug. I even squirted the letter with some of my
sister’s perfume.’
‘Betty,’ admonished Poppy, ‘whatever will he say when he finds out his pen-pal sweetheart is a fourteen-year-old apprentice?’
‘He won’t find out,’ she shot back. ‘There ain’t a snowball’s chance in hell of me actually meeting him. Besides, what hope have I got of getting a
sweetheart? I’m plain as a pikestaff – I don’t have Daisy’s good looks or Sal’s banter, so I’ve got to use what I can. That’s the beauty of letters,
Poppy,’ she said. ‘You can be whoever you want to be.’
Poppy said nothing, but the young girl’s words had filtered into her brain. She had to admit that to a girl as shy as her, a letter had an almost irresistible allure.
‘All right, girls,’ said Mr Gladstone as he bowled in from his office, ‘gather round.’
His gruff voice wrenched Poppy reluctantly from her train of thought.
‘I need some volunteers to go up to the children’s hospital this Sunday. Let’s have a show of hands, then.’
‘To do what, Mr Gladstone?’ asked Betty.
‘To perform an enema, what do you think?’ He laughed, shaking his head. ‘To sing, of course. Your reputation as Bethnal Green’s most talented singers precedes you.
I’m forever telling people about your voices.’
‘Saying what?’ heckled Pat. ‘That we ought to use ‘em less?’
Laughter rang out across the floor. Poppy giggled along too as Mr Gladstone’s head slumped into his hands in a gesture of mock despair. But when he lifted his head, their boss had fire in
his eyes.
‘Seriously, girls, you have to know that I’m proud of you. You have some decent lungs on yer, and what better way to use them than to cheer up some sick kiddies? Let’s show
them Jerries we’ll never be silenced.’
A loud cheer erupted from the women. Even Daisy had re-emerged and, after fixing her face, was chatting excitedly at the prospect. The only person not joining in the revelry was Vera.
‘I thought that hospital had been evacuated out of London,’ she said cautiously.
‘Parts of it were,’ replied Mr Gladstone, ‘but there are some kiddies too sick to move.’
‘I’m not sure it’s a suitable place for our girls to visit,’ Vera warned. ‘They’ll be some sad sights.’
‘Vera,’ chided Mr Gladstone gently, ‘I thought you’d be the first to want to do your bit to help.’
‘I can’t . . . I’m too busy on Sunday – I’m helping out at the Red Cross jumble sale at the Methodist Mission,’ she blustered.
‘Starching her curtains, most probably,’ muttered Betty under her breath to Poppy.
‘Sorry to hear that, Vera,’ Mr Gladstone replied. ‘You’ll be missed.’
‘Yeah. Only by him,’ whispered Betty. ‘Mr Patch has it bad for old Kippers and Curtains.’
Poppy nudged her hard in the ribs. ‘Ssh,’ she scolded.
‘Who else would like to go?’ asked Mr Gladstone.
A sea of hands shot up.
‘I’ll organize it,’ offered Sal, over the clamour of voices. ‘Be a real treat to cheer the little mites up.’
‘That’s the ticket, Sal,’ grinned Mr Gladstone. ‘I’ll go and ring Matron now and tell her I’ve got some of my best girls lined up.’
News of the hospital visit caused a real stir, and Poppy watched as Sal rallied the troops.
‘Now, I reckon we start with “Run, Rabbit, Run” and
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