Somewhere in France: A Novel of the Great War by Jennifer Robson Page A

France. Close to Edward; close to Robbie.
    “You are certain?” she asked, still not quite believing.
    “Chamberlain was certain enough. So keep your eyes and ears open, and be ready to apply when the call goes out.”
    Their food arrived just then, prepared exactly as Edward had requested: roast chicken, potatoes Lyonnaise, and tiny new Brussels sprouts. Lilly concentrated on her meal, allowing her brother and Charlotte to carry the conversation with their spirited and, at moments, barbed debate over the relative merits of modern art.
    As she ate, bite after methodical bite, she let her imagination soar, borne high by Edward’s news. If it were true, and if she were accepted, she’d have a chance to make something of herself, become someone worthwhile to know, even to love.
    February couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter 14
    London
    February 1917
    I t was no trouble to find a copy of The Times among the discarded newspapers on the bus at the end of the day. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t supposed to keep anything she found, but she couldn’t justify spending tuppence on a daily paper, not when she had to be so careful with her money. And the papers would end up in the rubbish anyway.
    Her shift was over, and after ten long hours it was her turn to sit, feet aching, head pounding, on a series of buses as they traced a meandering route east from Willesden to Camden Town. Opening her scavenged Times, she went straight to the casualty lists on page five; force of habit compelled her to read through them line by line. Relieved to find only unfamiliar names, she turned to the front of the paper and began to read the articles in earnest.
    And then, on page nine, she found it, the article she had been awaiting eagerly since Christmas Day. As Edward had promised, a women’s corps had been established. WOMEN’S WAR WORK IN FRANCE was the headline. Posts to Be Filled Behind the Lines.
    She read on, and was heartened to discover that women were required in a number of categories, one of them a motor transport service. Interested applicants were instructed to obtain the necessary forms from Mrs. Tennant, the director of the women’s branch of the National Service Department.
    As soon as the bus arrived at Camden Town, she jumped out and ran home, not able to wait another minute to share her news with Charlotte. Dashing through the front door of her lodgings, she shouted out a hello to Mrs. Collins and ran upstairs to knock on Charlotte’s door without even taking off her coat.
    “Is that you, Lilly? Do come in.”
    “They’ve announced it, just as Edward said!”
    “Announced what?”
    “The women’s corps. It’s right here in The Times .” She handed the paper to her friend, who was still sitting in her chair by the fire, her darning forgotten on her lap.
    “So it is. This is exciting!”
    “I must apply immediately. There’s no time to waste.”
    “Of course you must. But first take off your coat and hat and change out of your uniform. I’ll make you some sardines on toast and a cup of tea, and then you can get started.”
    “You’re right, you’re right. I won’t be a moment. Do you have any stamps? I think I’ve run out.”
    “I have plenty of stamps,” Charlotte assured her. “Now stop marching around my room in those muddy boots or Mrs. Collins will have both our heads!”
    A WEEK LATER, Lilly arrived home from work to find a packet of papers waiting for her. Standing in the front hall, rain dripping from her sodden coat and hat, she tore open the envelope, which contained an application form as well as a letter.
    Devonshire House
    Piccadilly
    London W1
    Monday, 5 March
    Dear Miss Ashford,
    Thank you for your letter of 28 February. You are requested to present yourself for an interview with Dr. Chalmers-Watson, our chief controller, on Monday, 26 March, at ten o’clock in the morning. The interview will take place at the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps headquarters at Devonshire House,