Under the Apple Tree by Lilian Harry Page A

to
    start with.’
    ‘One pig?’ Laura was sorting through a pile of temporary
    ration books to be issued to people who had lost theirs in the
    bombing.
    ‘One bin, twerp!’ Judy threw a screwed-up scrap of paper
    at her and Laura caught it and threw it back.
    ‘I hope you weren’t going to waste that - it’ll do for one
    of your collections.’ They made faces at each other, grinned
    and went back to their tasks, feeling more light-hearted.
     
    The next special visitors were the King and Queen
    themselves. Judy, in a flurry of nerves, made Polly help her
    drag in the small tin bath the night before, muttering to each
    other that it would be a good thing when the potatoes could
    be harvested and the big bath returned to its proper use.
    They poured in hot water from kettles and added some bath
    salts Polly had been given for Christmas. Judy got in first,
    luxuriating in the pleasure of having a bath on a Wednesday
    instead of the usual Friday or Saturday. Then she got out
    again and Polly got in, followed by Alice, Cissie and finally
    Dick. ‘We might as well all have a treat,’ Alice said. ‘No
    sense wasting the hot water.’
    With their hair newly washed and set with Amami lotion,
    Judy and Polly joined the rest of the staff and volunteers at the hotel early next morning to receive the Royal visitors.
    The King, looking serious but ready with a shy, friendly
    smile, was wearing Naval uniform - he’d actually served
    during the Great War, Polly whispered to Judy, and been in
    the Battle of Jutland. The Queen was in a dark costume,
    with a hat that was swept up away from her face, four rows
    of pearls around her neck and a fur stole draped over her
    arms.
    All the bigwigs were there too — the Lord Mayor and
    Lady Mayoress, of course, Admiral Sir William James the
    Commander-in-Chief of Portsmouth, Brigadier Harter,
    Major-General Hunton, Colonel Walker and the Town
    Clerk. The men bowed deeply and the Mayoress dropped a
    graceful curtsey. As they passed the staff, the latter all
    bowed or curtseyed as well, most of them terrified that they
    would fall over or get their hair caught in someone’s
    buttons. As the door of the Mayor’s office closed behind the
    visitors, the staff heaved a general sigh of relief.
    ‘She looks just like a film star!’ Judy exclaimed. ‘Did you
    see those pearls? And that fur — it must have been real
    mink!’
    ‘I can’t see why she needs to dress up like that,’ remarked
    Eileen Hall, who didn’t really like royalty. ‘Especially when
    she’s going to see people who’ve been bombed out and got
    nothing. It’s just flaunting herself and all her money.’
    ‘No, it’s not.’ Polly was an avid follower of the Royal
    Family. ‘They can’t help being rich, and if they’ve got nice
    clothes they might as well wear them. Anyway, she says that
    if people go to see her they dress up in their best, so why
    shouldn’t she do the same?’
    ‘Oh, know her personally, do you?’ Eileen sneered, and
    Polly flushed angrily.
    ‘No, I read it in the paper, and so could you have done if
    you didn’t have your head buried in penny romances all the
    time. Anyway, I’ve got work to do and we’d better not start
    yelling at each other or they’ll hear us in there and a fine impression of Pompey that’ll give them!’
    They went back to their desks, the excitement of the
    morning slightly dimmed by the squabble. Polly felt angry
    with herself for letting Eileen get under her skin. I ought to
    learn to ignore her, she thought as she tried to sort out lists for the salvage collections, a job she had taken over from
    Judy who was now busy helping the Mayoress with the
    Clothing Depot. All the WVS staff and volunteers were
    extra busy that morning, as they were all going to St Mary’s
    Hospital in the afternoon to meet the Queen again as part of
    her tour.
    ‘It was lovely,’ Judy told her mother that evening as they
    sat round the supper-table eating bubble and squeak.