‘She looks as if she’s dressed for a garden party at Buckingham Palace – and you should see her furniture!’ ‘Annie! You sound just like Aggie Donovan. You haven’t been spying out the window, surely!’ ‘I have. As for Aggie, she’s out brushing her step to get a better look. Come on, Eileen.’ Somewhat reluctantly, Eileen followed her friend into the parlour, where she was already peering through the net curtains. It was best to humour Annie at the moment. She’d been in a strange, excitable mood ever since Terry and Joe had been home on leave for a week prior to being sent to France with the British Expeditionary Force. Her lads had looked very young and embarrassed in their clumsy khaki uniforms, their once curly heads clipped so short they looked like convicts. They’d returned to Aldershot with enough canary cake and bunloaf to feed the entire British Army for weeks – not just off their mam; the entire street had contributed. ‘Jesus! Look at that wardrobe! You could live in that quite easily.
