‘Maybe we won’t be needing so many bombs now that the Germans are running scared,’ Lillian joked from her sick bed. Repeating the often-used wartime expression, she added with a gleeful smile, ‘Yeah! We’ve got the Hun on the run!’ ‘Don’t count your chickens,’ said Agnes wisely. ‘We need to keep churning out bombs until Hitler’s dead and all the heads of Europe have signed a peace treaty.’ Lillian snorted. ‘I could be claiming my bloody pension if we have to wait for the heads of Europe to agree on anything!’ ‘What’ll happen to the Phoenix if peace is declared?’ Elsie asked as she lay propped up on her pillows. ‘It’ll be converted into a knocking shop!’ Lillian joked. ‘Stop making me laugh, Lil,’ pleaded Agnes, giggling as she pressed a hand to her wounded brow. ‘It pulls my stitches apart.’ ‘Will the Phoenix really close?’ Elsie persisted. ‘It was closed for years,’ Emily said. ‘Then it was reopened in 1941 for war work.’ ‘Three years ago …’ sighed Agnes.
