Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A fairly spacious Anderson Shelter stood at the bottom of Alison Bell's garden. It was seldom used, except as a raised platform on which to grow all manner of vegetable produce. You see, the village of Hedgely Gate was nestled safely in the English countryside and rarely saw an air raid. There really wasn't much call for bomb shelters at all, but the residents liked to have them just in case. Since they stood idle most of the time, they were more often used for storage or as children's playhouses... except for Alison's. Once a week, that cold corrugated iron structure was warmed by the loud voices and jolly laughter of eight rambunctious teenage girls in navy blue uniforms and neat little hats; each sporting her own highly polished trefoil pin which she wore with great pride. Initially, the girl guides of the Spitfire Patrol had met in living rooms and, when they could get it, the town hall, but had ultimately decided they needed a space that was very much their own. Alison had offered up the use of her family's Anderson Shelter above anyone else's, as it was one of the largest in the village and could just about accommodate every member of the patrol comfortably.The seating arrangement had been fixed from the very first meeting; with Katy and Alison perched on upturned buckets on the floor; Violet, Anne, and Janie sitting cross-legged on the bottom bunk; and Olave, Betty, and Daisy crammed together on the top. More often than not, they were joined by Katy's little terrier Bobby, who would find a nice warm lap to lie in;picking a different favourite every week. They had "cozified" the place, as Olave said, by dragging in rugs and lamps and blankets and little tin mugs out of which they could drink their precious Red Label Chocolate on particularly cold days. It was by no means roomy, but it was theirs.
One brisk Saturday morning, like any other, the guides all squeezed into their "patrol hut" and listened with bated breath as Katy finally shared the exciting news she had been promising them all week. "Now, girls," she said, mustering up all the authority she thought a patrol leader ought to have, "We have been given a golden opportunity to prove that girl guides are just what they claim to be; useful and helpful to others." "Finally!" Said Betty, peering over the railings of the top bunk, "I'm tired of collecting cotton reels and knitting socks." "Yes," chimed in Violet, "That's all very noble, but I've been longing for another proper adventure." "Well, we've got one" Katy beamed, "and it's a corker! You all know The Birches, don't you?" A ripple of excited chatter filled the small space, leaving poor Janie quite perplexed. "I don't." She mumbled, "You always forget, I'm not from around here." "You must have seen The Birches!" Olave exclaimed. "I've never even heard of it." "It's the big white house just outside the village- about a mile that way," Betty pointed randomly in what she hoped was the right direction, "It's one of those old country manor houses, you know, the really posh ones. Some people think it's haunted! It's owned by a very kind woman named Mrs Archbold and her daughter Livia-" "Oh, she's beautiful!" said Alison breathlessly, "I hope to be just like her when I am older, she's so kind." "That's why they've opened their house up to wounded soldiers- they've made it some sort of convalescent home" explained Katy. "My mother volunteers there three times a week and she says the men do get dreadful gloomy because there isn't much to do aside from lying in bed all day." "How awful..." Daisy muttered absent-mindedly. She hadn't been paying much attention to anyone but Bobby who had chosen that day to grace her with his companionship. "Anyway, Mother says we ought to visit as a patrol. She thinks it would be good for us to see how the war is affecting people on the front lines." "What use would we be?" Betty asked, "We aren't old enough to be nurses-" "We've got our ambulance badges!" protested Olave, who had recently earned hers and was incredibly proud. "Yes, and they're wonderful when someone gets a scraped knee, but I think these injuries might be a little too advanced for us." "I think we ought to go down there and see what can be done." Said Alison wisely. There was a flurry of activity and excited chatter as the girls pulled on scarves and mittens; tightening up their bootlaces against the thick carpet of snow outside. The weather was cold, but pleasant enough, with a watery winter sun peering shyly out from behind a cloud. It didn't possess quite enough strength to melt the snow that had been falling steadily for the past few days, but it seemed to bring a certain cheer to the little party as they made their way toward the house that had so captivated their imaginations since they were little. Many a time they had wondered what lay beyond the big iron gates at the entrance to The Birches. Were the ghost stories real? And what of Mrs Archbold and her beautiful grown-up daughter? They seemed like royalty to the girls, who only ever caught sly glimpses of them at church on Sunday mornings, and seldom anywhere else. "I bet it's like a palace in there!" Daisy marvelled, "Oh, how lucky Miss Livia is to have grown up in a place like that. Do you suppose they have servants?" Katy hurled a stick for Bobby and watched as he bounded across the snowy ground to retrieve it. "Maybe one or two, but that's not the fashion nowadays," she said knowingly. "I don't think I'd want to live there at all, it must get so lonely." Mused Alison. "And think of the dusting!" Olave gave a little gasp of horror for she abhorred any housework that stretched beyond the bounds of normal camp duties. Anne, who was a quiet girl of a somewhat pensive disposition, was gazing off into the middle distance with the usual dreamy look she often wore, "They've got a lake, you know. If I were Livia or Mrs Archbold I should spend all day long sitting on the bank painting the reflections of the trees in the water." Betty broke the short contemplative silence that followed, "Not on a day like this you wouldn't, you'd freeze to death quicker than your paint could dry!"
