The Adventures of the Spitfire Patrol

Post Haste

Betty Beckett had made the very mature decision that this year she didn't want to waste her summer being idle and felt that now, at the age she was, the school holidays ought to be used wisely. She had known Katy and Alison to have Saturday jobs for a long time, and it seemed a very grown-up thing to earn your own money and spend it how you pleased.
Luckily for Betty, her parents owned and ran the Hedgely Gate post office and there was plenty to do in the shop and the mail room. She had some experience working behind the till and had been employed to assist her mother stack the shelves once or twice, but now she was looking for a position with a little more responsibility.
At first, it seemed pretty unlikely that anything much would come up. Mr and Mrs Beckett were able to do most of the work themselves and they had a young lad, Toby, who would come in and do the rest.
"One day, Betty, you will own the post office if you want it," her father said with a reassuring pat, "And then you will be very busy indeed. I'd love to give you a job today, but it just isn't possible. It would mean sacking Toby and that's not fair when he's always been such a good worker."
"Can't you have both of us?" she asked, "I'm sure I could be very helpful."
"I don't doubt it, but we just can't afford to hire you at the moment."
So that was that. If Betty wanted to be self-sufficient this year she would have to look for work a little further from home.

For a couple of weeks, Betty went door to door asking if anyone in Hedgely Gate had any jobs they needed doing. She wasn't very successful, but some neighbours were more astute than others, recognised her efforts, and kindly made up chores just so they could encourage her.
Mrs Stephanie Parker had Betty walk her dog; Mr Brawn the Butcher got her to rearrange his shop window display; in Doctor Carroll's house, she hung a picture; and she was paid quite handsomely by Mrs Harding to babysit her youngest son, Bobby.
Her earnings were not too shabby, and she probably would have gone on in this way had it not been for the unfortunate accident that happened three weeks into the school holidays.

Poor Mr Beckett had been up a ladder fixing a drainpipe on the side of their house when he had lost his balance and fallen right down to the driveway below. He had been injured quite badly, with a broken ankle and sprained wrist, but his spirits suffered little for he was always a jolly man.
"You'll need plenty of rest, Alfred," Doctor Carroll said when he came to check Mr Beckett over, "That means not running about in the post office as you always do. I'm sure Toby and your wife can manage."
"Of course we can," Mrs Beckett said, placing a steadying hand on her husband's shoulder, "You rest, dear, and you'll be better in no time."
"Nonsense!" Mr Beckett sniffed, "I can't deliver any mail in the state I'm in but I can get Toby to do that until I am better. In the meantime, I'm sure I can sit behind the till and serve customers."
"I would advise against it," Doctor Carroll warned, "You need to stay off that leg as much as possible. If you don't you will double your recovery time, is that what you want?"
"Of course not, but my wife and Toby can't do everything."
"You've got me!" piped up Betty, who had been eavesdropping in the hall, "Toby and Mother can go on about the shop as they normally do and I can deliver the mail for you."
"I think that's a very sensible solution," said Doctor Carroll as he got to his feet, "I'll be back in a week to see how you're getting on and I expect to hear that you've been resting."
Mr Beckett grumbled a bit but did not attempt to argue. Secretly he thought the idea of a little time off was quite appealing.

On the morning of her first shift, Betty was up at five-thirty. She dressed herself in her newly pressed Guide uniform and smoothed her hair down into two red braids on either side of her head. Thinking it prudent to wear a hat under the summer sun, she grabbed a straw one that hung on the back of her door and tied it neatly under her chin with a strip of red ribbon.
Satisfied that she looked as business-like as she felt, she took her trefoil pin out of her trinket box, gave it a quick polish, and pinned it to her breast pocket.
"There," she said, smiling at herself in the mirror, "I think Captain would be proud of me."