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every stick of furniture as well as Ruby’s knick-knacks.

‘Congratulations on getting married, Maureen. George didn’t tell me.’

‘It was all rather quick,’ Maureen giggled as she looked down to her stomach.

Ruby couldn’t help smiling, She’d always liked Maureen, and only a year ago had hoped her son had feelings for the girl. Obviously that was out of the question now. Besides, her son was looking devotedly towards Irene. He seemed to be enamoured with the girl. She wondered if Frank was right and they’d been walking out for a while? ‘George, why don’t you help me put the kettle on; then I’ll see about our dinner?’ she said, wondering what her son saw in the thin, po-faced girl.

‘You look smart, love,’ Ruby said, admiring George in his uniform as she checked the stew bubbling away on top of the stove while George filled the kettle.

‘Oh Mum, you know it’s not a proper uniform. It’s just what I’m given to wear while I’m teaching the Boy Scouts how to use our machine guns.’

‘I think what you’ve been given to do by your bosses is very important. They must value you a lot to put you in charge of training the scout troops all about the guns you make and how to fire them.’

George shrugged. ‘It’s not really the army, though, is it?’

‘Don’t you start talking like that, my son. You’ve got an important job to do. Why, you’ve not even finished your apprenticeship and they’ve moved you over to Crayford and put you in charge of people. That counts for something. I reckon you will go places, George Caselton,’ she said proudly.

George chuckled. ‘But you would say that, you’re my mother,’ he laughed before the smile slipped from his face.

‘Something bothering you, son?’ Ruby asked. She was reminded that George hadn’t yet heard about the death of his friend Donald.

‘I know I’ve got a good job . . . and in a way, working on the Vickers machine guns and turning out as many as we are is playing a big part in the war. But I really want to join up.’

Ruby sighed as she thought of Stella not a hundred feet from where they were, distraught over the death of her youngest son. That could be her before too long, if George went off to fight for his country. She looked at her fine, upstanding son; his hair was still the same light brown colour it had been in childhood, and no amount of damping down the curls could tame them. Ruby knew she had to tread carefully, otherwise she could alienate her son: if pushed too hard, he might join up just to spite her. ‘What are your plans, love?’

‘I’ll no doubt join the engineers, as with my experience at Vickers it would be the obvious choice. The management have indicated they can make sure I’m seconded to the right regiment.’

Ruby caught her breath. It seemed this was going to happen, regardless of what she thought about it. ‘It sounds as though you’ve already made your mind up, love. I’d not want to stop you . . . but you know I don’t want you to go. I’m like every other mother in that respect. But what about Irene? I can see you’re keen on her. Have you known her long?’

George looked a little embarrassed. ‘We met about a year ago. She worked with Maureen and came along with her to a dance down at Vickers – it was at the Rodney hut.’

Ruby had heard about the hut, and always thought it a strange name, considering it was more of a dance hall and meeting place. It had been donated by someone called Lady Rodney, in memory of her son. George liked to go there for the dances and educational lectures, but she’d had no idea he had his eye on a girl all this time. ‘So it’s serious with you and this Irene, is it?’

‘I like her a lot, Mum,’ he said, turning pink-cheeked.

‘I can see that. But then, I thought you were soft on Maureen a while back?’

‘She’s just a friend, nothing more.’

Ruby thought for a while as she dropped dumplings into the stew. ‘And how does Irene feel about you joining up?’

‘She knows it will happen for all of us lads when we’re eighteen, and I reach that age in January. I’ll get called up anyway. Irene believes I’ll be an officer before too long.’

Oh, does she? Ruby thought to herself. She certainly didn’t like this little madam who seemed to have stolen her son’s heart.

As she poured boiling water onto the tea leaves in the pot, she took a deep breath before breaking the news of Donald’s death to her son. ‘George, I’ve got some bad news. Stella received a telegram this afternoon. It’s Donald . . .’

George turned pale. ‘Has he been injured?’ he asked hopefully.

‘No, love, he was killed. We don’t have any other details at the moment. I wondered if you’d pop over and have a word with Stella and Wilf. As you can imagine, they are beside themselves with grief. Frank is with them at the moment.’

George nodded, unable to speak for a moment. ‘He’s the third person I’ve known to have been killed in this war,’ he said, his voice no more than a whisper. Ruby held out her arms and enveloped her son, wishing she could hold him close and safe forever.

‘You’re never too old for a cuddle, George, always remember that.’

‘I will, Mum, and I’m sorry . . .’

‘Whatever for?’ she asked, noticing that he was blinking back tears.

‘Going on about joining up, with you standing there knowing about Donald.’

‘There is no need to apologize. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. I won’t be the first mother who’s worried about a son. I feel we’re going to lose many more loved ones before this is all over. You know I’m not one for religion, and never have been, but even I say my prayers before I go to sleep at night. It’s only been weeks since the Luck

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