anxiety.
‘Yes,’ Agnes replied staunchly. ‘He’s gone hunting but he’s a big strong Daddy so he’ll come back soon, safe and sound,’ she reassured her daughter.
As Agnes and Esther stood by the shore of Derwentwater watching the sun go down, Mr Featherstone sat in his office at the Phoenix scowling at a bomb-assembly manual that was written entirely in French.
‘And what exactly are we expected to do with this?’ he snapped at Marjorie, his secretary, as he irritably flicked the manual she’d presented to him. ‘Who in God’s name speaks French round here?’
‘We could make a tannoy announcement in the factory and see if we can find somebody who does,’ Marjorie replied.
‘Make it right away, Marjorie,’ said Mr Featherstone. ‘The longer we take to find a translator the longer the delay on the bomb line.’
Five minutes later Marjorie’s prim tones boomed up and down the assembly lines.
‘If there is anybody fluent in the French language could they please make themselves known to Mr Featherstone immediately.’
Emily, standing next to Alice at the conveyor belt, gave her friend a dig in the ribs. ‘You speak French. Off you go!’ she laughed.
Having got permission from the temporary supervisor to leave her section, Alice hurried to the manager’s office, wiping her yellow cordite-stained hands on her white overalls as she did so.
‘I’m fluent in French,’ she told her boss nervously as she stood before his desk eyeing the manual he was pushing towards her.
Mr Featherstone nodded; he liked the look of this elegant little lass with her bright smile and stunning silver-grey eyes.
‘Don’t ask me how we finished up with a French manual for English shell cases,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Somebody somewhere got their wires crossed. Sure you can manage it?’
Alice turned the pages of the hefty manual and nodded.
‘It’s mostly technical and has a lot of English words, so
it shouldn’t be too complicated,’ she replied confidently. ‘I’ll work on it when I’ve finished my shift tonight,’ she added.
‘No, you won’t!’ Mr Featherstone replied forcefully. ‘You’ll work on it right now, right here in my office. Marjorie!’ he called. ‘Tea and biscuits for Alice – right away.’
It was pleasant sitting in the manager’s warm office with a fire crackling in the black grate and a big brass clock ticking away on the wall. Alice quickly forgot about Mr Featherstone and Marjorie bustling in the background as she lost herself in the French text. It wasn’t just a question of translating the document; she had to make absolutely sure that she accurately understood the intricacies of the bomb-assembly instructions so she chose her words with great care. One wrong word could lead to an explosion on the assembly line or, worse still, an incorrectly assembled bomb that failed to go off when fired on the front line.
When Marjorie and Mr Featherstone bade her a good night Alice stayed on.
At the end of their ten o’clock shift Elsie, Lillian and Emily came to take Alice back to their digs.
‘Come on, bedtime,’ Emily urged but Alice shook her head.
‘I’ve got to get this done by the morning,’ she said. ‘It’s really important.’
Dawn found Alice slumped over the fully translated text. She awoke with a start as the brass clock struck six, and shivered; with the fire out the office was cold and chilly. Leaving the translated text on Mr Featherstone’s desk, Alice hurried back to her digs where she had a hot
bath, a mug of sweet tea, then a few hours’ sleep before she was back on the assembly line.
In his office Mr Featherstone read through Alice’s English assembly instructions and smiled.
‘With skills like this,’ he said to his secretary as he tapped the hefty pile of papers Alice had so efficiently translated, ‘that little lass is wasted down on the factory floor. I tell you, Marjorie, that young Alice Massey is made for much finer
‘Yes,’ Agnes replied staunchly. ‘He’s gone hunting but he’s a big strong Daddy so he’ll come back soon, safe and sound,’ she reassured her daughter.
As Agnes and Esther stood by the shore of Derwentwater watching the sun go down, Mr Featherstone sat in his office at the Phoenix scowling at a bomb-assembly manual that was written entirely in French.
‘And what exactly are we expected to do with this?’ he snapped at Marjorie, his secretary, as he irritably flicked the manual she’d presented to him. ‘Who in God’s name speaks French round here?’
‘We could make a tannoy announcement in the factory and see if we can find somebody who does,’ Marjorie replied.
‘Make it right away, Marjorie,’ said Mr Featherstone. ‘The longer we take to find a translator the longer the delay on the bomb line.’
Five minutes later Marjorie’s prim tones boomed up and down the assembly lines.
‘If there is anybody fluent in the French language could they please make themselves known to Mr Featherstone immediately.’
Emily, standing next to Alice at the conveyor belt, gave her friend a dig in the ribs. ‘You speak French. Off you go!’ she laughed.
Having got permission from the temporary supervisor to leave her section, Alice hurried to the manager’s office, wiping her yellow cordite-stained hands on her white overalls as she did so.
‘I’m fluent in French,’ she told her boss nervously as she stood before his desk eyeing the manual he was pushing towards her.
Mr Featherstone nodded; he liked the look of this elegant little lass with her bright smile and stunning silver-grey eyes.
‘Don’t ask me how we finished up with a French manual for English shell cases,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Somebody somewhere got their wires crossed. Sure you can manage it?’
Alice turned the pages of the hefty manual and nodded.
‘It’s mostly technical and has a lot of English words, so
it shouldn’t be too complicated,’ she replied confidently. ‘I’ll work on it when I’ve finished my shift tonight,’ she added.
‘No, you won’t!’ Mr Featherstone replied forcefully. ‘You’ll work on it right now, right here in my office. Marjorie!’ he called. ‘Tea and biscuits for Alice – right away.’
It was pleasant sitting in the manager’s warm office with a fire crackling in the black grate and a big brass clock ticking away on the wall. Alice quickly forgot about Mr Featherstone and Marjorie bustling in the background as she lost herself in the French text. It wasn’t just a question of translating the document; she had to make absolutely sure that she accurately understood the intricacies of the bomb-assembly instructions so she chose her words with great care. One wrong word could lead to an explosion on the assembly line or, worse still, an incorrectly assembled bomb that failed to go off when fired on the front line.
When Marjorie and Mr Featherstone bade her a good night Alice stayed on.
At the end of their ten o’clock shift Elsie, Lillian and Emily came to take Alice back to their digs.
‘Come on, bedtime,’ Emily urged but Alice shook her head.
‘I’ve got to get this done by the morning,’ she said. ‘It’s really important.’
Dawn found Alice slumped over the fully translated text. She awoke with a start as the brass clock struck six, and shivered; with the fire out the office was cold and chilly. Leaving the translated text on Mr Featherstone’s desk, Alice hurried back to her digs where she had a hot
bath, a mug of sweet tea, then a few hours’ sleep before she was back on the assembly line.
In his office Mr Featherstone read through Alice’s English assembly instructions and smiled.
‘With skills like this,’ he said to his secretary as he tapped the hefty pile of papers Alice had so efficiently translated, ‘that little lass is wasted down on the factory floor. I tell you, Marjorie, that young Alice Massey is made for much finer
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