At Aunt Greta’s–
Freya and the Doodlebugs

by Gabi
Chapter 16 of a Continuing Saga…

Recognising the now-familiar wailing of the air-raid siren, I was awake in an instant. ‘It’s an air-raid, I can’t explain now but we have slipped back in time to the second world war and you must call me Greta. This has happened to me before; we have to get up and go to the air-raid shelter.’

At this moment the door opened, the light was switched on and Mummy was there. ‘Greta, Freya, get up quickly, girls. Put on your underthings, socks, shoes and dressing gowns, bring a blanket and come with me to the shelter immediately. And don’t forget your gas masks.’ She hurried away towards her own room leaving us alone.

Farah, alias Freya looked at me open-mouthed as if I was feeble-starkers-bonkers.

We quickly got out of bed and discovered we were both wearing old fashioned flannelette nighties.

Farah gawped. ‘OhMyGod, Gabs, what’s happened?’ she hissed, ‘who was that lady and what is that god-awful wailing noise?’

‘That was Auntie G’s mum, but I have taken Auntie’s place so I am now Greta, and she’s Mummy to me; I’m not sure what you should call her, but Missus Chambers should be okay,’ I whispered. ‘Don’t, for goodness sake, call me Gabs. I have to be Greta here. And if what Mummy said is true, I’ll have to remember to call you Freya. The wailing noise is the siren giving an air-raid warning, so Mr Hitler must be sending us one of his Delightful Doodlebugs.’

‘Doodlebugs? What, for chrissakes, are Doodlebugs?’

‘Flying bombs: they’re like small planes filled with explosive and they have no pilot.’

‘Sheesh! This is just sooooooooo weird.’

‘Oh yeah, Freya, another thing about Mummy; she hates bad language and slang–what she calls guttersnipe language–so for goodness sake don’t say OhMyGod or she’ll go totally bananas. It’s the 1940s, remember.’

Freya grinned. ‘Oh my good golly, Greta, I’ll say it is.’ She giggled, and added, ‘oh, wow, just look at these bloomers!’ She held up a rather large pair of pink knickers with elastic at the waist and legs.

‘Lucky you, having pink ones I mean; because of clothes rationing I’ve only got the regulation navy-blue ones I have to wear as part of my school uniform. Come on, hurry up and put them on or Mummy will be back looking for us.’ I lowered my voice to a whisper, ‘I’ll explain it all to you when we get back to our own time.’

‘We will get back, then?’ She sounded a bit calmer.

‘Well, I have every time, so far.’

‘Sheesh, how many times has this happened to you?’

‘Three or four times. I’ve even been to school here as Greta and have a couple of chums, Sue Brown and Judy Wilson.’

‘But nobody called Tess Tickell?’ she giggled as I switched off the light and we hurried downstairs with our blankets and gas masks, trying not to trip ourselves up on trailing bits of blanket.

‘Sssshhhhh!’ I hissed. ‘Mummy might hear.’

‘Mum’s the word!’ she whispered and I giggled.

Mummy was waiting for us by the back door. ‘Have you remembered your gas-masks?’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ I replied, holding up the box which was hanging round my neck. I was glad that I had a proper, “grown-up” sort of gas mask and not one of the Mickey Mouse ones made for children I had seen in a book Auntie G had about the home front during World War 2.

‘Yes, Mrs Chambers,’ Freya answered showing her box as I had done.

‘Now, Freya, don’t forget I told you you could call me Aunt Fanny,’ Mummy said.

‘Sorry, Mrs Chamb…I mean Aunt Fanny.’

Just before Mummy turned off the light prior to opening the back door Freya looked at me and mouthed ‘Fanny?’ and had to clamp her hand over her mouth to stop herself giggling, which nearly set me off.

Using a torch that was hooded so the light could not be seen from above, Mummy led her way across the garden to the Anderson shelter in the corner. Freya was gripping my hand and was clearly nervous, but no more than I was so I was glad she was there. Mummy opened the door of the shelter and stepped down into it. Once we were in too, she lit the candle in the lantern hanging from a hook in the ceiling and turned off her torch.

‘I’ve never seen a flashlight like that one, Aunt Fanny,’ Farah-alias-Freya said.

‘Flashlight?’ Mummy queried.

‘The electric flashlight you used to show us the path.’

‘Oh, you mean my torch.’

‘Yeah. Why does it have a shade thing on it?’

‘So the light is hidden from enemy aeroplanes,’ Mummy replied. ‘Haven’t you noticed that the street lights aren’t turned on, and cars have hooded headlights too. Now, girls, Why don’t you two get in the top bunk, and I will get in the bottom one and you can try to get some sleep.’

‘I don’t think I could,’ Freya-alias-Farah replied. ‘I’m sooo nervous, it’s like my tummy’s full of butterflies; how about you, Ga–reta?’

‘Mine too. I always get nervous in air raids, especially since my best friend, Wendy, was killed when a doodlebug hit her house about a week ago.’

‘That’s tough. I’m sorry. I bet you miss her, don’t you?’

‘We all do in our class at school,’ I replied, remembering what Aunt Greta had told me back in our own time.

We lay down on our bunk and Mummy tucked the blankets round us and soon we were warm as two bugs in a rug. As we lay there, I wondered how long it would be before the raid proper began and how long it would last. Then the anti-aircraft batteries on the edge of the town opened up on the approaching enemy. Then, above the cacophony of the ack-ack guns, I heard it–that droning, crackling, buzzing, rasping noise–getting louder–and louder–and louder–closer–and closer–

Freya hugged me tightly and I did the same to her. ‘Is that noise a doodlebug?’ she asked. ‘It sure is seriously scary.’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Let’s hope it passes over us before it’s engine stops.’ It was coming closer–and closer–I knew it was directly overhead–I felt really-really scared, and we hugged each other even tighter. I prayed silently for it to pass over us.

‘Be brave, girls,’ Mummy said. ‘I think it’s going away now.’

She had barely stopped talking then we heard the engine stop! Freya and I gripped each other even harder as we waited holding our breath. I began counting the seconds as they passed; one–two–three… ten–eleven–twelve–thirteen–fourteen–fifteen–sixteen… and then the explosion came. Freya and I screamed, the ground shook, the candle in the lantern flickered but did not go out. I let the breath I had been holding for so long escape in a rush.

‘Not as close as the last one,’ I said nonchalantly.

‘But still too close for comfort,’ Freya said. ‘Can we go back to the house now, Aunt Fanny?’

‘Not yet, dear,’ came the reply. ‘We have to wait until they sound the all clear. There could be more on the way, they usually come in batches at night.’

‘And these doodlebug things have been coming over every night since 1940?’ Freya asked. ‘It’s enough to put you in a lunatic asylum.’

‘We’ve only had doodlebugs since June this year,’ Mummy said. ‘Before that we had squadrons of bombers but they were mostly flying over us heading for the Midlands–places like Coventry and Birmingham. But after the RAF gained the upper hand over the Luftwaffe we didn’t have many air raids until the buzz bombs”  started coming across.’

As Mummy finished speaking another salvo of ack-ack fire started up.

‘Sounds as if they are busy tonight,’ I said. ‘I’m glad there’s no school tomorrow–’

‘Today, you mean, dear,’ Mummy corrected me; ‘it’s about three o’clock in the morning.’

‘It’s pretty awful having to be alert in school when you’ve been in the shelter most of the night,’ I added.

‘Aunt Fanny, is there anywhere I can go to the bathroom?’ Freya asked.

‘Is it urgent, dear,’ Mummy asked.

‘Yes, it is rather,’ came the reply.

‘There’s a chamber pot in the corner for emergencies. Can you manage on that?’

‘I guess,’ Freya said. ‘It won’t be the first time.’

‘Nor the last, dear, I’m sure,’ Mummy replied. ‘There’s a roll of lavatory paper by it.’

‘Thanks.’ Freya untangled herself from me and climbed down. Mummy shone the torch to show her the potty and we turned away while our guest pulled down her knickers and settled her bottom on it.

It was at this point that the next doodlebug began to make its presence known.

‘Eek!’ squealed Freya in panic. ‘What shall I do?’

‘Well, if I was in your place, my dear, I’d finish my business and think of America,’ Mummy replied, making Freya giggle.

Meanwhile we could hear the buzzing of the doodlebug getting louder and louder–and louder and closer and closer. Freya let out a sigh of relief and I heard her tearing some loo-paper off the roll. About ten seconds later she was back up on the top bunk and snuggling close to me.

‘Geez,’ she whispered in my ear, ‘I thought I was gonna die sitting on the potty.’

I had a sudden thought which made me giggle and whispered to her, ‘If you had died on the potty, you’d have passed in two ways at once!’

She thought for a few seconds and suddenly began to giggle as she whispered back, ‘OhMyGod, Gab–reta, I’d never have thought of that, you can be sooo funny.’

‘What’s the joke, girls?’ Mummy asked from down below: thank goodness she hadn’t heard what I’d whispered, or I’d have been for it.

‘Just a silly joke, Mummy.’

The doodlebug buzzed overhead (we hoped) and at least a minute elapsed before we heard the engine cut. After the explosion, which didn’t shake us as much as the first time, we both let out a sigh of relief.

‘I wonder if that one got anybody,’ Mummy said. ‘I think it may have gone beyond the town and crashed out in the country; they do sometimes.’

Ten minutes later the all clear sounded and we trooped indoors and back to our room. As soon as we put the light on, Freya saw the doll’s house. ‘Wow! That’s gorgeous; we must play with it tomorrow,’ she said, as we removed our surplus clothes and Mummy appeared to tuck us in.

‘Try to get some sleep, dears, or you’ll feel dreadfully tired by breakfast time,’ she said, giving each of us a kiss.

‘We will, Mummy,’ I replied as she headed towards the landing, switched out the light, closed the door and left us in the dark.

‘G’night, Gabs,’ Farah whispered. ‘That was some experience and I don’t think I want to do it again.’

‘Me neither,’ I replied. ‘G’night.’

* * *

Auntie Greta wakened us at half past seven. ‘Come on, sleepyheads, it’s a lovely sunny morning,’ she said pulling back the curtains.

‘Oh, Aunt Fanny,’ Farah said, shielding her eyes. ‘That’s much too bright.’

Auntie G stopped in mid-pull; ‘You called me Aunt Fanny. That’s what Freya used call Mummy, so I suppose you two have been gallivanting through time together.’

‘I guess,’ replied Farah. ‘OhMyGod, Auntie G, how did you put up with all the Nights of the Dreaded Doodlebugs? When the second one came over I was weeing on the potty.’

‘Were you now? Very interesting. That clears up an ancient mystery that I’ve wondered about for many a long year.’

‘Really?’ I said. ‘What happened?’

‘Well one Saturday morning when Freya was staying the weekend, Mummy asked me to go out to the shelter and fetch the potty and empty it on the compost heap. The thing was that neither Freya nor I could remember anything about the raid there must have been that night. So it was your wee I had to empty that morning was it, Farah?’

‘I guess,’ Farah replied, blushing. ‘Sorreeee. Is there something I can do for you by way of recompence this morning?’

‘Don’t be a silly girl,’ Auntie replied, ‘but neither Freya nor I could remember anything about it.’

‘Actually, it was an interesting experience,’ Farah said, ‘although I did squeal when we heard the second doodlebug coming and I was sat on the potty. I asked Aunt Fanny what to do.’

‘And your mum replied,’ I said, taking up the story, ‘“Finish your business and think of America, I would suggest, dear.” I was surprised ’cause I’d never heard her make a joke like that before.’

‘Oh, Mummy could be a very witty lady at times, Gabs,’ Auntie replied. ‘Now, there’s one thing I would like to say to you both. Don’t go around telling everybody you’ve been doing a Dr Who act. They won’t understand it and will think you’ve both gone what you, Gabs, call “feeble-starkers-bonkers”.’

‘I nearly died when your mom said to call her Aunt Fanny,’ Farah told Auntie G. ‘You know what fanny means in the States?’

‘Bottom, or backside,’ Auntie replied, ‘but here in England it is much worse: here it is a slang word for vagina, or what Gabs calls a front bottom!’

‘What I don’t understand is how it happened,’ Farah said, ‘travelling back in time, I mean. Do you think like, your big bed is acting sorta like the Tardis?’

‘It’s an idea and it could be,’ I agreed, ‘except the first time I slipped back I was having tea in the sitting room with Auntie. We had both dressed up in World War two clothes, me in her old school uniform and she in one of her mum’s old wartime dresses and suddenly I found myself having tea in 1944 with her mum. I ended up doing her homework for her and not doing it very well.’ ”¡

‘I thought you did it splendidly,’ Auntie G protested. ‘I only got into trouble because I couldn’t explain what I, or rather you meant by ”well cool”.’

‘But I also smudged the line I ruled; when I said, “Oh barley-sugar” I got a tongue lashing from your mum for using guttersnipe language.’

‘Hmm. That sounds just like Mummy.’

‘I saw your awesome doll house in your bedroom,’ Farah said. ‘But we never had a chance to look at it coz your mom wanted us to go straight back to bed after the air raid.’

‘So we’d better see if we can find it, shouldn’t we?’ Auntie G asked.

‘Yes pleeeease,’ Farah pleaded.

‘That would be well kewl,’ I agreed.

‘In that case, my dears, when you get dressed I suggest you wear something old.’

‘I’ve got my old boy jeans,’ I said, ‘but they are way too big in the waist now.’

‘Don’t worry, Gabs,’ Farah said, ‘you can wear them as hipsters and show your panties above the waistband. It’s the fashion now, but I guess Aunt Fanny would go bananas.’

‘Mummy,’ Auntie G observed, ‘would go bananas, as you put it, if she saw either of you girls wearing anything but skirts or very occasionally shorts on a very informal occasion.’

‘OhMyGod, I’d just DIE if I wasn’t allowed to wear pants,’ Farah said. ‘Say, Gabs, d’you have an old pair of jeans I could borrow?

‘I’m sure I do, but they’ll be boy’s ones too.’ I replied. ‘I never had any girls’ clothes until recently.’

‘Wow, you really were a tomboy, weren’t you?’

‘Not really,’ I said, and taking my courage in both hands, ‘I was a BOY!

‘But, but, you’re a girl, just like me with boobies and things. So what happened?

‘Well, the first time I went back to 1944 I was actually a boy, but I was wearing Auntie’s old school uniform. Actually that day I had two trips back, the second one just before dinner, Auntie had made a Woolton pie and I slipped back to lay the table for her mum and meet two school friends who asked about our homework. I had to go to the loo and discovered that my, err–crotch was a “willie-free zone”, it having been replaced by a front bottom.’

‘Oh–my–good–God,’ she said slowly, separating the words. ‘Didn’t you want to like just DIE?’

‘Actually, no. I was quite pleased, ’cause I had discovered I really felt right in girls’ clothes and had told my mum earlier in the day. You see I used to be like Bryony–a girl in a boy’s body.’ I went on to explain about returning during the night for another air raid. ‘Next morning when I woke up I had to dress and go to school as Greta. I had a terrible tummy ache and it turned out I had started my first period. I was sent home to bed with a sanitary towel and went to sleep in the bed. When I woke up later in the day I was back in the present and still a girl on her period. Mummy’s a nurse and she examined me down below and then took me to see the doctor. I’ve been a girl ever since.’

‘Wow, talk about a baptism of fire. I’ll bet you were just sooooooo shocked.’

‘Yes, because I had these terrible tummy cramps. I’m soo glad it’s finished.’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘Well, dears,’ said Auntie G. ‘Best foot forward, as Mummy used to say. Don’t bother with a shower now, as we’re all certain to get filthy in the garage loft space, so you can shower together afterwards–that is if you don’t mind showering with an ex-boy, Farah!’

‘Gabs has always been a girl as far as I’m concerned, just like Bryony. Say, that’s an idea, couldn’t we try to get her back to 1944 and she might change like you did, Gabs.’

‘Yeah, but I might change back, or YOU might turn into a boy.’

‘EEEEWWWWW! Then I’d have cooties!’ Farah exclaimed, crossing her fingers.

* * *

After what Mummy calls a lick and a promise we dressed quickly in old jeans and tees; Auntie had suggested that I let her shorten the legs of my old patched jeans to convert them into capri trousers, and apart from the crotch coming half-way down my thighs because of the waistband sitting on my hips–showing the top of my knickers–they looked quite good. Farah borrowed another pair of my old boy-jeans which didn’t fit her too badly.

After doing our hair we went down to find out what Auntie had got for our breakfast: cereal, boiled eggs, and toast soldiers. I spread my soldiers with Marmite, watched by Farah who wanted to know what it was.

‘Try a bit,’ I said cutting off a small piece of a soldier for her to try. ‘I think it goes really-really well with a boiled egg.’ I dipped the rest of the soldier in the runny yolk of my egg and bit into it. Mmmmm, absolute heaven!

Farah bit tentatively on the piece of Marmited soldier. ‘Wow, that’s real nice,’ she said. ‘may I have some, please, Auntie?’

‘Of course you may, dear, but spread it very thinly,’ Auntie advised, ‘or it will kill the taste of everything else. I seem to remember that Freya used to like Marmite and I often wondered if she ever managed to get it when she eventually returned to the States.’

‘I never saw it in any of the food stores we used Boston,’ Farah replied.

‘Well it’s a bit of British thing,’ Auntie G said; ‘I know you can get Marmite in New Zealand, and Australia has something similar called Vegemite. I don’t know if it’s available in Canada.’

As soon as she had spread one of her soldiers thinly with Marmite, she dipped in into the yellow yolk of her egg, then bit off the yolky end of the soldier and closed her eyes. No sound came from her for a moment or two and then there was a contented and appreciative, ‘Mmmmmmm.’

‘You like?’

‘I like,’ came the reply after she had chewed and swallowed.

* * *

After we had cleared up the breakfast things and put them in the dishwasher, Farah and I went upstairs to tidy our room before we went out to the garage with Auntie to look for her old doll’s house.

Farah said, ‘This room’s hardly any different than it was in–’ she paused, ‘–what year was it?’

‘1944,’ I replied.

‘Wow! That’s before even Mom and Daddy were born,’ she said.

‘And my Mum,’ I added, ‘but I think my dad might have been born just after the war. He was a lot older than Mummy.’

‘That’s where the doll house used to be,’ Farah said, pointing to a chair beside my chest of drawers. ‘I sooo hope we find it, it was real neat.’

‘So do I. I had one chance to play with it for a few minutes on one of my previous visits.’

‘This time-travel thing is sooo weird,’ Farah stated. ‘If it hadn’t happened to me I’d have said you were just plain crazy.’

‘Why d’you think I kept mum about it until I found the two of us there. The first time it happened to me I thought I’d gone bonkers. Talking about keeping mum, there was a poster about careless talk which said, “Be like Dad, keep Mum!” in case there were any Jerry spies around.’

‘Okay, Gabs, don’t worry; I won’t say anything. C’mon, let’s go see if Auntie G is ready for us.’

We found Auntie downstairs; she had on jeans and the long-sleeved top she used when cutting back undergrowth in the garden. Her hair was covered by a headscarf.

‘There you are, girls,’ she said. ‘You you’ve dressed just right.’

‘We’re wearing pairs of my old boy-jeans,’ I said. ‘And coz she has been time travelling with me I have told her how I used to be a boy and somehow got changed.’

‘I’m just glad I didn’t change into a boy,’ Farah said. ‘’That would be sooooo AWful! And I can’t imagine what Mom and Daddy would say if that happened.’

‘You realise you can’t tell your parents–or anyone else.’

‘Sure. They’d think I was what Gabs calls “Feeble-Starkers-Bonkers”.’

‘I’m sure they would,’ chuckled Auntie. ‘Okey-doke, lets go and look for my old dolls’ house; I must say I quite excited at the thought of seeing it again. But first, you ought to cover your hair as it’s a bit mucky in the garage loft and it’s bound to be cobwebby, and I don’t suppose you like cobwebs in your hair.’

Farah and I looked at each other and said, ‘Cobwebs, EEEEWWWW!’ in unison.

This made Auntie giggle before she said, ‘I’ve brought a couple of head squares for you to tie on. They’ll keep the worst off your hair and you can have a shower and wash your hair before lunch.’

When we entered the garage we saw that Auntie had already opened the wide trap-door in the ceiling and poked a ladder through it. ‘I’ll go up first,’ she said, ‘as I know where the light-switch is. Are you all right with ladders, Farah? I know Gabs is.’

‘No prob., Auntie G,’ she chirped. ‘I helped Daddy decorate our house back home during our Easter break and I was up and down ladders all the time.’

When Auntie had stepped off the top of the ladder and switched on the light, Farah climbed up next, with me close behind. The floor was boarded and there were several items I presumed to be furniture up there, but I could not distinguish what they were as they were covered with dust-sheets.

As she looked round, Farah gasped. ‘Wow, this place is amazing–Eeeww, a cobweb’s stuck to my nose!’ she exclaimed, brushing it away with her hand.

‘I did warn you, dear,’ Auntie said, lifting up dust-sheets to find out what was hidden beneath and on finding an old trunk that looked more like a pirate’s treasure chest added, ‘I wonder what’s in here?’

It was more of her clothes from when she was our age including school stuff. ‘These summer frocks might do you, Gabs,’ she told me. ‘The style’s very similar and they’re pure cotton and will be much more comfy and cooler that the synthetic fibre that’s used today.’ She closed the lid. ‘Ah! now THAT looks promising.’ She lifted a dust-sheet a bit further along.

It was the dolls’ house, looking almost as good as it had “last night” in 1944. We all knelt down in front of it and Auntie slipped the catch so she could open the front.

‘Oh, wow!’ squealed Farah feasting her eyes on the interior. ‘All that tiny furniture is just soooooo neat and the dining table and chairs look like tiny copies the ones in the dining room here.’

‘They are,’ Auntie Greta told us. ‘My father made them for me before the war.’

‘Wow, kewl,’ I said.

We manhandled–well, girlhandled–the dolls’ house down the ladder and into the house where Auntie supervised us while we carefully spring-cleaned her childhood treasure. She found a tin of what she called antique wax furniture polish which we used to bring a beautiful shine to all the wooden tables and chairs, and we used soft artists’ brushes to dust all the nooks and crannies. By mid-day it was sparkling like a new pin, so Farah and I went upstairs to shower and change.

* * *

After a delicious ham salad lunch, we were wondering what to do when the ’phone rang. It was Bryony who was asking us and the other members of the B.B.C. to go round to her house for tea and talk to her mum.

‘Let me just ask Auntie if it’s okay,’ I replied. ‘Auntie, Bryony’s asked that Farah and I go round for tea this afternoon ’cause her mummy wants to meet the B.B.C. May we go, please?’

‘Of course, dear.’

‘Hello, Bryony, Auntie says we can come. What should we wear? I asked. ‘Best or comfortable?’

‘Oh, comfortable,’ came the reply down the line. ‘Anything you like wearing. I’m gonna wear a skirt and top ’cause I want to get used to wearing them and I feel more myself in them, but if you want to wear jeans or shorts that would be fine.’

‘At the moment I’m wearing a denim miniskirt and a yellow tank top, and Farah’s in a red skort and a pink tee. Will those do?’

‘That sounds really kewl,’ she said. ‘Please would you ring Angela, Kristal, Juniper and Lacey for me ’cause I don’t have their ’phone numbers.’

‘’Kay, Bryony, no prob. What time should we come?’

‘Mummy says about half-past three. Is that okay?’

‘’Kay. See you then. ’Bye.’

‘’Bye.’ I heard her hang up the ’phone.

I asked Auntie before ’phoning Angela, Kristal, Juniper and Lacey. Luckily they could all come so we met outside Bryony’s house just before three-thirty, walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

Mrs Rose opened the door for us. ‘Come in, girls, come in,’ she greeted us with a friendly smile. ‘My, don’t you all look pretty. Bryony will be down in a moment, she rushed upstairs in case it wasn’t you.’

‘She’s probably shy of meeting people who don’t know she’s a girl,’ Farah surmised. ‘It was the same with my friend Nora back in the States.’

Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs we looked up and saw Bryony coming down; she was wearing a knee-length light green tiered skirt and a yellow strappy top, which seemed to accentuate her boobs, with white ankle socks and sandals.

‘Oh, hi, Bryony. You look real cute,’ Farah chirped. ‘I like the top.’

‘Wow, Bryony,’ Lacey gasped, ‘Looking at you now, I can’t believe you were ever a boy, you’re so pretty, and I love your outfit. I’ve got a skirt just like that ’cept mine’s mauve.’

‘I was only a boy on the outside, I’ve always been a girl on the inside.’ Bryony replied, as she reached the bottom of the stairs and did a twirl for us, making her swirly skirt flare out.

Juniper, Kristal and Angela each gave her a hug by way of saying, ‘Hi!’

‘You’re looking amazing, Bryony; soooo kewel,’ I told her, able to get a word in edgeways at last. She gave me a big cheesy grin.

‘Well, girls,’ said Mrs Rose, ‘let’s go into the lounge and have a chat, shall we? I want you to explain to me all about your B.B.C. It reminds me of a secret society I had with some of my school-chums when I was your age.’

To be continued…

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”  Buzz Bomb is another name for the V1 flying bomb or Doodlebug. It earned the name Buzz Bomb from the awful buzzing noise made by it’s pulse jet motor.

”¡ See Aunt Greta’s Homework. http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/4837/aunt-gretas-homework

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and also to Kaleigh for advice on Farah and Boston
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