Читать книгу Sand In My Shoes: Coming of Age in the Second World War: A WAAF’s Diary - Joan Rice - Страница 18

It hasn't been the best of weeks. It began with my returning from leave not to a cheery household, but to a place so strangely deserted that I thought it was another Marie Celeste. I undressed before a fire someone else had lit, bathed in water someone else had heated, and stared at a half-finished cigarette someone else had smoked and all the while in an empty house. They returned in dribbles, Mike tired and touchy so that we all had to be careful with her for the evening, and Renee bossy and irritating. Since then the house has been parted by a pro Renee and a pro Frances battle over a girl called Reynolds whom Renee has foisted on No. 7 Booth Road.

Last night Joyce and I had an orgy of cleaning to get our room clean now that Scotty has gone (plus, we fear, my blue hairbrush and Joyce's mascot monkey). While Renee spoke German to Mickey so that we couldn't understand and giggled, I scrubbed the floor and Joyce polished it, and between us we got the room immaculate. I like Joyce. She's plump with bright yellow hair and feet that look most attractive from behind when she walks.

I'm very tired. Hence the low level of this entry of squabbling women is neither ennobling nor uplifting but positively fourth form. I must go and have a bath.