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“In a way, yes, but they still saw each other regularly and we all got on together well. They actually both attended evening classes together at Woolwich Technical College, Mild doing a secretarial course and Tom mechanical drawing, which balanced us up more time-wise as they shared the bus journeys both ways. I just worked extra hours at the store during those evenings, with my ambitions set on following my father into the Kent Constabulary, marking time until I reached twenty-one. But come the village dances every Saturday night, Mildred was mine for around eight out of ten dances. But I was still worried that I could lose her to Tom, who had better long term job prospects, so I asked her to marry me when I felt we were old enough to become engaged.”“How old were you?”“Fifteen.”“And how old do you have to be to marry over here?”“Sixteen, by special marriage licence, twenty-one without parental approval.”“And how old were you when you joined up at the start of the war?”“Almost. One day she came round to do my hair with a bottle of gin and a bottle of Schweppes in her equipment bag, I sorted out glasses and some ice from the freezer and we sampled our first gin and tonic of the day while she did my hair. She produced a little camera, one of the new digital things that her husband had bought her for her birthday, and asked if she could take few photos of a flowering shrub in my garden, a kind she had not seen before, a Japonica I think she said. By this time, we were on our third gin and we trouped out laughing and giggling into the garden. I was wearing just my pink dressing gown and white panties with pink fluffy flip flop slippers and her hair dressing cape still round my shoulders. She took several photos of the bush. I bent down to smell the blossoms and the cape slipped off my shoulders, I made a grab for it and my dressing gown fell open and she took a couple of shots of my breasts and me struggling to regain composure. We fell about laughing and went.
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