'Will you remember where we left the car, Samantha?'

'At the foot of the River Road, Mother. Are you sure you sure that you wouldn't prefer to walk there? Or we could go back to the car and I'll drive us to the shore.'

'One sees more here.'

'There's nothing to see in the High Street but shop windows.'

'We can stop in that tearoom. Look over there – what do you suppose that that woman is doing?'

'Which woman?'

'Over there, Samantha. In khaki.'

Sam turns her head to look, being careful not to unbalance her mother, who is leaning on her as much as on her walking stick. Sure enough, a woman in what might be a Women's Legion uniform – No, Sam thinks, it can't be the Women's Legion, that isn't the right sort of cap – is standing on the footpath over the road, just opposite them. She has a market basket under her arm and is distributing its contents to passers-by.

'She's handing out leaflets, I think,' says Sam.

'Let's go and talk with her. She has a nice face.'

Sam knows from long experience that Mother has odd fancies from time to time; they usually pass quickly and rarely amount to very much. It has to be doing her some good to be on her feet in the fresh air, Sam thinks, so she puts up no resistance and lets her mother lead her over the road. The woman evidently hears them coming, and turns around to greet them as they approach.

'Good afternoon!' She is about thirty years old, Sam guesses; tall, with a pleasant face, as her mother had said, a bobbed coiffure that went out of fashion several years ago and the faintest of Continental accents – French, perhaps. She introduces herself as Mrs Peake.

'Good afternoon. I'm Mrs Stewart; this is my daughter, Samantha. Are you in the Auxiliary Territorial Services?'

'Oh, dear – no,' Mrs Peake replies, sighing a bit. 'No, I am in the Mechanised Transport Training Corps. We are a new women's organisation, not yet a year old – but our founders, you see, were in the Women's Legion before this year, and simply brought their uniform with them!'

'Oohh,' Sam whispers.

'Really, it was very unfortunate for the Auxiliary Territorial Service to have chosen a uniform that so strongly resembles ours,' Mrs Peake goes on. 'Only that we who were not in the Women's Legion were given this new sort of cap. I don't care for it, you know – it makes us look as though we were going on a skiing holiday! But in actuality, we provide drivers for civilian officials, and we operate public vehicles – motor coaches and that sort of thing – whose usual drivers have gone into the forces, and we maintain government vehicles of all kinds.'

'Maintain them! Do you mean as mechanics?' Mother sounds bemused by this idea.

'Yes indeed! We have found that women make excellent mechanics. A woman almost always has a better eye for detail than a man, you know. We also teach women how to do these things, and to read maps, and administer first aid, and other matters of that kind. The only thing we do not teach is driving itself – a recruit must already have her license.'

'My daughter has a driving license.'

'I'm in the Women's Legion now,' Sam explains. 'The Sussex M.T. Division.'

'Perfect! And you will not need any new kit! May I give this to you, Miss Stewart?'

Mrs Peake takes something from her basket: the same brochure Sam received in September. Sam feels her face growing hot.

'Thank you, but I already have a copy.'

'You do? How did you obtain it?' Mother asks, sounding thunderstruck.

'I wrote to Mrs Peake's organisation at the beginning of last month, just after war was declared. They sent it to me – and an application form, as well.'

'Where did you learn about... this group?'

'Aunt Amy gave me a clipping about them, from The Times.'

'Did she. And why did you not show these things to me?'

There is an uncomfortable silence during which Mrs Peake glances somewhere into the distance beyond Sam and her mother, then over the road, then behind her.

'You haven't been feeling well, Mother,' Sam begins at last, 'and even if you had been, I didn't think that you'd... be interested.'

'Indeed. Well,' her mother goes on, 'I haven't seen that brochure. Might I?' she asks Mrs Peake.

'Oh, certainly!' Mrs Peake replies, handing Mrs Stewart a copy. 'If I may ask, Miss Stewart, what is your age?'

'I'm twenty,' Sam tells her. 'I won't be twenty-one until the end of next August.'

'I see. Well,' Mrs Peake continues, 'if you have already corresponded with General Headquarters then of course you know that as a minor you would need to have your father's permission to enlist.'

'Yes,' Sam answers.

'And without wishing to be indelicate,' her mother inquires, 'are your organisation's rates of pay comparable to those for other women in the forces?'

'Ah. We are civilians, Mrs Stewart, and therefore volunteers, and unfortunately, at present we are not part of His Majesty's Government. So we are unable to pay our personnel anything at all. They must support themselves,' Mrs Peake explains, sounding slightly embarrassed. 'We have hopes that this will change soon, but the Defence Ministry have not shown very much interest in us. I believe that we ought to court the Transport Ministry, but of course it is not for me to say.'

'Oh, dear. Were you aware of that, Samantha?'

'Yes, Mother, I do know about that. Aunt Amy didn't at first, apparently, but when I told her about it she said that she would take charge of the problem.'

'Do you mean to say that she and Uncle Michael have offered to pay for your upkeep, should you join this... body?'

'Not... entirely, Mother. I think that she meant that she would try to persuade other people in the family to help them do so. Uncle Aubrey and Uncle Timothy and... well, I suppose Uncle Desmond won't be able to do so now, being a Padre. And... you and Dad, as well,' Sam finishes up, hoping that she doesn't sound as astounded as she feels. This is the closest she has ever seen Mother come to thinking in purely practical terms.

'Mrs Peake,' Mother begins after appearing to digest this for a moment, 'my daughter and I are going to stop at that tearoom at the corner. Will you join us?'

Mrs Peake looks torn. Sam's last speech seems to have piqued her curiosity.

'I am meant to stand here, handing out these brochures and talking to passersby, as I'm doing now,' she explains.

'How long have you been here?' Sam asks.

'Nearly three hours, I think.'

'Then surely you need to sit down!' Mother exclaims. 'Perhaps the proprietress would like to have some of those brochures to offer to her guests.'

•••••

'Littlehampton is such a charming place!' Mrs Peake remarks after the waitress has taken their order.

'It is,' Sam replies politely. Perhaps it's charming if you haven't seen it a thousand times, she thinks. Yes, that must be it. 'This isn't where we live, though. My father is Vicar of Lyminster – two miles north of here. We're only here for the afternoon while he attends a Rural Deanery meeting here.'

'Where does your organisation's chapter in Sussex maintain its office?' Mother asks Mrs Peake. 'Brighton, I suppose.'

'Ahh... ' Mrs Peake begins softly. 'We do not have a command in Sussex at present. We are only in London, you see. I've been sent here to identify qualified women who are, what is the word, mobile, and can come to London to serve.'

'Ohh... ' Mrs Stewart breathes.

'I do realise this sounds alarming to some,' Mrs Peake goes on. 'But I live in London myself – Kensington – and I can assure you that the most excellent preparations have been made in the event of a German attack – and I must point out that more than a month has passed, nearly six weeks in fact, and there has been no attack as yet.'

'Yes, that is true,' Mrs Stewart concedes.

'We do hope, I may even say that we plan to establish commands wherever we're needed in the country. When we do have a Sussex command, we shall of course invite those of our members who have come from here to return. Our members undergo training in Lambeth,' Mrs Peake continues, turning to Sam.

'Of course, you would have to go and live there, Samantha. I suppose that that is what your aunt had in mind,' Mother remarks, sounding more than faintly aggrieved. 'Is there a hall of residence?' she asks Mrs Peake.

'No – however, I can assure you that when our personnel must be billeted we do everything in our power to ensure that their quarters are completely suitable,' Mrs Peake says in a very firm voice.

Saturday 14 October 1939
Didn't have time to write about this last night, or all day today. (Now past 9.00pm – very busy day!) Chance meeting w member of M.T.T.C. yesterday in Littlehampton, had very good talk with her, though felt that Mother did most of the talking – seemed to take liking to her & bought her tea! Apparently M now thinks M.T.T.C. would be good thing for me to do! Very puzzled about how M's mind works, but perhaps should not worry about it & simply be grateful.

To Wick this morning to buy food for next week, found shelves at grocer's rather bare. Same at greengrocer & fruit monger. Grocer says people are hoarding tinned goods & anything preservable against food rationing in January! Tried in Arundel, not much better luck, greengrocer there said same thing. (Called this a vicious circle – must remember to look this up.)

Times reports A.T.S. have reopened recruiting, want 20,000 new members. Wonder if ought to consider this rather than M.T.T.C. (Or Red Cross?) Didn't actually say this aloud, or course. Even so Dad told me am spending too much time reading newspapers – just makes me worry about things I've no control over. Not first time he has told me this. Advised me to try Ecclesiastes. Will do this tomorrow. D quite upset about another Times item, though – next year's Lambeth Conference cancelled.

Sunday, 15 October 1939
First Sunday w no choir – awfully depressing, just nineteen people at Matins.

Later – Took Dad's advice, read entire Book of Ecclesiastes after lunch. Agreeably short. (However not as short as Joel.) Quite liked in particular 3:1-8, about there being a time for everything, especially bit from second verse about 'a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.'

Later still – Wireless announces that we've lost another battleship, H.M.S. Royal Oak – torpedoed off Orkney by u-boat very late last night. Only 414 survivors out of approx. 1,200 on board.

Dad quite worried, I think.

Monday, 16 October 1939
Uncle Desmond telephoned, said he couldn't tell us where he is or where his regiment is being sent, but quite safe. (Not that he doesn't know where he is, of course – just isn't allowed to tell us & perhaps doesn't actually know yet where they'll go.)

Quite late – wireless reports German attack this afternoon on bridge over Firth of Forth, near Edinburgh – first German air attack on Britain since last war. M&D both quite upset, but M gave me meaningful look when D said that this is a turning point. Did not say turning point in what, though. Attack would have happened just before we heard from Uncle D – wondering now if he was nearby.

Tuesday, 17 October 1939
Times reports no serious damage done in attack yesterday, but fifteen dead, twelve wounded, all seriously. Letter for Dad in morning post – Uncle A's hand.

•••••

'Samantha.'

'Yes, Dad?'

'Come in and sit down, won't you? There's a subject that we need to discuss.'

Being summoned to Dad's study generally means, in Sam's experience, that she's about to be told what she ought to be doing, or what she's been doing wrong. But his voice sounds different this time, and she notices that he is asking her, not instructing her, to enter the room.

'Your mother has been telling me about this new women's brigade,' he says. The M.T.T.C. recruitment brochure that Mrs Peake gave her mother is on his desk. Sam sees to her surprise that her mother is also in the study, sitting close to the fire. She's never seen her mother in this room before.

The war, she thinks, is going to make everything topsy-turvy.

'I'm not sure whether brigade is quite the right word, Dad,' she replies. 'It's just civil defence, after all.'

'Nevertheless, they do seem to have been organised in order to fulfill a specific need in a purposeful manner, and to be run somewhat along military lines,' Dad says. 'That sounds to me very much like a brigade. In any case, if it were to become necessary for you to present yourself for national service, your mother and I believe that this would be the best place for you.'

'But,' says Sam hesitantly, after a moment, 'it isn't necessary, is it?'

'There could be some advantage, Samantha, in volunteering,' Mother puts in. 'If you wait for conscription, the authorities, who do not know you and value you as we do, will make the decision as to what service you perform.'

Well, really, Sam thinks, fighting down a spasm of annoyance, isn't that just what I tried to say to her more than a month ago – that I ought to join up now, rather than waiting?

'Do you want to volunteer, Samantha?' Mother goes on.

'Well, yes, I think that I ought to,' Sam begins. 'Dad advised me to read Ecclesiastes a few days ago. I did that -'

'I'm glad to hear it,' Dad puts in.

'- and I noticed one verse in particular: "a time to pluck up that which is planted".'

'That is not the entire verse, Samantha, I believe.'

'But the point is, I've been planted here, and perhaps, with the war, it's time now for me to pluck myself up, at least for a while. I should have to go to London, though,' Sam points out. It won't do any good not to face facts, she thinks. 'Who will look after you when you're ill, mother?'

'Perhaps it's time that I learned to look after myself. I've started to wonder whether being able to call upon you as a carer makes me think that I must be ill when in fact I'm not – a vicious circle of sorts.'

Dad turns and looks at his wife affectionately, then turns back to Sam.

'The question of your leaving home, and particularly of a move to London, is of great concern to both your mother and myself. Your mother says that you and she have spoken with a member of this group,' he says, tapping his finger on the brochure, 'who told you that they have made securing appropriate accommodation for their members a matter of highest concern. This being the case,' he goes on, 'I will give my consent to your enrollment in this organisation – on several conditions. First, if you are given an opportunity to be of service on the South Coast, you are to seize it at once. Second, I have made some inquiries, and it appears possible that some of these women will be sent to France in the near future.'

'They'd be quite mad to pick me for that! I know only a few words of French,' Sam puts in.

'Be that as it may, you are under no circumstances to accept such an assignment – whether in France or anywhere else outside Great Britain. Third, when hostilities cease, you are immediately to resign and return here, to your home. Finally, in the event that we are still at war at the end of next summer – as seems more than likely, I must now admit – I will travel to see you wherever you are posted at that time. We will evaluate your situation and if it is unsatisfactory you will resign and return home.'

'I'll turn twenty-one at the end of next August, Dad,' Sam reminds him.

'I intend to visit you before that occurs. Now, I believe there is some form that I must sign in order to make my consent official. Do you have it?'

'Yes. I haven't filled it in yet, though.'

'Please do so at once, and then bring it to me so that I can sign it.'

Sam does not move or speak immediately. Her eyes, she realises to her mild dismay, have filled.

'Thank you, Dad,' she says at last, very softly. 'Thank you both.' Then she clears her throat and asks, 'What is a vicious circle?'

Author's notes:
Resy Peake (1908-1994; née Countess Sophie Thérèse Ghislaine Marie de Baillet-Latour), born in Brussels, took refuge in Britain with her family during the First World War; as an adolescent she divided her time between Belgium and England. In 1933 she married Harald (later Sir Harald) Peake, with whom she had a son, but they had separated by 1939. She joined the Mechanised Transport Training Corps at the beginning of World War II and became the personal staff officer to the founding Corps Commandant, Mrs. G. M. Cook, whom she succeeded in April 1942. Most of this information comes from her obituary in The Times (December 8th, 1994, p. 23). Her speech pattern as given here is a product of my imagination.

In reality, the M.T.C. did not begin organizing its Kent & Sussex Command until August 1940 – three months after the beginning of Foyle's War canon! Sometimes a writer simply has to fall back on artistic license…

Newspaper accounts indicate that many new recruits to the M.T.T.C. during the first year of the war underwent training in Lambeth.