It is all hustle and bustle in the canteen. Lights burn in the ceiling, but visibility is not good; cigarette smoke and steam hissing and floating upwards from the counter mingle in the tepid air. All the many tables are occupied, some with four or even five people huddled around. A colourful mix of uniforms is visible all round the big room; khaki, RAF, and navy blue. There are about 10 civilians in mainly drab clothing. Buckets filled with sand or water are placed on either side of the main door. As she enters and moves tentatively in the direction of the counter, carefully avoiding colliding with people standing talking or coming towards her, Elsie feels somewhat overdressed. She wears a smart pale-blue jacket and skirt and a cream-coloured blouse. The scarf at her neck is purple, arran
