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Dear Mrs. Bird: A Novel
Dear Mrs. Bird: A Novel
Dear Mrs. Bird: A Novel
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Dear Mrs. Bird: A Novel

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This charming, irresistible debut novel set in London during World War II about a young woman who longs to be a war correspondent and inadvertently becomes a secret advice columnist is “a jaunty, heartbreaking winner” (People)—for fans of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and Lilac Girls.

Emmeline Lake and her best friend Bunty are doing their bit for the war effort and trying to stay cheerful, despite the German planes making their nightly raids. Emmy dreams of becoming a Lady War Correspondent, and when she spots a job advertisement in the newspaper she seizes her chance; but after a rather unfortunate misunderstanding, she finds herself typing letters for the formidable Henrietta Bird, renowned advice columnist of Woman’s Friend magazine.

Mrs. Bird is very clear: letters containing any Unpleasantness must go straight into the bin. But as Emmy reads the desperate pleas from women who many have Gone Too Far with the wrong man, or can’t bear to let their children be evacuated, she begins to secretly write back to the readers who have poured out their troubles.

“Fans of Jojo Moyes will enjoy AJ Pearce’s debut, with its plucky female characters and fresh portrait of women’s lives in wartime Britain” (Library Journal)—a love letter to the enduring power of friendship, the kindness of strangers, and the courage of ordinary people in extraordinary times. “Headlined by its winning lead character, who always keeps carrying on, Pearce's novel is a delight” (Publishers Weekly). Irrepressibly funny and enormously moving, Dear Mrs. Bird is “funny and poignant…about the strength of women and the importance of friendship” (Star Tribune, Minneapolis).
LanguageEnglish
PublisherScribner
Release dateJul 3, 2018
ISBN9781501170089
Author

AJ Pearce

AJ Pearce grew up in Hampshire, England. She studied at the University of Sussex and Northwestern University. A chance discovery of a 1939 women’s magazine became the inspiration for her series The Emmy Lake Chronicles, which includes Dear Mrs. Bird, Yours Cheerfully, and Mrs. Porter Calling. She lives in the south of England.

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Rating: 3.8175823674725273 out of 5 stars
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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    What an enjoyable story. This takes place during the Blitz, when many left behind on the home front are taking on a variety of unusual jobs, sometimes multiple ones. When Emmeline, who wishes to become a war correspondent, applies for a job at a news magazine, she doesn't realize the misunderstanding until too late. She is hired as a typist to the advice columnist at a floundering women's magazine. When she can't stop herself from secretly replying to some of the letters Mrs. Bird finds too Scandalous, you just know things are going to go Awry. I really enjoyed her relationship with her best friend Bunty and how both girls and many other Londoners make their way through this tumultuous time.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Loved the book. Hope there is a follow you as I want to know what happens to everyone. It ends in summer 1941. Long time before the war ends. It would make a great movie.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    It’s December 1940 in Britain and Emmeline Lake doesn’t believe she’s doing enough for the war effort – even though she’s a volunteer dispatcher for the Fire Service while London is being bombarded almost nightly by the Luftwaffe. Emmy really wants to be a war correspondent, so when she sees a want ad for a London newspaper job, she goes for it … and gets it. Seems, however, that she had the wrong impression of the job and winds up working for an ancient and autocratic advice columnist named Mrs. Henrietta Bird – and Emmy’s a typist – not what she bargained for. Turns out there is a long list of no-nos for the advice column and as Emmy reads the heart-breaking letters deemed unacceptable by Mrs. Bird and, therefore, bound for the dust bin, EMmy decides to take action. She starts answering the letters herself, and with considerably more heart than Mrs. Bird was capable of conjuring up. We get a glimpse into Emmy’s love life and that of her best friend Bunty and Bunty’s fiancé William. The author paints a vivid picture of what life must have been like during the Blitz and how it would have affected the everyday lives of the 20-somethings that are the book’s main characters. My sister recommended Dear Mrs. Bird. I loved it as much as she did!
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I used to love reading advice columns in papers and magazines. I once found a stack of ladies magazines from the 40's and of course went to the advice column right off. Apparently, the same thing happened to AJ Pearce, with a stack of ladies journals from WWII. Those were the inspirations for this book, and some of the letters are the basis of letters used in the book. Dear Mrs Bird was an enjoyable romp back in history, in a refreshingly different vein from the plethora of WWI books flooding the market of late.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Dear Mrs. Bird - By A. J. PearceI loved this book from beginning to end!  It was silly, heartwarming, and heartbreaking - all in one.  Set in London during World War II, the main characters, Emmeline Lake and her best friend Bunty, were charming and delightful, and their friendship was one to be admired.  I was instantly captivated by the multi-layered story:  Emmy's dream of being a war correspondent and how she mistakenly settled for a job as a typist at Woman's Friend Magazine; her secret job answering forbidden letters doomed for the shredder from Mrs. Henrietta Bird's advice column mailbag; and the valient and heroic war-effort volunteers of London's dangerous Auxiliary Fire Service.  Written in the first-person, Emmeline unwittingly tells the story of courageous young men and women of war-torn London who overcame great obstacles and hardships, but still carried on and persevered.  "The courage of ordinary people in extraordinary times," this sweet story did not dissapoint and has warmed my heart.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Oh, do you know that delicious thrill you get a few pages into a new book - just knowing that it's going to be an absolutely wonderful read? That was the case with A.J. Pearce's debut novel - Dear Mrs. Bird.I loved the cover - those typewriter keys, colours and fashion style set the stage for the story within.1940 London, England. With the war raging, everyone must Buckle Down and Do Their Part. Emmy Lake volunteers as a telephone operator with the Auxiliary Fire Services. She dreams of being a Lady War Correspondent as well. When she sees an ad for a position with a newspaper, she leaps at the chance. She gets the job, but it ends up being a typist position for an advice column in a women's magazine - Dear. Mrs. Bird. "Finally I gave what I hoped was a plucky Everything Is Absolutely Tip Top Smile. I had taken entirely the wrong job." Mrs. Bird is quite strict about what should be published - there is an Unacceptable Topics list. But Emmy feels bad about those whose letters go unanswered. You know what's coming next, don't you? Yes, she begins to reply..... (And before you think I've made some mistakes with capitalization in this post - they are part of Emmy's inner dialogue and denote important information.)Pearce has created an absolutely delightful character in Emmy. She's plucky, irrepressible and so darn likeable. The supporting cast including best friend Bunty, and the magazine staff are just as well drawn. Mrs. Bird is in a class of her own.Pearce has captured the stalwart attitude of the Brits in the war years. "My mother steadfastly referred to the war as This Silly Business, which made it sound like a mild fracas over a marmalade sponge." Pearce's descriptions of a London being bombed nightly, the damage, the loss of life, the rescue workers and more paint the backdrop of this tale and underscore the reality of those war years.Dear Mrs. Bird had me laughing out loud many, many times. As the book progressed, things did take a more serious turn. And I couldn't stop turning pages. I was so invested in Pearce's tale. I loved reading the letters, from the advice column as well as those Emmy writes to friends and family. Letter writing is such a lost art nowadays.Pearce says 'the inspiration for Dear Mrs. Bird began when I came across a 1939 copy of a women's magazine. It was a wonderful find - a glimpse into an era and world where I could read about everything from recipes for lamb's brain stew to how to knit your own swimwear.""Many of the readers' letters in Dear Mrs. Bird were inspired by the letters and advice, articles and features printed in those wartime magazine. I found them thought-provoking, moving and inspirational, and my admiration for the women of that time never stops growing....It is a privilege to look into their world and remember what incredible women and girls they all were."I absolutely adored Dear Mrs. Bird and I know you will too - definitely recommended.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    December, 1940, World War II is looming large; Hitler and his Luftwaffe are dropping bombs on London every night wreaking destruction and mayhem. “The world has become ugly and mad.”Told In the first person, Emmaline Lake, thinking she was interviewing for a job that would lead to her ultimate goal of becoming a war correspondent, accepts only to discover that she has once again rushed in without paying attention to the fine print. After all when she saw the announcement in the paper she was just “cock-a-hoop”. Ah, but the job isn’t with The Chronicle as she had thought, but with “Woman’s Friend”. She is to be a typist to “Henrietta Helps”, a Dear Abbey type who has pages of word she finds objectionable and therefore will also only answer the most generic letters with fatuous comments. Well, Emmy has hopes of being a journalist and her best friend Bunty thinks this is surely her first step and it is just going to be grand. “Things had really perked up.” Just delightful.Unfortunately Emmy has a tendency to disregard the rules and takes matters a step or two out of bounds. She is risking her job, her friendships, everything, and it gets worse. She is thrown over by her fiancée Edmund, and if there is any comfort to be had, her mother reminds Emmy that “men are such fatheads”. Just delightful. There is also a strong and important back story and tribute to those women in the Auxiliary Fire Service and the London firemen who responded to the calls of fires and collapsed buildings caused by the nightly bombings. Death and loss is not left out of the narrative, but strengthened by it. Well, that part is not delightful but told with sensitivity.I loved this book; it made me laugh, sigh, gasp, shed a tear, and have hope. This would have been a great 1940’s movie.Thank you Netgalley and Scribner for a copy.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Two young women, Emmy and Bunty, from the English countryside move to London for work and volunteer for the war effort during WWI. While Bunty works directly for the government, Emmy, an aspiring journalist, unwittingly becomes a secret advice columnist. In between their jobs, the girls are still able to enjoy living in London, dating, and being young and as carefree as they can. The main thrust of the story is how Emmy ends up as a secret advice columnist and the effect it has on her and those who read her letters. "Irrepressibly funny and enormously moving." "Silly, heartwarming, and heartbreaking." "joyfully uplifting and optimistic."
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Emmy Lake is the endearing main character in this novel, which is set in the west end of London during WWII. Emmy eagerly responds to a help wanted ad for a junior typist at a publishing company, convinced that she will be working for a newspaper and eventually moving into the role of a wartime correspondent. The reality is she will be typing responses in an advice column for the formidable Mrs. Bird, a no-nonsense woman with a total aversion to any letters that seek her advice on anything she deems salacious. The effects of the bombings, destruction and air raids in London are also seen in the book, as is the courage and stoicism of the English people. When Emmy's life is severely altered after a bombing, she gains a new perspective on herself and the people she loves. There are moments in this book of poignancy, humor and great sadness, which all combine to create a memorable novel. AJ Pearce has admirably captured the zeitgeist of that era in English history.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Emmeline Lake thinks she's landed her dream job and will finally be able to make a difference in the world by reporting on the war. When her position turns out to be typist for an advice columnist, Emmy tries to make the best of her tragic mistake. A refreshingly joyful WWII story, told by a charming and plucky young heroine, with a narrative style that is highly amusing. The book doesn't shy away from the realities of WWII in London but finds a path through the pathos by viewing war from the perspective of the young and hopeful women living through it. Though not without tragedy, this is a satisfying, well-written, feel-good book that stands alone but will hopefully have a sequel!
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    3.5-4 stars Dear Mrs. Bird is a sweet, charming story; almost saccharine, but nevertheless lovely with a satisfying plot. Recommended for readers who liked Letters from Sky by Jessica Brockmole, or As Bright as Heaven by Susan Meissner, or The Memory of Us by Camille de Maio. It's also reminiscent of shows like "Call the Midwife" and "Land Girls". In London during WWII, Emmeline is a young woman longing for a career in journalism, and she unwittingly takes a job as a typist for a brash woman, Mrs. Bird, who writes an advice column for a ladies' magazine. Em takes it upon herself to respond to the "inappropriate" letters that Mrs. Bird refuses to answer, getting more and more daring and ultimately sneaking them into the magazine. Em's self-appointed career as an advice columnist is only part of the story. This book raises some deeper issues regarding women's often overlooked trials during the war. Losing spouses either to combat or desertion, rationing, and the constant bombings throughout the city led to some unprecedented struggles with grief, guilt, and fear. The women left behind at home were told to "buck up" and put on a brave face for the men returning from the fight. They weren't allowed to feel the pain of their fears and sacrifices. Dear Mrs. Bird addresses this issue with finesse around an enchanting story. Many thanks to Netgalley and Scribner for the advance copy in exchange for my honest review.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I received a copy of this novel from the publisher via NetGalley.Set in 1940/41, this features Emmeline, who volunteers as a telephonist with the London fire service and accidentally gets a job assisting an agony aunt (Mrs Bird) on a little-read women's magazine. Mrs Bird will only answer the most anodyne of letters and Emmeline starts answering some herself.Initially I found this overly-upbeat in a "that pesky war" kind of way, but it quickly settled down into a more realistic representation of life under Luftwaffe bombing. There was a little romance and a lovely portrayal of Emmeline's bonds with her parents and brother. The ending was perhaps a touch neat and convenient, but overall an enjoyable read.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Okay first and foremost, I'm a guy and I've got to say that this book was extremely well written! I've really had a tough time reading ANYTHING lately and I've resigned myself to listening to Audio books as reading had become a real struggle. "Dear Mrs. Byrd" was very easy to get lost in. The characters were memorable and (for the most part) likeable. I truly HATED reaching the last page!! I will search out other titles by A I Pierce
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This was a rather fun book and an easy read. It had some humor in it, although I did not always find funny what the author presented as humorousl It was fairly easy and quick to read, and I learned about an aspect of World War II that I had not been aware of. So many people in Britain risked their lives and volunteered to aid where needed. This book highlighted the lives of some of the women, and they were very motivated and very brave. There may have been a little too much sweetness, but the information provided was worth it.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Slow beginning and then seemed to wrap up too quick. Good read. Just not great.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This is an ok, light read, the kind of thing suitable for a long train ride (remember those?). It’s not stern stuff, as the WWII books I’ve read have been. But it was not a waste of my time. I am devouring stories about the brave things women did in the war & this story casts some empathy on the struggles ordinary folks faced. I thought the story could have been beefier in parts (did Vera not turn up to work on purpose? why were Lord Overton & Mr. Collins so chummy etc.) & not had such a neat ending. But I will read the 2nd instalment when it becomes available.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    What a great read! Be sure to read the author's note at the end.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Wonderful. I was born only a few years after the war ended and of course know a lot about it but this was a view into something not discussed often - how the women fared during the long years when literally every man who was able, was away at war. In this world today, it seems almost all books are either really violent or are about childish romances geared toward the fallacy that we women are nothing without a man. Hmmph. Not so.

    A lot of really good humor in the book and it moves along at a pretty fair pace. Pretty original concept and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    ADORABLE! Great story with a backdrop of WWII. Strong women - even if they were a bit flakey... a quick read that was so worthwhile!! Wishing for a sequel!
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Digital audio performed by Anna PopplewellFrom the book jacket: London 1940, bombs are falling. Emmy Lake is Doing Her Bit for the war effort, volunteering as a telephone operator with the Auxiliary Fire Services. When Emmy sees an advertisement for a job at the London Evening Chronicle, her dreams of becoming a Lady War Correspondent seem suddenly achievable. But the job turns out to be typist to the fierce and renowned advice columnist, Henrietta Bird. Emmy is disappointed, but gamely bucks up and buckles down.My reactions:This had more substance than I originally thought based on the book jacket. Mrs Bird has some strict guidelines for the letters she’ll tackle – NOTHING unpleasant! No mention of sexual relations (in or – heaven forbid! – out of marriage), nothing about divorce, or complaints about the hardships endured during wartime, and she doesn’t want any letters that should belong to the food columnist, either! It seems that Emmy’s task is to toss just about every letter into the bin. But her heart breaks for the predicaments some writers convey, and when they give an address and ask for a personal response, well, Emmy just can’t help but respond. Of course, there’s the personal drama of a young woman during wartime - a fiancé who is fighting in France, and a best friend who is trying to plan a wedding amidst the continuous bombing of London during the Blitz. Emmy is torn trying to be all things to all people and gets caught in a web of deceit that seems so innocent at the beginning. I’m way past this stage in my own life and didn’t really relate to the characters. Oh, I recognized myself and my friends at that age, but “been there, done that” and I don’t really need to read about it again. The person I liked best was Emmy’s boss. Still, it was an entertaining, fast read, and I can see why it might be marketed for book groups. Anna Popplewell does a fine job performing the audio version. I loved her interpretation of Mrs Bird! She set a good pace and I was never confused about who was speaking.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    It’s London during World War II, and Emmy dreams of being a war correspondent. Wanting to do more than just working the phones at the fire department as a volunteer, she jumps at an advert about a job at a newspaper. Only, once she is hired, she discovers she is really a typist, mostly for an advice columnist, for a woman’s magazine. But Mrs. Bird has strict rules about what she allows to be printed in her column, and Emmy, feeling compassion for the troubled women who write in, begins to answer letters on her own. This sets the scene for a fiasco that may cost Emmy her dream. And, even while trying to live normal lives during the bombing blitz, Emmy soon realizes that normal doesn’t exist and nothing, not friends, not neighbors, not relationships, not even buildings or streets, and most important, not lives should be taken for granted, because tomorrow, they may be gone. This tale manages to be a lovely one, even in the midst of the disaster of war. The characters are well drawn, the storyline is well plotted, and the end result is a wonderful tale of fortitude, perseverance, and forgiveness.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    It's 1941, London is being bombed nightly by the Germans, and Emmeline Lake just wants to be a war correspondent, a journalist. A Lady Journalist. She is a 23-year old woman, full of energy and determined to do her part for the war effort. She works as a secretary, and also volunteers a shift at a local fire station when, on her way home one evening, she sees an ad in the paper and decides this is the break she has been waiting for. The London Evening Chronicle is advertising for a junior position and Emmy decides she is perfect for the job. What follows is a picture of determination and grit, good humour and kindness. Emmy is initially terribly disappointed when she realizes that the job she is hired for is, in fact, not at all the job she thought she was applying for. It turns out she is to type letters for the advice column, and as if that weren't enough of a let-down, her main boss, the *Mrs. Bird* readers write to, is an old, insensitive windbag, who rejects any letter that isn't Pleasant. This doesn't sit well with Emmy, who battles mightily with her conscience, but finds a way to salvage some of the most poignant letters and answer them, signing Ms. Bird's name. What ensues reveals the true essence of Emmy.But Emmy is not a one-dimensional character and her job is not the only story line. First-time author AJ Pearce has absolutely captured the era and feel of war time London. She has an ear for the way people really spoke, the idioms, the expressions, the humour of the time. Also, the Keep Calm, Carry On spirit as well as the real fears and tensions of living through the Blitz. Pearce really writes so well and though there are many heartbreaking moments in this book, I also found myself laughing out loud many times. I cheered for Emmy and I cried for Emmy. I also loved Pearce's notes at the end, saying how she was inspired to write this book after finding a woman's magazine from 1939 and being intrigued and impressed at not only the letters people wrote, seeking help or solace, but also by the quality of the responses, as well. She called this her bridge into a world she wanted to write about. I found the ending a bit pat, but as a first-time novel, I thought the book was excellent and I look forward to more from AJ Pearce.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Dear Mrs Bird By AJ Pearce
    (Scribd). The setting: London WW2. When Emmie lands a job at a woman’s newspaper. She thinks she’s on her way. She quickly learns that she sift through and type responses for the advice columnist who only answers “safe” questions. Touched by the plights of some of women who write in, Emmie begins to secretly write responses to some of the letters her boss rejects.
    The book also tells a lot about day to day life in war torn England. Emmie’s volunteer job of a volunteer fire auxiliary answering phone during bombing attacks, shows how people can accept even the most trying situations as their new normal. It’s really an interesting peak at life in England at this time. Good story.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Enjoyable wonderful a great little read! I recommend this book
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Oh, golly, this is such a tremendously plucky little novel. I really did expect that I’d thoroughly enjoy it. But, I’m not sure whether it was Anna Popplewell’s frightfully perky narration, or the way the book itself was written, but it did all seem frightfully jolly hockey-sticks! A rather far-fetched story squeezed in between a few terribly horrible Luftwaffe raids and some rather unfortunate incidents, but it all turned out alright in the end, hurrah! Time for a picnic and lashings of ginger beer!!*

    *OK, I borrowed that from a spoof of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    If you’re looking for a book that will tear out your heart this may be the one for you. Heartbreaking doesn’t begin to cover it.London. The Blitz. 1941. Emmy is a young woman who thinks she lands a job at a prestigious London newspaper only to discover that it’s actually a lowly weekly women’s publication. She puts her dreams aside and tries to make the best of it. She’s assigned to work for the haranguing Mrs. Bird who has an advice column in the publication. Unfortunately, she will only give advice to those letters that interest her and do not touch on love, sex, loss or any of the hundreds of topics that actually interest the young women who read the magazine. Emmy seems to come up with a solution. Her best friend Bunty is engaged to a young air raid warden when Emmy and he have a bit of an argument. The book turns on these two events.I enjoyed this rather light, but still heartbreaking short novel and the audio was very well done. Some of the events could’ve been predicted (and actually were, by moi) but it was still an enjoyable read and left me with a very hopeful feeling at the end. Highly recommended.3.9 stars
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Loved the voice of this debut novelist. 1940, London. Emmy's dream is to become a war correspondent and she has the support of her best friend, Bunty. When she answers the ad of a well-respected, established publishing house and is hired, she thinks she is on her way—until she discovers that she is merely typing up answers to a "problems page" in a woman's magazine. Worse, the editor, Mrs. Bird, refuses to answer any letters that involve "unpleasantness," including giving advice about relationships and any opinion about the war. Surely it wouldn't hurt for Emmy to answer a few on her own and sign Mrs. Bird's name? It's warm and lighthearted, but is set in the middle of the WWII Blitz, where Emmy and Bunty encounter the real Unpleasantness, the kind that truly matters and that tests their ultimate friendship. A cast of friends and family round out this story nicely. I look forward to more from AJ Pearce.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    London during WWII was a fascinating time for young women. This story follows an ambitious woman who finds herself typing up letters for an advice column. It's full of British charm, though it doesn't shy away from the horrors of war. I felt like it could have been edited a bit shorter, but really enjoyed it regardless.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Dear Mrs. Bird is the debut historical fiction novel by AJ Pearce. It combines the story of a young woman making her way in London during WWII, her friendships, romances, and new job with the horror and devastation of the blitz, the bombings, the noise, and the destruction. It is at times lighthearted, even humourous and at others heart wrenching. The characters are, for the most part, likeable and clearly the author did her research on of what life was like in Britain during the war - the slang, the shortages, the attempts at normalcy between attacks, and the bravery and fear that the bombings brought out in people. I enjoyed this book quite a bit and recommend it highly.Thanks to Netgalley and Simon & Schuster Canada for the opportunity to read this book in exchange for an honest review
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    A bit of fluff book that also mixes in the life of a young woman located in London during the blitz. The main character, Emmy, is the lackey to a highly opinionated Mrs Bird, whose function is to select letters for Mrs Bird to answer. The problem is in finding acceptable letters that don't cross the "unacceptable" line (hugely expansive) that MB has set out. Fun book, but yet gives you the idea of what life at that time period would have been like for those left at home.

Book preview

Dear Mrs. Bird - AJ Pearce

Chapter 1


AN ADVERTISEMENT IN THE NEWSPAPER

When I first saw the advertisement in the newspaper I thought I might actually burst. I’d had rather a cheerful day so far despite the Luftwaffe annoying everyone by making us all late for work, and then I’d managed to get hold of an onion, which was very good news for a stew. But when I saw the announcement, I could not have been more cock-a-hoop.

It was a quarter past three on one of those wretched December afternoons when the day seemed to start getting dark before it had quite made up its mind to be light, and even with two vests and a greatcoat on, it was impossible to get warm. Sitting on the top deck of the number 24 bus, I could see my breath if I huffed.

I was on my way home from my job as a secretary at Strawman’s Solicitors and looking forward to a sit-down before my overnight shift on the fire-station telephones. I had already read every word of The Evening Chronicle’s news pages and was now looking at the horoscopes, which I didn’t believe in but thought worth a go just in case. For my best friend Bunty it said, You will be in the money soon enough. Lucky animal: polecat, which was promising, and for me, Things may pick up eventually. Lucky fish: cod, which in comparison was rather a dud.

And then I saw it, under Situations Vacant, squeezed between a position for Jam Boilers (no experience necessary) and a Mature Supervisor at an overalls factory (references preferred).

JUNIOR WANTED

Part-time Junior required at

Launceston Press Ltd., publishers of

The London Evening Chronicle.

Must be capable, enthusiastic hard worker

with 60 wpm typing/110 wpm shorthand.

Letters soonest to Mrs. H. Bird,

Launceston Press Ltd., Launceston House,

London EC4.

It was the best job I had ever seen in my life.

If there was anything I wanted most in the world (other, of course, than for the war to end and Hitler to die a quite grisly death), it was to be a journalist. Or to be precise, what people in the know referred to as a Lady War Correspondent.

For the last ten years—ever since I’d won a trip to the local newspaper as my prize for writing a quite dreadful poem when I was twelve—I had dreamt of a journalistic career.

Now my heart beat like anything, thumping through the vests and the greatcoat and threatening to leap right out and onto the lady in the next seat. I was jolly grateful for the job at Strawman’s, but I was desperate to learn how to be a reporter. The sort of person who always had a notebook in hand, ready to sniff out Political Intrigue, launch Difficult Questions at Governmental Representatives, or, best of all, leap onto the last plane to a far-off country in order to send back Vital Reports of resistance and war.

At school my teachers had told me to simmer down and not have such excitable aspirations, even if English was my best subject. They stopped me writing to the Prime Minister about his Foreign Policy for the school magazine as well. It had been a dispiriting start.

Since then I had persevered, but finding a job when I had almost no experience had proved tricky, especially as I had set my heart on working for a newspaper in London’s Fleet Street. Although in general an optimist, even I didn’t think three summer holidays writing for The Little Whitfield Gazette was going to get me to Berlin.

But now here was my chance.

I examined the advert again, wondering if I might make the grade.

Capable

That was me, even if I wasn’t sure what they wanted me to be capable of.

Enthusiastic

I’d say. I was very nearly shouting like a mad person on the bus.

Hard worker

I would sleep on the office floor if that’s what it took.

*  *  *

I couldn’t wait to apply.

I rang the bell to get off at the next stop and at the jaunty ping the bus began to slow down. I grabbed my handbag, gas mask, and the onion, shoved the newspaper under my arm, and hurried downstairs double quick, managing to leave one of my gloves behind in the rush.

Thank you, I shouted at the conductress, narrowly avoiding flattening her as I leapt off the back of the bus.

It hadn’t quite come to a halt next to where Boots the Chemist was still open despite having had all its windows blown out the week before last, but I jumped onto what remained of the pavement and began to head towards home.

Boots wasn’t the only shop to have taken a biff during the raids. The whole street had had a rotten time of it. The grocer’s was now little more than half a wall and some rubble, four of the flats next door had been completely bombed out, and there was just a big gap where Mr. Parsons’ wool shop had been. Pimlico may still have had its chin up, but it hadn’t been without loss.

Hurdling craters, I ran across the street, slowing down as I called a hello to Mr. Bone the newsagent (With my name you’d think I’d be a butcher!), who was rearranging a stack of papers outside his shop. He had his warden’s overalls on already and blew on his fingers to keep warm.

Afternoon, Emmy, he said between puffs. Have you got the early edition? Lovely picture of Their Majesties on the front page. He smiled brightly. Despite everything the war had done to him, Mr. Bone was the most cheery man I knew. It didn’t matter how horrible the news was, he always pointed out something nice. No, don’t stop—I can see you’re in a bit of a rush.

Usually I would stay to chat about the day’s news. Mr. Bone sometimes gave me back issues of newspapers or Picture Post if someone had reserved one but forgotten to collect it, even if he was meant to send them back to the publisher, but today I just had to get home.

Page two, Mr. Bone, I shouted gratefully. "The Chronicle needs a Junior. I think this might be the one!"

Mr. Bone was terrifically supportive of my dream to become a Lady War Correspondent, even if he did worry about my wanting to go behind enemy lines, and now he broke into an even bigger smile and waved a copy of the evening paper in triumph.

That’s the spirit, Emmy, he shouted. "Best of luck. I’ll save you today’s Times."

I yelled a thank-you and waved my free hand wildly as I ran on to the end of the road. A few minutes more and then a sharp right, avoiding two elderly ladies who were showing great interest in Walter the hot potato man, most probably because of the warmth, and then past the tearooms to home.

Bunty and I shared a flat on the top floor of her granny’s house in Braybon Street. If there was an air raid, it could be a mad dash downstairs to the Anderson shelter in the garden, but we were used to it by now so it didn’t worry us unduly, and we were awfully lucky to live there for free.

I threw open the front door, rushed across the tiled hallway and up the stairs.

BUNTY, I shouted, hoping she might hear me from three floors up. You’ll never guess what. I’ve got the best ever news.

By the time I made it to the top of the stairs, Bunty had appeared from her bedroom, wearing her dressing gown and wiping sleep out of her eyes. She was working nights as a secretary at the War Office but of course had to be very tight-lipped about exactly what that involved.

Have we won the war? she said. They didn’t say anything at work.

Only a matter of time, I said. No, but look, next best thing.

I shoved the newspaper into her hand.

Jam Boiler?

No, you idiot. Underneath.

Bunty grinned and scanned the page again, her eyes widening as she saw the advertisement.

Oh my LORD. Her voice got louder with every word. EMMY, THIS IS YOUR JOB.

I nodded violently.

Do you think so? Really? It is, isn’t it? I said, not making any sense.

Of course it is. You’re going to be marvellous.

Bunty was the most loyal friend in the world. She was also tremendously practical, and leapt into action with immediate effect.

You need to write to them today. Be the first in line. Mr. Strawman will give you a reference, won’t he? And Captain Davies at the station. Oh goodness—will you still be able to do your shifts there?

As well as my day-time position at the solicitors, I had joined the Auxiliary Fire Service as a volunteer before the start of the Blitz. My brother, Jack, had been flying and fighting like mad and it was high time I pulled my weight too. Bunty’s boyfriend, William, was a full-time fireman on B Watch and when he suggested volunteering as a telephone operator at Carlton Street fire station, it sounded ideal. I would work three nights a week and fit it in around my secretarial job. An interview with the station’s Captain Davies, a medical to make sure I wasn’t about to conk out, and there I was. Smart navy blue uniform with gleaming buttons, stout black shoes, and as proud as punch in my cap with its AFS badge.

Bunty and I had known William since we were children, and when I joined the Service our village newspaper had come up to London and taken a picture of the three of us. They printed it with the headline Little Whitfield to the Rescue and made it sound as if William and Bunty and I were responsible for keeping the entire city safe and the War Office going, all on our own. They’d mentioned my fiancé, Edmund, too, which was lovely, as he was from Little Whitfield as well, even if they did slightly imply he was in charge of half the Royal Artillery, which Edmund said was rather a stretch. I’d sent him the cutting and it had given him a good laugh. It was nice that the paper had talked about us all. It made it feel like old times, before the war got in the way and Edmund got sent halfway round the world.

Within two weeks of my joining the Fire Service, the Germans had started having a go at London and I was pleased to be useful in some way. My friend Thelma on B Watch said that even if I couldn’t be a Lady War Correspondent just yet, at least I was doing my bit.

Oh good, it’s part-time, said Bunty, reading the advert again and answering her own question. She had stopped shouting now and become deadly earnest. Honestly, Emmy, she said. This could be your big chance.

We looked at each other for a moment, considering its enormity.

I bet you’re right up to date on Current Affairs, she said. They’ll be ever so impressed.

I don’t know, Bunts, I said, suddenly nervy. They’ll have awfully high standards, even for a Junior. Could you test me?

We headed into the living room, where two piles of magazines and three scrapbooks of news cuttings were balancing precariously on the coffee table. I took off my hat and reached into my bag, pulling out the notebook I always carried Just In Case and then flicking through to the back where I had written APPENDIX in large red letters and then MEMBERS OF THE WAR CABINET on the next line.

I handed it to Bunty, who had plonked herself on the sofa.

I’ll pretend to interview you, she said, pointing at the least comfortable chair in the room. And I shall be very stern. First off, who’s Chancellor of the Exchequer?

Sir Kingsley Wood, I said as I unbuttoned my coat and sat down. That’s easy.

Well done, said Bunty. All right then, Lord President of the Council? Do you know, I can’t wait for you to start. Your parents are going to be so pleased.

Sir John Anderson, I said, answering the question. Steady on though, I haven’t got the job yet. I hope Mother and Father will be happy about it. They’ll probably worry about my having to do dangerous things.

But they’ll pretend they’re absolutely fine, said Bunty. We both grinned. Bunty knew my parents almost as well as I did. Our fathers had been friends in the Great War and she was very much part of the family.

Ask me a really hard one, I said.

Righto, said Bunty, and then stopped. Oh, I’ve just thought. What do you think Edmund will say? I reckon he’ll have a blue fit, she added, before I could answer.

I wanted to jump to his defence, but Bunty did have a point. Edmund and I had been seeing each other for ages and been engaged for the last eighteen months. He was wonderful—clever and thoughtful and caring—but he didn’t exactly applaud my hopes of a career in newspapers. Sometimes he could be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud.

He’s not that bad, I said, being loyal. I’m sure he’ll be pleased.

And you’ll take the job even if he isn’t, added Bunty with confidence.

Crikey, yes, I said. If I’m offered it. I loved Edmund but I wasn’t going to be a doormat about things.

I do so hope they’ll give you the job, said Bunty, crossing her fingers. They have to.

"Can you imagine? A Junior at The Evening Chronicle. I stared into space, seeing myself tearing around London in a taxi, poised for a scoop. The start of a Journalistic Career."

Good for you! said Bunty earnestly. Will you specialise as a Lady War Correspondent, do you think?

Oh yes, I hope so. I shall wear trousers, and after we’ve won the war I will save up for my own car and Edmund and I can rent a flat in Westminster, and I shall probably smoke and spend my evenings at the theatre or saying droll things at the Café de Paris.

Bunty looked enthusiastic. I can’t wait, she said, as if we were booking it in for the week after next. If Bill doesn’t ask me to marry him, I might pursue a career in politics.

Before war broke out Bunty’s boyfriend had been studying to become an architect. He’d planned to qualify and start earning some money before they got engaged.

Oh, Bunts, that’s a splendid idea, I said, impressed. I didn’t realise you were interested in that sort of thing.

Well, I’m not terribly, not yet anyway. But I’m sure lots of MPs will want a rest after we’ve won, and I’ve always liked the idea of being on the wireless.

Good thinking. And people will respect you as you’ve worked at the War Office.

But I shall never speak of it.

Of course.

Things had really perked up. I was going to be a journalist and Bunty was going to be on the BBC.

Right, I said, getting up. "I’m going to write my application letter and then go down to the station and try and see Captain Davies. I’m not sure how being a volunteer telephone operator is going to get me a job at The Evening Chronicle, but it can’t do any harm."

Rubbish, said Bunty. It’s perfect. If you can keep answering phones in the middle of Hitler trying to blow us all up, you’ll be absolutely top-notch when you’re a Lady War Correspondent under fire. William says you’re the pluckiest girl on the watch and you didn’t even turn a hair when Derek Hobson came back in from a job really bashed up.

Well, I am first-aid monitor, I said. I didn’t really want to think about it. You didn’t make a fuss about that sort of thing, but it had been a horrible night and Derek was still off on leave.

Bunty picked up the newspaper again. You’re jolly plucky, she said. And you’re going to be smashing at your new job. Now, you’d better get on, she said, handing the paper to me. It says ‘letters soonest’ . . .

Honestly, I said, taking it from her and going a bit glassy-eyed. I can’t believe this might actually come true.

Bunty grinned and said, You just wait.

I picked up my bag, took out my best fountain pen, and started to write.

Chapter 2


MR. COLLINS, FEATURES AND EDITOR AT LARGE

A week after the newspaper advertisement, I was trying terrifically hard to remain calm. Having taken Being Up To Date With The News to an unprecedented level of mania since writing my letter to Mrs. H. Bird, I was actually on my way to an interview at The London Evening Chronicle.

Bunty had continued to test me to a point of interrogation, and when I told my family and the B Watch girls, everyone had become both enormously excited and quite worryingly overconfident about the prospect of my getting the job. I had written to tell Edmund about the interview, and while it was far too soon to have heard back from him, I had lots of other support. The previous day I’d finished my shift at the fire station to cries of Good Luck from the girls and shouts of Hold The Front Page and Go Get ’Em, Kid, from William and the boys in a spirited attempt to sound like newspaper people you see in the films. It was lovely of them all and I felt as if half of London—and all of Little Whitfield—were behind me.

Today, London was operating under a low and dreary grey sky, the sort that looked like a giant boy had flung off his school jumper and accidentally covered up the West End. Braving the cold, I was wearing a smart blue single-breasted serge suit, my very best shoes, and a little black tilt hat I had borrowed from Bunty. I hoped I might look both businesslike and alert. The sort of person who could sniff out a scoop and get the measure of it in a moment. The sort of person who was not feeling as if her heart might positively explode.

I had the day off work and even though it would have taken less than an hour to walk, I had caught two buses so that I wouldn’t get all windblown and turn up looking a scruff. Having arrived horribly early, I stood outside Launceston House, feeling nervous as I stared up at the huge art deco building in front of me.

That I might work here? It was a dizzying thought.

As I tipped my head back, holding onto Bunty’s hat with one hand and clutching my handbag in the other, I was already slightly unbalanced when a very cross voice boomed, Quick sticks there, no one likes a slow coach.

A substantial lady had come out of the building and was heading towards me in what looked like a man’s fedora hat. A short pheasant’s feather on the brim gave it a country air unusual for town, while another part of the dead bird had joined forces with a piece of rabbit to make a smart brooch on the lapel of her coat. She reminded me of my Aunty Tiny, who had gone on her first grouse shoot at three and been blasting things out of a hedgerow ever since.

I’m so sorry, I said. I was just . . .

The lady grimaced and swept past in a cloud of carbolic soap.

. . . looking.

As I watched her head purposefully across the road, I had the oddest feeling of being at school. Any minute now a bell would ring for PE.

I shook the feeling off. I was here for a job working on Serious News about Vitally Important Things so I should jolly well buck up and go in. Taking a deep breath, I looked at my watch for the hundredth time, then walked up the wide marble steps and through the revolving door.

Inside, the entrance hall was very grand and almost as cold as outside in the street. The walls were covered with huge portraits of grim-faced men as two hundred years of publishers looked with oil-painted disdain at a young woman in a borrowed hat dreaming of becoming a Correspondent. Any second now one of them would tut.

Hoping I didn’t slip on the polished floor, I walked over to the walnut reception desk.

Good morning. Emmeline Lake, here to see Mrs. Bird, please. It’s for an interview.

The young woman on the desk gave me a sympathetic smile.

Fifth floor, Miss Lake. Take the lift to the third, go left down the corridor, up the stairs for two flights, and along to the double doors when you get there. Just go straight through. There won’t be anyone to let you in.

Thank you, I said, smiling back. I hoped everyone here was this nice.

Fifth floor, she said again. Jolly good luck.

Bolstered by her helpfulness and almost forgetting the disconcerting lady on the steps, I joined two middle-aged gentlemen in large coats who were waiting for the lift and arguing about the Prime Minister’s radio broadcast last night. One of them was getting hot under the collar about Allied activity in Africa and kept waving his hands around until the ash flew off the end of his cigarette, narrowly missing his friend. The other one didn’t seem to be listening to him but was still making loud exclamations of Pah!

I eavesdropped as the brass arrow above the door stayed at the fourth floor and the men continued to argue.

It’s a ridiculous move. They haven’t a chance. And anyway, Selassie doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Total rot. You’re blowing hot air.

Pah! Five shillings says you’re wrong.

I’d be embarrassed to take it off you.

I hadn’t realised I was staring until the one with the cigarette glanced in my direction.

So what do you think then, sweetheart? Is Eritrea a goner? Should we even bother while we’re about it?

Crikey. I was being asked for a political opinion and I hadn’t even got to the interview yet.

Well, I said, feeling prepared. I’m not entirely sure, but if Mr. Churchill thinks it’s a good idea, I’d say going at them from the Sudan is the best bet.

The man nearly swallowed his cigarette. His friend hesitated for a second and then let out a guffaw.

That told you, Henry! They’re not all as dim as they look.

The other one sneered. Anyone can repeat a line they’ve heard on the wireless.

"Actually I read about it in The Times," I offered, which was true. Neither responded, but started to argue again as the lift finally arrived.

I followed them in and politely asked the attendant for the third floor. Then I lifted up my chin and felt uppity from under my hat. Becoming a Lady War Correspondent would hardly be a walk in the park, but I wasn’t surprised. My mother always said that a lot of men think that having bosoms means you’re a nitwit. She said the cleverest thing is to let them assume you’re an idiot, so you can crack on and prove them all wrong.

I loved my mother, not least as every time she said something like bosom in front of people, Father rolled his eyes and pretended to clutch his heart for effect.

The thought of my parents cheered me as I got out at the third floor and headed up the stairs. At the top, I stopped for a second to powder my nose and poke a stray bit of hair behind my ear, and tried not to feel self-conscious in front of a large framed picture of a rather stern gentleman with white hair and somewhat forceful eyebrows. I recognised him at once. It was Lord Overton, millionaire philanthropist and owner of Launceston Press. He and his wife were always in the news for their charitable work and I hugely admired them both.

For a moment my nerve nearly failed. I hesitated at the double swing doors that led to Mrs. Bird and my interview.

Deep breath, shoulders back.

I pushed open the doors and walked into a thin, dark corridor. It was a far cry from the imposing entrance hall downstairs. As warned, there was no receptionist. Ahead of me was a line of doors, all but two of them shut, and apart from the muffled sound of typing, barely a sound from anywhere. If I’d expected a bustling newsroom full of chaps like the two in the lift, I was mistaken. Perhaps everyone was out reporting.

Clutching my handbag in front of me, I noticed a half-open door a little way down on the right-hand side and wondered whether a measured call of Hello there would be too forward a way to start things off.

I dismissed the idea and decided to knock on one of the doors. If I were to get this job, I might have to telephone America and ask to be put through to the White House. This was no place for faint hearts.

The office on my right had Miss Knighton written in a careful hand on a card taped to the door. On the wall next to it was a framed fashion print of a woman walking a poodle and looking immeasurably gay about it. I couldn’t see what that had to do with Significant World Events, but each to their own. There was a similar print on the wall opposite, only in this one the woman was in a summer frock and laughing like anything at a kitten.

I frowned. I was keen on animals but didn’t see what a major newspaper was doing putting up pictures of them during these Challenging Times. Surely a portrait of The King or someone out of the War Cabinet would be a more fitting use for the wall?

Perhaps it meant the people here were cheerful types. But cheerful or not, it was most awfully quiet.

MISS KNIGHTON . . . a man bellowed from behind the other half-open door. MISS KNIGHTON! Oh, for God’s sake . . . MISS KNIGHTON. Where the hell is she? I might as well talk to the deaf. DON’T WORRY, I’LL DO IT MYSELF . . .

There were rumbles and then a crash.

Oh, for God’s . . . Idiot.

Hello? I called, heading in the direction of the noise. Are you all right? Might I help?

Of course I’m all right. Kathleen, is that you? Hang on.

There was more scuffling, and then a slim gentleman in his mid-forties stumbled into the corridor. He was dressed nicely in tweed trousers and matching waistcoat but had got himself in rather a state. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his brown hair was in need of a cut, and his hands were covered in black ink.

He was surely a journalist. It was very exciting, even if he did look quite murderous.

The journalist, who didn’t introduce himself but glared at me for not being Miss Knighton, pushed the hair out of his eyes and smeared ink all over his forehead. For form’s sake I pretended not to notice.

HOW DO YOU DO, I said in a loud voice, as when nervous I have a tendency to shout. I’m Emmeline Lake. I have an interview with Mrs. Bird.

Oh God. He looked at me with some alarm. Already?

I smiled in what I hoped was a keen but intelligent manner. At least he seemed to know about me coming.

It’s at two o’clock, I said, trying to be helpful.

"Right then. Well, I’m afraid she’s not here. Of course, she’s never here, which is a plus. Small mercies and all that. Probably organizing some poor charity or another into

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