It is Saturday, September 7, 1940, just a few days after the first anniversary of Britain's

Declaration of War against Germany.

Behind the counter of a London department store, a teenage shop assistant glances at a

wristwatch.

She's relieved to see that the shop will be closing soon.

It's been a long day, and she's anxious to get home and prepare for a night out dancing

at the Hammersmith Palace.

She looks up to see one of her favourite customers' approach, holding an expensive crystal

vase.

As the assistant wraps the item, the customer talks about her son, a spit-fire pilot holding

back the Nazis on the south coast.

The girl has heard about him before, but it's reassuring to know that brave men like him

are keeping the shores safe.

The customer hands over the money and leaves with a wave.

With the shoppers thinning out, the assistant gets started on emptying the till of coins and

banknotes to start caching up.

But then she stops what she's doing.

The plaintive wine of the air raid siren has started up outside.

Straight afterwards, there's an announcement over the tannoy.

Everyone must make their way down to the safety of the basement.

The shoppers' assistant sighs.

They have been several false alarms, and the timing couldn't be worse.

...