A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN AND THE MUNITIONS FACTORY

My late mother was born in Germany. She came to England as a young woman just as war was breaking out. She came to marry her somewhat older German fiancee who was Jewish and had escaped to England from the persecution. My mother left her parents, brother and relatives behind, all good people but none of whom were convinced by the accounts of anti-Jewish acts or political manipulation.
My mother was an haute couture dressmaker by trade and an exceptionally beautiful woman - raven hair swept up, sweet, sulky face, fabulously well dressed in red coats (not an everyday experience during the war) and high heels, usually with a copy of the Daily Worker and a packet of Woodbines in her pockets. She was rather deaf which added an aloofness to her beauty, made her more mysterious. It also meant that her German accent remained pronounced. She worked in a small fashion house in London but itched to do something useful to help the war effort.
One day she plucked up the courage and sashayed up to the nearest muntions factory and asked for a job. They took one look at this vision and patently thought they had a spy on their doorstep - a Mata Hari. They showed her the door.
Poor big hearted mum who cared so passionately - her anti-Nazi warnings were not believed by her dear family (the rift was never healed); her attempts to join the allies and fight the Nazis were seen as ridiculous (for most of her life this was told as a funny story). So she continued to work in the fashion workshop as her marriage amicably foundered and she had to look after herself - an alien who thought she was an ally or a magnificent ally who was seen as an alien.

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