Frank Launder and Sidney Gilliat were one of the Britain’s top scriptwriting teams: they had written for Hitchcock (The Lady Vanishes), Carol Reed (Night Train to Munich), and lesser mortals. The war gave them the chance to become directors. This was their first feature, originally planned as a documentary project in praise of Britain’s domestic war effort. As the script developed the focus narrowed to the women working in munitions factories, and the film finally emerged with leading players of the day, fictional story- lines, and the backing of a commercial studio, Gainsborough. But such is the film’s truth of feeling and detail that it strikes emotional chords never quite reached by many more determinedly realistic British films. “Really true to its title,” said one documented spectator at the time; “these were real people, people one knew and liked.”

Two particular aspects of this lovely film make it peculiarly British. Other countries fought similar wars in their factories and streets, but only Britain fought with the British sense of humour. Launder and Gilliat were masters of well-observed social comedy, and the comic details here obviously spring from the same funny bones that devised The Lady Vanishes (note the reappearance of the Charters and Caldicott characters) and went on to create Green for Danger, The Rake’s Progress, even The Belles of St. Trinian’s. The other key British ingredient is the class system. The war pulled all sorts into the same boat, but much of the film’s character relationships hinge on the old pre-war class divisions. What is Eric Portman’s gruff Yorkshire foreman doing developing a romance with Anne Crawford’s London socialite? He raises the question himself: “Oh, we’re together now there’s a war on, we need to be. But what’s going to happen when it’s all over? Shall we go on like this or are we going to slide back?” That’s what the country wanted to know, too.

Geoff Brown