Other small doors opened and they streamed out, converging on the gates, scores of women in pink-and-white nylon coates and pink caps. I stood on a low wall and tried to see Sissel, it was suddenly very important. I thought that if I could not pick her out from this rustling stream of pink mylon then she was lost, we were both lost and our time was worthless. As it approached the factory gates the main body was moving fast. Some were haft running in the splayed, hopeless way that women have been taught to run, the others walked as fast as they could. I found out later they were hurrying home to cook suppers for their families, to make an early start on the housework. Latercomers on the next shift tried to push their way through in the opposite direction. I could not see Sissel and I felt on the edge of panic, I shouted her name and my words were trampled underfoot.