But here Jimmy interrupted. ‘Do you think you could write them down for us please, Mrs Buttermilk?’ he asked eagerly. ‘It would be a great help in our search.’

Mrs Buttermilk nodded. ‘I’ll write a list,’ she promised. ‘But if your good aunt is taking care of you . . .’

Glenys broke in. ‘I’m only what you might call an honorary aunt,’ she said glibly. ‘The children’s mother and myself were best friends, and when I heard that their father had gone back to sea after her death and not been next or nigh them since, I thought their maternal relations should be told. I knew, of course, that Grace had lost contact with her parents when she married an Englishman, so when I lost my job it seemed the sensible thing to do was to bring the children to Wales to find them, in the hope that they might offer them a home. So any help you can give us would be appreciated more than I can say.’

Mrs Buttermilk appeared to accept this explanation without demur, and after all, Glenys comforted herself, it was the truth, more or less. The young couple, tucking into the delicious and generous breakfast provided by their landlady, murmured that they too would help if they could. ‘Grace is an unusual name for a Welsh woman,’ Mr Horner said. ‘Tell you what: we’ve noticed in the past that all these villages have a very efficient bush telegraph system. If you start enquiring about a Grace Griffiths at one end of the county it’ll be common knowledge among folk from the other end by the time you go to bed that night.’

Mrs Buttermilk nodded wisely and addressed herself to Jimmy. ‘If your relatives is local, we’ll find ’em in no time,’ she promised. ‘Just you leave it to us, lad.’

But Glenys had had another thought. Suppose Cyril Huxtable too did just what Mr Horner had suggested? He must be lodging somewhere, and even if he was sleeping rough he would have to eat, which would mean visiting towns and villages. Suppose he made use of the same bush telegraph? She looked wildly at Jimmy and saw that he was looking wildly at her; clearly the same thought had entered the head of her young charge. She was thinking desperately of ways to counter this latest snag when Jimmy’s face cleared, and he spoke.

‘The thing is, Mam’s relatives don’t know she’s dead; it’s bound to be a blow to them, even though they quarrelled, so we’d rather tell them ourselves. Then we can judge whether they really want us or whether they would just be doing their duty, which might be uncomfortable for Mo and me. So if you could put the word around without mentioning us, we’d be very grateful.’

‘Mebbe you’re in the right of it,’ Mrs Buttermilk said slowly. ‘Yes, I’m sure you are. But don’t you worry: family is important to the Welsh, so don’t think you won’t be welcome. And Ruthin folk are a friendly lot, so we’ll do everything we can to help.’