Jimmy had been busy loading his fork with a generous mouthful of bacon and sausage, but at these words he looked up sharply. ‘What folk?’

‘Ruthin folk,’ Mrs Buttermilk repeated, puzzled. ‘Folk who live here in Ruthin.’

‘But is this town called Ruthin, then? We saw the sign and it looked like—’

Light dawned on the landlady’s face. ‘Oh, I see – that’s a mistake a lot of English people make. You see, in Welsh the “u” is pronounced like an English “i”, so R-u-t-h-i-n is pronounced Rithin.’

Jimmy said no more, but the glance he shot at Glenys was so full of excitement that it was all she could do to wait until they had finished their meal and helped the landlady to wash up before demanding ‘Well, Jimmy? What did Mrs Buttermilk say to make you look as though you’d lost a penny and found a pound?’

‘Oh, Auntie Glenys, don’t you remember? Back in Liverpool, when we were discussing where we should go, I said that all we knew about our mam was that she lived on a farm near a place called Rith something. It was Ruthin, I’m sure it was – as soon as Mrs Buttermilk mentioned it I remembered as clear as clear. It must mean we really are close to where Mam grew up . . . in a farmhouse with roses round the door!’

Glenys smiled. ‘You won’t see roses in January no matter how hard you look, I’m afraid, but it does sound as though we ought at least to find someone who can tell us whether your Griffiths relations are still in the neighbourhood. So why don’t you and Mo make your beds and then wrap up in your warmest clothes whilst I nip down and ask Mrs Buttermilk if I can put together a packed lunch for us, and then we’ll make a start.’

By the time they had visited half a dozen farms Glenys could see that Mo was beginning to despair of ever succeeding in their quest. The trouble was the farms tended to be some way apart, and sometimes when they knocked at the back door it was answered by a young girl who could tell them very little, save the name of her employer. Even when this was Griffiths – and they found two such quite early in their search – neither of them knew anything of Grace. It was a bitterly cold day, and when they sat down in the lee of a tumbled-down elm to eat their packed lunch, Mo had reached the whining stage, wanting nothing more than to turn for home, and even Jimmy remarked morosely that he suspected that when he took off his boots his feet would come with them.

It seemed to Glenys that some of the farms were in a state of dilapidation which must make them almost unworkable, but Jimmy, who had spent much of the last fortnight visiting farms in the vicinity of their first stopping place, said that farmers didn’t care about appearances; sometimes the dirtier the farmyard the more comfortably situated was the family who owned it.