It was fortunate that both grandmothers lived fairly close to each other, Harry’s mother at one end of Holmpton village and hers at the other. Sarah and Mary walked by her side, holding hands, and Thomas, wrapped in a blanket to keep him snug and stop him struggling, was tucked on to her hip.

She wondered how Harry was getting on in his quest for work and somewhere for them to live and knew she would miss living in Holderness. She had known nowhere else; her parents, and grandparents too, though she could barely remember them, were Holderness people, as were Harry’s.

She called first of all on Harry’s mother to tell her of their plans; Harry’s sister Meg was also visiting and soon retrieved Thomas from her arms.

‘Now then, you young peazan.’ She held him up in the air and he chortled and squealed in delight. ‘Let’s have a look at those sharp little teeth.’ She put her finger to his bottom lip and he obligingly opened his mouth. ‘My, but they’re sharp.’ She gave him a smacking kiss on his cheek and then sat down with him on her knee. Her own child, Joe, ran towards her and smacked Thomas on the head and then ran away. ‘I’m pregnant again,’ she told Ellen cheerfully. ‘I must have got caught even before I stopped feeding Joe. I hope I get a girl this time. Four boys are enough for anybody.’ She jiggled Thomas to stop him from crying.

‘Oh, goodness,’ Ellen said. ‘However do you manage?’

‘She doesn’t,’ Mrs Randell said, handing Ellen a cup of tea. ‘She’s higgledy-piggledy, but she loves her babbies. She’ll soon have as many as I did.’ She too sat down and smiled at Ellen. ‘Now then, what’s happening with our Harry?’

Ellen took a sip of tea and looked down, at Sarah and Mary, who were playing on the floor with a jumble of toy bricks. ‘Harry went to Hull this morning to look for work.’

Mrs Randell frowned. ‘So it’s true. Somebody told his da that he’d seen him getting on to ’carrier’s cart this morning.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s mistaken. There’re no farms in Hull to ’best of my knowledge.’

‘There are not,’ Ellen agreed. ‘He’s looking at labouring work, in mills or factories.’

‘He’s no miller either.’

‘Not a flour miller, Ma,’ Meg butted in. ‘There are different kinds of mills – seed-crushing mills, oil mills, that kind of thing. He’s adaptable is our Harry. He’ll find something.’

‘It’s a long way to travel every day; will he have to buy a hoss and cart?’ Mrs Randell frowned.

‘No,’ Ellen said softly. ‘We haven’t got that kind of money. We have to move off ’farm; we’ll have to live in Hull.’