Not every house had been hit. Those to one side of where her house had been, had their windows blown out but were still standing; others were simply a shell. They’d been opened up, the walls peeled back like a can of sardines. You could see the stairs going up to the bedrooms and the furniture inside them, like a dolls’ house.

Her house though, looked like it had taken a direct hit. What was the word? Yes, that was it: obliterated.

Maggie started to shiver and shake. ‘That’s my ’ouse,’ she said again.

The warden touched her coat sleeve gently. He asked her a question that he’d clearly asked a hundred times before. ‘Do you think a member of your family was in the house when it was hit?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I do. My dad.’

He took Maggie’s arm and steered her back up the street, past dust-covered men frantically digging through the rubble with shovels and pickaxes. ‘Is there any chance he’d have made it to a shelter, Miss?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘He’d never go. Would rather die in his own house. He used to sit under the stairs. Said it was the safest place.’

‘Come on, love. Let’s get you a cup of tea.’ He guided her across the street and around the corner, to where a canteen van was parked. WVS women in bottle-green uniforms were pouring tea from a large urn, while dusty-faced men and women stood around, clutching cups. Dazed.

‘Plenty of sugar, please, Joan,’ the warden said at the hatch, nodding at Maggie. ‘Someone’s had a shock.’

He took off his helmet to scratch his head and put it back on with a sigh. Then he took a list of out of his pocket. ‘Number eleven,’ he said. ‘Reg Corbett?’

Maggie nodded. Her teeth were chattering.

‘They’re still searching,’ he said gently. ‘I can’t tell you anything yet, love.’ He sighed again wearily and headed off, back in the direction of Maggie’s street.

She found herself being pressed down gently into a chair and a motherly woman in an apron brought her a steaming cup of tea and a bun.

‘There, nice and sweet. Get that down you, love.’ The woman lowered her voice. ‘Sugar might be on the ration but we have our own special supply here.’ She tapped her nose.

It was worse when people were kind to her. Maggie started to sob; she thought she’d never stop.

‘Aw, love. Don’t take on so. Your dad, was it, did someone say? You’ve lost your poor old dad? There, there.’ The woman leaned down and put a comforting arm around Maggie’s shoulder. ‘You must’ve been ever so fond of him …’