Katie learned things gradually, listening to the tea-time conversations. She discovered that the Poles were not free to come and go as they pleased; that if they went anywhere new, they had to register with the local police. They were also not allowed to work in any job of their own choosing. Their employment was restricted, for the time being, to menial jobs and ‘dirty’ industries. In the Displaced Persons camps scattered across Britain, Polish ex-soldiers and airmen and civilian arrivals to the country were being taught English and had often been learning trades. Piotr had trained as a barber.

Soon after the men arrived, Katie met Piotr on the middle landing one morning, as she was on her way out to take Michael to Maudie’s house.

‘Ah, hello!’ he said. ‘How are you today?’

They exchanged polite greetings. Katie still felt shy of both of them.

‘And how are you, little Michael?’

‘All right,’ Michael said. Both the men made a fuss of him. They seemed very happy to be living in a home, and with a child about.

Katie was about to move on past when Piotr took a lock of Michael’s hair between his finger and thumb.

‘I can cut for you, if you please . . .’

‘Oh!’ Katie was startled. It was true, Michael’s hair was getting rather long. ‘Can you?’ she said doubtfully. She felt Piotr’s eyes on her for a moment, unmistakably sizing her up, and found herself blushing.

‘I am barber – I train. Now I get work in barber shop. So I can do . . .’ He made a scissor motion with his hands.

‘Well, that would be very nice, wouldn’t it, Michael? Would you like Mr . . . Mr Piotr to cut your hair?’

‘Yes!’ Michael said excitedly. He had taken to Piotr. Marek always smiled at him in a kindly way, but was more reserved.

‘OK,’ Piotr said happily, ‘OK – I cut! Tonight, yes?’

That evening they took a plank from the shed outside and, to Sybil’s great amusement, set it across the arms of one of the chairs in the dining room to make a high seat. They tucked a towel round Michael’s neck, and Piotr lifted him onto his makeshift chair.

‘You can take the mirror down,’ Sybil suggested, as she sat, smiling at this spectacle. ‘That’s it . . .’ Katie lifted the oval mirror from its hook on the wall near the door and held it, so that Michael could watch while his new barber gave him a short back and sides. Piotr kept up a run of little jokes.

‘Now, this needs to be cut,’ and he tweaked the boy’s nose. ‘And this’ – one ear, until Michael was squirming and giggling. ‘Oh, you must be still!’

But Piotr tickled the little boy’s neck so that he wriggled all over again.

‘How’re we going to finish – huh?’

Katie found herself laughing at his antics. Then, as Piotr was snipping away, over his shoulder she noticed a movement. Marek had come to stand in the doorway and was watching with a gentle smile on his lips. Their eyes met for a moment, then she turned away, blushing, wondering what this quiet, lean man was thinking.