‘Hello, little fellow.’ I smiled at him. The boy turned his pasty, snub-nosed face towards me with interest. He had not seemed disturbed by being taken away from home. I pushed my little finger into his palm and he gripped it tight. I giggled at him, leaned my face close, and he reached up and tried to snatch at my specs.

‘Oh no you don’t!’ I laughed, pulling my head back. ‘I like him, Daddy!’ There were no young relatives in our family so babies were a new experience. I liked Sid’s little fat wrists and soft, dirty feet. ‘How old is he?’

‘About a year.’

‘His sister – she’s younger than me, isn’t she?’

‘Oh no – couple of years older. She’s been out at work for a time now.’

As we drove back up into Moseley I asked, ‘Daddy, why did you become a doctor?’

‘I suppose for the reason anyone does. Because I wanted to help people who were sick to get better.’

‘Do you like people?’

I couldn’t see his face but heard the rare smile in his voice. ‘I suppose I do.’

‘Does Mummy like people?’

‘I would think she does, yes.’

‘She doesn’t always seem to.’

‘Now, now.’ He stopped the car outside our house.

The questions I hadn’t asked him were, how long is the baby staying for and, above all, won’t Mummy be furious with you?

I carried the smelly child into the house and went nervously upstairs to find her. This was the greatest moment of surprise of the whole day.

She took one look at the little boy and launched herself straight back into her element. ‘Right. The first thing that child needs is a jolly good bath. Go and get it running, Kate. I don’t have the baby bath any more, but at least he can sit up by himself. Not too hot – dip your elbow in. And a new bar of Sunlight. Here, give him to me.’

She took Sid to her with no sign of hesitation, filthy as he was. ‘Hello, young man.’ She looked intently into his eyes as I watched in astonishment, seeing a new softness in her thin face I had barely remembered her capable of. ‘What you need,’ she went on, ‘is a wash and a good big bowl of something to eat. Do you like porridge, eh?’ Seeing me in front of her still, she said impatiently, ‘Go on. Stop dithering. This child needs looking after. And when you’ve run the bath, go down and ask Mrs Drysdale to put some porridge on for him.’

Sid appeared later with a face of a quite different and more wholesome shade, and bolted down a dishful of sweet porridge. My mother settled him down to sleep in William’s and my old cot. To my surprise she had pulled out from various recesses in the house almost all the paraphernalia needed for looking after a baby: cot, sheets, blankets, bottles, terry nappies and toys.