‘A little something for a seafarer with an Australian connection,’ George said, as my father lifted it free of the paper. ‘This is from Captain Cook’s final voyage in 1778 and ’79. It was drawn by Lieutenant Henry Roberts on his return to England, and printed in 1784.’

‘This is the actual . . .’ my father began.

‘Well, yes, the printed map from 1784. I’m sure they printed a few of them. And then hand-coloured them.’ George touched the glass, near a pink peninsula.

Before anything more could be said, he dipped into the sack and brought out a present the size of a shoebox. ‘Two this size,’ he said to himself, searching for the tag. ‘Simon.’

I tore the paper off, and it was actually a shoebox. Inside, wrapped in cloth, was the soldier from the Napoleonic Wars, along with a fat envelope.

‘Simon had a fascinating idea about this little man,’ he explained to my parents. ‘He’s apparently an ancestor of mine. Fought Napoleon, but the uniform’s not British. One of you has a Dutch ancestor . . .’ My father nodded. ‘Simon wondered if this chap might be Dutch too.’

The vultures. George had said it would come to me when the vultures came for him.

‘And there’s something in there for you to open later,’ he said. ‘I want you to buy yourself the sort of thing almost-fifteen-year-olds like.’

I could feel it was money. The envelope was stuffed with notes. Even if it was all one-pound notes, it was at least fifty of them.

The second shoebox was Michael’s, and in it he found a troop of a dozen or so mounted toy soldiers.

‘Camel Corps,’ George said, though Michael wasn’t listening. ‘Afghans, I think. Just promise me you won’t lick them. I know that might seem a peculiar thing for me to say, but they are made of lead and one must be careful.’

Michael took one in each hand and started playing with them on the coffee table, clomping their lead feet along the wood, one camel chasing the other.

There were more presents in the sack – a li-lo for George from Mrs Keene, and a garden gnome for him from Capability. A reclining garden gnome, hands behind his head, with a red nose, a blue hat and his blue trousers significantly tented at the front.

‘Oh my goodness,’ George said. ‘Well, this one’s certainly glad to be here.’ He patted the gnome on the head. ‘Won’t we have some fun finding the right spot for him in the garden?’

Finally, George drew two thick envelopes from the bag. He handed one to Mrs Keene, telling her she wasn’t to open it until she was properly ensconced at her sister’s at Sheen. Capability was given the other, with similar instructions for his arrival in Manchester, where he was planning to visit his family.