Millicent clutched her baby to her chest as she stumbled along beside them. ‘He’s had a heart attack,’ she panted, ‘but he passed out and hasn’t had another seizure since. I found some pills in his pocket and gave him one. I hope I did the right thing, Becky,’ she puffed as she struggled to keep up. ‘I tried to get him back to you as quickly as possible, but I lost the track, the ute ran out of fuel and we had to make that to get him home.’

‘Thanks, Milly – and thank you too, Delilah,’ said Jane hurriedly over her shoulder as she took the bottle of pills and helped Terence with the stretcher.

‘Yes, thanks, Millicent, you did really well,’ said Sandra as she firmly steered her and the wide-eyed Delilah away from the theatre door and guided them towards the kitchen. ‘You and the baby will need to be checked over now, and then you can rest.’

‘Reckon I could sleep for a week,’ Millicent muttered ruefully. ‘I don’t suppose you know if my William and the kids are all right?’

‘The children are asleep in our makeshift nursery. Gwyneth has checked on them a couple of times and they’re fine,’ she reassured her. ‘But there’s not been much news coming in from Wilga, so we have to assume that as he’s not come in as a casualty, he must be all right.’

She handed a relieved but exhausted Millicent over to Louise, who’d proved to be the less daunting of the spinster sisters, and then turned to Delilah. ‘None of them would have made it if it weren’t for you, Delilah. You’re the bravest person I know – and your babies are the most beautiful little ones I’ve ever had the privilege of looking after.’

Delilah looked bashful and stared at the floor. ‘Doc alonga betta now ’im ’ere. Doc make my fella Jim good – me want good him too.’ She raised her chin, her tawny eyes drooping with weariness. ‘Me alonga babies now, missus. Sleep.’

Sandra led the way to the isolation room, which had become a nursery during the past twelve hours. There were eight cots in there now for the smaller ones, and George was sharing the bed with two other boys of the same age, topped and tailed like sardines in a tin.

She was about to suggest that Delilah could sleep on one of the truckle beds they’d got out of storage when the girl gently picked up her baby, tucked it into the sling she’d made from a scarf and then softly woke her two toddlers.

‘You can all stay here. We have spare beds,’ Sandra said in a hurried whisper so as not to disturb the other sleeping children.

‘Me alonga go dream with Auntie Sarah,’ she replied. ‘Better dere.’