The flight had been surprisingly smooth and comfortable, but as they went further east they were hoping not to get caught up in the summer storms that had been forecast, for it would make the flight most unpleasant. They were on schedule to arrive in Singapore by Sunday, and promised to send a telegram the minute they arrived.

‘My goodness,’ Peggy breathed. ‘They must be almost there by now. What an adventure they’re having.’

But she found she was talking to herself, for Cordelia had turned off her hearing aid and was fully immersed in a newspaper article about the British Administration in Singapore. She tore open Jim’s letter, disappointed to find it was short and clearly hurried.

My darling girl,

I received your telegram saying the girls were on their way, and I will watch out for them on Sunday, although this is the worst possible place for them to be. I can only hope there is good news regarding Jock and Philip, but going by what I’ve learned already, it’s highly unlikely.

I write this in haste because there is so little time between my duties, and when I return to my billet, I’m so drained – physically and mentally – that all I want to do is sleep. The heat is the same as in the jungles of Burma, the monsoon clouds are gathering and the humidity is unbearably high – but that isn’t what is so exhausting, Peggy. It’s the sight of the prisoners arriving from the outlying camps that drain the soul from me.

They are all nationalities, with different horror stories to tell, and amongst them are women, old, young and in between, all of them covered in tropical sores and weakened by starvation and a long list of fevers and diseases. It’s a miracle they’ve survived. But hearing them talk, and seeing how close they’ve become through their ordeal, I’ve realised these women are strong in mind and spirit and have refused to be broken. Though God knows how it will affect them during the rest of their lives.

However, it’s the children that break my heart, Peggy. Very few have survived – the babies and little ones that were too weak to withstand the brutal regime were buried in the camps spread right across the islands and into Thailand itself. These older children who’ve come through what sounds like hell on earth don’t know how to play and they look at you with eyes that hold the horrors of all they’ve seen and experienced – they’re practically feral and mistrustful of everyone, and who can blame them? In those moments I think of little Daisy, of Cissy and Anne; the grandchildren, and Bob and Charlie, and thank God they never had to go through such a thing.

I’ve met Elsa Bristow who was a friend of the Fullers, and is now a widow. She’s returned to Singapore as a tireless and rather forceful member of RAPWI, an organisation set up by Mountbatten for the recovery of Allied prisoners of war and internees. Although I fought long and hard against it, she persuaded the powers that be to assign me to help take witness statements from the returning prisoners so the Japanese commanders and guards can be justly punished for their heinous crimes.

I’m sick at heart, Peggy, for their stories will haunt me to my dying day, and I’ve never wished harder to be back at home with you, and to feel your arms about me, my children at my side. I don’t really think I can believe that you’re all truly safe until I can see you all again.

I will write again soon, but for now I must try and sleep. I love you with all my heart. Give my children and grandchildren a hug from me and hold them close. They are so very precious.

Jim xxx