‘Thanks, Jane. That all seems most efficient.’

‘She’s a marvel, isn’t she?’ said Elsa. ‘I don’t know how I coped before.’

Jim didn’t like to point out that she hadn’t coped at all, so stayed silent as he took the files out of the box and placed them in his briefcase. ‘I’ll see you this evening,’ he said to the two heads already bowed over their work. He left them to it and returned to the car.

Driving through the crowded streets, he headed for the vast tented camps that had been set up outside the city for the returning prisoners who didn’t need to be hospitalised, and were waiting to be repatriated.

A Union Jack hung limply from a tall pole beside the gate to signify this was the British camp, and Jim saluted the guards as he drove through. He parked outside the marquee which housed a walk-in clinic and an advice and counselling centre, and an area serviced by the Red Cross where the men could freely borrow books and magazines and take away writing materials, sketchpads, shaving equipment, soap and shampoo.

Jim knew the value to the men of having such things to hand after being so long without them, and also knew what sterling work the nurses and counsellors were doing in preparing the men for their return home.

The British government had also done their bit in helping these bewildered, almost shell-shocked survivors to recover from their ordeal by printing numerous leaflets on what to expect when they returned to a war-ravaged England, and the wives and children they hadn’t seen for many years. Other leaflets were designed to help with looking for work or retraining, should their old jobs no longer be available. There were also generous grants on offer to help with retraining or further education.

Jim wondered if he should take a few leaflets for himself. He hadn’t seen Peggy or his children for years, and the cinema where he’d worked had been bombed long before he’d even received his call-up papers. By the tone of her last letters, it seemed Peggy was getting on far too well without him, and he wasn’t at all sure about her plans to renovate Beach View. He didn’t like change, and could only hope it would still be recognisable when he was finally allowed to go home, for the memory, and the affection for it, was etched in his heart.

He greeted the middle-aged nursing sister with a broad smile. ‘And how are you on this very fine day, Margaret?’

‘Much better for seeing you,’ she replied with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘How’s the head, Jim?’

He groaned inwardly at the realisation that his exploits were now common knowledge but managed to keep on smiling. ‘It’s fine, thank you. I’m here to see Major Patrick O’Keefe and Corporals Toby Mayhew, Matthew Gresham and William Frost.’

She turned to look at the vast map pinned to a board standing on an easel. ‘The corporals are all in row five, tents 435 to 437. Major O’Keefe is in row one, tent 335.’