He paused to watch the workmen battling the wind to decorate the large Christmas tree in the centre of town, then continued past the huge bomb site which had once been Woolworths and the Odeon Cinema, thinking again how lucky his father had been to escape uninjured from the blast. Grandad Ron had made much of the fact in his letter that he’d been left without a stitch of clothing on, and he’d had to carry him home on his back.

Grinning at the image that evoked, Bob glanced at the heaving grey sea, then turned into Camden Road and out of the wind. There was the fire station and the factory where his mother had worked, and the funny little café opposite the hospital where Grandma Cordelia sometimes used to treat him and Charlie to afternoon tea. But where there had once been an enormous block of flats was a gaping hole.

He walked on to discover that the houses at the end of the street had been blasted to smithereens, although the Anchor had clearly survived, and a new school had been built in the footprint of the old one. He crossed the road to stop and stare at the ruins at the end of Beach View cul-de-sac, which he knew had come about as a result of a gas explosion, but as he splashed his way through the muddy puddles of the twitten, he saw the remains of the house behind Beach View and was forcibly reminded of how close his mother and little sister had come to being wiped out completely.

He’d had little idea of what his mother had been through, for she’d kept her letters light-hearted, but seeing the devastation all around made him feel guilty for the easy time they’d all had down in Somerset.

Bob took a firmer grip of the heavy bags and pushed his way through the gate, to see that the shed, the Anderson shelter and the outside lav had gone, and in their place was a sodden vegetable plot which he suspected had yielded very little this autumn. The hens were huddled inside their nesting boxes, gloomily squawking at the muddy mess in their run. He remembered those chickens being given to them by a bunch of Australian soldiers, but that was years ago, so the old birds were probably past laying, and good only for the pot.

Eager to be out of the rain, he pushed open the back door and came to an abrupt halt. His mother and Charlie had written to him about the changes she was making to the house, but he hadn’t expected this.

Aware that he was dripping rainwater and would leave muddy footprints on the pristine lino, he quickly eased off his boots onto the doormat, and bundled his coat over his arm. As no one seemed to have heard his arrival, he left the bags and coat on the concrete steps and had a nose about.

He was utterly amazed by the transformation, and could hardly believe that he, Charlie and Grandad Ron had actually slept down here – and that they’d shared the once damp and cramped space with Harvey and the ferrets. As he tried to take it all in, he heard footsteps on the kitchen floor above him, and quickly gathered up his things.