Anne merely smiled as she started the car and set off.

Peggy cuddled Emily and Rose as they sped up the hill and turned onto the road that would take them past Solly and Rachel’s lovely house, the Memorial Hospital and out into the countryside beyond the Cliffe estate and towards the airfield. The smell of newly mown hay and cow parsley drifted in through the window on the warm, still air, and it was a pleasure to look out at the scenery. However, the weight of the small girls leaning against her was a sad reminder that she would miss not having her grandchildren to cuddle and spoil every day, but at least she would get to see them often once her car was roadworthy.

Rose Cottage was in a hamlet that nestled in the valley between Cliffe estate and the aerodrome. Warren Cross consisted of four cottages, an ancient church, an equally ancient pub, and a farm which belonged to Cliffe estate. The fields spread as far as the eye could see, and as they drove along, they watched a farmer and his labourers hard at work bringing in the wheat harvest.

‘I suppose Bob’s doing the same down in Somerset,’ said Peggy wistfully.

‘He’s bound to be. And once that’s done, he’ll be ploughing and planting for the winter crops.’ Anne slowed the car and turned down a narrow, rutted lane overarched by trees which threw dappled shadows over it. ‘Now Vi’s got extra hands on the farm, Bob will find things much easier, so don’t worry, Mum. He’ll be home for a visit very soon.’

Peggy nodded. ‘Yes, he promised to come home for Christmas in his last letter. It will be wonderful to have you all there again after so many Christmases of being apart.’ She gave a tremulous sigh. ‘If only your father could be with us it would be perfect.’

‘He’ll be with us in spirit, you can be sure of that,’ Anne replied, bringing the car to a halt in front of a five-bar gate. She leapt out and unlatched the gate, pushing it as far as it would go into the hedge, and then climbed back into the car.

‘You’ll be amazed at what Grandad and the others have achieved,’ she said, her voice light with suppressed excitement. ‘And now we’ve got all our best furniture out of storage it really feels like home again.’

The little car ran smoothly over the newly gravelled driveway, and as it came round a gentle bend, they had their first sighting of the early Victorian two-storey house, which to Peggy’s mind was really too big to be called a cottage since it had been added onto over the years and was fairly substantial.

Set in a garden ablaze with cottage garden flowers, the honey-coloured stone seemed to have soaked up the warmth of the day’s sun. Harlequin roses of red and yellow tumbled over the porch, and the fresh white paint on the doors and window frames gleamed. It was an attractive, neat house, with four large windows and a central door beneath a shingled roof with a pie-crust trim. Today, it looked utterly enchanting.