Sybil would have loved to have told Dora the honest truth – that she was bent on travelling to London to find the missing kiddies. She knew without a doubt that Dora in her professional capacity would block her undertaking, saying it was too dangerous for a woman in her condition to travel. A statement that Sybil would be unable to argue with – it was dangerous for her to set off on such a journey in her condition, but, really, what choice did she have? So instead of being honest Sybil took the easy route and lied through her teeth.

‘You never know,’ she told Dora. ‘It’s worth sending off a couple of letters to neighbours who may have spotted the kiddies.’

In actual fact the very last thing Sybil had in mind was messing about with time-wasting letters. If her hunch was right – and please God, she prayed, let it not be a wild-goose chase – immediate action was required. Hurrying to her room, Sybil attempted to cover her tracks by writing a letter to Matron explaining that she would be away for a few days.

An elderly aunt of mine who lives in Penrith, she lied, has had a fall and is presently being nursed in a convalescent home, where I intend to visit her.

After sealing the letter, Sybil dropped her wallet, identity card and ration book into her handbag, and found her gas mask. Then, after packing some underwear, a nightie and some toiletries into a small shopping bag (a suitcase would immediately arouse suspicion), she left the letter addressed to Matron on the hall table before setting off for Kents Bank Station.

Given Sybil’s urgent desire for speed, the journey down to London could not have felt longer or more complicated; the government’s ruling that goods trains and special troop trains were to have priority meant that innumerable passenger trains were held up at junctions and outside mainline stations, full of servicemen and women, itching to get home for a weekend pass or a spell of leave. Fretting at the long waits, some up to forty-five minutes, the endless delays inevitably resulted in passengers missing vital connections. Getting off one train and on to another was nothing short of a nightmare, with passengers, most in uniform, hurling themselves off trains as they slowed down, then racing down the platform or across connecting bridges to jump on another one. Inevitably in all of the confusion the trains were full to the gunnels, with desperate servicemen climbing on to the luggage rack if there were no seats. Sybil was in no condition to race or rush; instead she had to waddle from one platform to another with a hand laid protectively over her tummy in case some burly soldier bowled into her. Sweating and gasping for breath, she made her way along the corridors, peeping into compartments; mercifully, kind fellow passengers gave up their places for her.