On summer evenings, when the children visited the Home, Sybil read to them in the shady garden steeped in the perfume of phlox and delphiniums. As swifts darted back and forth feeding their chirruping young nesting in Mary Vale’s many ancient eaves, Sybil enthralled the two suntanned kiddies with tales from Beatrix Potter, Just William, Wind in the Willows and Alice in Wonderland. Sybil knew that their relationship had turned into something more profound after she had rescued the pair of them from the bombed-out streets of Finsbury Park; what she never expected to feel was the huge love that now engulfed her every time she saw them running towards her, calling her name, ‘AUNTIE SYBIL!’ and rushing into her arms, eager for a hug, a kiss and a cuddle.

‘Oh, Rosie,’ she sighed in despair. ‘What are we going to do?’

In her typical tough London way, Rosie straightened her scrawny shoulders and wiped away her tears. ‘Get on with it, as usual,’ she answered, blinking away tears. ‘What else can we do in these bleedin’ awful times?’

Sybil seriously wondered how her friend could, in fact, ‘get on with it’, with no home, potentially no husband, and no money.

‘One thing I do know,’ Rosie announced, ‘I’m not taking the kids away from here.’

‘What?’ Sybil cried in alarm. ‘You’re going to leave them with the Larkins? They’d be much happier living with you, Rosie. And you – without them – surely you’d be distraught?’

‘It’s best for them, though, not me, and it wouldn’t be forever, just while I find my feet and get a job, perhaps in service, close by.’

Looking less alarmed, Sybil listened intently to what Rosie was saying.

‘They could be with no better family than where they are now. Nobody could deny how happy and healthy they are these days – they’re bonnier, fitter, brighter, stronger – need I go on? All that good grub and running about on the fells, climbing trees, herding sheep, then coming here to play by the seaside. Life’s never been better for them. No,’ she said firmly. ‘They’re staying put – at least for now. They came here as evacuees in the first place and that’s what they still are, wartime evacuees.’

Sybil couldn’t argue with any of the facts that Rosie had listed – in fact, she completely agreed with her – but she still thought her friend’s decision was a huge act of selfless love.

Reaching for her hand she squeezed it. ‘You’re a good mum,’ she murmured.

Rosie returned the squeeze. ‘And you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.’

‘Where will you go?’ Sybil nervously enquired.

‘Well, I can’t stay here any more,’ Rosie told her. ‘I don’t want to either – too many bad memories – but I hope to stay local.’