‘But it’s not the Coastwatchers’ duty to fight, dear,’ George had said lightly. ‘Indeed, the military doesn’t want the Coastwatchers to do anything that might draw attention to themselves. All we’re to do, I’m told, is to sit quietly observing and gathering information.’ He’d smiled reassuringly, and even with a touch of humour, as he’d added, ‘Feldt himself has code-named his organisation “Ferdinand” as a reminder of that very purpose. You remember the children’s book The Story of Ferdinand, don’t you? You read it to Tom when he was little.’

‘Yes, of course I remember,’ she replied, a brusque edge to her voice. ‘Ferdinand was a bull who didn’t want to fight. He sat under a tree and smelled the flowers instead.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But Ferdinand was not at war, was he,’ she went on, the brusque edge now verging on acerbic. For a pretty and very feminine woman who had led a highly conventional life, Grace could at times display a surprisingly defiant streak. ‘Ferdinand was not expected to enter an area of conflict and spy on the enemy.’

George had known at that moment there was no point in attempting to downplay the situation or mollycoddle her in any way. His wife was no fool, and he needed to be honest with her.

‘I want to go, Grace,’ he said. ‘I have to go.’

Her stony expression said ‘why?’ so he continued reasonably.

‘I can be useful, don’t you see? I can serve my country.’

Still no reply.

‘Oh, Gracie, I would have signed up to fight in this wretched war, but they don’t take thirty-nine-year-olds.’ His eyes begged her understanding. ‘Can’t you see, my love, this is the chance I’ve been waiting for, the chance I’ve been longing for. You can see that, can’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Yes, I can see that.’

They hadn’t talked any more on the subject, holding each other close instead, an action that spoke far more than words, but Grace hadn’t felt any happier about the situation.

These days, when someone asked Betty about her father, as they occasionally did, she would reply in all honesty that she hadn’t seen him for two whole years. ‘He works in navy intelligence,’ she would say. ‘We don’t know exactly where, but he’s alive and well.’

That much the family did know. Feldt was a kind man. He kept Grace Francis well informed about her husband’s state of health, even relaying messages between them from time to time, although never, never was she informed of George’s whereabouts.

Young Tom’s response to enquiries about his father varied somewhat from his sister’s. ‘Navy intelligence,’ thirteen-year-old Tom would proudly boast. ‘Top secret, sworn to silence, not allowed to say where,’ he’d add as if he actually knew.