‘How do we know she wasn’t to blame for the fire in the village?’ someone else shouted. ‘Or that bomber that our guns took down? She might be using the lighthouse to signal to the blimmin’ Luftwaffe for all we know!’

People were muttering in agreement, heads nodding all around us now.

Who were these people?

I will tell you who these people were. They were our friends. People from church, the village shopkeepers and fishermen, the parents of the children we had grown up with. But something had changed them. The war. The enemy plane. The things they had heard on the wireless and read in the newspapers. The rumours, the whispers. They were angry. And they were very, very frightened.

‘Thank you, Mr Briggs,’ said Mrs Baron. ‘You may sit down.’ She looked at her fellow magistrates, and the two of them nodded at her gravely.

Then Pa stood up, and my heart leapt – he was going to defend Mutti. ‘I wish to—’ he started, but Mrs Baron did not want any more interruptions or surprises.

‘I think we’ve heard quite enough from the court’s spectators today, Mr Smith. I’m so sorry. Your loyal support of your wife is noted. You may sit down.’

Pa stayed standing, his mouth open. He seemed unsure of what to do.

‘You can sit down,’ she said again, looking into Pa’s eyes. Her tone was firm. Trust me, she seemed to say.

When Pa eventually sat down, Mrs Baron took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Zimmermann Smith,’ she began, ‘has shown herself to be a woman of excellent character, as everyone in the village knows.’ This remark seemed to be directed towards the back of the courtroom. I looked up at Pa. A woman of excellent character. It was going to be all right, wasn’t it?

‘We are at war, though, and a huge responsibility rests upon our shoulders. We must . . .’ She stopped. I had never seen Mrs Baron lost for words before. She looked at Mr Gibbons and he stood up.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, these drawings are frankly rather frightening,’ he said, addressing the courtroom as a whole. ‘They suggest that someone in the area is indeed attempting to provide information to the enemy for the purposes of strategic advantage, attack and possibly even invasion.’

Several people gasped.

‘We cannot at present prove Mrs Zimmermann Smith’s guilt in this respect, and, indeed, we are not here today for a criminal prosecution of any sort – that responsibility will lie in other hands.’ His eyes flicked briefly towards the man in the pinstripe suit sitting in the front row. ‘I am afraid, however, that there is sufficient evidence to suggest that Mrs Zimmermann Smith might be a potential threat to national security, and we can’t ignore that risk. We are under very strict instructions.’

Mags gripped my hand tighter. We were both rigid – made of stone. Tears were running down my face. They can’t . . .