I’m going to Dunkirk. Pa doesn’t know, so please don’t tell him – I’m hoping to get back before he does, so he won’t even have a chance to be worried or angry. I have to go too, Pet. Do you remember when I left school, and I said that history was happening all around us? This is my chance to be part of it. I know that I am meant to do this, and I know you will understand.

I’m taking the motor boat – I did some work on the engine yesterday afternoon and got it running nicely. She’ll be just fine. I know she’ll look after me, Pet, so try not to worry too much.

We’ll both be home tonight.

Love from Mags x

No, no, no, Mags . . . The note shivered between my finger and thumb, and I noticed that my knife-cut from the day before had healed into a thick black scab under my nail. My breathing was shallow and panicky. Light – I needed light, and air. I pulled up the blackout blind, flung open the window, and was dazzled by the brightness of the day outside.

Inside me, though, everything was still dark and cold and terrifying.

I was completely alone.

I couldn’t bring myself to eat any breakfast. Instead, I went up to the lantern room with a blanket around my shoulders, opened up Pa’s brass telescope, and put it to my eye.

I watched all the boats leaving Stonegate harbour – a little flock of them – fishing boats, mainly, but some sailing boats too and a couple of private motor boats. They were joined further out to sea by bigger vessels from Dover, Folkestone, Deal and Ramsgate – leisure boats, yachts, paddle steamers . . . All these people, I thought. All these people, setting off across the Channel to help rescue our soldiers.

I filled in Pa’s logbook, trying to find a bit of comfort in this familiar responsibility. I recorded the date, the weather, and the details of as many of the Dunkirk boats as I could. I knew plenty of them by name.