There were benches built into two sides of the hideout. They were scattered with cushions of silk and satin, now faded, and finely embroidered with pictures of animals, birds, knights and mythical creatures, presumably by the mothers of the boys. Rosie picked one up, wondering if they’d been made specially for the shack or had ‘walked’ out of larger homes.

‘Tis like a grand little house,’ Rosie said, ‘better than what most folks do have to live in.’ She held up the cushion. ‘We’ve got nothing like this in the farmhouse.’

‘You would be welcome to take it home, Rosie. For your own room. But your family wouldn’t like the idea of where it came from.’

There were paintings on the walls as well as various tools and practical items hanging in neat rows on hooks.

‘I sleep in here sometimes even after all these years,’ Oliver confided. ‘It’s quite warm and cosy. If you are cold, my dear, there are blankets in the chest.’

‘I am a bit cold,’ she confessed, looking at her spoiled shoes, ‘and my feet are wet through. I suppose I should have worn my boots,’ she added, with an element of pride that she could say she owned such things.

Feeling important she seated herself on a bench that ran the width of the hideout. Oliver lifted a lantern off the chest that doubled as a table and pulled out two woollen blankets. He wrapped one round Rosie’s shoulders and placed the other on her lap. Rosie thanked him, caressing the soft thick material and wishing the one on her little narrow bed at home felt the same.

‘I daresay you and Mr Beswetherick had a lot of adventures here in the woods,’ she said.

‘We did,’ Oliver replied, unfastening his surtout coat and laying it aside with his hat. ‘We kept food, water, toy swords, real guns and all manner of things up here. I still keep provisions here and the toys are under the other bench. There are several places in the walls that can be opened to observe the wildlife, or in the days of our youthful imagination, “the enemy”.’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ Rosie said enviously, peeling off her gloves and putting them on the chest. ‘I had no one to grow up and have adventures with, Kenver couldn’t play outside of course and Clem always wanted to be by himself.’

‘Well, my dear,’ Oliver briefly took her hand, ‘you can have an adventure now.’

Rosie closed her hand to keep in the warmth he had left on hers, while Oliver reached across her and unlatched a long strip of hinged wood set low down in the wall. Very slowly he lowered it, careful not to make a noise. Rosie looked out into the exposed area of the forest.