I told the same story to Mrs O’Leary. I could tell she knew there was more to it, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I felt far too ashamed to tell anybody. I never felt clean any more, not even after a trip to the public baths. I felt dirty, like a tramp.

Then I heard the news my dad had been shot in the leg, was in the army hospital, and would be returning home once he was well enough to travel.

I looked forward to Dad’s homecoming. It helped to take my mind off things. Viv and I made him a big banner welcoming him home. Mum and Aunt Edna baked cakes and made sandwiches, but Dad never showed. He arrived home the following morning, paralytic, and after that things went from bad to worse.

Things got to the point where I no longer had a father as far as I was concerned. Instead, there was a stranger living in our house. A nasty, evil, wicked bully who I totally despised.

It was no wonder I began to spend more and more time at Mrs O’Leary’s. Her house was the only place I felt safe and loved.

The war was changing everything.

Three Months Later

Summer 1941

‘Queenie, wake up. I think Dad’s hurting Mum again.’

Queenie was already wide awake ‘Mum’s told us not to get involved. Go back to sleep. The noises’ll stop soon.’

Putting her arms around Viv’s back to comfort her, Queenie lay deep in thought. She knew what was happening all right. The drunken stranger who was once her father was forcing her mum to have sex with him again.

Hearing their mum begging their dad to stop, Viv started to cry.

‘It’s OK. They’re just trying to make us a little brother or sister,’ Queenie lied. She knew that wasn’t the case. She’d seen the bruises on her mother’s body, knew what was happening was no act of love.

As Queenie heard her father grunt and groan, she felt ill. The monster.

Finally all was quiet, but still Queenie couldn’t sleep. She would speak to Aunt Edna later; ask if she and Viv could stay with her this weekend.

The next morning, Queenie was in a foul mood as she took her seat in the classroom. She’d lain awake most of the night, and felt groggy and ratty. She was also dreading breaking up for the summer holidays on Friday. These days she had little interest in playing outdoors amongst the rats and the rubble, she would rather be at school, or losing herself in a book. There was no quiet indoors any more, so perhaps she’d go over the park and read alone? Books were the only thing that would temporarily help her to forget. She was currently engrossed in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House in the Big Woods. It was a world away from London and the Blitz.

‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ Queenie responded in unison with the other kids.