‘Whatever’s a matter with her?’ asked Molly, as her eldest flew up the stairs.

Vivian shrugged. ‘Search me, Mum.’

The following morning, having recovered from the previous day’s embarrassment, Queenie happily tucked into her breakfast. Kippers soaked in vinegar with a thick slice of bread was her favourite. ‘You look nice, Mum. You going out somewhere?’

At thirty-one, Molly was plumper than she’d been when she’d married Eric. A five-foot-three brunette, she had a kind smile, big brown eyes and was wearing a floral dress. ‘I’m popping down the Lane with Mabel. You two need new school shoes.’ Mabel Brown lived next door. Queenie and Viv often played with her daughters, Aggie and Nelly.

‘You’re quiet, Dad. You OK?’ asked Queenie.

‘No. I’m not OK. It’s only a matter of time now before Chamberlain sends in the troops. I couldn’t sleep a wink last night.’

‘Don’t worry the girls please, Eric. Put that newspaper down and eat your kippers. They’re getting cold,’ ordered Molly.

Queenie and Viv glanced at one another. Both were thinking the same thing. What had happened to their once jolly dad? Lately, all he did was go on about the war and it was tiresome, to say the least.

Queenie was sitting on a kerb outside Derek Lewis’s house swapping cigarette cards when Derek’s mum bellowed, ‘Kids, get in ’ere. The Prime Minister is about to make an announcement.’

Even though the small front room was packed with people, you could have heard a pin drop. ‘I am speaking to you from the cabinet room at 10 Downing Street,’ boomed Neville Chamberlain’s voice. The radio was turned up to full volume.

Queenie squeezed her sister’s hand. Had her dad been right all along about a war, she wondered? The Prime Minister’s voice certainly sounded serious.

‘This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us,’ explained the Prime Minister. ‘I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.’

‘Flipping hell! Hitler’s coming to get us. We’re doomed,’ cried Derek Lewis.

Derek’s mum smacked him around the head. ‘Shut it you, ya bleedin’ bock.’

Confused and not really knowing what to do next, Queenie took Viv’s hand and set off home.

The atmosphere walking a few streets from Derek’s house to their own was strange. Everyone seemed to be outside their houses having a chinwag, but there was none of the usual hoots of laughter or happy faces, just solemn expressions and looks of concern.

‘We ain’t all gonna die, are we, Queenie?’

Queenie put a protective arm around her nine-year-old sister’s shoulders. Everybody said how alike she and Vivian were. They ate well but were both skinny as rakes. They had the same mousy brown hair too that their mum made them wear shoulder length as she said it was too fine and looked straggly if they grew it any longer. ‘Don’t you worry,’ Mum had told them. ‘Dad’ll look after us. We’re gonna be fine.’