Aunt Harriet leaned forward to show them a gilt-edged brooch, intricately designed with a classical-looking head wreathed in leaves, and more flowers and tendrils around it, all in vivid-coloured enamel.

‘Anything like this that you’re going to make, first you’ve got to design it – just on paper, like. Then, to get it so you can stamp it out of metal, you’ve got to have a punch and a die with the design engraved in it – two bits of metal that fit into each other. The patterns in ’em are all cut by hand – that’s what being a die sinker is. I’ve got shelves of them. You put your bit of metal on – copper or zinc and the like – between the two sides and you stamp the design into them. You can come and see the workshop tomorrow.’

‘It’s so small and so complicated – however do they do it?’ Margaret exclaimed. The colours seemed to call to her, their brightness reviving her the way the vividness of flowers did in the spring. ‘It’s beautiful!’

‘It is.’ Eb took a sip from his glass of stout – its appearance a shock for Margaret and Annie. Alcohol never crossed the threshold of their own home. The drink left a milky froth on Eb’s moustache. Then he lit up the pipe, puffing with obvious enjoyment.

‘There’s no shortage of skilled men around here – and a few wenches, at that. They say there’s about thirty thousand people working just in this part of Brummagem. Oh – and while we’re on that subject –’ He sat up straighter and looked at his nieces with a twinkle. ‘There’s the question of what you young ladies are going to do while you’re here? Extra pairs of hands – we can soon put you to work . . .’

Margaret felt dismayed. She had not thought of this. What on earth did Uncle expect them to do? But Annie sat up straight.

‘Oh, yes!’ she began, but Aunt Hatt cut in.

‘Eb! Not now, you terrible man. These poor girls have only just arrived. Their heads must be spinning! There’s no earthly need for them to work – surely they won’t be here long enough for that? And we certainly don’t need to talk about anything like that tonight.’

‘All right.’ Eb held his hands up in surrender. ‘Very good, very good. Eh – you wenches . . .’ He leaned forward with a grin. You tell me this then: what’s the difference between a tube and a foolish Dutchman?’ He paused, triumphantly. ‘No idea? Well – I’ll tell you – one is a hollow cylinder and the other a silly Hollander!’

Their baffled faces and Aunt Hatt’s severe look dared him to say another word.

‘Don’t mind him and his jokes,’ she said.