Philip nodded again, his face serious. ‘I know.’ He sighed. ‘You make a lot of good friends in this kind of life, all thrown together. But – when something like this happens, well, being close makes it extra painful.’

He really is an understanding man, Kate thought, marvelling as she ran towards the WAAF site and her hut.

‘Did he really say that?’ Mavis asked incredulously when Kate repeated Philip’s offer to her two friends.

Isobel sat on her bed and blew smoke rings into the air, savouring her new packet of cigarettes; it had been pay day the previous day. ‘He’s different – I’ll say that for him,’ she observed.

‘All the chaps like him too,’ Mavis put in. ‘Dave says . . .’

Kate and Isobel gave a mocking groan, but Mavis only grinned and went on, ‘Dave says they really admire him ’cos he can keep authority and yet be human at the same time.’

Isobel glanced at Kate, sharing the past for a moment. ‘Not an easy thing to do,’ Isobel murmured.

‘So I take it you’ll come.’

They both nodded. ‘Poor old Edith – it’s the least we can do.’

Sadly, Kate sighed. ‘It’s all we can do.’

The car journey to Nottingham was a little strained. Philip, sitting beside Kate in the front, said little, and, taking their cue from him, the two WAAFs in the back seat were silent.

They stood in the rain awaiting the funeral cortège which was already late. Then, as it appeared around the corner, they saw a strange procession walking behind the slow-moving vehicle. A man led the way, lurching from side to side, with a tiny, bird-like woman walking behind him carrying a child of eighteen months or so. Behind her straggled five more children of various ages and sizes. A tall, lanky youth, incongruously still in short trousers; a girl in a coat which was far too big for her, the hem flapping round her ankles; and three smaller children, one with jam smeared across his mouth, another with his nose running and grey socks wrinkled around his ankles. Kate glanced at Isobel, but she was staring fixedly ahead, deliberately ignoring the family.

The man came and stood in front of them. ‘You ‘ere for our Edie’s funeral?’ The smell of alcohol wafted into their faces.

‘That’s right, sir. My name’s Trent – your daughter’s Commanding Officer.’

The man wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and then proffered it to be shaken. Without a flicker, Philip took it and shook it firmly.

“Ow do?’ the man said gruffly, then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘The wife and kids,’ he added, rather unnecessarily, Kate thought.