Kate arrived at the top of the Hump and stopped. Before her was a scene of devastation. It was not the cottages, although they had suffered damage. It was the Seagull, which had taken a direct hit. A small incendiary bomb had fallen on one end of the building, slicing rooms in half so that Kate could see the interior, like her own dolls’ house when the whole of the front was opened. She could even see the wallpaper on the remaining inner wall of the bedroom. A bed hung precariously half-on, half-off the portion of floor left, teetering on the edge. The bomb had buried itself in the soft earth, making a crater the size of the pond at Brumbys’ Farm, and now flames licked at the already half-destroyed building.

Kate absorbed all this in a brief second’s pause, then she was flying down the slope towards the building. It was lunch-time opening; there must have been people in the pub. Others were emerging from the cottages and hurrying towards the scene. Kate could see Grannie Harris watching through the broken window of her kitchen, her hand to her mouth. Then two of the soldiers who had been on duty through the previous night and sleeping in Dan Hanley’s cottage when the bomb fell, appeared. They were bare-chested, their trousers pulled on hastily. Enid Maine appeared in her doorway, clutching at the door post for support, staring wide-eyed.

Then, suddenly, there was Beth Eland. She came out of her cottage, wrapped a black shawl over her head and walked slowly towards the pub. She didn’t run, didn’t even hurry. It was as if she were drawn to the scene but was reluctant to reach it.

‘Get some water!’ Kate shouted to the two soldiers. ‘Let’s get this fire out first. Get buckets, anything. Form a chain.’

Without realizing it, she was taking charge. All her young life, she had seen how farmers dealt with stack fires and then she had witnessed the calm efficiency on Suddaby Station after an air-raid.

Kate ran to the nearest cottage – Enid’s home. ‘Look sharp, our Enid, get working the pump in your kitchen filling buckets. Where’s the boys? They can help too . . .’

Soon everyone there was helping to transport water to the base of the fire – all except Beth. She stood, a lonely, lost figure, a little way off, just staring at the ravaged building.

Kate grasped her arm. ‘Where’s Mester Eland? We could do with his help. Is he out fishing?’

Slowly Beth shook her head.

‘Where is he, then?’

Beth’s gaze was fixed upon the building, mesmerized. Kate shook her arm, trying to bring her out of her stupor. ‘Where is he?’ she repeated.

Beth’s voice was a strangulated whisper. ‘In – in the pub.’