Rudi stared down at the ground and drew on his cigarette. ‘I’m Rudolph Krüger, but my friends call me Rudi.’ He paused, searching for the right words. ‘I was born in nineteen twenty-four.’

Tom gave a forced smile. ‘So was I.’

‘My childhood was in Pomerania on the Baltic coast and then in nineteen forty-two I was conscripted into the Wehrmacht, the German army. All my friends joined. There was no choice.’

‘Same for me, I suppose,’ said Tom. ‘We had to crush Hitler.’

Rudi nodded. ‘They sent me to the Eastern Front. It was a cruel winter. Minus thirty. Somehow I survived. Then suddenly we were in retreat from Russia. It was chaos.’

‘I read about it,’ said Tom. ‘It must have been hard.’

Rudi looked thoughtful. ‘It was.’

‘So what happened?’

‘I was captured in Belgium by American soldiers. It was a relief to know it was over. I was given food and drink and we marched seven hundred miles to Marseilles.’

‘Marseilles? What then?’

‘We were put on a troop ship to Maryland in West Virginia and then there was another ship to Liverpool. I was transported to a prisoner-of-war camp in Hertfordshire, near a village called Much Hadham. By then my name was changed to “Krueger” as there was no umlaut key on their typewriter.’

Tom shook his head. ‘What a journey.’

‘Labour was in short supply, so prisoners were needed to work on the land. I was sent to Amersham in Buckinghamshire and I lived in a wooden hut on a farm. It felt like home to me. You will have guessed the rest. I met a Land Girl called Lily, fell in love and she had a baby. I had no say in what happened next. Her mother, Florence, took her away. Before she left she told me I had shamed her daughter and her family. I carried on working on the farm.’ He sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Finally I have saved enough to return to Germany.’

On the High Street Vera cut a striking, elegant figure as she strode towards the Morton road. Another school day was over and she was pleased she had spoken with Edna Trott about getting some help for her with the school cleaning.

Parked outside the church was George Hardcastle, who had delivered his wife to Joseph’s ‘Care in the Community’ seminar. When he saw Vera walking towards him his stomach knotted in anguish.

I wish I had a Vera in my life, he thought. Instead I’ve got a Wilhelmena.