The children in Lily’s class were in the hall dancing to music in their bare feet. John Pruett had brought in his gramophone and Lily had placed a precious 78 rpm record on the turntable, wound the handle and lowered the needle with extreme care. The chirpy harmony of Edvard Grieg’s ‘Anitra’s Dance’ from Peer Gynt echoed around the draughty hall and the children interpreted the music in their own way. Some, like Daphne Cahill and Rosie Finn, were quite balletic; others, like Arnold Icklethwaite, ran around dodging left and right like a rugby league player.

At the end the children sat on the bench outside their classroom tugging on their socks and shoes. It was clear that little Rosie Finn was struggling.

‘Shall I help you?’ asked Lily. She had just finished teaching Sam Grundy how to tie a double knot in his laces. ‘Let me have a go.’

Lily tugged on one boot but had trouble with the other. ‘These are really difficult to get on. I think you’ve grown out of them.’

Finally, Rosie managed to squeeze both feet into her boots.

‘Thank you, Miss.’

‘Rosie, we need to tell your mother your boots are too small.’

‘They’re not my boots, Miss.’

‘Not your boots!’ exclaimed Lily.

‘No, Miss.’

‘Then whose are they?’

‘M’brother’s, an’ m’mam said ah ’ad t’wear ’em ’cause she can’t afford new uns.’

‘So these are your brother’s boots?’

‘Yes, Miss, ’e only ’ad small feet before ’e died.’

Lily stared hard at the little girl, taking in the ragged clothing and the knots in her hair.

‘I’m sorry, Rosie … When was this?’

‘Last year, Miss. Our Derek ’ad a poorly chest. ’E’s in ’eaven now.’ Rosie stared up out of the high arched window at the scudding clouds. ‘So ’e won’t need no shoes, so m’mam says.’

Joseph was collecting his books from the classroom and heard the conversation. He was silent for a long time while an idea formed.

A few minutes later he was discussing it with his sister. After searching through the ‘Emergency Clothing Box’, Vera gave him a large brown paper bag. Then she watched him as he walked his bicycle down to the school gate and rode off along the High Street. Not for the first time, she realized that her brother had a kind heart. He simply needed pointing in the right direction.

Joseph cycled to Chauntsinger Lane, past the blacksmith’s and on to Badger’s Row. He parked his bicycle against the wall of the last cottage and knocked on the door. Mary Finn opened it and the flour on her hands suggested she was making bread.

‘Mr Evans,’ she said. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘May I have a brief word, Mary? It won’t take long. I have something for you.’

Mary looked suspiciously at the paper bag.