‘Go to sleep, Sibbie. You’re such a darling, worrying about everyone and trying to make everyone’s world right – you’re like a whirlwind that I have to keep up with!’ Marjie’s laughter sounded good, as sleep overcame Sibbie.

The train pulled into London’s Kings Cross station a little later than expected the next morning. Excited to see the girls whom she looked upon as her sisters, Sibbie jumped onto the platform. ‘Come on, Marjie. Hurry! Oh, look, there they are – under the clock at the entrance.’

‘They look exactly like you said. Just look at their lovely golden hair. I can’t wait to meet them.’

‘It does look golden in that light, but it’s more chestnut. Daisy! Florrie! Rosie . . . we’re here!’

Before she could take a breath, Sibbie found herself being hugged and asked a dozen questions: how was she? How was Aunt Mags? Was her journey all right?

‘Let her breathe, girls. Eeh, poor lass, she’ll be sorry she came, at this rate.’

Sibbie laughed. ‘It’s all right, Daisy. Oh, it’s so good to see you all. It must be two years since our paths crossed. I can’t wait to hear all your news. Oh, this is my cousin, Marjella – only we call her Marjie.’

Marjella looked bemused as each of the girls gave her a hug.

Linking arms, they left the station. The sight that met them outside shocked Sibbie. For a moment she halted the group’s progress. ‘Oh God, look at the destruction!’ All around her, buildings were broken. The air had a tinge of burning debris and the street was littered with blackened bricks, chunks of smouldering wood and shards of glass. ‘I never dreamed my first visit to London would mean seeing it in such a sad state.’

‘This is nowt compared to what it was like during the Blitz. A couple of bombs dropped last night and caused this, but imagine thousands of bombs dropping in one night. It were a living nightmare, with everyone facing their possible death every day.’

‘Oh, Daisy, I knew of course – it’s part of my job to know; and the news was full of it, but until you see what damage a bomb causes, it doesn’t hit home. Even newspaper pictures don’t give you the true feeling of it all. Poor Londoners, how did they come through it all?’

‘Many didn’t. It’s a grieving city, but a city with spirit. The folk here have a good outlook on life. Allus laughing and seeing the funny side. Anyroad, let’s forget it all for one day, and hope that Hitler does an’ all. I’m going to show you as much as I can. Not that it will be a lot, as it’s nearly lunchtime now and we’ve to be at St Pancras station by four.’