So I decided I would hear everyone else’s ideas first, respectfully discuss them, and then drop mine, which would be the winning one, right at the end. That way everyone would have had a turn, even though it would be a bit of a waste of time. I only had the one thing on my list, but I knew it was a beauty.

My list:

– Write that you are planning to run away

Because Caleb was a runner, and everyone knew about it, I thought they’d believe this one easily. And there is no way the Hodgesons would want anyone else to know Ruthy had scarpered while they were caring for her.

There was a unanimous chorus of yes from the trio of fellow conspirators, and we spent the rest of our meeting discussing exactly what Ruthy should write. Caleb insisted we give the mission a code name. The three of us didn’t think this was a good idea but went along with it given we had clearly rejected all his bodily functions suggestions for Brother Hodgeson. We called it operation Fly Away. We also gave in to using a code suggested by Caleb. ‘The pigeons are pooing’ would mean there was a problem, and ‘the cat’s had kittens’ would mean it was going well.

Caleb’s advice would turn out to be useful.

During Sunday school, instead of writing notes about what the teacher was saying as Ruthy usually liked to do, she drafted her letter so we could hear it before we disbanded for the week. We all ran to the usual spot as soon as the last prayer was over, even though we would get into trouble for holding up the adults who wanted to take us straight home.

Here is what Ruthy planned to write.

I am so lonesome for Dorcas and Caleb and Mr Driver next door. I am forbidden to ring them during the week and it is breaking my heart. None of us have been allowed to ring Mr Driver, and I am very worried about him because he is an old, old man with a wooden leg from the war, and might have fallen in his shed and hit his head. I have nightmares about him calling for help with no one able to hear him. In my dreams I hear him wail: ‘Ruthy! Ruthy! Come to my aid, my angel!’ I have undertaken the research about how to get back to check on him. If I take the number 19 bus into Grenfell Street in the city, and walk along until I see the sign for the number 23 that will take me to St Bernards Road, I think I can find my way home from there. I plan to leave next Friday morning after Brother Hodgeson leaves for bowls. I will slip out the back door when Sister Hodgeson isn’t looking. I can’t bear the worry any longer.

I thought the bit about ‘come to my aid, my angel’ was bunging it on a bit thick, but otherwise this was a work of art. For the first time in ages, it was almost fun to go our separate ways, operation Fly Away in train.