Mrs. Weatherford came every day in her WVS uniform, her sharp gaze picking out any orphans in need of care to tuck under her wing. She had once more resembled the woman she had been, albeit with more threads of silver in her neat hair. The only time Grace had seen Mrs. Weatherford truly upset was when March rolled in with a new item on the ration list: jam. To which she woefully replied, “What’s next? Cheese?”

The bombings continued with such regularity that London no longer resembled her former glory. But even exhausted and war torn, she continued to shelter her people night after night, day after day. Lorries maneuvered around craters in the road, housewives queued for rationed food they made stretch into many meals and people brushed debris from their doorways in the morning when they collected their milk bottles. Life went on.

The weather had been horrendous with heavy fog, intermittent snow and ice, but little sun to be seen. The people of Britain had come to love that abhorrent weather and the reprieve it promised from bombers.

The Germans were so put out by the overcast skies, they’d come to do what was referred to as “tip and run,” in which they’d pass over the city, loose a few bombs without aiming and depart quickly. The damage from such haphazard attacks was often minimal and the loss of life far less than it had been in previous attacks.

Grace continued to write to Viv and George, though finding posts that were still functional to mail them could prove difficult. Oftentimes, a postman stood with a sign stating simply “Post Office Here” with a counter lit by a candle thrust in a bottle. Telegram boys had it even harder, running about in their smart uniforms with pasteboard slung on a string about their necks declaring they were accepting telegrams. Those wishing to send one would then use the boy’s back as a makeshift table to write out their messages.

Work with the ARP was no less taxing, but far less frightening. One could only see so many planes or be near so many bombs before the trigger of fear stopped firing. When air raids went off now, Grace and Mr. Stokes took their time, not bothering to rush until the drone of planes could be made out, or the cracking ack-ack gun informed them the Germans were near.

April offered a new month to begin planting. This time, Mrs. Weatherford expertly labeled the garden before she began planting. Tabby had certainly found a close companion in Mrs. Weatherford as the two were nearly inseparable. So it was no wonder that when the older woman went out to the garden to plant, along came Tabby trotting after her, batting about at bits of dirt. “Don’t worry, Grace,” Mrs. Weatherford said after the seeds had all been sown into the rich soil. “I didn’t bother to plant any lettuce.”