Beryl and Polly called in by themselves the following week for a chat as Beryl wanted to ask if they needed a tea girl on Saturday afternoons in Dorelle’s. Netta gently told her it would not be a good idea to ask there. Polly hung back, saying nothing, but she fingered the last of the bridal gowns slowly.

The day of the annual garden party drew closer and it was time to inspect the girls’ costumes just in case they needed redoing. Netta hoped against hope that they had pressed everything at every stage as she had insisted. There was still time to repair puckered seams and dippy hems.

Lily Liddell and the other small dancers paraded in pink, lilac, blue and green costumes. Each of these efforts was good enough to use, Netta saw with relief, but one set of costumes jumped out at her for their quality and flair. These were not covered in paper leaves or felt appliqué but hand embroidered in satin stitch, quilted and padded into lustrous trailing ivy leaves with green toy beads threaded here and there to add texture to the decoration. There were hours of work in each of these dresses: work that would not have shamed an apprentice dressmaker.

‘Who made these?’ asked Netta, lifting up the costumes, intrigued by the sheer exuberance of this handiwork. No one spoke then Beryl pointed to the corner.

‘Her, miss. Polly’s a divil with embroidery. All day and all night, never leaves it alone. Allus stitching summat.’

Polly had gone scarlet and darted out of the room with the little girls.

‘Where’s she gone? I only wanted to congratulate her. You’ve all done very well.’

‘Polly’s gone with her sister to take her little brother for a walk, he’s still in the baby house. Not quite there is Jack Liddell but Polly’s dead good with him.’

It was Matron Jean who told Netta the full story of how the Liddell family came to Oldroyds Home two years ago when their mother had been killed by a hit and run driver in a peasouper of a smog. She had been carrying the boy in her arms and as she was struck his head hit the kerb and he was left unconscious for several days. When he woke up he couldn’t speak or walk. Polly had nursed him fiercely ever since. They were all brought into Oldroyds so as not to be separated but Polly was due to leave her school at the end of term and find work. Lily Liddell was nine and Jack four.

‘She wants to be able to support them on her own, a tall order for a lass of her age,’ Matron sighed.