They usually sat in a pub on a no name, no shame basis, awkward and suspicious at first. When they saw he could down the pints as quickly as they he felt he was halfway to gaining their trust. It was going to be a hard slog to open them up and he was not sure what good it would do to reopen past horrors. There was some evidence from the Military Rehab Units that talking in groups was useful but he had yet to be convinced.

*

From now on Oldroyds was no longer just a name but a place where Netta was always welcome to visit. At weekends she sometimes took some of Lily Liddell’s friends for a picnic, high among the heather on the moors, and wondered if the Scotia Club dancers might band together to plan an outing for the children to Bridlington by coach. How she wished that she could share her own beautiful Carrick seaside with those less fortunate than herself.

Only two weeks later, when she called into see her adopted sewing group, she was met at the door by Drew. He was wearing a white coat, his face like thunder. He held up his hand firmly and shooed her out of the door.

‘Out, Netta. I’m afraid the place is in quarantine. No visitors. We’ve got fever in the place. It’s in the district… all this hot weather’s a breeding ground. Dreadful business. Infantile paralysis in some cases, kids going down like flies. I’ve just rushed three off to the isolation hospital for tests. One’s in a bad way, I fear. Respiratory failure.’

‘My sewing girls – Polly, Beryl, Lily?’

‘Just tummy bugs but poor little Jacky Liddell’s very sick. I don’t hold out much hope. Don’t come any further, call back in a few weeks. I’m sorry to bear such sad news.’

‘What about Jean?’

‘Rushed off her feet but fine. Don’t worry.’

‘Are you OK? You looked washed out.’ She noticed he was grey about the gills and his cheeks were sunken again.

‘Fine. Oh, what the hell? Fancy a brew? Come in the office.’ Over a cup of Camp coffee and sterilised milk, Drew Stirling began to relax.

‘It makes me fume to think of the unfairness of all this, you know. These kids deserve the best, and what do we do? we herd them all together in dormitories so that any Tom, Dick or Harry sort of infection goes on the rampage amongst them like wildfire, far faster than if they’d been in their own homes. It’s always the weakest who suffer in this world. I hope this new National Health Service will iron out such social differences but it’s only early days and I have my doubts. I’m just impatient, which makes matters worse.