‘A milder form, just a fever and tummy upset. It can go either way, but don’t look so worried. It’s not in his throat or chest, so far as I can tell. Bed rest and lots of peace and quiet, and we’ll get someone to look at those legs. Chances are he’ll make a full recovery in time. The ambulance will be here shortly. I would gather a few things for him to take. It’s better if he goes alone. I shall write a few notes and details. You can follow later for visiting time between six and seven.’

‘Thank you, Doctor. I’m glad we weren’t wasting your time.’

Ian Begg put on his cheery mask again and raised his hat. ‘You should have rung me earlier. Gus is very sick. It’s good Netta called me when she did. The sooner we can find out what exactly the young chap’s caught, the sooner treatment can begin. Get Peg a stiff whisky, Nettie, she’s taken a bad shock.’ He left them standing stunned in the hallway.

Peg collapsed on the bottom stair. ‘Not polio? Oh, what will Angus say? Will Gus end up in an iron lung, no able to breathe for himself?’

‘We have to be strong for him now. It may not be the worst form of paralysis after all. We’ll pull him through… Do you mind if I make a few phone calls? I need to clear the decks.’

‘Are you away the now, back down to Yorkshire?’ Peg suddenly felt exhausted and confused. If Netta left now, how could she cope on her own?

‘No, of course not. My son is poorly. He needs me. He needs us all and here is where I’ll be staying until he’s on the mend. Polly’ll have to manage without me somehow even if it means closing the workshop.’ Nothing was going to shift Netta from her son’s side.

Staying On, June 1949

The ambulance was gone. The farm felt suddenly empty. The two women sat by the hearth, stunned by Gus’s tearful departure. Netta had offered to follow behind in the van but Dr Begg insisted she should stay on to disinfect Gus’s room and wait for Angus’s return.

‘You’ll have to clear out all his stuff. I’m afraid, burn what you can’t boil. Keep Mistress Nichol as busy as you can. Visiting will be restricted, of course, in the interests of hygiene.’

On such a beautiful day, to be stripping beds, yanking down mattresses into the sunlight, making a bonfire of Gus’s toys and books as if he was already departed from them for good. When it came to Yumpy, Netta was adamant. ‘We can’t burn his sucky.’