At sixteen she still had a schoolgirl’s romantic notions about marriage to a man in uniform. The only boy in her life was Arnie who tagged along the shore with her friends and lectured them about rock formations. She towered over him in height and thought of him still as a little boy tied by an invisible thread to his doting mother. One tug and he jumped like a puppet. He was not allowed to mix with the rough and tumble village boys and always stayed in to practise his music – which was perhaps as well for the local louts shouted names at him whenever he appeared by Netta’s side.

Aileen Forsyth was well-upholstered, bonny but buxom. It would be easy for her to roll down the aisle looking like a couch on castors. ‘Why doesn’t Aileen ask Mrs Bloom to sew something for her?’ Netta whispered to Peg. Vida was earning a little from doing alterations and dressmaking but Netta knew she was capable of far more than that. ‘Tell Mrs Forsyth that Vida once worked in a great fashion house in London, making evening gowns from silks and tulle and handsewing sequins and beads on bodices. You did, didn’t you?’

Vida blushed and bent her head. ‘It feels like a lifetime ago… yes, I did train to do embroidery but where would I get such stuff to sew nowadays? No one wants that sort of thing here. It’s far too expensive.’

‘Take no notice of Netta, she’s always had her head full o’ dreams!’ Peg ignored the information and left the two of them to their chores.

‘You could make Aileen a wonderful dress, I know it,’ pleaded Netta, but the little woman shook her head sadly.

‘Those days are long gone, Netta. It’s a sad world out there and how could I make such a garment on my own?’

‘I could help you, be your assistant. It would make a change from schoolbooks and farm work. I’m sick of mucking out and feeding stock; pumping water from the well into the tank. You could teach me to do the easy bits. Go on, please? And you did say you wanted to pay for extra music lessons for Arnold. Let me ask them?’

So it was Netta who approached Stratharvar House by the grand gravelled drive and spoke to Aileen herself, suggesting she discuss her requirements with their evacuee. Two days later the Forsyths descended on Brigg Farm, demanding to see Vida Bloom and examine her work.

‘A good dressmaker wears her shop on her back,’ said Mrs Forsyth, peering at the little woman in her neat, well-tailored black dress.

Vida cleared the table and brought out a sketchpad. ‘What exactly had you in mind?’