The lemon-coloured dawn radiated across the sea as Netta sat on watch from the safe haven of the bedroom window at Braeside. She had sat all night, the babe sleeping and suckling at her breast, trying to compose a letter to her sewing friend, Vida Bloom, who was living with relatives near to Leeds.

‘I have to be strong for both of us now, being just the two of us, we happy breed, we orphans of the night.’ How could she sleep when there so many choices and plans dancing round her mind? Besides it was easier to think when the rest of house was silent. It must all be written down to clear the head of the ideas buzzing round like bluebottles keeping her awake.

We may take a room and kitchen somewhere in the village. I don’t want Peg fussing over my son. One look at him and they’ll be slaves forever! I suppose a child needs grandparents when he’s fatherless but perhaps we will stay in Dumfries and Wee Alec will find me a job at Kerr’s Gowns and Drapery, but who will mind the baby all day? I suppose we could stay at Stratharvar but I’m not sure about that. Why did I not think of all this before the Bump arrived, when he was tucked up safe and warm inside me? Sometimes I wish I could put him back there or carry him around like an Eskimo all day. He won’t be any bother.

I wish my own mother was here to guide me, to care for Bump. She would know what to do to keep him safe. I must stop calling him Bump. He is Raeburn Angus Hunter – I shall call him, Ray – born March 20th, 1945 when our victorious army is capturing Germany and this war is almost over. I wish Rae was coming home to help us but he can’t come now. I sometimes hear his voice in my ear whispering, ‘Set the heather on fire, Netta!’ But how can I set heather on fire with a child to support?