Now, having mastered the workings of the mill, Betsy worked alongside Mags in the office. Her role was to train new workers as and when needed, and to supervise the younger members of the factory staff – see to their welfare and keep a record of their progress and the hours they worked. It was a role held by a man in all other mills.

The fact that Betsy was still working, despite being married with three young children, was due to her husband – Bill having been injured in a mining accident in Rishton Colliery and no longer able to work.

But for all Mags’s love of Betsy and the fun they had together, with Betsy’s basic education, there was no stimulating girlish chatter about the injustices to women and other political topics, as there had been with her fellow companions at school. Sometimes, before the war, Mags had longed to be at finishing school. In some ways, though, she’d welcomed the war. Welcomed being able to do something, go to different places and meet new people.

‘Margaret?’

‘I’m still here, Mummy. You dropped off to sleep. I left you to rest.’ But the sleep hadn’t been restful, as her mother had plucked at the bedspread and turned her head from side to side in an agitated way. ‘What’s troubling you, Mummy?’

‘Never let a man steal f – from you what I – I fought hard to give you, my d – darling Margaret.’

‘I won’t, Mummy, I promise. I love you, Mummy.’

As her mother closed her eyes, Mags knew she wouldn’t open them again. She rang the bell. The nurse, a small woman with little to say, but a caring and efficient nature, came running in.

‘I have to fetch my father, Nurse. Take care of my mother.’

Running across the landing to her father’s room, Mags banged on his bedroom door. As if awaiting the summons, her father opened it and stood there in his dressing gown. ‘I’m ready, my dear.’

‘Take my arm, Daddy. We must hurry.’

Her mother seemed to have shrunk in the few minutes it had taken Mags to fetch her father.

‘Belinda, my darling, Belinda.’

It was with an aching heart that Mags watched the agony of her parents’ parting. Taking her mother’s other hand, she tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Take our love with you, Mummy darling.’

There was no deep sigh, as Mags had witnessed with many soldiers whom she’d held as they took their last breath; just a ceasing of the shallow breathing, and a mask-like appearance as the beautiful features of her mother’s face became forever still.

The room took on the mantle of a silent place of despair. Then a sob broke the atmosphere and brought other sounds of the house back into focus: a door closing, footsteps hurrying and, outside, the birds chirping. These all crowded in on Mags, letting her know that the world would not stop spinning just because of her deep pain.