‘Ah, good morning,’ Ben greeted her cheerfully for the sake of the children. ‘I hope we’re not too late for breakfast?’

‘Breakfast? Where d’yer think you are, the Ritz?’ the old woman snorted derisively. ‘Yer won’t get no breakfast ’ere on the money you paid for the room, sonny!’

Daisy had shrunk into Thomas’s side and now even Thomas looked wary.

‘Will yer be wantin’ the room again tonight? If yer will I wants the money up front. Rooms is ’ard to come by round ’ere an’ yer were lucky to find it!’

‘Er … thank you but no,’ Ben told her hastily, and he ushered the children out into the street.

‘Are we goin’ home now?’ Daisy asked tearfully, raising her frightened face to Ben’s.

‘Well, we’ll see. There’s so much to do first,’ he told her, taking a firm grip on her hand.

As they walked through the ruined streets both children became more and more distressed. This London was nothing like the one they had looked at in Miss Price’s picture books at school. This London was dirty, dismal and cold with ruins of what had once been houses everywhere they looked.

‘It’s not all like this,’ Ben tried to reassure them. ‘So, we’ll go and have a good breakfast in a café somewhere and then we’ll find somewhere nice to go.’ Although secretly he wondered if there was anywhere nice left in London. The Luftwaffe had done a very good job of destroying the place since he had last been there. At last they found a small café in a back street and Ben urged them inside out of the cold.

‘I’ll have three teas and three lots of eggs on toast,’ he told the woman behind the counter who had a cigarette dangling from her lips and a newspaper spread out in front of her.

‘Only got powdered eggs,’ she told him abruptly.

‘Oh, I see … then perhaps three bacon and sausage with toast?’ Ben was trying desperately to keep his patience. The woman clearly didn’t care if she served them or not, but the children were hungry.

‘No bacon, only sausages!’

‘Then that will do nicely, thank you.’

He slapped the money down on the counter and returned to the children whose eyes were fixed on him.

The tea when it finally came was lukewarm and unsweetened and the sausages were so hard that Ben was certain he could have soled his shoes with them, but they were all hungry, so they ate them anyway.

‘Now,’ he said when they had eaten. ‘Where would you like to go?’

‘Home,’ the children chorused, and Ben wished he hadn’t asked them. But then he supposed it was early days. Once they got to know him, they would come to love him, wouldn’t they?

‘We’ll go and get some fresh air,’ he told them and miserably the children followed him outside.