‘Comfortable,’ John assured him as he lifted Peggy into the back of the car and placed a rug across her skinny knees. He noticed that her stick-like legs were covered in bruises and wondered how she had got them.

Once they were on their way, Bobby couldn’t stop smiling, which John took as an encouraging sign, and when they drove down the drive leading to Treetops Bobby’s eyes were on stalks as he asked, ‘Which part o’ this ’ouse is yours?’

‘All of it,’ John answered and just for a moment Bobby was rendered speechless. He could hardly believe the size of the house or the vast green expanse of lawn. And the fields, which held grazing sheep and cows, were the first he had ever seen, apart from dead ones hanging in the butcher’s shop window. He had been brought up in the heart of the East End in a tiny terraced house with not a tree in sight and suddenly he felt as if he had entered another world, not that he would have admitted it.

Both Edith and Cook had been watching for them from the hall window and by the time John drew the car to a halt they were outside the front door on the steps, waiting to greet them with broad smiles on their faces.

‘Welcome to Treetops, children,’ Edith said as the two little ones clambered out of the car.

‘I’ve got a lovely meal all ready for you,’ Cook told them with a welcoming smile. ‘Come on through to the kitchen.’ She and Edith had thought that perhaps the new arrivals would feel more comfortable in there for now, rather than putting them in the formal dining room.

Soon the children were seated at the large, scrubbed oak table tucking into a roast-beef dinner as if they had never seen food before. In fact, Bobby was stuffing his mouth so full that he was making himself heave. It was almost as if he was fearful someone was going to snatch it away from him. It was the same when Cook served them jam roly-poly and custard and, as she and Edith stood at the sink, she shook her head sadly.

‘Poor little souls,’ she said. ‘Just look at the state of ’em. I reckon we’re goin’ to have us hands full wi’ this pair, or with the little lad, at least. The girl seems quieter. In fact, she seems to be jumpin’ at her own shadow, the poor little mite.’