Here, a great pine table occupied the centre of the room, piled with serving dishes. An enormous black range took up most of one wall, with shelving to either side hung with gleaming copper saucepans. Through a door to the left Kath could see a scullery with several square sinks in a row, separated by draining boards, with wooden plate racks hanging above them.

‘That’s where we do the washing up,’ her mother said as they passed. ‘And this is the prep room.’ On the counter sat a mountain of potatoes, carrots and turnips waiting to be peeled.

‘Do you do this every day?’ she asked the other kitchen maid as they set about their task.

‘Most days.’

Mary was a large girl of few words, none of them cheerful. They peeled in silence for half an hour, and the mountain seemed to have shrunk barely at all. If the Manor looked like a fairy-tale castle, Kath thought, this was the story of a poor princess who is captured and forced to do never-ending household tasks until she relents and agrees to marry the horrible prince.

Ma popped her head round the door. She was wearing a proper chef’s hat; tall, white and starched. ‘How are you getting on?’

‘Bored out of my brain,’ Kath said.

‘Consider yourself lucky you’re not in the scullery doing the washing up.’

‘I expect that’ll be later,’ Kath muttered miserably.

At last lunchtime rolled around, and she was called to help deliver the food to the dining room. When they reached it, she was so busy gazing in astonishment that she very nearly dropped the heavy pot of mashed potato. This was no ordinary dining room; chandeliers still hung from the ceiling, and all along one wall were full-length gilt mirrors. A beautiful wooden parquet floor gleamed beneath their feet. To the other two sides were long windows leading out onto the gardens and the sea beyond.

‘It was the ballroom when the family lived here,’ Ma explained as they arranged the plates on a long serving table. Kath wasn’t listening. She could hear the orchestra playing and saw herself reflected in the mirror, lit with twinkling chandeliers, gliding about the polished floor wearing a beautiful silk ball gown in the arms of a dashing young aristocrat in white tie and tails, or perhaps an RAF officer in full dress uniform. He would invite her into the garden to watch the moon rising over the sea, and hold her in his arms for warmth before turning his face to hers . . .

‘Come on, girl. We’ve more pots to bring out,’ Ma called.

Lunch was served cafeteria-style, but Kath wasn’t trusted to dish up, not on her first day. She needed to understand portion sizes first, Ma said, or she’d dole out too much or too little, and either run out or have too much left over. Either way there would be complaints. Her task was to ensure that the pots and plates of food were always replenished, and ‘to watch and learn’.