Of course she would try to look after herself, but there was no telling how things would go in the months ahead, in such challenging circumstances. She was certain, though, that she would bring her child here as soon as she could, and she would read the animal stories her father had once told her, along with others she’d written in her journal: stories about the aardvark called Adolf, and the axolotl they’d named Mussolini, and the medal-winning keepers. And she’d included how in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, they used flamingo heads to play croquet, a fact that had caused her endless worry as a child. She could hear her father’s softly spoken voice: “The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo . . . Alice soon came to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed.”

Alice smiled at the thought as she settled on a bench by the Penguin Pool. She took out her journal and pencil, half-watching the birds as they swam and dived. A keeper was wading through the far end, cleaning up shredded foliage, while Peggy, the king penguin, kept a watchful eye from the platform above. A young penguin launched onto its tummy and ricocheted off the stone wall, hitting the water at speed, much to the chagrin of its mother. Alice laughed and set about sketching the young bird, thinking yet again how much she would miss her visits.

The zoo was a place of hope and optimism, where animals and keepers had battled the odds and survived, and she needed some of that in her life. Everyone said it was a miracle the zoo was still there, that it hadn’t been severely damaged in the Blitz. Even though some animals had been shipped to Whipsnade, the country zoo in Bedfordshire, the majority had remained. The closed aquarium had been refilled, its fish tanks restocked. In fact, it seemed as if the zoo’s inhabitants were determined to carry on entertaining the tourists and visiting servicemen for the duration of the war at all costs.