Roz and Bernie, having finished the milk round as best they could given the bomb damage, returned to Hollybank Farm, where they called out for the others to join them.

As always, Bernie’s mother, Helen, had been busy making sandwiches and flasks of tea, ready for the workers to take into the city to give to the volunteers, as well as a helping hand wherever they could.

Roz and Joyce joined Arthur, along with some of the land girls from neighbouring farms, and they climbed up into the cart and waited for Bernie to take the reins. Roz had been pleasantly surprised by Joyce’s offer to help out the morning after the first raid.

‘I know I said I’d never go back,’ Joyce sighed, ‘but this is different. It would be selfish for me not to help.’

Now, as they headed into town, Bernie and Roz quickly told the others what to expect. ‘It’s bad,’ said Roz, ‘much worse than we’ve had so far, so brace yourselves. A lot of what you once knew has gone, and much of what’s left is badly damaged, but you have to look past that, because we have to carry on.’

They spent the morning helping to clear sites and assisting those who were searching for missing loved ones, as well as supplying refreshments to those in need.

‘Is it alright if I go and check on my friend’s family?’ Roz asked Bernie, as he prepared to lead the others deeper into the city. ‘I won’t be long, and I’ll soon catch up.’

‘I could come with you if you like?’ he suggested, but Roz was shaking her head.

‘You have to drive Goliath, but I promise I won’t go into anything that looks dangerous. I just want to check that they’re alright.’

Joyce came forward. ‘What’s happening? I thought we were going into the city.’

Roz nodded. ‘I’m just going to check on my pal’s family.’

‘It’s pretty rough out there,’ said Joyce. ‘Are you sure you should be going alone?’

Roz smiled. ‘Not you too! I’ll be fine, but thanks for the offer.’

Heading off as quickly as she could, Roz wasn’t surprised to see that the docks had taken the brunt of the bombing, and as she neared Mercer Court she began to worry that the Johnsons had been hit, but to her relief she saw the court was untouched. She was knocking a brief tattoo against the door when a voice hailed her from across the way.

‘They’re down at Crooked Lane,’ said a man peering at Roz from around the door of the communal latrine.

Waving a hand in acknowledgement, Roz hesitantly made her way towards her old home. She was wondering why on earth the Johnsons would be at Crooked Lane when she saw the answer to her question. The old coal merchant’s where Roz had once resided was still aflame. She stared in horror until a familiar voice called out.

‘Mrs Johnson!’ cried Roz. ‘It’s so good to see you! How is everyone?’