‘Aye, to be sure ’tis our own fault – so we must take whatever they dish out with suitable humility and dignity.’ He grimaced as he shed his spattered sweater. ‘I’ve searched everywhere, but Flora and Dora have gone,’ he said. ‘I can only hope they found their way into the hills so they can run free and wild. But I still can’t work out how they escaped from my pocket. I didn’t take them out after we left the Crown – I’m positive of it.’

Frank laid a meaty hand on his father’s shoulder in sympathy. ‘I’m sorry to hear they’ve decamped, Da, but there’s not much we can do about it, and there are rather more important things to worry about today.’

He eyed the pile of his dirty clothes on the floor. ‘Would you have anything half-decent I can borrow for the day? I can’t be seeing my boy off to war in that lot.’

Ron nodded. ‘You’re welcome to anything but me best suit and shirt,’ he said gruffly, still mourning his lost ferrets. ‘I’ve some humble pie to eat today, and I can’t persuade Rosie to forgive me unless I’m dressed for the occasion.’

Frank followed him into the basement bedroom and let out a gasp when he saw the mess it was in. ‘How can you live like this, Da? It looks as if a bomb’s hit it.’

‘It might look untidy to you,’ he replied, picking his way over discarded boots and clothing which were tangled up with old newspapers, dog blankets and hunting equipment. ‘But I know where everything is.’

He edged past the open drawers which spilled underwear, old trousers and sweaters, and opened the wardrobe door. ‘It looks like someone’s ironed me some shirts,’ he said, rifling through the crammed hangers, ‘and there’s me second-best trousers.’

Frank eyed the trousers, which looked clean and pressed, and pulled them on. The turn-ups were a bit short and showed rather too much sock, but at least he could do them up at the waist. Slipping on the shirt he found it strained over his chest, so left the top three buttons undone, but the sleeves didn’t reach his wrists. He rolled them neatly up to his elbows and then went hunting through the jumble of clothes in the wardrobe. He found a tweed jacket that was clean but had seen better days, and soon discovered it was at least two sizes too small. ‘To be sure, I feel daft in this get-up,’ he grumbled, tossing the jacket aside and picking out a thick sweater which appeared to have fewer holes in it than the rest.