Peggy had left Daisy sleeping and was up and dressed earlier than usual that Saturday morning for a number of reasons. Cordelia had a nasty cold and needed to be persuaded quite firmly to stay in bed, and she had to wake Ivy, who’d arrived home late last night from her week in Salisbury, so they could be at the station in time to see Ruby and Andy on their way. Rita was already up and about even though she’d finished her last shift at the fire station the previous day, but there was no sign of life from the others yet, which gave Peggy a chance to get breakfast prepared and hang out the few bits of washing she’d done earlier.

Carrying the basket out to the washing line she felt chilled in the shadows of the houses, for although the sky was virtually cloudless and it promised to be a lovely day, the sun had yet to breach the roofs and warm the back gardens. Peggy hung out her bedlinen and underwear, noting that the few remaining chickens looked contented enough in their run as they pecked at the feed she’d thrown down, and Ron’s spring vegetables were coming along nicely.

However, Peggy still couldn’t get used to not seeing the ugly Anderson shelter huddled against the back garden wall. It had been there – a blot on the landscape, and dubious hideaway during the bombing – since the council workers had set it up in 1939, and now Ron had dismantled it, she rather strangely missed it. But the seed potatoes Ron had planted once he’d dug, hoed and fertilised the dead ground would certainly come in handy, for they cost sixpence for five pounds in the shops, and that could add up over the week with so many to feed.

She shook the creases out of a wet blouse and tethered it to the line with a wooden peg, her thoughts drifting to all that had happened in the three days since Ruby’s wedding. Kitty and Charlotte had returned from Argentina to Briar Cottage with Roger and the children on Thursday night, and although Peggy hadn’t had the time to go up there to see them, she’d managed to have a long and rather disturbing conversation with Kitty over the telephone.

Kitty had explained Roger’s state of mind and health well enough to give her a vivid idea of how much he was struggling both physically and mentally to fit into family life again. According to Kitty he hardly slept, and when he did he was troubled by nightmares which made him shout and sweat and writhe about. During their time in Argentina he’d seemed to prefer being alone and would wander off into the pampas for hours on end until her father had got so worried he’d been on the point several times of getting together a search party.