Many of them had stayed on until the end of term because their parents had still to find decent accommodation, but it seemed that as time had gone on, the need to have their children home became greater than any inconvenience or hardship. Anne could understand that, for if it had been Rose or Emily in the same situation, she’d have moved heaven and earth to have them with her after so long, even if they did have to get to know each other again.

She gazed out of the window as the bus trundled along country lanes where the hedges were high and the fields golden with rippling wheat and barley. She’d heard about Ivy and her young siblings from Peggy, and although the whole thing was rather tragic, she admired the girl’s good sense and courage in agreeing to them being adopted. From what Peggy had told her, the children had been so young when they’d left home that of course they felt no attachment to Ivy, or the parents who’d been killed, and had formed a close bond with the couple who’d taken them in.

Anne gave a deep sigh, thankful that she’d kept her children with her throughout, but her thoughts returned inevitably to Martin, and what they might have been up to whilst she was away. The girls were being watched over by Aunt Vi and Sally, and would no doubt be pestering young Harry, Charlie and Ernie to let them join in whatever games they were playing, but if Martin had decided for once to stay at the farm and not go wandering, she could only hope he wouldn’t become morose through drink and frighten the life out of them when they made too much noise – or, God forbid, bump into Claus and start another long, distressing diatribe against all Germans.

She’d found Martin’s secret stash of whisky at the back of the linen cupboard this morning and had been tempted to pour it down the sink, but doing so would have caused another furious row, and she simply hadn’t had the energy to risk it.

George seemed to be aware of her troubled mood. ‘How are you coping at home, Anne?’ he asked.

She knew it was pointless to lie, for nothing stayed secret in a village and everyone had seen Martin wandering the hills and fields on his own, and it had soon got round that he was staggering drunk when he finally returned to Owlet Farm each night. ‘It’s getting harder each day,’ she confessed. ‘But it’s Martin I’m really worried about. He’s not the man I married, and isn’t coping at all.’

‘Has he told you anything of what he went through?’