Blackpool Sisters

Book 2: Sandgronians Trilogy

by Maggie Mason

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

The second book in a brand-new trilogy by best-selling author Mary Wood writing as Maggie Mason.

1902:

Babs and Beth are identical in looks but very different by nature. Kidnapped by gypsies a decade ago as young girls, Beth has accepted their plight, but Babs has always yearned for their real mother, Tilly, and their beloved hometown of Blackpool.

Convinced the best thing for them is to be reunited with Tilly, Babs tries to persuade Beth to escape. But Beth is too afraid, and Babs knows if she wants to find their mother, she'll have to do it alone.

1914:

Babs' life has been blighted by misfortune since the night she walked away from her sister, but at last she found peace and purpose as a nurse. She's never given up hope of finding her family, but now the war is sending her to France, away from them. Or so she believes.

As the Great War rips families apart, is it possible that Babs and Beth will be reunited with each other, and their mother, at last?

The perfect listen for fans of Mary Wood, Kitty Neale, Val Wood and Nadine Dorries.

Release date: November 3, 2020

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 416

Sample

Beth ached and her fingers felt stiff with cold as the February air cut its icy path across the field where she and her twin sister Babs were working. They had toiled since first light, clearing weeds so that Roman, who guided his beautiful shire horse, didn’t plough them back into the earth to reseed. Beth hated the work, but Babs seemed to take it in her stride.

At thirteen years of age, they were both tall. Their raven-black hair had been left to grow and fell in ringlets almost to their waist. Their skin had darkened from being exposed to all weathers as Roman and Jasmine took them from county to county in the south of England, finding work where they could, from apple picking in Somerset to what they were doing now in Kent – preparing the ground for the spring planting of wheat.

‘Eeh, Babs, I need a break. Me belly’s giving me pain and I feel as though I’m going to faint.’

‘It’ll be your monthlies. I’ll carry on here. You go and find Jasmine, she’ll give you sommat to ease you.’

‘Aye, she’s sure to have sommat to help me. But by, Babs, at times like this I long for our ma more than owt. You don’t reckon as she’s forgotten us, does you?’

‘Naw, Ma’d never forget us.’

They were quiet for a moment. Babs broke the silence. ‘I can still see her face, Beth. I see it every time I look at you.’

‘Aye, and me in you an’ all.’

‘Well, that stands as a truth seeing as though we’re identical!’

They giggled at this and Beth’s mood lightened as she walked over to where Jasmine was working a little ahead of them.

Jasmine had any number of potions that she concocted from the wild herbs she gathered. She called herself an earth mother, who was in touch with nature and used everything God provided to good purpose.

As Beth came up to her, she was greeted with open arms. ‘Is it that you need my help, my darling? Your skin is pale, and yet your cheeks are too rosy red. You have a fever, no?’

Going into Jasmine’s arms, Beth found the comfort she sought. ‘Not a fever, Mama.’

‘Ahh, the curse of us women. Come, I have a potion that will ease you. Oh, Beth, my darling daughter, if Mama could have your trials for you, I would.’

‘I knaws that, Ma . . . I – I mean, Mama.’ The slip caused Beth a pain of a different kind – one of loss. A picture of her real ma appeared in her mind, mixed with the image of her sister Babs, and her heartache increased with her longing to be with the beloved ma they were stolen from.

They had only been six years old when gypsies, Roman and Jasmine, had taken them and, although they were happy, they still missed their real ma. Some of their memory of her was fading, but they tried to keep it alive by talking to each other about any fleeting recollections that came to them – their ma’s tinkling laugh that lit up her eyes, her kindness and gentleness, and yes, her sadness and her struggle to keep a roof over their head after their da had been killed while working on building the Blackpool Tower.

Memories of their da had faded much more than those of their ma. And yet, when they did speak about him, it was with a warm feeling of love.

Brushing the painful thoughts away, Beth watched Jasmine dig into her satchel that was always slung over her shoulder – a bag that seemed magical to her and Babs as anything you needed Jasmine produced from it.

Roman called out to them, something about how they were getting behind and what was the hold-up.

Jasmine lifted her head and smiled at him. ‘It is that our little Beth isn’t well. I will see to her and then we will be forging ahead. Rest yourself in the meantime, my darling, it will be good for you.’

Roman smiled back. A handsome man, he had the typical good looks of the gypsy men, his dark weather-beaten complexion setting off his deep blue eyes. Jasmine was different. Though of the gypsy clan, she wasn’t of Irish descent as Roman was but from a place across the sea called Romania. Her skin wasn’t turned by the weather but was smooth and a lovely shade of olive brown. She had golden strands in her black hair and soft brown eyes with long lashes. She was beautiful to look at.

But not as beautiful as me real ma.

Beth gasped against the increased hurt this thought caused, but then as she took the nasty-tasting potion that Jasmine offered her, the struggle to keep it down took away all thoughts of yesteryear. But they came to the fore once more when she re-joined Babs.

Babs had never tried to settle in the way that Beth had, and often accused Beth of betraying their ma by accepting how things were instead of fighting them all the time.

‘Has Jasmine sorted you then?’

‘Aye, she’s a miracle worker, but I wish she could make her potions taste better.’

‘Well, you knaw what she says: if it taste’s nasty, it’s good for you.’

They giggled together.

‘I wonder what Ma would have given us to ease us . . . Eeh, Beth, I wish as you’d agree to me plan. We could easily slip out at night and make our way back to Blackpool to find Ma.’

‘Naw, Babs. You knaw that I want to find Ma just as much as you do, but we haven’t a clue how to get back to Blackpool. It’s miles from here. And even if we got there, how would we find Ma? Blackpool’s huge.’

‘I don’t reckon that it’s as huge as we remember it to be. We were only young ’uns but I do remember that everyone knew each other. So, as I see it, we’d only have to ask for Tilly, and anyone would knaw who she is and where she is.’

‘That may be true, but you have to think about how we’ve naw money and we’d not be safe. We’re two young lasses, and we’d be at the mercy of anyone who wanted to do wrong by us.’

‘Jasmine and Roman have money. They keep it in that trunk under their bed with all our clothes. We could take that.’

‘That would be stealing! Besides, how would you get it without them knawing?’

‘You could do it right now. Look, Jasmine’s with Roman again – she allus likes to be by his side. You could go to them and say that you need a lie-down. That would give you an excuse to go back to the wagon. I could keep Jasmine from following you. I’d say as I can’t keep ahead of Roman without you, and then she’d help me, giving you time to get the money and hide it under our pillows in readiness.’

‘Naw. I’m not stealing. And let this be an end to it, Babs. This is our lot. I’ve long accepted it, and if you don’t, you’ll allus be miserable. If we’re meant to get back to Ma, it will happen. Now don’t talk of it anymore, it unsettles me.’

‘So, it’s all right that Jasmine and Roman stole us from our ma, but not for us to steal from them. By, Beth, to say we’re identical . . . That ain’t what we are. Aye, we match each other in looks, but we are chalk and cheese in our nature. Well, nowt’s going to stop me. One day I’m going. With or without you.’

Fear clutched Beth’s heart. She knew that she hadn’t the courage to run away, but didn’t doubt that Babs meant to. How will I bear to be apart from her? ‘Please don’t go. Don’t leave me, Babs, please!’

Babs stomped away from Beth and began to work ten feet in front of her. She didn’t want to hear Beth’s pleas as she knew they were aimed at undoing her resolve. Well, not this time – I’ve had enough!

In the past, Babs had made excuses for her more delicate sister, but as they grew older it seemed to her that Beth only accepted things as they were because the alternative would put her out. Beth liked the simple life and that meant letting things go on as they were, and not fighting to make things right.

Their ma’s words were the reason that Babs hadn’t taken the path that she wanted to take. ‘Look after your sister, Babs. She needs you. You are the strong one.’ Well, I reckon that the best way I can look after Beth is to find Ma and get us all back together.

With this thought, Babs’s resolve deepened and for the first time, she knew that she could, and would, go without Beth.

Lying awake that night, Babs thought about their life with Jasmine and Roman. At first, she and Beth had fought against everything they suggested, feeling in their young minds that to be good and do what was asked of them would somehow mean they were being horrid to their ma. But whenever they became too upset, Jasmine would give them a potion and they would sleep. This broke down their resistance, and they gradually accepted and stopped their tantrums.

Life hadn’t been unhappy for them. It had been hard, as from a young age they’d been expected to work. Sometimes in the fields with Roman, but sometimes going around the houses with Jasmine as she sold her crafts. She made the most beautiful things, such as flowers out of silk that looked real. Especially the tulips. Babs and Beth would help her in this too, as they wound strips of green material around a pipe clip – a fleece-covered length of wire, normally used by the ladies to curl their hair. Jasmine made the stems for her flowers with them. And she’d taught them to stitch in tiny neat lines too, a skill they used to hem the lovely aprons Jasmine told them were called ‘afternoon pinnies’. These had long ties for tying around the waist and had a rounded edge. They weren’t for doing the housework in but for ladies to don when serving tea to friends or to look nice and tidy for when their husbands came home from work. They were made of plain calico and Jasmine embroidered intricate details on them, from flowers to rows of varying sized cross-stitch around the edge, work that Babs loved to watch and tried to copy.

But though these thoughts gave her a nice feeling about life with Jasmine, and though she had to admit that she and Beth were loved and cared for, none of it lessened her longing to be back in Blackpool with her ma. I have to go, I do. Aye, and right now.

As she threw off the covers and quietly pulled back the curtain that surrounded the bed, Babs was stopped by the familiar sound of Roman and Jasmine sighing, moaning and whispering words of love. In this small gypsy caravan, their double bed was only feet away from hers and Beth’s, though the drapes shielding it were of a heavy, thick velvet which gave them some privacy.

Knowing what was happening made Babs cringe with embarrassment, but she distracted herself by dressing quickly and focusing on her plans. At least the noise they were making gave her the comfort of not being heard herself as she took off her nightie and donned her thick knitted stockings, pulling her long calico dress over the underwear she’d kept on to keep her warm – something she often did on cold wintry nights.

When Roman’s moans became more urgent and deepened to a guttural level, which she knew hailed the end of their lovemaking, Babs was at the entrance to the caravan. Putting on her coat, she turned and peered through the half-light at her beloved sister. A tear fell from her eye and wet her cheek. Brushing it away, she quietly unstrapped the canvas curtains and ran down the steps.

The cold night air, and the fear she felt, sent shivers through her body, and yet, filled with the urgency of the moment, she didn’t falter, but bent down and took her boots off the pegs that were driven into the ground to hold them and slipped her bare feet into them, before scrambling around to the side of the caravan and lifting the latch to the larder. The creak resounded in the silence. Babs stiffened, conscious that sometimes when the act was over, Roman got up and went outside to relieve himself. If he did, he would come around to the side of the wagon where she was as it was closer to the hedge.

Crouching as near to the wagon as she could, Babs waited. Nothing happened. Her thumping heart settled a little, giving her courage once more. Hurriedly, she grabbed a newly baked loaf and a lump of cheese from the block Jasmine had bought from the farmer’s wife. Wrapping these in her shawl, she ran for all she was worth.

By the time she reached the road, fear had a firm hold of her as every sound made her jump, even though she was used to each one – an owl hooting, an animal squealing as it fell prey to a predator, and undergrowth alive with moles and hedgehogs ferreting for food.

When she came to a junction, Babs was unsure of which way to go, but remembering that the road to her right led to the sea, she felt sure that was further south, so opted to take the road to her left, hoping that would take her north.



Shivering, Beth moved closer to where her sister lay, hoping to be warmed by Babs’s body. When after a couple of moves she didn’t meet Babs, she put out her hand. The sheet where Babs should be felt cold to the touch. Beth shot up. Every part of her tuned into the sounds of the night, hoping that one of them would tell her that Babs was paying a visit to the bucket outside. But none did.

As realisation dawned on her, a feeling of dread clawed at her as she felt a strong draught and heard the canvas curtains flapping in the breeze. ‘She’s gone, Babs has gone!’

The sleepy, mumbling voice of Roman asking, ‘What? What is it that troubles you? Is it a nightmare that you are having, Beth?’

‘Naw. Papa . . . Eeh, Papa, Babs has gone!’

A flickering brightness enhanced the shadows of the caravan as Roman emerged carrying a lighted candle. His nightshirt twisted around him, barely covering him. Jasmine followed, looking dishevelled as her hair, usually tied back in a neat bun, hung around her face in a messy mass of tangles. ‘What is it that you are saying, little one?’

‘Babs has gone, she’s run away. She’s gone to find our ma . . . Oh, Mama . . . I can’t be without her, I can’t.’

Jasmine scrambled towards her. Her arms held her close as her own sobs joined Beth’s.

‘No, no, please, no!’

‘What? Gone? Be Jeez, why? For sure, she’ll never make it to Blackpool.’

‘Roman is right. Oh, dear God, is it that she is so unhappy? We love her, we have taken care of her – of you both. Why? Why?’

Beth wanted to scream that nothing they did could ever replace their ma. But all she could do was sob out her despair.

‘I’ll dress and take one of the horses and go after her. It is that she couldn’t have got far. When was it that she left?’

‘I – I don’t knaw, Papa, she – she was beside me when I fell asleep.’

‘Then I will ride north until I find her. Don’t you be worrying, me little darling, I’ll bring your sister home, so I will.’

Jasmine let go of her and went into Roman’s arms. ‘Please bring my baby back to me, darling, please.’

It came to Beth to say that Babs wasn’t their baby and neither was she, and what a terrible thing they had done in taking them from their ma, but all she could do was to sink back down onto the bed and sob her heart out. Oh, Babs, Babs, why did you go? How could you leave me? How?

Tilly grabbed her shawl from the hook behind the kitchen door and picked up her basket. As she stepped outside, the early spring wind that cut across the south of Ireland’s fells cut into her. Her heart was in her mouth. Today, she had to run the wrath of the hateful women of the village that nestled in the valley.

Not that individually they were hateful, but if a few of them were together, she became the evil British enemy who’d dared to marry one of their men.

The Irish hadn’t forgotten what the British did to them, how they starved while landowners took taxes and rents from them that they could ill afford, nor how they held on to the North, splitting their country in two.

This wrath they felt came down on Tilly’s head in the form of foul language and rotten vegetables being thrown at her. Those still agitating in Northern Ireland, who held their meetings locally, were particularly frightening to Tilly.

How Tommy braved it all, she didn’t know, but he stood steadfast, protecting the farm he’d inherited, and as his wife, she had followed him from her beloved Blackpool to his native land.

Mostly she avoided going into the village, but the shop wouldn’t deliver to her and often refused even to serve her, but she needed flour and salt and there was nowhere else to get it from. She had to run the wrath of the villagers and hope the shopkeeper would let her have what she needed.

Often, she bought these items from England when she visited Blackpool, but it had been six months since she last went. Each time she did, she wished with all her heart that she’d never left, but she loved Tommy and had said that she would be true to the maxim of where he lay his head, she would lay hers.

‘Mammy, it is that I want to come too.’

Tilly smiled down at Ivan as he lay on the floor looking up at her. Now four years old, she thought of him as her little miracle. This was because she was told after she’d given birth to her beautiful twins, Babs and Beth, that she was too damaged to have more children. Well, whatever ailed me must have righted itself, as this lad here is proof of.

She’d not want to take him with her even if he could run when things got nasty, but with his twisted legs, the poor little mite had to be pushed in the special chair that she had made out of cane and that Tommy had fixed a frame and wheels to.

Around the house, Ivan crawled on his hands, pulling his legs along behind him – a truly uplifting sight as determination shone from him. ‘Naw, you’re to stay with your pappy, there’s a good ’un. Mammy won’t be long. Besides, the field has to be ploughed for the potato crop and your pappy cannot do it all on his own.’

Ivan pulled a face. ‘Mammy, not safe on your own.’

Tilly’s heart lurched. Ivan must have heard her and Tommy talking. ‘Eeh, don’t worry, lad. Mammy is fine.’

Sometimes she thought that God had given this son of hers the head of a much older child to compensate for his disability.

When he was born, Tilly had broken her heart at not giving Tommy a son who was strong and whole, who looked just like his father. Even in this last she’d failed as Ivan took after her in looks, with his dark curly hair and dark eyes, which painfully reminded her of her little Babs and Beth, her lost girls. But Tommy had lifted Ivan from his cot and fallen in love with him. ‘Sure, he is me son, Tilly, and I will love and protect him. I’d have him no different. We’ll call him Ivan, as that is a name that is strong, and will be helping him through life.’

Strong was something that Ivan wasn’t. He ailed with everything brought on the breeze. If they had a cold, Ivan had a much worse one, which affected his breathing as it settled on his weak chest. Tilly feared for this adored son.

Tommy appeared at the door and bent and scooped Ivan up. ‘It is that I need you to ride on Norman’s back, son. Sure it is that horse never goes in a straight line without you. Come, let’s get you in your warm coat and put your harness on you.’

Ivan giggled up at Tommy, and Tilly’s heart filled with love for them both. The harness was Tommy’s invention. He’d made it out of an old rein that had hung in the barn for years. Cutting the leather and stitching it so that it would hold Ivan firmly on the back of a horse had taken hours of work every evening. Sometimes Tilly had helped, and her basket-making tools had come in very handy for the job of getting the steel pins through the leather. These then opened and acted as a stud to keep the straps together.

Most of Tilly’s time was spent making baskets. Back in Blackpool she was a senior partner in a shop with her friends, Liz and Molly, who ran the shop on a daily basis and helped to keep it stocked by making smaller items.

It was Tilly, though, who had the real talent. Taught at the knee of an old aunt who’d brought her up, she had skills that enabled her to turn the wicker and cane into many shades of brown and to weave intricate patterns, making beautiful chairs, shopping baskets and boxes. The latter would be turned into sewing boxes once they reached the shop, where Molly would apply her special talent of sewing beautiful silk linings into them, with many pockets to hold needles, pins and threads.

Tommy took all Tilly’s wares to the dock once a month and they were shipped to Liverpool, where Dan, Liz’s husband, and Will, Molly’s husband, picked them up in a horse and cart.

Waving at Ivan and Tommy, Tilly walked towards the village. As she came to the first of the croft houses, she began to feel her nerves tickling her stomach. But all was quiet. Walking on, she grew in confidence.

It was as she reached the village centre that a stone whistled past her head and a woman shouted, ‘Be Jaysus, you’ve a side to you, you English pig!’

‘I’m not wanting naw trouble, I just need some supplies for me family.’

‘Well, you’ll not get them here, so you won’t.’ Tilly turned and saw Mrs O’Flynn standing in her shop doorway, her arms folded over her huge bosom.

‘Please, Mrs O’Flynn. I’ll pay double what the going price is, but I’ve naw flour to bake bread for me lad.’

‘He’s your punishment, so he is, and it’s not for me to see that he’s fed.’

Her desperate need made Tilly suppress the anger that this vile attack on her beloved son evoked in her. ‘I’ve said sorry so many times for the wrong done to you all by me fellow English. What more can I do?’

‘You can be for taking your scabby English presence from our doorstep! You’re like a sore that is rubbed, so you are. A reminder to us of all we and our pappies afore us suffered, and are still suffering, but one day . . . aye, one day we’ll rise up and be for taking back what is rightfully ours.’

Tilly had heard often about this planned uprising, and signs of it were everywhere as gangs of men met in churches and sometimes marched through the streets chanting in Gaelic, a language she didn’t understand. She had been told by Tommy that they were inciting men to join them for when the hour cometh. And it wasn’t just by marching that they showed their hate of the English, as they’d sometimes burn down property that was still owned by the English lords.

Turning back, Tilly held her back straight, showing all the courage she could muster as she strode away from the bigoted shopkeeper and the women who had gathered into a threatening mob.

As she turned the corner and went to pass by the last croft house, the door opened. ‘Tilly, come in here. Be quick so it is that you’re not seen.’

Shocked, Tilly looked at the beckoning woman, afraid for a moment that this might be a trap. ‘Hurry yourself. Aren’t I risking being tarred and feathered by that lot, if caught in the act of helping you?’

Once inside, Tilly waited, her insides shaking, making her feel sick. If a mob was waiting for her inside the croft, she’d not stand a chance.

‘I’m not for meaning any harm to you, Tilly. It is that I don’t agree with how the others carry on towards you. Och, I’ve not been for saying or doing anything about it for years, but I’m sick of their unjust ways, so I am. You couldn’t help what was for happening in the past, nor the goings-on of today, with the high taxes, but they’re not for seeing that. You’re just like us, a farmer’s wife, striving to help your man and feed your family. And God knows, it is that you have to shoulder more than any of us with your wee child.’

Still unsure, but grateful to hear a friendly voice, Tilly swallowed hard. ‘Ta, them words mean a lot to me, Mrs O’Bryan.’

‘Ruby. Call me Ruby, for that’s me God-given name. Now, is it that you need flour? And did I hear right that you’d be willing to pay well for it?’

To Tilly’s questioning glance, Ruby said, ‘Och, I was for being on me way home when I saw what was happening and I heard it all, even though it was that I dodged around the corner.’

‘Aye, I’ll pay a good rate, and for salt an’ all. I’m out of both.’

‘At the shop you’re looking at the price being a halfpenny for both; I’d be asking three farthings for them.’

‘I’ll take what you have, ta.’

‘It is that I have a new bag of flour, but salt, I’ll have to chip some off the block. Have you anything you can be putting it in?’

‘Aye, I brought me salt tin with me.’

As Ruby chipped away at her block of salt, Tilly found her purse and the three farthings she needed. But then decided to give Ruby a penny, as she was taking a big risk, and Tilly knew she wouldn’t be if she wasn’t desperate for money.

When she put the penny on the table next to Ruby, Ruby snatched it up. ‘To be sure, I’m not for having any change, so I’m not.’

‘I’m not wanting any. I’d made me mind up to give you that. I’m really grateful to you, me lad needs his substance, as does me man.’

‘It is for that reason that I am doing this. Poor wee boy.’

Tilly could see Ruby’s hands shaking, and had the urge to hug her for the risk that she was taking. She could be judged as fraternising with the hated English, and be punished for doing so.

‘I’m very grateful to you for helping me like this. Ta ever so much. If I can help you, Ruby, I will.’

‘It is that I can get you what you need, but you must not be telling anyone. Don’t be for asking me directly or speaking to me in the street. I will be for getting a message to you if I have extra that you can buy from me. Now, please see that you are for taking care when you are leaving so as not to be seen. There are those who would punish us, so there is.’

Tilly began to feel even more nervous and wanted to leave. ‘That’ll be plenty of salt, ta, Ruby. If you can scoop it into me tin, I’ll be on me way.’

At the door to the little cottage, Ruby put her head out and looked this way and that. ‘Be on your way. Go quickly, and may God bless you.’

Tilly almost ran down the hill to the farm. Her heart raced. Today she had met one of life’s good people in Ruby, and she prayed that she wouldn’t bring trouble to her door.

Once in her own home, Tilly looked around and saw not an inviting home that she shared with her beloved husband and son, but a prison. One that trapped her where she didn’t want to be.

Feeling hemmed in, Tilly dropped her bag on the floor and ran outside. She didn’t stop running until she got to the bottom field where she could hear the gentle tones of Tommy geeing Norman, his horse, along, and the giggles of Ivan. When they came into view, her fears left her. She smiled at the way Ivan was jiggled back and forth to the rhythm of Norman’s gait.

When Ivan caught sight of her he clapped his hands. ‘Mammy!’

Tommy turned. ‘Me darlin’, what’re you for doing down here? Was everything for going well in the village?’

‘Aye, it was, Tommy. I have me flour and salt, and should be baking bread for your tea, but I wanted to be with you.’

He came over to her and held her to him. He smelt of fresh air, and earth, and the fresh sweat of his labour. Her love for him overwhelmed her.

‘Me lovely Tilly.’ Lowering his voice, Tommy whispered, ‘To be sure, if we were alone, I’d take you down right here in the field, such is the need you put in me when it is that you’re in me arms.’

The words zinged through Tilly, filling her with a hunger belying the fact that he’d made love to her just this morning, taking her to the heights that had satisfied every part of her. For she too wanted him at this very moment in the way he wanted her.

‘Tommy, stop your antics, our son is watching.’ But though she moved his hand from her breast, it wasn’t what she wanted to do.

‘To be sure, one day he’ll know the feeling too, and I hope he does.’

A pain shot through Tilly as often she doubted that Ivan would ever lead a normal life. But she had no time to dwell on the emotion this thought evoked as a piercing scream sliced through the air. They turned as one and looked towards their son. Ivan sat safely on Norman, his face showing the fear that they both felt upon hearing the scream. Tommy ran towards him, but Tilly stood as if turned to stone as her mind tried to process who had made the terrible sound. Was it Ruby? Did someone see me go into, or leave her cottage? God, naw! Don’t let it be Ruby suffering for helping me!

Tommy coming up to her, holding Ivan closely to him, broke her thoughts. ‘Let us get to the safety of our home. Don’t be afraid, Tilly, it is that it is nothing to do with us. Look, Ivan is for being a brave lad, so he is. We’ve to be the same for him.’

But when they turned, they were stopped in their tracks at the sight that met them. Plumes of smoke billowed from the thatched roof of their house. A swishing sound drew their attention. They looked up in horror as many fire bombs zoomed through the air above them. On landing, they exploded into a sheet of raging flames.

‘Naw, naw! Why, Tommy? Our home . . . your home! How could they?’

Tommy didn’t speak. A tear trickled down his cheek, leaving a silvery line through the smudges of dirt put there by his labours. Tilly reached up and wiped the tear with her thumb. Ivan copied her, his bottom lip quivering. ‘Pappy, Pappy.’

‘Don’t be afraid, Ivan. Pappy is sad to see the home he was born in being destroyed by bad men, but we’re not hurt, naw one can hurt us, I promise.’

Tommy held Ivan tighter. ‘Son, it is that there are many bad men here. Me and Mammy will be for taking you to Blackpool in England where we can live in peace. One day, it will be that you can come back to the farm that is rightfully yours.’

Tilly couldn’t help feeling a surge of happiness at this. ‘Really, Tommy? You’re