Renfrew came in from the other room, wrapped in a blanket. He looked as bad as I thought I must, his face slack and grey with fatigue. “Where was the incident?” he asked anxiously.

“Just off Old Church Street. In Nelson’s sector,” I added to reassure him.

But he said nervously, “They’re coming closer every night. Have you noticed that?”

“No, they aren’t,” Vi said. “We haven’t had anything in our sector all week.”

Renfrew ignored her. “First Gloucester Road and then Ixworth Place and now Old Church Street. It’s as if they’re circling, searching for something.”

“London,” Mrs Lucy said briskly. “And if we don’t enforce the blackout, they’re likely to find it.” She handed Morris a typed list. “Reported infractions from last night. Go round and reprimand them.” She put her hand on Renfrew’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go have a nice lie-down, Mr Renfrew, while I cook you breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry,” he said, but he let her lead him, clutching his blanket, back to the cot.

We watched Mrs Lucy spread the blanket over him and then lean down and tuck it in around his shoulders, and then Swales said, “You know who this Godalming fellow reminds me of? A lady we rescued over in Gower Street,” he said, yawning. “Hauled her out and asked her if her husband was in there with her. ‘No,’ she says, ‘the bleedin’ coward’s at the front.’ ”

We all laughed.

“People like this colonel person don’t deserve to be rescued,” Vi said, spreading oleo on a slice of toast. “You should have left him there a while and seen how he liked that.”

“He was lucky they didn’t leave him there altogether,” Morris said. “The register had him in Surrey with his wife.”

“Lucky he had such a loud voice,” Swales said. He twirled the end of an enormous moustache. “Oi siy,” he boomed. “Get me out of her immeejutly, you slackers!”