Ruth crossed to the window and peered nervously at the street.

‘I don’t see those policemen outside,’ she said.

‘They’ll still be nearby.’

‘What can two of them do against a big crowd?’

‘I trust that we’ll never have to find out.’

‘Are you afraid?’

‘We’re British citizens. We’ve nothing to be afraid about.’

‘Mother said it was too dangerous for me to come here.’

He smiled tolerantly. ‘Your mother worries too much.’

‘She wanted you to close the shop today.’

‘We had customers to serve, Ruth. We can’t turn people away.’

She recoiled from another burst of cheering.

‘The noise is getting louder — they’re coming this way.’

‘Stand away from the window,’ he said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. ‘Let’s do some work.’

‘Look,’ she cried, pointing a finger. ‘You can see them now — dozens and dozens of them. They’re heading up the street.’

Stein looked over her shoulder. The crowd was large and volatile. Its jostling members were either inflamed or drunk or both simultaneously. They were chanting obscenities about Germans that made his daughter blush. He pulled her away. The baying got louder and louder until it was directly outside. Stein quivered in fear. The mob had not stopped in order to read the two posters in the window. The only thing that interested them was the name painted in large capitals above the shop — Jacob Stein.

‘German killer!’ yelled a voice. ‘Drive him out!’

Someone threw a brick at the window, smashing it into myriad shards. The first people to clamber into the shop grabbed the suits on display on the models, expensive garments that were well beyond the reach of low-paid working-class men. There were shouts of triumph as more looters climbed into the premises.

‘They’ve got in!’ cried Ruth in alarm.