The Poppy Factory. Liz Trenow

      After a while, Freda came and sat down beside me and put her arm around my shoulders.

      ‘What was it all for?’ I wailed. ‘They’ll never come home, never get married, have children or grow old.’

      ‘But my brother’s alive, Rose,’ she said, putting her arm around me. ‘That’s a blessing, isn’t it? It won’t be long before he’s home.’

      We sat there for a while, both of us lost in our thoughts despite the great noise going on around us, until we realised that we were both ravenously hungry. Freda managed to grab the last two baked potatoes from a street vendor, and a cup of tea, which made us feel a little better.

      The afternoon was drawing in and it was starting to rain. ‘Let’s get home,’ I said. ‘Our folks will be wanting to see us.’ I couldn’t imagine what Ma might be doing – she’s spent so long in mourning for my brothers I wasn’t sure she’d have the heart to celebrate.