That night Dadda was back early. We sat in the kitchen, all four of us, drinking cocoa under a gas-mantle that flared nakedly because the shade had been packed, and Dadda spoke to us seriously.

‘You will like the new house. It has electricity, and a bathroom, and two gardens, one in front and one at the back. There are fields near, where you will be able to play. And the school you will go to is a new one.’

Anna said: ‘And a telephone?’

‘Yes; that too. You will be able to talk to me while I am at the office. Now, there is something that is important for you to know and understand. In the new house our name is not Rosenbaum. It is Rose. You are David Rose, and you are Anna Rose. Do you understand that?’

Anna said quickly: ‘Yes, Dadda. I understand.’

I repeated dutifully: ‘David Rose.’

Dadda said: ‘You must concentrate very hard on remembering that; you most, David, because you are younger and might forget. You will not forget, will you?’

‘No, Dadda. David Rose.’