‘He died doing something brave,’ Frank said, staring into his pannikin of tea.

‘Yes,’ Henry said.

‘Most people die because they’re sick or old. Or drunk.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘He wouldn’t want us to be unhappy.’

‘No.’

Frank wiped his eyes. ‘For the Lord’s sake, Henry, get a grip on yourself and cheer up, will you?’

Henry tried to cheer up. He looked around him. He remembered when Jack had been sitting next to him at this very same table, and Lola had wound herself around Sergeant Nockles’s leg . . . ‘Have three cheers for Happy Jack!’ the diggers had shouted.

The tent was empty apart from himself and Frank, and Frank’s family. Bridget and Michael were wide-eyed and silent. Baby Joseph sat on Bridget’s lap, sucking his thumb.

Mrs Shanahan poured more tea into Henry’s pannikin, and into Frank’s.

‘I’ve some lovely fresh griddle scones,’ she coaxed Henry. ‘Will you just try one, now?’

But Henry couldn’t eat anything. ‘I have to go home,’ he said. His father would be furious with him, he knew that, but he was so exhausted he didn’t care. No punishment could possibly compare with what he had just seen.

‘Henry.’

Father was standing at the entrance to the tent.

Henry’s heart thumped. He stood up.

Was Father crying? No, he couldn’t be – Father never cried. He hadn’t even cried when Mam died. But his face was terrible. Henry couldn’t look at it. Instead he said the first thing that came into his head. ‘I got your watch back. That thief Nockles still had it.’ He pulled the watch from his pocket and held it out.

‘Son, I don’t care a tuppenny damn about the watch. I just thank God you’re alive. I thought I’d lost you.’ He grasped Frank’s hand, and then nodded to Mrs Shanahan. ‘Honoured to meet you, ma’am. I hear the diggers had a bad time of it, but at least our boys are safe. Tom Hunter told me they’d be here.’

Mrs Shanahan blinked away tears. ‘If it weren’t for your boy, mine would be dead. I’ll never forget that.’

‘Henry’s not short on courage. I might not always agree with him, but I’m proud of him.’ Father swept a hand across his eyes. ‘And his mother would be proud of him too, God rest her dear soul.’ He gripped Henry by the shoulder. ‘Come, my boy. Let’s go home.’