THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END

who could be described as a ‘real old devil’. But Irene points to a small, insignificant-looking chap at the far right of the picture.
    ‘That’s Buster. Jack looks very like him, doesn’t he?’
    ‘Very,’ says Nelson.
    ‘That’s Edwin Butler next to him, he’d been badly shell-shocked in the first lot. That’s Syd Austin, he had the fish shop in the village. His son was killed at Dunkirk. That’s Donald Drummond, he was the gardener here. That’s Ernst Hoffman, the one with the moustache. He was German by birth but his family lived in Broughton for years. He was interned at the start of the war and sent to the Isle of Man. Buster kicked up such a fuss that he was released. Ernst was a scientist, a very clever one.’
    Stella wasn’t wrong about the old lady’s memory, thinks Judy. She looks back at the photograph. It’s hard to connect these faded figures, like something from a history book, with the stories of life and death. But to Irene the photo isn’t a historical curio, it’s a memento of her husband, of his friends.
    Hugh is unsmiling, as awkward and intense as in his First Communion picture. He looks like the sort of boy who might grow up to do the
Telegraph
crossword. Archie looks far more cheerful, grinning away as if the whole thing is a game of cowboys and Indians. He looks like his grandson, Judy realises. The same good looks and proud bearing, but whereGerry Whitcliffe seems afraid of showing his true feelings, Archie looks afraid of nothing.
    ‘Mrs Hastings,’ Nelson addresses Irene who is still looking at the photo, smoothing its edges lovingly. ‘Do you remember any talk of a German invasion in 1940?’
    Jack Hastings laughs but Irene says serenely, ‘There was always talk but it never came to anything, did it?’
    ‘Was invasion a big fear in these parts?’
    ‘Yes,’ says Irene, carefully covering the teapot with a knitted cosy. ‘We were sure they would come. Buster was sure. He insisted on nightly patrols. They had a boat too. I think it was Syd’s. They’d go out on the moonless nights, sailing along the coves. Buster thought it would happen on a moonless night.’
    Judy hears Archie’s voice:
On moonless nights, the darks we called them, we went out in the boat.
What happened on that dark night, nearly seventy years ago?
    ‘He set up defences along the beach,’ Irene was saying. ‘Ernst helped him. He knew all about explosives, you see. “They won’t take us by surprise,” Buster used to say. “They won’t find Broughton undefended.”‘
    ‘What happened to the defences after the war?’ asks Judy.
    ‘I don’t know’, says Irene. ‘Later on, the invasion didn’t seem likely any more. We never spoke about it again.’
    ‘What about you?’ asks Nelson. ‘Were you part of this defence scheme?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ says Irene proudly. ‘I was on the listening post.’
    ‘Listening post?’ repeats Judy. It sounds made-up, almost childish. Stella takes up the story, smiling at her mother-in-law.
    ‘During the war, Detective Sergeant, there was a military listening post at Sheringham, a few miles from here. It was literally a building, a tower really, where people listened for Nazi ships out to sea. It was manned by women. Irene was one of them.’
    Womanned, thinks Judy. She knows better than to say it aloud though.
    ‘What do you mean, they listened for ships?’ asks Nelson.
    ‘Just that. There were German E-boats out at sea. They could listen in on their Morse code. How do you think the code-breakers at Bletchley Park got the codes in the first place? From the listening posts. It was really important war work.’
    ‘The E-boats didn’t use Morse code,’ cuts in Irene. ‘We could hear them talking to each other in German. Where are you, Siegfried? I’m here, Hans.’
    Nelson and Judy exchange glances. Now it seems more like a children’s game than ever.
Where are you, Siegfried?
Nelson turns to Irene. ‘Did you husband ever discuss with you what you’d do if the invasion actually happened?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ says Irene. ‘My job was to shoot the children and shoot myself. Buster didn’t want us taken prisoner, you see.’
    ‘He was mad,’ says Judy. ‘Buster Hastings was mad.’
    They are sitting in Nelson’s car. Nelson has turned on the engine to demist the windows. Outside it is still raining, the windscreen wipers struggling under the weight of water. Occasionally a gust of wind rocks the car.
    ‘Kill the children and kill