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distrusted the police as did most of the islanders. Old Bill was not well regarded in the East End. Tradesmen and flower-sellers were often targets, moved on from corner to corner by an unsympathetic constable. If there was a problem to sort, it was kept amongst the community where rough justice was preferred to the long arm of the law.
    Peg gave a loud cough and her hair shivered like a windblown bush. ‘Right, let’s get our heads down,’ she sighed. Reaching under her skirt she began to loosen her stockings. ‘What you lot looking at?’ she growled to the family next to them who were all eyes.
    â€˜Thought you was gonna produce a golden egg,’ laughed a man in a woollen hat and overcoat.
    â€˜Wish I could, mate,’ responded Peg good-naturedly. ‘I’d flap me arms and cluck like a chicken all night long if gold was the prize.’
    Everyone joined in the joke; they were the lucky ones and they knew it. The atmosphere in the church hall was one of relief and hope, despite the incoming bad news.
    Soon Peg was snoring loudly on her mat, but Eve couldn’t sleep. Her mind was full of the events of the last two days. First the storm and then the flood. And finally the rescue by a smiling policeman who had courteously helped them on to dry land at Westferry Road.
    Just as Eve’s eyes began to close she heard Albert cough. Sitting bolt upright, she looked across at him. He turned over, snuffling under his blanket. She hoped this wasn’t the start of a cold.
    She lay down again listening to the coughs and sneezes filling the hall. The germs would be having a field day in the damp and confined space. Eve sighed, what would tomorrow bring?
    Breakfast consisted of porridge and a slice of dry bread with a mug of weak tea. The windows of the hall were no longer streaked with rain but condensation; a grey but dry morning had dawned. Everyone was waiting for news of their homes as the Army members came round.
    A young girl dressed in uniform, but with her bonnet tied rather crookedly, approached. She carried a notebook and pencil.
    â€˜I’m Clara,’ she told them hesitantly. ‘Have you eaten breakfast?’
    Eve, Peg and the two boys nodded. They had been told that there was to be a service for flood victims in the room next door. The congregation was going to pray for all the casualties of the storm. But no one paid attention. There were more important things to get on with, like going home.
    â€˜Where is it you live?’ Clara sat down by the boys who shuffled up to make space for her.
    â€˜Isle Street,’ Eve replied.
    â€˜Oh, dear.’ Clara’s pale cheeks flushed. She glanced down at the notebook.
    â€˜Go on then, gel,’ said Peg sharply. ‘Spit it out. What’s the damage?’
    â€˜The captain’s made a list of the streets that are still flooded. I’m sorry to say that Isle Street is one of them.’
    â€˜Bugger,’ muttered Peg, then sniffed. ‘Sorry.’
    â€˜How bad is it?’ asked Eve.
    â€˜I don’t know. But it won’t be possible for you to return yet. And even when you do – well, there will be a lot of clearing up.’
    â€˜You mean the lavs overflowed?’
    Clara blushed again. ‘It was unavoidable, I’m afraid. In such a storm.’
    â€˜So is it gonna be like the Great Stink?’ Albert looked shyly up at the pretty young girl beside him.
    She smiled gently. ‘No, not as bad. London’s got a better drainage system now. But the water rose so high, no one could have anticipated the damage that we’re hearing about.’
    â€˜Is it true people have died?’ asked Eve.
    â€˜Yes, I’m afraid so.’
    â€˜Was it just the storm that done it?’ Peg wrinkled her brow.
    â€˜The newspapers say it was a sudden thaw after Christmas and the heavy falls of snow at the river’s source, in the Cotswold Hills, combined with the