After a few weeks, Florence reluctantly made the train journey back to ravaged Coventry, with George at her side. 'Ah the proud father,' said a hearty lady in the carriage, after cooing over Florence's bundle. Florence looked up as if she were about to say something sharp and all George, who had come to accompany his wife and son, managed was a sheepish smile. He knew it embarrassed his wife. If he felt any atavistic stirrings of masculine pride, he kept them to himself. If you were a woman and you sat with a man in a railway carriage, and you held that man's baby, then it meant you had been doing unmentionable things with him. It was all George could do to stop himself leaning across the carriage and saying to the hearty lady, 'It's all right you know, we only did it twice - ever.'