A peculiarly British story - that of the Kindertransport - is now extremely well documented with numerous examples of possessions brought by the Kinder when they arrived in this country just before war broke out: prayer books, embroidered pillow-cases, rucksacks, suitcases, dolls and magazines of the time.

There is a wealth of social history to be uncovered in this collection, but the strongest message to emerge is the foreboding felt by the parents as they sent their children to safety overseas - the overcoat bought several sizes too big; the gifts of wedding veils and bedlinen from mothers’ trouseaux. As one former Kind said: ‘there is an eloquence in those suitcases which says as much about the parents of the Kindertransport children as about the children themselves’.

There are occasional insights into the broader story of how Britain reacted to the arrival of refugees from Europe. An 82-year-old came to see us, wanting to deposit the papers of her late friend. The two had worked together in the same Birmingham factory, but the refugee had found it hard adapting to new circumstances and was disliked by her fellow-workers. A friendship had developed, the older woman influencing our visitor to go to night school and become a teacher. In a cellophane folder of papers a photograph of a little girl in a party-dress taken in pre-First World War Austro-Hungary told its story - for thousands the 1930s and 40s were a period of expectations dashed.