Mildred was shelling peas and having difficulty with them when she she heard voices.

Two children had wandered into the kitchens in search of a snack, hands clasped and smiles mischievous.

That wasn’t what made Mildred stop and stare, though.

It was the fact that she recognised the young boy of the house, and the servant girl that sometimes came to work with her mother.

Two very different backgrounds, and yet the boy split a honeyed bun with her and they chewed together, eyes sparkling.

The sat together as the kitchen bustled and busied. Squashed together and whispering under the table, Mildred soon forgot about them as the head cook shot her a look.

So she shelled peas, removing them from the pods and collecting them in a bowl.

Sometimes the peas would be fused together and refuse to part.

Mildred glanced at the children giggling under the table and back at the peas in her hand.

The phrase wouldn’t appear until much later, when the nanny would scold the young boy for spending time with the little girl and Mildred would find herself intervening

“It’s not their fault, ma’am. These kids are like… peas in a pod.”