Mrs Bell had smiled. ‘That will do us all good,’ she declared. ‘I’ll pack a basket with good things and we’ll spend the whole day on the beach.’ She had looked at Tess. ‘How do that appeal to you, my dear? I remember checking you could swim when you first came, because being so near the Broad we couldn’t have taken you else.’

‘Oh, I can swim all right,’ Tess had said excitedly. ‘But I don’t have a swimming costume . . .’

Mrs Bell had looked smug. ‘I’ve two or three of Maggie’s old ones upstairs; one of ’em’s bound to fit you,’ she had assured Tess. ‘I’ll look them out and you can try them for size. Let’s hope the weather stay fair.’

That had been several days earlier, for a whole day away from the farm had taken some planning, and now at last the day itself had arrived. Tess got out of bed and went over to the window to pull back the curtains. It was another brilliant day, but there was a sultriness in the air even at this early hour and Tess thought uneasily that that sort of heaviness presaged thunder. How unfortunate it would be if their one and only day out was ruined by bad weather! But she washed hastily, dressed in her coolest cotton frock and clattered down the stairs, narrowly beating Jonty. The kitchen was very hot, despite Mrs Bell’s having flung all the windows wide, but it was clear that the farmer’s wife intended the day to be a good one for there were two baskets set out on the table already well supplied with quantities of Mrs Bell’s delicious cooking, as well as two mammoth flasks of tea and a paper bag fairly bursting with ripe plums.

Breakfast was a jolly meal, with old Adam and Uncle Keith promising that everything would be done as though the Bells were actually present. Keith was Mrs Bell’s elder brother, a grey-haired middle-aged man who ran the local auction and lived with his wife Mabel in a neat little house in a nearby town. He had farmed before the war, but had sold up during the Depression, and was always willing to help out when his sister needed assistance.

Everyone ate as fast as they could in order that the family might get away, and the minute they had finished Mr Bell began to hustle them out to the car, not allowing Tess to start on the washing up when she tried to do so. ‘When I say a holiday, I mean a whole day,’ he assured her. ‘So hop into the car, young woman, and no argufying.’ Tess was happy to do so, and as the car left the farm behind Mrs Bell announced that they should have a tune. Tess had never heard her hostess sing before and was astonished by the power and sweetness of her voice, but soon the men and Tess herself were joining in as loudly as they could. By the time they reached the shore they had run through a repertoire of most of the popular songs of the day, ending up with ‘Five Minutes More’ by Frank Sinatra. They were still singing it, or perhaps belting it out would be more truthful, when Mr Bell drew the car to a halt alongside the beach of his choice. This particular part of the shore had never been mined because it was deemed impossible for an invasion force to come ashore here, but it was, as usual, deserted, so the group settled themselves in the shade of a dune, only a few feet from the little waves, and Mr Bell produced a couple of big stripy umbrellas. He then revealed that he was wearing his swimming costume under his clothes, which astonished Tess. He had told her he had learned to swim as a boy, but she could not imagine him doing so and was quite relieved when Mrs Bell said, primly, that she herself must be content with a paddle, for the only costume she had ever owned had been outgrown years since.