Nain and Taid swelled with pride in their tall, handsome grandson, telling him that there was not only a home but a job for him on the farm when he left the army. Jimmy had confided in his father and Glenys that he meant to go to university when he finished his National Service, but he was too fond of his grandparents to admit that he had no desire to work on the land, and simply hoped that when the time came both Nain and Taid would understand.

When they had first begun to plan the wedding, Glenys had been very conscious that she had no relatives of her own to invite, although because she had spent all her leaves since then at Weathercock Farm she no longer felt like a stranger in the Griffiths family. However, she had a great many friends. Indeed, she had issued a wedding invitation to almost the whole of B Section of the ATS, and had been delighted at the response. She had not received one apology, and though they might not be relatives it showed that she was well liked. Confident in her peers’ approval, Glenys was sure that Mo was the prettiest bridesmaid anyone could imagine, that Jimmy and his father were the handsomest men present, and that the wedding breakfast itself would be a great success. And it was, for neighbouring farmers, mindful of the rationing that looked set to continue for several years yet, had made sure that their gifts took the form of food. There were hams from those who had recently killed a pig, baskets of eggs, and boxes of fruit and vegetables. In fact, everything needed to make a wedding breakfast something that friends and neighbours would remember for many a long day.

When the meal was over and the barn was being cleared for dancing, Glenys passed amongst her guests, with Nain and Mo at hand to introduce her to anyone she had not already met. One woman, Mrs Amelia Griffiths, whom Glenys had already marked down as a gossip who never lost an opportunity to say something nasty, shook hands as though she were conferring a favour and began to criticise everything around her in a whiny, discontented mutter.

‘That dress, Maureen, ain’t the sort of thing I’d have let me own daughter wear, if she were still at home, that is. You can see through the skirt; disgustin’, I calls it. And as for that white weddin’ gown, it’s a disgrace to waste kewpongs on finery which won’t be wore more than once. And seeing as how Sam’s been wed before, I should have thought you’d all have sneaked off into Liverpool and done the deed on the q.t. But there, young people today is all the same: shameless, that’s what they are.’

Glenys hid a giggle behind an upraised hand but Mo flushed scarlet and stared hard at the old woman, her eyes flashing with indignation. ‘Our dresses are borrowed, not bought,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with my father marrying twice because my own mam died, which makes Dad a widower. Anyone can marry a widower; it’s just if there had been a divorce . . .’