‘Why, it’s almost ’country, but not quite,’ her mother agreed, ‘and close enough to ’town. An agreeable walk on a nice day, I should think. Billy showed us round some of it on ’way here; we saw two fine churches and what looked like a good market. I do like a good market,’ she said, putting her head into the kitchen and nodding her approval. ‘Now then, Harry,’ she went on, looking him over critically, ‘Have you got over that spot of bother? Back at work now, are you?’

‘Part time, Ma Snowden.’ He grinned, without going into detail, and knowing she would show no outward compassion even though thinking of him kindly. ‘Got a living to earn, you know.’

‘Quite right.’ Sitting down, she folded her arms and said, ‘Now then, our Ellen, and you, Lizzie, what’s this I’m hearing? One a baker lass, and one a secker-tery?’

‘I’ll make ’tea, Ma,’ Lizzie said, nervous of her mother’s response. Her father would no doubt nod off in a chair whilst his womenfolk were talking. ‘Ellen will tell you what she’s been doing.’

The children sat cross-legged on the floor looking at their grandmother, the two girls with their arms folded and Thomas staring up at her. They knew they would come under scrutiny too and so were on their best behaviour, hoping that there might be a treat in store.

‘I’d like you to come and see it, Ma,’ Ellen told her when she’d finished explaining about the bakery. ‘I told Bill Foster you were coming and he said he’d like to meet you.’

Ma Snowden nodded her head. ‘I suppose we could fit him in afore we return home, couldn’t we, Mr Snowden?’ She raised her voice to include her husband and stop him from falling asleep.

‘Aye, I expect so,’ he grunted and sat up straighter. ‘If you say so. I expect you’d be right,’ he added, and Ellen smiled, knowing that he hadn’t heard a word.

Lizzie brought in a tray of tea and her mother looked her up and down. ‘I’m pleased to see you mekkin’ yourself useful, our Lizzie. Now you sit here next to me and tell me what you will while Ellen pours ’tea.’

Ellen and Lizzie both pressed their lips together to hide their laughter. Their mother expected all her daughters from the eldest to the youngest to be stoic young women under any circumstances, but she alone could treat them as children who would benefit from her advice; and they reluctantly acknowledged, though not within her hearing, that she was generally right.

She looked at Lizzie now, weighing her up critically. ‘You’ve got a brighter look in your eyes, Lizzie. Hull seems to suit you.’

‘I’ve got an interesting job, Ma, and I’m respected for what I do.’