‘Isn’t it queer to be this old, Joey?’ she asked. ‘You can never imagine it when you’re young.’

He shrugged. ‘Oh, I’ve had a good innings.’

She laughed. ‘You’re not even fifty! You’re not out yet.’

Cricket. It made his heart lift to think that Gwen remembered those days, too. He’d played for the village team. He’d been a fast bowler, a pretty decent batter and he could throw a ball a country mile.

To his surprise, his mother had encouraged him to play. ‘Your grandfather was a wonderful cricketer,’ she’d told him. ‘He knew W.G. Grace. Could have played for the county.’

It wasn’t just the game he’d enjoyed. There were the teas, made by the women of the village. Egg sandwiches and Victoria sponges, light as air. And the camaraderie, the gentle ribbing, being one of the boys, not treated any differently from the other chaps.

Later, on the Western Front, he’d had some of the same feelings. Only the cricket had, at times, seemed even more important than the war.

Gwen hadn’t been impressed by the Big House. She’d only been impressed by his batting, running and fielding. On the odd occasion that she wasn’t there for a match, the whole day was ruined.

When he thought back to his youth, the best times were those long summer holidays and being with Gwen.

Joseph was brought back to the present as little Rudi on his lap stirred and sat up.

On the opposite bench, Miss Corbett was blushing and laughing softly at something Jack had said to her sotto voce. She was going to be horribly upset when his arm was A1 again and he disappeared off back to his squadron.

Perhaps he should have a quiet word and advise Jack to rein it in? Or better still, ask Esther to, when she eventually favoured them with her presence. She and Jack were awfully chummy, he might take more notice of her.

Joseph sighed. There was no doubting Jack’s courage. Half the valiant souls engaged in those dog fights with the Luftwaffe weren’t making it home. Terrible business. When he wasn’t writing off cars, Jack was doing his bit, most admirably. But Joseph still found it hard to warm to the boy. Even his choice of clothes was irritating. When he wasn’t in uniform, Jack was a proper dandy with his Savile Row suits and Italian leather shoes.

‘He’s always so beautifully turned out,’ Esther often said, as though he were a pony in a show ring.