Mass over, the villagers shuffled aside to leave a way for Sir Hugh and his family to pass to the church door and out into the sunshine. Many muttered greetings, ‘Morning, sir,’ and ‘Morning, M’Dame,’ as they passed, but no greetings were given to Magda, who followed her parents, nor to Rollo or Father John. Outside the church door the two Rockwell families, some fifteen people mostly in good pigskin boots and the big black-and-white-striped cloaks they made, called out, ‘Good day, sir. Good day to you, M’Dame,’ before they turned left in an orderly fashion and started their long walk up through the fields to their settlement at Rockwell. Sir Hugh and his family, Father John with the rest of the congregation following, turned right and walked down the path along the edge of the graveyard, past the entrance to the Hall’s yard with all its sheds and outhouses, past the end of the Hall with its stone bread oven and open sheds and there at the door of the Hall stood Tom, who only sometimes went to Mass, smiling and welcoming. It was part of the weekly ceremony.

‘Morning, sir. Morning, M’Dame,’ he said, though he had seen them all before that morning, ruffling his curly hair in a gesture of deference. ‘Morning, Miss Magda. Morning, sir,’ to Rollo, ‘Morning, Father.’ They proceeded into the Hall and up to the table on the dais at the far end, with all the villagers jostling for early entry behind them. In the gloom of the Hall four big logs were blazing and a large iron pot stood on the central stone of the fireplace and round it on the other flat stones were numbers of flat round loaves. This welcome bright sight, this welcome warm smell brought gasps of ‘Ah!’ The Sunday ceremony of Mass followed by free food in the Hall was welcomed by all. Any ceremony was comforting, but this one most of all.

Tom, the Hall’s chief servant, was in charge, and no one resented it for Tom was everybody’s friend. He was fussing around – ‘Close the door, boy – no, wait, Ed-me-boy’s fetching the ale. Did you boys shut the church door? Sure? Ah, Ed-me-boy, put the bucket down there – no, I’ve already put a flagon on the dais table. Joan, mind your skirt by the fire – loaves all round to everyone. Don’t splash the soup, Milly. Careful, Magda – miss – keep that dog of yours by you, please. How’s the ale today, sir? Joan’s brew. Not that ladle, that’s the soup ladle, ask Ed-me-boy – he’s got the ale ladle,’ and so on and on. He had got the Family seated at their table on the dais and most of the adult villagers seated on benches along the walls and the children on the ground at their feet. Milly and Joan had handed out the hard round loaves to the women and wooden bowls full of bacon and bean soup to each family, while three tall green-glazed jugs were passed round, from which each took as long a drink as he dared, and which Ed-me-boy filled up with a big wooden ladle from the bucket by the door.