It was late afternoon in the vicarage and Vera had completed a letter to Mrs Riley on her new Basildon Bond writing paper. As a result, Mrs Riley took Vera’s advice and visited the doctor and local Pharmacy. From then on, each evening, she opened her tin of Potter’s Asthma Cure, sprinkled some of the precious powder into a bowl and then lit it carefully. Gordon stooped over the bowl and inhaled, and, slowly but surely, his breathing became easier.

Vera turned to her next task. She was making a hassock for church and embroidering it with loving care. The date 1952 had been stitched carefully above the name of the late King. She looked across at Joseph, who was preparing his next sermon, and felt a great surge of pride in her younger brother. It had been a demanding day, but he had done well.

Joseph looked up, concerned. ‘I’m worried about this sermon, Vera.’ He put down his pen in despair.

Vera smiled. ‘Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries,’ she quoted.

Joseph sat back. ‘Yes, I know that one … Matthew, chapter six, verse thirty-four, as I recall.’

‘Well done, Joseph.’ She sat back as the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece measured out the moments of their lives. ‘I’m pleased you could help Mary Finn and her daughter. That was a job well done.’

‘Thank you, Vera. We could celebrate with a glass of my home-made wine.’

Oh dear, thought Vera. ‘Perhaps a little later, Joseph,’ and she bowed her head to her stitchcraft.

Darkness had fallen on Badger’s Row and Mary Finn was preparing a meagre meal. Rosie was trying on her new footwear, first the sandals, then the boots and finally back to the sandals to wear around the house.

She walked over to the window and stared up at the dark sky and the cold moon. ‘Mam, is our Derek in ’eaven?’

Mary paused in chopping the half onion. ‘Yes, luv, an’ God will be watchin’ over ’im.’

‘Ah ’ope so, Mam. An’ will there be angels?’

Mary scooped the onion into the pan. ‘Yes, Rosie, lots of angels, an’ they’re up there in ’eaven lookin’ after y’brother.’

‘Mam, ah asked Mr Evans a question, but ah don’t think ’e knew t’answer.’

Mary stirred the slices of bacon and chopped onion. ‘An’ what were that?’

‘Ah said do angels ’ave wings?’

‘Wings?’

‘Yes, Mam.’

‘Well, ah’m sure they do, luv.’ She looked out of the window and recalled the retreating figure of the local vicar as he pedalled down the lane.

And some ride bicycles, she thought.

Chapter Twelve

Husbands and Homemakers