‘That’s wonderful, girls,’ said Prudence.

Shirley put two pennies and three farthings on the counter. ‘Mrs Clutterbuck said can she please ’ave a dozen eggs?’

Nora added another two pennies. ‘An’ two ounces of lemon dwops, please.’

Prudence unscrewed the top of the jar and with a small scoop transferred the bright-yellow, sticky sweets on to the pan of the weighing scales. When it reached two ounces on the dial she added one more sweet for good measure and poured them into a blue paper cone, which she folded expertly at the top.

‘Thank you, Miss Golightly,’ chorused the girls, and as they walked out of the shop the doorbell rang merrily.

‘Who would have believed it?’ Prudence murmured to herself. ‘Rationing over – eight years after the war.’

Back in Doris Clutterbuck’s kitchen, Nora and Shirley took turns to whisk the cake mixture with a fork for what seemed like an eternity. Naturally, they also took turns to scrape out the bowl and lick the cake mixture from the large wooden spoon.

In years to come they would look back on this time in their young lives and think of these special days. They would remember treacle pudding and spotted dick and the vast array of preserved fruit – rhubarb, apples and plums in neatly labelled Kilner jars on the high wooden shelf in the pantry. It was a private ritual for them that after a plateful of plums and custard they would line up the plum stones around the edge of the plate and recite, ‘Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief.’ Anyone with eight stones would hope for a second helping to begin the recitation once again.

Soon the cake was in the oven and the Bring and Buy Sale beckoned.

Deirdre Coe walked into the General Stores and marched up to the counter. ‘Ah want a bag o’ sweets f’my Stanley.’

How rude, thought Prudence. ‘Which ones, Deirdre?’

‘Them,’ said Deirdre, pointing to the large jar of liquorice torpedoes.

‘How much?’ asked Prudence as she unscrewed the lid.

‘Four ounce.’ And Deirdre slapped a coin on the counter.

Prudence was a Christian lady, but it did not stop her from disliking Deirdre Coe, who was always disrespectful when she came into the shop. It was a relief when she departed. ‘Just as bad as her brother,’ murmured Prudence.

She remembered that Stanley had continued as a pig farmer during the war, but in the evenings he had been an ARP, or Air Raid Precaution, warden. He had enjoyed shouting at the villagers and banging on their doors telling them to turn out their lights. When Prudence had covered her plate-glass window with strips of tape to reduce the chance of shattered glass after a bomb blast, Stan had complained that she hadn’t done it properly.