Vera composed herself quickly. ‘No thank you, Prudence. I’ll stick to the proper way of making tea.’

She picked up the packet of tea Prudence gave her, paid and marched out. Whatever next! she thought.

Traditionally Monday was washday in the village and Ruby Smith was busy. It was a routine she had completed many times and involved buckets of water, soap suds and a steamy kitchen. After possing the dirty clothes in the posser tub, she carried the wet washing outside to squeeze each garment through the mangle and remove the excess water. Often she would complete the drying process on the rack in front of the fire, but on this sunny April morning she was able to peg out sheets on her washing line.

While it was hard work for Ruby, it was even more difficult for some. Until recently her neighbour, Betty, would take her washing down to the stream and simply pound her clothes against a rock, then stretch them out on the grass to dry. Betty also used to make her own soap from mutton fat, caustic soda and water, but in recent times had taken to borrowing a bar of Sunlight soap from the generous Ruby. On this morning she arrived in the back garden, smoking a cigarette.

‘’Ave y’got a bit o’ soap t’spare, Ruby?’

‘In t’sink,’ said Ruby.

‘Ta, luv. Them sheets look clean,’ said Betty as she puffed cigarette smoke all over them.

‘Ah’m using that new Oxydol,’ said Ruby. ‘Sez on t’box it washes vivid white.’

‘Y’reight there, Ruby,’ agreed Betty as she stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. ‘It’s proper dazzlin’.’

Ruby laughed. ‘Any whiter an’ you’ll need sunglasses in our ’ouse.’

‘Ah’ve jus’ seen that stuck-up Deirdre Coe goin’ somewhere posh by t’look of ’er.’

‘All net curtains is that one,’ said Ruby with feeling, ‘an’ fruit in a bowl jus’ f’show.’

‘Y’reight there, Ruby, an’ she dresses t’kill.’

Ruby pegged her final nappy on the line. ‘Ah’ve ’eard she cooks t’same way.’

They both laughed and went inside to make a pot of tea.

In John Pruett’s classroom he had written a huge number on the blackboard. It was 29,999.

‘Now, who can tell me what that number is?’

Robin Knutsford was the first to raise his hand. ‘Sir, it’s twenty-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine.’

‘Well done, Robin,’ said John. ‘Now, children, this number has been in the newspapers recently. It’s the number of pounds Manchester United have paid Barnsley for their twenty-one-year-old centre forward Tommy Taylor.’

Everyone stared in astonishment.

‘’Ow can anyone be worth that much, sir?’ asked Big Dave.

‘It’s hard to say, David,’ said John, ‘but Manchester United are a big club with lots of money and they want the best players.’

‘Another pound would have made it thirty thousand, sir,’ added Robin for good measure.