‘Never mind,’ said Betty. ‘Let’s go an’ see ’Erbert in t’Pharmacy an’ catch up wi’ t’gossip.’

Ruby nodded, but Betty could see she was still shaken by Deirdre’s unkind comments.

‘Did y’know ’Erbert were a member o’ t’Home Guard?’

‘A Local Defence Volunteer?’ said Ruby.

‘That’s right – the LDV,’ added Betty and smiled ruefully. ‘’Cept we called ’em Look, Duck an’ Vanish.’

Ruby laughed and they walked in together to collect some castor oil for young Andy.

At the end of school John Pruett was talking to Mrs Knutsford in the school office. ‘You’ll need to start saving up for a uniform,’ he said. ‘Robin is almost certain to pass his Eleven-plus.’

‘An’ pigs might fly, Mr Pruett. Ah’m only jus’ gettin’ by as it is.’

John Pruett sighed deeply. He hated to see talent wasted and Robin was one of the brightest boys he had ever taught.

He looked out of the window and saw Robin leaning against the school wall reading a book. As usual he was wearing old clothes and hobnail boots. You could always hear him coming from far away. Predictably, he was known as ‘Ginger Nut’ among the other children, but he accepted this with good grace and was a popular pupil. His regular nosebleeds were counteracted by his mother, who would drop a large key down the back of his shirt. It was an old wives’ tale that John could never recall being disproved.

‘Perhaps there will be a grant,’ he said. ‘I’ll enquire for you.’

Mrs Knutsford smiled knowingly. ‘Thank you for tryin’, Mr Pruett.’

The next few days turned out to be a dreadful experience for Joseph. Men he had known for years as valued members of the village community regressed to nothing short of eccentric when they retired to the privacy of their sheds.

Late on Tuesday evening he discovered that Archibald Pike used his shed for weaving bell ropes for the church. When he entered the shed in the cold moonlight, shapes resembling hangman’s nooses hung from the rafters and turned Joseph’s blood to ice.

‘Naturally I would expect to win, Vicar,’ said Archibald with a fixed smile, ‘as my shed is dedicated to the church.’

On Wednesday he entered the dark and secret world of Maurice Tupham, where in an eerie light he was introduced to the art of forcing rhubarb. Maurice also had high expectations. ‘Ah’m presuming ah’ll get at least a commendation as ah provide such ’igh-quality rhubarb for t’village. It’s a labour o’ love, Mr Evans.’

On Thursday Alfie Kershaw’s shed stank like a brewery and Joseph recoiled when he opened the door. The stench was like a physical blow. ‘Finest c’llection o’ beer bottles on God’s earth,’ announced Alfie. ‘If that dunt win, nothin’ will.’