Millicent checked her list. ‘Well, I do need some soap powder, please, Prudence.’

‘There’s plenty to choose from. We’ve got Tide, or have you tried Persil?’

Millicent picked up the box. ‘Actually, I haven’t, although my sister uses it.’ She studied the label. ‘The Herald & Pioneer said that three hundred housewives in London all agreed it was the best.’

‘Well, ah’m not convinced,’ said Deirdre sharply, ‘an’ what do southerners know abart cleaning my Stan’s overalls after ’e’s mucked out t’pigs?’

‘Fair point, Deirdre,’ said Millicent, although she didn’t agree. Her sister lived in London and her smalls were always spotless.

At the end of the school day and before the meeting in the village hall, Lily and Anne walked in the sunshine to the Tea Rooms to enjoy a cup of tea and a sandwich.

Both Nora Pratt and her friend Shirley Makin were assisting Doris after returning from Easington Secondary School. They were wearing their navy-blue school uniforms plus the obligatory white apron and sailor hat.

It was almost closing time when most of the customers had departed and Nora and Shirley were able to enjoy a conversation with Lily and Anne.

‘How’s school, Nora?’ asked Lily.

‘Fwustwatin’, Miss Bwiggs,’ said Nora. ‘This new GCE’s a pwoblem.’

The General Certificate of Education, introduced in 1951, hadn’t proved popular with many of those who weren’t in a grammar school.

‘It’s all changed now,’ said Shirley. ‘We’re like guinea pigs. Me an’ Nora would ’ave got our School Certificate, but they changed things t’mek it ’arder.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Anne. ‘I know what you mean. Now that they’ve raised the pass mark from thirty-three to forty-five per cent half the pupils fail.’

Lily nodded. ‘Also, you need five GCEs to get into the sixth form, including mathematics and English. It’s tough.’

‘Weally depwessin’,’ said Nora.

‘So we’re leavin’ nex’ year. Ah’m goin’ on a cookery course an’ Nora’s goin’ t’work for Mrs Clutterbuck.’

Lily sat back with her cheese and lettuce sandwich and contemplated opportunities for young women. Only 5 per cent of pupils went on to university and most of them were men.

The forthcoming talk in the village hall should prove to be interesting.

In Morton Manor Captain Rupert Forbes-Kitchener was looking forward to the Coronation. He had been put in charge of coordinating the village celebrations. He had a distinguished team, including Mrs Hardcastle, the formidable president of the Women’s Institute; Albert Jenkins, the school governor; and Vera Evans, the school secretary, who without doubt was a woman of substance and rare intelligence.

As he was writing the proposal for a brass band to support the grand afternoon tea in the High Street, he was listening to his new wireless. He had spent the remarkable sum of £16.16s.3d on the latest in modern technology – namely, a portable radio.