The state-of-the-art All-Dry radio used Ever Ready batteries and needed no aerial, earth or mains wires. In its smart walnut cabinet it was sitting on the kitchen worktop while his wife, Alexandra, relaxed and listened to the Light Programme.

Meanwhile, the grocer’s boy with the unfortunate stutter had cycled up the long drive that morning and delivered a box of provisions, including a bottle of Lucozade. Rupert considered it to be an expensive luxury, but had kept quiet after Alexandra had declared it replaced lost energy, and there was threepence back on the empty bottle. At least that’s what it said on the label and Rupert had ceased to argue over his wife’s little idiosyncrasies.

Even so, he was concerned about her failing health and, with a new baby to care for, he was considering hiring a nanny. Someone needed to look after his daughter – and after all, he thought, I’m a man.

At seven o’clock the village hall was packed and Vera stood up to make the introduction.

‘Ladies, it gives me great pleasure to introduce a remarkable woman who describes herself as a disciple of the French writer and philosopher Simone de Beauvoir. Clarice Culpepper was educated here in North Yorkshire and went on to study at Oxford. Much has changed since the war, and perhaps we are approaching a time in our lives when we need to reconsider our role as women. We proved during the war that we could do the work of men …’ Vera paused while there was a ripple of applause.

‘And we were better!’ exclaimed Millicent Merryweather from the back row.

There was muttered approval. Clarice liked what she saw.

She lived in Stoke Hammond in Buckinghamshire and during the war had worked in a nearby village called Bletchley, but no one knew what she had done, nor did she ever discuss it. Since then she had been a supporter of women’s rights and was currently on a nationwide tour. She liked Vera Evans, recognizing her as another woman who knew her own mind and didn’t suffer fools gladly. Vera also had an excellent speaking voice.

‘So,’ continued Vera, ‘welcome to the ladies from Morton who have joined us for an enlightening evening of information and insight. Please show your appreciation for a distinguished lady of our age, the emerging feminist Clarice Culpepper.’

There was sustained applause as the tall, imposing lady stood up.

Emerging feminist, thought Clarice. I must use that.

‘Ladies of Ragley and Morton, good evening and thank you for the welcome – and, of course, to the equally distinguished Miss Evans for the invitation.’

Vera gave a nod of acknowledgement; her Christian faith permitted no more.

Clarice took a step forward and a silence descended. ‘Let me begin by saying, we’re special … we’re different.’