Rupert was getting hot under the collar. ‘But he was just the guide. It was Colonel Hunt’s expedition. He was the brains behind it all. So it’s a British triumph and just in time for the Coronation.’

‘Yes, dear, I’m sure you’re right, and no doubt our new Queen will be told, but she will have other things on her mind.’

Rupert looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, for a start, that dreadfully heavy crown she will have to wear.’

Rupert shook his head, folded the newspaper and headed for the hallway.

Violet Fawnswater had watched the programme About the Home and had taken advice from television chef Marguerite Patten with regard to refreshments to be enjoyed during the Coronation. She was expecting a dozen family members to descend on her home and it was important to cater for the discerning palate. With this in mind, she began to prepare melon cocktails and salmon mousse to eat while watching the television.

Violet was unaware that Vera had seen the same programme and her response had been quite different. Vera had shaken her head in dismay and announced, ‘Standards are slipping, Joseph. How dreadful to eat off one’s lap in front of a television set.’

It was a quarter past nine and Tom Feather was in the village hall. He fiddled with the dials on the Bakelite television with its nine-inch screen. It was the set provided by Captain Forbes-Kitchener and he knew a large crowd would gather. This was one of an astonishing 2.7 million television sets in the country, with an average of between seven and eight adults plus countless children watching each one. BBC TV had opened earlier than usual with the Test Card to allow viewers to tweak their aerials to achieve a better reception.

When Tom was satisfied with the grainy black-and-white picture he stood back to admire his work. He looked at his wristwatch and hoped Lily might join him later.

Across the road, Diane Wigglesworth and her mother were each smoking a cigarette while taking turns to do each other’s hair.

The shop was closed and today the conversation was different. It made a change from the usual talk of liberty bodices, suspender belts, nylons and roll-on girdles, along with lusting after Richard Burton. Instead they analysed the various men in their lives and agreed that, just like a game of snakes and ladders, when the dice was rolled they would undoubtedly end up with a snake.

‘Ah pity t’Queen,’ said Diane, ‘marryin’ that Prince Philip.’

‘’Ow come?’ asked her mother.

‘Well, ’e’s a man.’