Another collection of tables, covered in snow-white cloths and decorated with bright bunting, had been prepared under the guidance of Vera and the ladies of the Women’s Institute. These were for the adults, and an impressive tea appeared with military precision. Cold meats, pork pies, pickles, dainty cucumber sandwiches, hard Wensleydale cheese and freshly baked bread were laid out, along with jugs of home-made elderflower cordial. A few bottles of Joseph’s home-made wine also made an appearance, but were carefully avoided. Then Joyce Davenport and Edna Trott served tea and cake, including a huge plateful of Audrey Poole’s raspberry tarts. It was a veritable feast.

Meanwhile, on the village green in front of The Royal Oak, the Ragley Brass Band, by now well lubricated with Tetley’s bitter, were playing some rousing tunes, including ‘On Ilkla Moor Baht ’At’ and ‘Jerusalem’.

Three miles away in Kirkby Steepleton a similar party was taking place and, after the children had eaten their fill and were playing games, the adults sat down in the giant marquee to enjoy a well-earned drink.

Florence was chatting with some of her friends and Millicent Merryweather came to sit with Lily. ‘You must come round for tea sometime, Lily,’ she said.

‘That’s kind,’ said Lily, ‘and I do love your cottage.’

She had first visited Millicent’s home with her mother, following introductions from Vera, and they had been made most welcome. The sign on the gate read ‘BILBO COTTAGE’ and the house had a red front door with a shiny brass door knocker in the shape of a roaring lion. The kitchen had leaded windows and there was a spacious study full of books. In the lounge was an oak-beamed ceiling, and a photograph of Millicent’s husband, Roger, an army captain complete with military moustache, stood on the mantelpiece. They had sat on a wrought-iron seat in the large garden next to a bed of floribunda roses. Blackberry and redcurrant bushes bordered an immaculate lawn and they had enjoyed tea and scones in the sunshine.

Milly was a dear friend of Vera’s and together they attended the twice-weekly Ragley Cross-Stitch Club, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Florence had become their latest member and Milly would put her large canvas bag full of materials into the boot of her car and collect her new friend from Laurel Cottage.

It was during these journeys that they shared stories of their lives during the war. Milly had joined the Auxiliary Territorial Service, or the ATS as it was known. She had driven a lorry and operated searchlights and anti-aircraft guns. ‘However, we weren’t allowed to pull the firing lanyard, worse luck. That had to be done by a man, even though I was better qualified.’

‘Too true,’ agreed Florence.