‘Good morning, Vera. Hello, Valerie,’ said Lily. Her hair was dishevelled and her summer skirt had blown high in the summer breeze when she dismounted her bicycle. She wondered why Valerie was frowning.

‘Good morning, Lily, and what a beautiful day,’ replied Vera.

‘I’ve always thought that posture is so important for young girls who want to go anywhere in life,’ said Valerie rather pointedly. ‘Don’t you think so, Vera?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Vera, wondering where this conversation might be heading.

‘Correct deportment is vital when you ride a bicycle, don’t you think, Lily?’

Lily looked bemused.

‘You mean as we were taught, Valerie?’ said Vera. ‘Perhaps that’s a little old-fashioned now.’

‘Standards, Vera,’ said Valerie. ‘They are important in our professional life.’

Vera caught Lily’s eye and winked. ‘You mean a straight back and ankles tucked in?’

‘Exactly, Vera,’ said Valerie.

Lily was irritated by Valerie’s chilly manner, but did not let it show. She pushed her bicycle into the cycle shed and wondered why a woman only a few years older talked to her as if she were a teenager.

George Postlethwaite, the one-armed postman, parked his bicycle outside the General Stores and took Miss Golightly’s mail out of his leather satchel. He sorted the letters and, as he always did, read her postcard. It was important to keep up to date with village affairs.

He was so preoccupied that he failed to spot his arch-enemy – namely, the rough-haired and very lively Yorkshire terrier belonging to Billy Two-Sheds. Monty had always enjoyed barking at the curmudgeonly postman and took the opportunity to bite him on the ankle.

‘Gerrof y’little bugger!’ shouted George. He saw Miss Golightly looking up in alarm from behind the counter. ‘Beggin’ y’pardon,’ he added as he hopped into the shop. ‘Here’s y’mail, Miss Golightly. Y’Aunty Maud says she’s ’avin’ a nice time in Morecambe but ’er leg is playin’ up again.’ He looked down ruefully at his torn sock. ‘A bit like mine.’

‘Thank you, George,’ said Prudence, ‘and here’s your paper.’

Prudence always gave George a free newspaper each day as it was important to keep the purveyor of local information on one’s side.

He glanced at a front-page article. ‘Ah see the papers are still full of those Christie murders.’

John Christie had been sentenced to death for the murder of his wife, Ethel, and was believed to have been responsible for seven other killings. In total, six bodies had been found at his home, 10 Rillington Place in London’s Notting Hill.

‘Yes, a terrible case,’ said Prudence.

‘They’ll ’ang ’im,’ said George. As he left the shop Monty was baring his teeth at him again. ‘An’ ah wish they’d ’ang that bloody dog as well,’ he muttered.

It was morning break, Valerie was on playground duty and Vera was drinking tea in the staff-room when Lily walked in looking preoccupied.