The NCOs – namely, the sergeants and corporals – soon appreciated that Ronnie was their laziest recruit. They took away his Brylcreem and marched him to the barber, where his long, slicked hair was reduced to a short back and sides. Rumour had it among the recruits that the barber had been a sheep shearer in an earlier life! The initial training lasted six weeks, during which time it appeared the aim was to stamp out any hint of individuality. For Ronnie life became a living hell.

He had been issued with three cotton vests, three itchy shirts, a uniform that didn’t fit and a beret with a cap badge. He spent hours ‘bulling’ his boots so that his toecaps had a glassy shine. As a young man Ronnie had been used to being sewn into his underwear at the beginning of winter and remaining in his thermal cocoon until spring. So early-morning physical training followed by cold showers did not come naturally to him. In consequence, he was a regular on sick parade.

Predictably, Ronnie had difficulty learning to march and was given punishment known as ‘Jankers’, or restrictions of privileges. It became a way of life for him. Meanwhile, the bromide in his tea had no effect when he returned home on leave: his amorous advances towards Ruby continued unabated.

After his basic training he managed to secure a cushy job as a pay clerk for the Training Company. Each soldier had a pay book and Ronnie authorized payment of twenty-six shillings per week. Out of this the soldiers had to purchase their own Blanco, Brasso and dusters. During the remainder of his time he learned very quickly that ‘If it moves, salute it; if it doesn’t, paint it.’ It wasn’t until the ordeal was over and he returned home to Ragley village that he was able to resurrect his old life and once again became known as ‘Brylcreem Boy’.

Now he looked at the clock beside the bed. It was half past eight and he hoped that by nine o’clock Ruby would have prepared a cooked breakfast. After all, he thought, apart from looking after Andy and doing a bit of cleaning at The Royal Oak, she didn’t have much else to do. He lay back, lit another cigarette and stared at the ceiling.

When Lily’s bicycle had been returned to her home in Kirkby Steepleton by Tom Feather, her mother had remarked that she thought it was above and beyond the call of duty. It had been repaired, oiled and polished, and Lily had been impressed by this tall, understated man. There was clearly a gentle, caring side to his nature that wasn’t always apparent when he was going about his police duties. Also, she couldn’t help but recall how handsome he was with his wavy black hair and strong physique, and the effortless way he had lifted her bicycle out of the hedgerow.