Emerging from the shop doorway was Prudence’s delivery boy, fifteen-year-old Peter Miles-Humphreys. He had just loaded up the large basket on the front of his bicycle. Peter was a willing boy and Prudence knew her customers would make allowances for his unfortunate stutter, which added minutes to every transaction. He smiled shyly at Lily as he wheeled his heavy bicycle towards the road.

Lily walked under the green canvas canopy above the shop window and skirted round the pair of old wooden carver chairs that Prudence always put out for elderly customers. ‘Good morning, Miss Golightly,’ she said.

Prudence stepped up on to the next wooden step behind the counter. ‘Good morning, Miss Briggs. A fine dry day for the bonfire. Exciting times for the children. Now what can I do for you?’

‘A box of fireworks, please,’ said Lily and Prudence stepped down and produced a selection from the shelf behind her.

With a box of Standard fireworks under her arm, the bell rang merrily above the door as Lily walked out and across the road towards the school.

On the village green PC Harry Dewhirst was working with the Ragley Scout troop under the supervision of the imposing figure of Captain Rupert Forbes-Kitchener. They were busy making a guy for the village bonfire. The young policeman had become a popular figure in the village and the boys never misbehaved for the huge rugby player. He believed in the old-fashioned remedy of cuffing lads around the ears if they misbehaved. In this way he kept order and parents always welcomed his intervention as well as his unorthodox methods.

Meanwhile, in the vicarage Vera was making bonfire toffee apples. The radio was on and, while she dipped the apples into the sticky toffee, she hummed along to the heartbreaking opening of Schubert’s Fantasie in F minor, one of her favourite piano duets. On the wall above the work surface was a colour picture of the Queen, neatly framed and taking pride of place in her kitchen. Vera was an ardent royalist and she recalled that wonderful moment in 1949 when she had been in the crowds that lined Stonegate in York. Princess Elizabeth had walked by close enough to touch as she toured the city accompanied by the mayor and, of course, the handsome Duke of Edinburgh. They were on the third day of their tour of the West Riding and it was etched for ever in Vera’s memory.

Meanwhile, as she stood each toffee apple upside down to set on greaseproof paper, she wondered how the other members of the Women’s Institute were faring in support of the Village Hall Committee. It was important that everyone pulled their weight in times of need.