‘Launderettes!’ exclaimed Sylvia. ‘That’s a poor do,’ she muttered, ‘when them southerners can’t do a proper Monday wash.’ Her muscles flexed as she spoke. ‘Anyway, must rush. We’re busy on t’farm an’ ah’ve got some castratin’ t’do.’

Prudence winced visibly as the burly farmer’s wife hurried out; she hoped she was talking about the livestock.

It was Christmas Eve and winter gripped Ragley village in its iron fist, while the land was still and silent. The boughs of elm and sycamore bent under the weight of the fresh fall of snow and the hedgerows sparkled with frost. Wolf-grey clouds hung heavy over the Hambleton hills with the promise of more snow, while a grudging light filtered through the skeletal branches of the trees and a new day dawned.

Ragley High Street was soon busy with the early-morning shoppers and Vera was collecting her Christmas order from the butcher’s shop.

‘’Ere’s y’sausage meat, Miss Evans,’ said Tommy. ‘Finest sausage meat on God’s earth,’ he added without a hint of modesty.

‘Thank you, Thomas,’ said Vera cautiously, ‘I’m sure it is.’

‘You’ll be at Midnight Mass no doubt,’ said Tommy. ‘Allus a special time.’

‘Yes, I shall be there, although this snow makes it a little more difficult.’

Tommy shook his head. ‘This is nowt but a dustin’, Miss Evans. In t’winter o’ forty-seven ah were up to me armpits shovellin’ snow.’

Vera offered a gentle smile towards the curmudgeonly Yorkshireman who always believed that everything in his native county was bigger and better – or, in this case, deeper.

Next Vera called into Pratt’s Hardware Emporium, where Aloysius served her with some new light bulbs. His son, Timothy, was in the back room. He had written a detailed letter to Santa via his parents requesting the prompt delivery of an Airfix construction kit of Sir Francis Drake’s famous sailing ship the Golden Hind from Woolworths. It would be his big present, and he presumed it would be supplemented by a satsuma, some sticks of liquorice and a bag of nuts. He decided to list these as well. ‘Success is in the detail,’ his father had told him and young Timothy, if nothing else, was always thorough.

By five o’clock darkness had settled over the vast plain of York and the folk of Ragley village were gathering for their annual ‘Carols on the Green’.

Tom had collected Lily in his car and Vera was delighted to welcome them both. She had been trying to encourage Lily to join the church choir. As a mezzo-soprano with a sweet, clear voice she would be welcome.