Lily walked up the High Street towards school. There was a box of dressing-up clothes to deliver to the village hall. As she crossed the village green in front of The Royal Oak the clamour of the rooks caught her attention and she stared up into the high elms.

‘Penny for ’em, Miss Teacher.’ Stan Coe gave her a brown-toothed smile as he climbed out of his Land Rover. It was splattered with mud and dirty snow. The boxy body had been made from army surplus rustproof aluminium and painted Avro-green, and the four-wheel drive was perfect for the rough terrain around his farmhouse. Stan imagined himself as an army general when he drove his powerful vehicle.

The sign ‘Spitting Prohibited’ on the wall outside The Royal Oak was always ignored by Stan, and he cleared his throat and spat out an obnoxious gobbet of phlegm.

‘Better out than in,’ he muttered and Lily winced in disgust.

This really was a revolting man and his attentions were becoming unsettling. She unlocked the school door, collected the box of clothes and walked back down the High Street.

On the other side of the village green she heard the familiar hoarse cry of ‘Rag-a-bone! Rag-a-bone!’, accompanied by the ringing of a bell. Tommy Kettle was a regular visitor to Ragley and he had parked his horse and cart outside the village Post Office. Tommy wore a cloth cap, checked shirt, leather waistcoat, old thick corduroy trousers and boots with steel toecaps.

So began a regular village ritual. Mothers and small children would hurry out with bundles of old clothes and blankets. Tommy would check them with an experienced eye and offer a shiny sixpence or a goldfish. The mothers wanted the money and the children wanted the exotic golden fish. Meanwhile, Maurice Tupham, the champion rhubarb grower, would always appear with a shovel and a bucket to collect the horse manure.

Tommy gave Lily a cheerful smile and a wave as she walked into the village hall.

Outside The Royal Oak, Ruby Smith had arrived at the same time as Deirdre Coe. Deirdre had decided to join her brother for a lunchtime drink, whereas Ruby was about to begin her cleaning in the pub while Agnes looked after young Andy.

Deirdre looked at the departing figure of Lily. ‘She’s a reight prima donna is that Miss Fancy Pants,’ she said. ‘You mark my words.’

‘Well, ah think she’s a lovely lady,’ retorted Ruby defiantly.

Deirdre turned on Ruby with venom. ‘Why don’t you sling yer ’ook an’ get back t’yer council estate?’

‘There’s no need t’talk like that, Deirdre. Ah’m jus’ doin’ a bit o’ cleanin’ f’Mrs ’Igginbottom.’

Every penny counted for the young Ruby. Her income was a long way short of the £5 per week the newspapers said the average woman earned.

‘An’ another thing,’ continued Deirdre, ‘ah wouldn’t give time o’ day t’that ’usband o’ yours.’