The school cook, Irene Gubbins, was doing some shopping on her way home and had called at the General Stores for a bag of potatoes. There was a pattern to the week’s meals in her household and if you arrived at her dining table it would have been possible to know the day of the week from the food being served. Harry Gubbins liked routine and his wife obliged. Sundays were a veritable feast, with a beef joint and giant Yorkshire puddings filled with delicious onion gravy. On Mondays it was always cold beef and chips, followed by beef stew on Tuesdays. After a visit to Tommy Piercy’s shop, Wednesdays featured sausage and mash. Thursdays involved the occasional surprise. Usually it was egg and chips but, on occasions, if Pete the Poacher had visited The Royal Oak, rabbit pie appeared on the menu. Fridays never varied. It was always fish, chips and mushy peas. On Saturdays a large plate of crab paste sandwiches and slices of Spam were devoured quickly before setting off to the local football match. It was a pattern to life much appreciated by Harry.

Sweet courses were rare but enjoyed on special occasions such as birthdays and bank holidays. However, the selection was limited and included rice pudding, semolina or tapioca, which resembled frogspawn. The pièce de résistance was Irene’s spotted dick, created from flour, water and a handful of raisins.

Meanwhile, Ruby’s mother, Agnes, was in the village Pharmacy. She had a problem and it was there for all to see. Her false teeth lay on the counter.

Eighteen years ago Agnes had been given a special present for her twenty-first birthday. All her teeth had been removed, as her father had said it made sense and would save a lot of trouble in the long run. She had been wearing false teeth ever since.

Herbert Grinchley stared at the teeth and made a decision. ‘Try this, Agnes. It’s Dr Wernet’s Powder. Sez ’ere it gives all-day confidence. Y’jus’ sprinkle it on y’plate in t’mornin’ an’ it meks a sort of a cushion.’

‘Sounds right up my street,’ said Agnes.

‘An’ what about some soap?’ asked Herbert, never one to miss the opportunity of a sale.

‘Soap? Ah’ve got soap.’

‘But this is new an’ everyone wants a bar.’

Agnes picked up the tablet of soap. ‘Breeze? What’s that when it’s at ’ome?’

Herbert read the label. ‘It sez you’re country-fresh from top t’toe wi’ cool green Breeze.’

Agnes shook her head. ‘No thanks, Herbert, ah’ll stick t’me Sunlight.’

‘Pity,’ said Herbert, ‘’cause ah’d got a bit o’ news.’

Agnes loved gossip. ‘Mebbe ah’ll try some then,’ she said, picking up the bar of soap and smelling the scent.

Herbert leaned over the counter. ‘Vicar’s gorra telly.’

‘A telly!’ exclaimed Agnes. ‘Can’t see Miss Evans tekkin’ that lyin’ down.’

‘Y’reight there, Agnes.’