Rosie beamed, picked up the bag, popped the sweet in her mouth and ran out of the shop, pausing only to stare up in wonderment at the doorbell as it rang.

She turned in the doorway and shouted back, ‘My mam says ev’ry time a bell rings an angel gets its wings,’ and Prudence waved in acknowledgement.

‘Children,’ said Prudence, ‘they never cease to surprise you.’

‘Very true,’ said Joseph, thinking ahead to school assembly and the two lessons that awaited him.

Morning assembly seemed to go well and Vera propped open the double doors that led from the entrance area to the school hall so she could listen and join in the prayers. However, as always, the children’s questions caused difficulties for the well-meaning cleric. Joseph had been waxing lyrical about heaven and guardian angels for about ten minutes when Rosie Finn put up her hand.

‘Mr Evans,’ she asked, ‘why do angels have wings?’

Joseph thought of the Renaissance painters he had studied and the many story books that featured flying angels.

However, before he could answer the practical Sam Grundy called out, ‘’Cause if they didn’t they would fall out of ’eaven, sir.’

‘That’s right,’ said Veronica Poole. ‘They need to stay above the clouds.’

‘They’ve got some sense,’ said the deep-thinking Norman Fazackerly, who had recently read a book about the weather and cloud formations, ‘’cause they won’t get wet. Y’wouldn’t want wet wings.’

Joseph was getting desperate. The logic of young children was beyond him.

‘Ah ’ope one falls in our back garden, Mr Evans,’ shouted out Bertie Stubbs.

Joseph was taken aback. ‘Your garden, Bertie?’

‘Yes, sir, then we’d ’ave one o’ them garden angels you were goin’ on about.’

John Pruett gave Joseph a friendly nod and got up. ‘We’ll end with the Lord’s Prayer, boys and girls.’

Joseph’s spirits lifted a little after his lesson in Lily’s class with the younger children – that is, until six-year-old Joy Popplewell looked up at him. ‘That were a lovely story about God, Mr Evans.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ he replied with a satisfied smile.

The little girl looked thoughtful.

‘What is it?’ asked Joseph quietly.

‘Well … did God make Daddy?’

‘Yes.’

‘An’ did God make you?’

Joseph nodded. ‘Yes, he did.’

‘An’ did God make me?’

Joseph sighed at the innocence of youth. ‘Yes.’

Joy’s face lit up with understanding. ‘Well,’ she said triumphantly, ‘’e’s gettin’ better at it.’

At the back of the class Lily took the handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan and held it against her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Daphne Cahill raised her hand. ‘Will we all go to ’eaven, Mr Evans?’

‘I certainly hope so,’ said Joseph with an encouraging smile.

Bertie Stubbs called out suddenly, ‘My grandad got killed in t’First World War.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Bertie,’ said Joseph with feeling.