“Mrs. Arkwright brought a triangle. You’ll want to walk with me and Dennis, behind the conductor. You’re Stephen’s sweetheart.”

“Am I though?”

“Course you bloomin’ are.”

The young drummer gave a slight nod. One could see at once that he was an artist, too intent on his coming performance to enter into conversation.

Milly turned and walked over to an elderly couple who stood by the wall. The man helped her into a jacket. She fumbled with the buttons and had to start again, refusing help from the old lady.

Milly now held a triangle. She struck it with the rod and seemed suddenly startled by the sound and the reverberation.

She returned and took her place between Joan Arkwright and the drummer boy. The band’s conductor, a thin man whose long moustache made him seem melancholy, came to speak to Milly. “Have you played it before?”

“At school.”

“Sparingly, that’s the word. Sparingly. Watch mi left thumb for your signal.”

The conductor called to his band to make ready. Within five minutes, they were in formation.

During the five minutes, Milly and Joan had a rather animated conversation. I guessed that Milly was repeating to Joan what she had told me.

Milly hurried over to speak to us. “I’ll see you at the prison?”

Joan was close on her heels, barely able to keep still. The tambourine in her hand rattled. The fist of her other hand clenched. She glared at me. “Why didn’t you tell her she has to speak to the police straight away?” To Milly she said, “If you don’t stick up for him, who will?”

Mrs. Arkwright intervened. “Give over your squabbling. Here’s a bob for your fare.”

As they gathered, ready to march, members of the congregation fell in behind them, creating an impressive procession. I took out my camera and snapped a picture, just as the band struck up “Onward Christian Soldiers”.

Men and women unfurled embroidered miners’ union banners, and banners from nearby collieries.

The elderly couple stood by the wall, clapping.

I went over to them. “It’s too far for you to go?”

The woman spoke. “It is, love, or we would. It’s not this end getting to’t station, it’s t’other end, all along to’t prison.”

“I could drive us there, if you don’t mind squeezing up.”

“In a motor car?”

“In that car over there.”

They looked at each other as if assessing whether there might be some unseen danger in this suggestion, and then, as one, they decided in my favour.

“We’ll do it,” Mr. Arkwright said, “for the lad’s sake, and for the lassies. Stephen never did what they said, never in this wide world.”

I set off, driving slowly behind the band, keeping a reasonable distance so as not to detract from the music. People came out of their houses. They waved, applauded, or simply watched as the band went by. Mr. and Mrs. Arkwright sat up as straight as circumstances allowed, now and then raising a hand or nodding in acknowledgement of our audience.