It did a steady pace for a vehicle of its age, having been made shortly after the war. Around Furrow’s Cross tractors were a common sight so any approaching cars waited patiently until there was plenty of space to overtake. As she neared the town that was a different story, but she didn’t care about being hooted at because she was having fun. The air was warm and the wind in her face made her feel like a film star in an open-top sports car, simply travelling at a far safer speed.

Even with a stop en route to drop off her trailer tyre for mending, it still took less than an hour for Maggie to bump her way to Leamington Spa, half the time it would have taken on the bus. It was only when she arrived that she considered that parking the tractor may be an issue. She turned a few heads as she chugged down the Parade. Her rusty old tractor was a stark contrast to the majestic white facades of the Regency spa town. She turned in to a side street and was pleased to find a nice wide parking bay. She popped a pound in the meter, shoved the ticket it spewed out into her pocket, pulled her bag from under the seat and set off on her mission.

When she returned some time later a traffic warden was looking the vehicle over and scratching his head. Thankfully the lack of windscreen seemed to be foxing him as to how he could issue a ticket. Maggie strode up to the tractor, slung her bags under the seat and got on board.

‘Er, excuse me, madam,’ said the traffic warden. ‘Is this your vehicle?’

‘No. I’m stealing it.’ She turned the ignition and was beyond grateful that it spluttered into life on her first attempt. She dropped the ticket she’d got from the machine at his feet and waved as she pulled away, safe in the knowledge that the little tractor’s number plate was obscured with mud so the chances of him tracking her down were minimal. Anyway what offence had she committed? None as far as she could work out.

While the trip home was quicker than the bus it was far less comfortable and the rain that started a couple of miles from Furrow’s Cross was an unwelcome accompaniment. She was glad to finally turn into her drive and trundle over the potholes. Even if it was a little like negotiating the surface of the moon, it meant she was home. Her bum was numb, she was soggy and her back felt like she’d been kicked all the way to Leamington Spa and back by an angry mule. Still, it had been a worthwhile trip. She parked the tractor in the barn and then climbed down, relishing the feeling of straightening out her spine. She took her bags inside and made herself a well-earned cup of tea.