He and Jimmy sat on the bench while I squatted on the surprisingly comfortable little seat, and for a few moments the three of us munched on our flapjacks, listening to the birds. The dog rested his chin on his paws and went back to sleep. I sipped my tea, wondering what Eli did with himself when not tidying the churchyard or digging graves – an infrequent demand in such a small village. He never socialised with the other members of the congregation after church. It must have been a lonely existence, living in the woods, but he seemed happy enough. Perhaps he liked the solitude.

‘Pa says you help keep the graveyard tidy and dig the graves sometimes,’ I said, to make conversation.

He shrugged. ‘It keep me busy, even if me old bones sometimes feel ready for the grave ’emselves. Your father’s a good soul. He give me regular money – not like that other fella, who only paid when some’un died.’

He puffed some more on his pipe. I followed his eyes as he glanced round his little glade. Here the trees grew more sparsely and shafts of sunlight glimmered through the early green foliage, patterning the carpet of last year’s fallen leaves on the woodland floor, which was dotted with bluebells and the purple spikes of what I’d later learn were wood orchids.

‘And where’s you two off to this fine day?’ he said.

‘See dra . . . dragon,’ Jimmy said. That hadn’t been part of my plan, and Jimmy hadn’t mentioned dragons for a few weeks, but seeing Eli must have reminded him.

The old man began to laugh with a wheeze that caught in his throat and became a full-blown coughing fit. I remembered what Mrs D had said about him having been gassed in the First World War. At last he caught his breath and wiped his eyes.

‘There’s more to this laddie than meets the eye,’ he said, ruffling my brother’s hair. Normally Jimmy would have hated it, but somehow with Eli he didn’t mind. ‘He remembers what I told ’im weeks ago. In the churchyard, wasn’t it, laddie?’

‘It’s only a fairy story,’ I said quickly.

Eli chuckled again. ‘You’s right, Missy. Some people say I oughta keep them stories to meself. But there don’t seem no harm in ’em.’ He adjusted his old felt hat and packed his pipe again. ‘Course, it weren’t no proper dragon, anyroads.’

‘Then what was it?’ I was intrigued, despite myself.

Eli put his mug down and carefully rested his long clay pipe beside it. ‘Well, it gew a bit like this,’ he began, adjusting his hat.

Jimmy gazed up at him, open-mouthed in expectation.