‘So they may. I’d bet the Walwyk strawberries and cream’d taste the same. Look, I said I reckoned it was the prettiest place I ever saw. All right, I was a nipper, I’d never been anywhere. Nineteen twelve I joined the Army; I did fifteen years, went all over the place. Kashmir now, thass in India and thought highly of, I been there. Seen the Taj Mahal, I hev – by moonlight, too. Table Mountain, Malta, the lot. And I still hold Walwyk is the prettiest.’

‘How lately were you there?’

‘Oh! Coming up to where it ain’t so clear. Two year ago, three maybe. Don’t get calls to Walwyk. The Rectory Rolls is at everybody’s beck and call. But two, three year ago Mrs Westleton’s car let her down and I drove her home. And I still felt the same way.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing it.’

‘We come to a bridge presently and then you’ll see the change. That time I towd you, in the wagonettes, our own parson rode with us, and he towd us that Walwyk was cut off till the marshes was drained, and they had wolves in the woods there years after they’d all been killed off in other places. Put the wind up us a bit in case there might still be one or two left. When you see them woods maybe you’ll understand.’ His voice changed a little. ‘You may find the people a bit unfriendly to start with; they’re still kind of cut off – in their minds, I mean. They’ll call anybody from Renham a foreigner. Thass true! But if you don’t mind my saying so, if you go slow and don’t try too hard, they’ll come round. Like dogs; thass best to let the dog come to you, and sniff and make friends.’

‘I know exactly what you mean. I spent many years in Africa, where I was truly a foreigner.’

‘Ah, then you’ll know. Here’s the bridge now.’

It spanned a slow-moving stream, and rose, humpbacked, so abruptly out of the flat road that the taxi-man had to change gear.

‘Whoever built that was daft, I reckon. Both ends lay so low they’re under water in a wet spell, so where was the point making the bridge so high?’

‘Could it have been so that boats, and barges perhaps, could go under?’

‘Never thought of that. Now, round this corner . . .’

It seemed almost as sudden as a transformation scene. The road now ran between sloping banks thickly dotted with clumps of primroses. At the top of the banks the woods began, stretching away on either hand in ever-darkening avenues and arcades of green. At the edge thousands of white windflowers shimmered and trembled, and among them were the dark purplish-blue spears of bluebells in bud.

Slowing down, Ed asked:

‘Now, ain’t that a sight for sore eyes?’