John gave a guilty grin. Sometimes it paid to have friends in high places.

The day of the party finally dawned, and everyone was suddenly rushing about preparing the tables. Bunting was hung in the trees and the children helped to carry the food out and place it on the long trestle tables. Neighbours had been dropping in all morning with their contributions and soon the trestles were groaning beneath the weight.

There were three types of sandwiches – corned beef, cheese and jam made with the fruit that Cissie had picked from the blackberry bushes the year before. There were dishes full of brightly coloured wobbly jellies and a variety of cakes. Sausage rolls fresh from the oven and huge bowls full of various pickles. One of the villagers had brought in a big tray of scones, another two quivering dishes of blancmange, and as the children greedily eyed all the treats their stomachs rumbled with anticipation.

On the end of each table were big jugs full of homemade lemonade for the little ones. John had provided two large barrels of beer for the men and a selection of wines and spirits for the women, so all in all it looked set to be a very good party indeed.

‘Eeh, we couldn’t have asked fer a better day,’ Cissie said contentedly as she eyed the feast they had laid out. ‘It’s as if him upstairs is smilin’ down on us.’

George glanced up at the cloudless blue sky and nodded agreement. ‘Aye, well happen after all the heartbreak this country has seen over the last few years, we deserve a bit o’ sunshine now.’ He hurried off then to help John and some of the village men who had volunteered to help carry the piano out onto the terrace. Finally, there was no more to be done and the women went to get ready for the first guests to arrive.

Sunday looked very regal in the outfit she had chosen to wear. It was a navy-blue calf-length skirt with a fitted jacket, which showed off her still-slim figure. Around her neck she wore the treasured string of pearls that had been a twenty-first birthday present from her mother, and on her finger the diamond engagement ring that Tom had bought her so many years ago sparkled as it reflected the light. There were also tiny diamond studs in her ears and her still-thick silver hair was dressed in a simple chignon at the back of her head.

As John commented admiringly to Cissie, ‘She looks like a queen. No one would ever believe she was almost seventy-five years old, would they?’

‘No, they wouldn’t,’ Cissie agreed with an envious little sigh. Sunday had always been a looker. ‘She can still turn heads when she’s a mind to. But if you think she’s pretty now you should ’ave seen ’er when she were young!’