Long-held traditions were something that fascinated me, and having attended the May Day celebrations in the village only a week after we had moved in, thoughts had started turning in my head of how these things must have developed over time.

May Day that year had brought a gloriously sunny morning and most of the villagers had been out in force on the green. There was a buzz of anticipation in the air. The pond had been cordoned off and various stalls selling local produce had been set up. Traditional fairground attractions such as a coconut shy, swing-boats and a wooden helter-skelter had been erected, with a small, brightly painted merry-go-round for the youngest children. People had gone to great lengths to adorn the fronts of their homes with flowers, scattering primroses across the thresholds (I was later to learn that this would apparently ward off evil fairies, who were said to be particularly active in the first three days of May), and at midday, a carnival procession of floats decorated with beautiful floral displays had begun to move slowly through the village. This all culminated in the arrival of the Queen-of-the-May-to-be, a petite teenage girl with long brown hair who was dressed in a flowing white gown, in a carriage drawn by two white horses.

Along with a huge number of other people, we had stood at the roadside with a sense of expectancy, still feeling very much like tourists as the procession passed by, when a hush fell over the throng lining the streets.

Beaming from ear to ear, the prospective May Queen alighted from the carriage and was guided by two small boys, who had been waiting eagerly to perform their duty, to a ‘throne’ of flowers set on a low podium on the periphery of the green. Another slightly older teenager, presumably last year’s model, mumbled a little shakily into a megaphone and then carefully anointed the new queen with a floral ‘crown’, kissing her on the cheek as she did so.

A whoop went through the crowd, and the children who had been poised around the maypole clutching their coloured ribbons began to skip in an obviously well-rehearsed circle, weaving an intricate pattern with the strips of fabric, singing and jangling small tambourines as they went. The song finished and the children ground to a halt, looking round as if not quite sure what to do next. There was some sudden jostling from the onlookers, and as though this was their cue, the children dropped their ribbons and broke away from the maypole, dragging another laughing girl forward. She must have been about twelve, with long fair curls and an angelic little face. People began to applaud and the girl went to stand coyly beside the newly crowned May Queen and her previous incarnation. The three of them joined hands and everyone cheered again.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked the middle-aged woman to my left, who was applauding half-heartedly.