Mr Leonard Scrimshaw rocks back and forth in his chair. Despite the fact that it is a sweltering day, he is still wearing his thick black mohair polo neck sweater. Though not given to bragging or exaggerating his exploits and achievements (which, in truth, need no embroidery), he is justly proud of his distinguished career in His, and later Her, Majesty’s Navy; he is the holder of several decorations, including the Long Service and Good Conduct Medal, a richly deserved reward for his many years of undetected crime. As the villager with the greatest experience in the services it is he who leads the Remembrance Sunday procession from Saint Luke’s to the village green, where he lays the ceremonial poppy wreath at the base of the Celtic cross. After retiring from the Navy he took up golf and at one stage had his handicap down to twelve before his obsession abated and he started playing less often.

Mrs Yvonne Gray is not only the oldest member of the group; she is the oldest person in Gatshire, weighing in at a massive one hundred and five years. In many ways it would be beneficial to Mrs Locke were Mrs Gray to go on living for a while more yet, as The Gatshire Gazette has begun to make a habit of visiting the home for a photograph session on her birthday, the 29th of July.

The picture usually appears on page seven, there or thereabouts. Mrs Gray is seen on the point of blowing out the single candle on a cake on which her name and age are written in flowery icing. Around her, her fellow residents, the Locke family, other friends of hers, and dozens of her relatives, right down her youngest six-month-old great-great grand-daughter Abigail, who is helping to extinguish the flame, are toasting her health. This is free publicity for the home, so the more celebrations there are, the better. I am sure, however, that Mrs Locke has never thought of it like that.