When I was doing the research for this book (you wouldn’t believe how long that took, what with checking the prosodic terminology in Chapter 2, finding all the units of currency to hide in the list of countries in Chapter 5, learning how to blazon for Chapter 9…), I wrote to various local newspapers asking readers to send me any information or memories they had about what life was like in our village more than around thirty to forty years ago. I can’t say I was swamped by responses, but those I did receive were all helpful in their own way. Here’s one of them, from a Mrs Rebecca Harris. It’s a copy of a letter sent to her in the 1950s by her husband Walter when he was working on repairs to the organ in Saint Luke’s:

My dearest Becky,

I do hope you are well. I must confess that, while I may be in good physical health, still there is a pain in my heart as I am already missing you so much. It seems an age since we last saw each other, yet according to my diary it is not two days since we kissed goodbye at the station. I cannot wait to be with you again, and fear the time will drag very slowly before then. Not a moment goes by when you are not in my thoughts. I know that I am due to be here for no more than a month, yet the day of my return still feels terribly far off.

I’ve just about settled in now. It’s a little unusual to be staying in a vicarage, but I’ve been given a wonderfully warm welcome by my hosts –you’d love them; they’re really friendly. The vicar, the Reverend Matthew Hassock, a devout and pious man, and Rachel, his wife, are a terrific couple. They have two extremely engaging boys, James, who is twelve, and John, who is ten. They’re a real laugh, so inquisitive; when I arrived they were all over me, asking who I was, what I was doing, and all that. I think Rachel was a bit embarrassed because of them, but she needn’t have been. Every meal has been made for me so far, but Rachel and Matthew have also said I can use the kitchen to cook for myself if I feel like it. The village shop-cum-post office is literally a couple of doors away; Rachel says that if I am ever short of anything I have only to ask. She loves to make a fuss over her guests, to the extent that she reminds me of your mother! For instance, last night, when I went to bed, I found someone had left a mug of cocoa, a bowl of sugar and a teaspoon, a plate of drop scones, a knife, a tub of butter, a jar of honey and a pot of home-made raspberry jam on the bedside table for me! What more could one ask for?