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she let it pass, knowing it would annoy their Ben if she showed any criticism. Annie frowned as the pain in her leg intensified. Neither the Germolene, salt baths or Borax had made any impression on the sore. She decided she would see a doctor next week if there was no improvement.
    When the service ended the two girls waited until Annie and William had gone home with neighbours, then they set off in the direction of the Memorial Gardens, where the young folk congregated every Sunday. For most of them it was the highlight of the week. Apart from the occasional dances at the Victoria Hall – which most of them couldn’t afford – and the cinema which opened a few nights a week there was little in the way of entertainment for the youth of Millington.
    Dances at Cragstone or Longfield meant a walk of several miles and most parents objected to their children being subjected to the temptations they were sure were waiting in such places. So every Sunday the girls would saunter up the path by the clock, where there were seats hidden amongst the laurels and rhododendrons. There they would watch the young men walk along the bottom path, up the forty steps and down to where the girls were giggling and flaunting their Sunday dresses. The evergreens provided a hidey hole away from the eyes of any parents who would think it unseemly for their daughters to be in the company of young men when darkness was falling. The only one who was there with the consent of her parents was Dot Greenwood. It was a lonely life up at the farm and because Dot worked hard all week Boadacea thought her daughter deserved the company of people her own age. Dot was also considered trustworthy enough to protect herself, having being brought up on the farm and being familiar with the ways of procreation. ‘Just remember,’ Boadacea had reminded her daughter for the umpteenth time, ‘never give the lads an inch or they’ll expect a yard and always keep their hands, not to mention their you-know-whats well away from yer tuppence, and you’ll come to no harm.’ So when Dot had caught sight of young Robert in church she had waited in the lych gate and offered to show him and his brothers the meeting place of all the young people.
    ‘If yer want to come with me I’ll show yer where all our friends hang out. Come on, we usually have a bit of a laugh and I’ll introduce yer to ’em all.’
    So, accompanied by Dot, who looked a picture in her Sunday hat and her best skirt and blouse, the three incomers set off to meet the youth of Millington. ‘We don’t allow any hanky-panky so just you lot behave yerselves,’ she warned them. ‘We’re all respectable round ’ere.’ Robert felt his face redden at the thought of any hanky-panky at all.
    ‘We’ll go this way tonight, but the lads usually go that way.’
    ‘Why?’ James was curious.
    Dot considered a bit. ‘I don’t know, they just do. Tradition, I suppose.’ The crowd of girls could be heard from amongst the greenery surrounding the clock.
    ‘Hiya,’ Dot called. ‘I’ve brought some friends to meet yer. This one is Robert but we’ll call him Robbie. This one ’ere is John and he’s James. They’ve come forty miles to live ’ere. Now this is Kitty, then there’s Jane and Lucy Gabbitas. This is Mable. So now we all know one another that’s all right. The lads’ll be here in a minute. They like us to think they’ve come up ’ere for a breath of fresh air, but we know different; they’ve come to see us, that’s because we’re all so beautiful, yer see.’ Dot laughed at her own joke and the others giggled. They all liked Dot Greenwood and were always made welcome at the farm by Boadacea.
    ‘How’re yer feet?’ Dot asked Robbie, as he was to be known from now on.
    ‘Not so bad.’ He felt embarrassed to be singled out for attention.
    ‘Aye well, if they don’t get better, me mam’ll soon make ’em right.’
    ‘Yes she will,’ Kitty Marshall agreed. ‘She can cure owt can Mrs