Hartburn had changed. The corner shop at the junction of Darlington Road and Hartburn Village that used to be a newsagent now sold electrical items, as did all the other small businesses located near to the Stockton Arms. Hartburn Village itself was no longer an extended crescent of pretty houses and well-kept gardens, but a drab row of mean terraced houses. The only exception was at the western junction with Darlington Road opposite Elmwood, where the T family’s bungalow had been replaced by a modern monstrosity, said to be the home of a mobster and his extended family.

I called into the Masham for breakfast. Then I wandered up to the Parkwood for a mid-morning snack. When my mother appeared and asked when I would be coming home for lunch I said I’d be back soon, although I was ashamed that my greediness from earlier on meant that it was highly unlikely that I would manage to stuff any more food inside me.