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The villagers were preparing for an annual summer solstice celebration on the weekend closest to the longest day, which occurred towards the end of June every year. Everyone I met was keen to tell me that the previous year had been the first time in living memory that the event had been cancelled, due to the lockdown. There was understandable excitement in the village at its resumption this year. The whole village seemed to be involved. Hannah was kept busy preparing cold food to accompany the barbecue which the butcher was organising. I was left to run the tea shop virtually single-handedly while she dashed between the shop and her mother’s house, baking trays of sausage rolls, buns and cakes.
On the streets, children of all ages seemed to materialise from nowhere, dressed in variou
