Please Do Remember

Covington was one of a cluster of villages and small towns that, since the second war, had crawled surreptitiously outward to meet each other, eating away, as they advanced, at what Emily remembered as green and gently rolling countryside with the dull, uniform face of post-war development. The 5:44 Harlowe local took Emily home each evening to her squat, two-storey, redbrick house set slightly apart from the huddle of cottages made of local stone that made up the heart of the village. On the green, unsupervised children were piling assorted rubbish onto the already dangerously unbalanced bonfire that would be lit, she believed, at seven o’clock to ‘celebrate’ the failure of Guy Fawkes’ sedition.