That’s terrific. Our neighbour passed on his scythe to us when he moved away, it was worked and sharpened to a wisp, but cut beautifully, Tom got pretty good at it but we never dared let Mol out while he was doing it, the point was potentially deadly. Sadly it didn’t last long but broke soon after; we bought a new one but never succeeded in getting it to the same degree of light sharpness and it’s never really worked properly – a petrol driven mower does the job now.

How wonderful to meet this man. These genuine links to that past are disappearing fast; I’ve been reading about a childhood spent in western Brittany, the writer was born in 1914, the same year as our eldest neighbour, she’s still about and cogent but fading fast, soon the only accessible memories of that time will be second hand and inevitably sentimentalised. My mum was born in the UK in the same year, but is long gone now, and her memories were of a more recognisably modern world even so.

Skrying = pre-digital skyping!