by Neil Hotson
The morning started with the theft of a bicycle, value £5 (£400 at today's rate) from outside the saddler's shop. The thief could expect to be pursued to the next village and beyond by the village constable, determined to apprehend the offender.
Further down the High Street a load of straw is delivered outside the big house. It is spread over the road to deaden the noise of cartwheels as there is someone very ill in the house.
On the other side of the village a funeral procession, comprising a Washington carriage and a lesser carriage, each pulled by a pair of horses, moves slowly towards the churchyard. The houses en route shutter their windows or pull down their blinds as a mark of respect.
That afternoon the weekly Petty Sessions is held in the upper rooms of the public house. First up before the magistrates is a group of teenagers, charged with "loitering near a place of divine service" as they were caught in a huddle twenty yards from the church last Sunday evening. Next is the dairyman, for watering his milk yet again.
As darkness falls, the slate clubs meet in the various pubs and the regatta committee meet in the village hall to discuss this year's event. The Territorial Army finishes its meeting with a rendition of the National Anthem and the pubs begin to fill up again.
At the crossroads, the policeman wonders how many would "refuse to quit licensed premises" tonight. The estate keepers are concealed in the woods, ready to pounce on night-poachers, and in the big field, the travelling circus, with its elephant and big cats, is resting for the night.
What would the villagers of those days think of our times?