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Lucy digested this information with an air of polite interest. The old man leant against the wall and prepared to go on with his saga. He much preferred talking to doing any work.
"Died afore the war, the old gentleman did. Terrible temper he had. Didn't do to give him any sauce, he wouldn't stand for it."
"And after he died, this Mr. Crackenthorpe came and lived here?"
"Him and his family, yes. Nigh grown up they was by then."
"But surely…. Oh, I see, you mean the 1914 war."
"No, I don't. Died in 1928, that's what I mean."
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Lucy supposed that 1928 qualified as “before the war" though it was not the way she would have described it herself.
She said: "Well, I expect you'll be wanting to go on with your work. You mustn't let me keep you."
"Ar," said old Hillman without enthusiasm, "not much you can do this time of day. Light's too bad."
Lucy went back to the house, pausing to investigate a likely-looking copse of birch and azalea on her way.
She found Emma Crackenthorpe standing in the hall reading a letter. The afternoon post had just been delivered.