It was Rogation-tide, when the land was blessed and the ancient bounds of the parish were beaten, every gospel oak and half-forgotten brook and fielden edge remembered and passed down the generations. On the Monday, at sun-rise, a long procession left the Vicarage, led by the Rev'd Lion, Old Fox and the Dragon of Kensington Church Street, who was visiting from London for a long weekend. It was a very colourful and purposeful cavalcade: there were brightly-embroidered banners representing various parochial saints and the crops and goods of the village – barley, wheat, flax, fish, sail-cloth, apples, watercress, honey. In the mid-flow were rows of mice from Watercress lane itself carrying their willow poles decked with flowers – languid garden roses and delicate briar, wild mustard and oxeye daisies, milkwort as blue as the sky, red and yellow Tom Thumb's from high on the lark-haunted barrows, and the very last of the May blossom and the very first of the elder.