There was a small private school in Felixstowe run by a Mrs Powell who had recently set it up for her own children. We took Gale to see it, and let her choose. She chose Norseland.

We had done all we could unless we were prepared to jump the gun. It would be unwise to touch the structure until we knew for certain we could go ahead, so now we enjoyed a few days’ holiday before Peter had to go back to Northgate. Then his term started. He cycled to the end of the road, left his bike in the hedge (you could in those days – and find it there when you got back), caught a bus to the outskirts of Ipswich where he changed to a trolleybus for the final couple of miles round the ring road to Northgate. Norseland started later, so Gale and I cycled by back roads to Ufford to view another advertised cottage. It was part of a strange conglomeration of buildings, the bedroom of one of them over the kitchen of another. But my heart was not in it – and when we got back we were greeted by the news that a couple of Planning Officers had been, from the council – had looked all round the mill and had a good look at our tents.

Peter had a phone call at work from Birkin. “I think we have planning permission. It must have been the sight of your teatowels hanging on the guy-ropes to dry that melted their hearts. We’ll know for certain in a few days.”

Next day I took Gale to Norseland by bus. Soon she would be able to make the journey on her own. Suddenly I was alone.

As I cycled to Kirton Co-op I dismounted several times to pick large, clean field mushrooms from the narrow verges – petrol rationing meant no pollution, and we had them for our tea. Our new life was beginning. Sure enough, by Friday word came through. “Permission granted – see you Saturday. Birkin.”

Everything now had to be done at once. Birkin brought with him grandiose plans for a circular extension to result in a figure of eight finished house – but, questioned closely, admitted this would cost twice as much as an ordinary rectangular building. I don’t think he really believed he would be allowed to build it, as he had ready a conventional two-storey extension. Even this we had to insist he pared down, omitting the porch, the cupboard under the stairs and other exotic unnecessary luxuries. While conventional it was to be very good of its kind as we only appreciated later.