Fred, the council clerk, has a mariner’s eyes.

They remind me of a German sailor working for the British in a yacht club in the Middle East when I was very small.

His pale blue eyes always seemed to be scanning the horizon for grey shapes in a sea mist.

A lonely man who loved the sea. I was told he was one of the only survivors of the Scharnhorst, which was sunk by the Royal Navy, off Norway, in 1943.

Fred does crosswords and works on anagrams on a big lined pad while the members speak at the council meeting.

“The village hall committee also reports continuous thefts of heating oil from the storage tanks in the rear of the building. They come at night. Nothing seems to stop them”, reported the secretary.

The war memorial had also been daubed with graffiti.

“One day all those names will be effaced anyway. Like old gravestones…” said Heather Atterbury, in a sort of musing tone.

That took everyone by surprise.

Heather Atterbury is some kind of art dealer. I think she specialises in objets trouvés. She has a veranda all down the south-facing wall of her house, with a wrought iron balustrade and a lead canopy. In the summer she wears tinkly bell-anklets and long dresses from thrift shops and goes barefoot in her big garden full of cupolas and rose-arches.

“It was a terrible tragedy that changed the world we live in  and we should remember it”, said Henry McCulloch.

Henry is a retired army officer, I think, but he does not use his rank.

“Countries can remember their wars for too long”, said Heather Atterbury. “The defeated countries in the Second World War wanted to forget, so they moved on…look at them now.”

Henry nodded, which surprised me. But he supported the motion to clean the memorial.

The PCSO – that’s the police community support officer – reported further on the memorial incident. He said: “We have questioned the youths hanging around the memorial. I am afraid they don’t show much respect for us.”

“Who thinks it would be a good idea to form a vigilante group to try to catch the thieves who come at night for the oil?” said Henry McCulloch.

“I think that’s immoderate”, said Heather Atterbury.

On balance I supported the idea, but we agreed that our role was only to observe, take down vehicle numbers etc., and that there should never be fewer than three of us.

“Vigilante – Evil Giant”, said the clerk, looking out across the room.

It was Henry who asked me to join the council. He just came to my door, introduced himself, and asked me if I wished to “offer my services”.

It was the first time I had met him.